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Cornell University Library 
 PR 4884.B27 1863 
 
 Barrington. 
 
 3 1924 013 516 129 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013516129 
 
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BARRINGTON. 
 
 CHARLES LEYER, 
 
 AXIIHOB OP "HABEY LOKKEQUER," "THE KNIGHT OP GWYNKE," 
 "the DOBD EAMILT," &0. &0. &C. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1863. 
 
 [The riff hi of Translation is reserved.'] 
 
 ^ 
 
TO 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS, Esq. 
 
 Mt dear Dickens, 
 
 Amongst the thousands who read and re-read your 
 writings, you have not one who more warmly admires your 
 genius than myself, and to say this, in confidence, to the. 
 world, I dedicate to you this story. 
 
 Your faithful friend, 
 
 CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 Spezia, Dec 20, 1862. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGU 
 
 I. — The Fisheemak's Home . . .1 
 
 II. — A Wet Morning at Home . '■) 
 
 III.- — Our Next Neighboues ... ..18 
 
 IV. — Fred Conyeks . . . . 33 
 
 V. — Dill as a Diplomatist . . il 
 
 YL — The Doctor's Daughter . . . . 46 
 
 VII.— Tom Dill's First Patient . . . . 53 
 
 VIII. — FisE Acquaintances ... .... 05 
 
 IX. — ^A Country Doctor . . 70 
 
 X.— Being "Bored" ... .77 
 
 XI.— A Note to be Ajjswebed . . . .84 
 
 XII.— The Answer . . . . 89 
 
 XIII. — A Few Leaves erom a Blue-Book . . . 97 
 
 XIV.— Baebington's Ford ... 107 
 
 XV.— An Exploring Expedition . . .117 
 
 XVI.— Coming Home . . . . . 129 
 
 XVII.— A Shock . . . .136 
 
 XVIII.— Cobham .... ... .146 
 
 XIX. — ^The Hour op Luncheon ... . . 157 
 
 XX. — An Interior at the Doctor's . . 161 
 
 XXL— Dark Tidings ... . . 172 
 
 XXIL— Leaving Home . . . . 179 
 
 h 
 
VI , CONTElfTS, 
 
 CHAP. PAGIi 
 
 XXIII.— The Colonel's Counsels . .... 187 
 
 XXIV. — CoNYEEs Makes a Morning Call 193 
 
 XXV.— Dublin Revisited . . ... 203 
 
 XXVI.— A Veey Sad Good-by . 312 
 
 XXVII. — The Convent on the Meuse . . ... 219 
 
 XXVIII.— George's Daughter . . . . .^225 
 
 XXIX.— The Ramble .... .... 234 
 
 XXX. — Under the Linden . . . . 242 
 
 XXXI.— FiMNE and Polly . ... .248 
 
 XXXII.— At Home Again .257 
 
 XXXIII.— A Small Dinnbb-Pakty ... .264 
 
 XXXIV.— A Move in Advance . ... 275 
 
 XXXV.— A Cabinet Council . . ... 282 
 
 XXXVL— An Exfeess . . . . . . 289 
 
 XXXVII.— Ceoss-Examinings . . . 295 
 
 XXXVIII.^Geneeal CoNYEES . . . . .301 
 
 XXXIX. — ^Majoe M'Coemick's Letter . . 309 
 
 XL. — Interchanged Coneessions . . . . 321 
 
 XLI.— SiAPYLTOs's Visit at " The Home" . ... 326 
 
 XLII. — A Doctor and his Patient . . 336 
 
 XLIII. — Cross Purposes . , . . . . 342 
 
 XLIV.— Stoems . . ... 353 
 
 XLV.— The Old Leaven . . . 364 
 
 XL VI.— A Happy Meeting . . . 371 
 
 XL VII. — Meet Companionship . . ... 379 
 
 XL VIII. —Aunt Doeothea . ... 385 
 
 XLIX. — Correspondence . . ... . 389 
 
 L.— The End .... . . . 404 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 
 
 I-AGB 
 
 The Eishekmak's 'Kou'e— Frontispiece. . . Habioi K. Brottkb 
 
 Warm Tea anb Cold Ebcispiion . ' . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 23 
 
 The Accident . . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 28 
 
 Dabby feelinsly Apologises poa the Scarcity op Irish 
 
 
 
 Lion . . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 37 
 
 Polly Dill . . .... 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 50 
 
 The Problem; ... . . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 S2 
 
 Tom Dill in his Best 
 
 Ditto 
 
 ." 92 
 
 The Wager . . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . lOS 
 
 Polly Dill takes Leave op Conyers 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 114 
 
 Poaching .... . . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 134 
 
 Tom Dill at his Studies . ... 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 143 
 
 The Major " Departs," but not in " Peace" . " 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 175 
 
 Master and Man's Keplection over Old Habits 
 
 Ditto . 
 
 . 180 
 
 A UsEPUL Hand 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 200 
 
 A Lecture 
 
 Ditto 
 
 221 
 
 The Third Volume 
 
 Ditto 
 
 227 
 
 Not quite the Sort of Thing (Aunt Dinah thinks) . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 237 
 
 Miss Dinah in Dishabille . . ._ . . 
 
 Ditto . 
 
 . 267 
 
 "Would I do?" . ... 
 
 Ditto 
 
 . 278 
 
 Miss Dinah's Indignation 
 
 Ditto , 
 
 . 301 
 
 The Letter ... . . 
 
 Ditto 
 
 319 
 
 The Consultation . . .... 
 
 Ditto 
 
 , 337 
 
 The Major IS ALL "Attention" 
 
 Ditto . 
 
 , 352 
 
 Meet Companions ... 
 
 Ditto 
 
 379 
 
 Welcome to Baeringion ! . . . . 
 
 Ditto , 
 
 , 404 
 
BARRmaTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE FISHEEMAh's HOME. 
 
 If there abould be, at this day we live in, any one bold enough to 
 confess that he fished the river Nore, in Ireland, some forty years ago, 
 he might assist me by calling to mind a small inn about two miles 
 from the confluence of that river with the Barrow, a spot in great 
 favour with those who followed the " gentle craft." 
 
 It was a very unpretending hostel, something wherein cottage and 
 farm-house were blended, and only recognisable as a place of enter- 
 tainment by a tin trout suspended over the doorway, with the modest 
 inscription underneath, "Rsherman's Home." Very seldom is it, 
 indeed, that hotel pledges are as honestly fulfilled as they were in this 
 simple announcement. The house was, in all that quiet comfort and 
 unostentatious excellence can make, a veritable Home ! Standing in a 
 fine old orchard of pear and damson-trees, it was only approachable 
 by a path which led from the high-road, about two mUes off, or by the 
 river, which wound round the little grassy promontory beneath the 
 cottage. On the opposite side of the stream arose cliffs of considerable 
 height, their terraced sides covered with larch and ash, around whose 
 stems the holly, the laurel, and arbutus grew in a wild and rich profu- 
 sion. A high mountain, rugged with rock and precipice, shut in the 
 picture, and gave to the river all the semblance of a narrow lake. 
 
 The Home, as may be imagined, was only resorted to by fishermen, 
 and of these not many, for the chosen few who knew the spot, with 
 
 B 
 
2 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 tlie churlistness of true anglers, were strenuously careful to keep the 
 secret to. themselyes. But another and stronger cause contributed to 
 this seclusion : the landlord was a reduced gentleman, who, only 
 anxious to add a little to his narrow fortune, would not have accepted 
 a greater prosperity at the cost of more publicity, and who probably 
 only consented to his occupation on finding how scrupulously hia 
 guests respected his position. 
 
 Indeed, it was only on leave-taking, and then far from painfully, 
 you were reminded of being in an inn. There was no noise, no 
 bustle ; books, magazines, flowers, lay about ; cupboards lay open, 
 with all their cordials free to take. Tou might dine under the 
 spreading sycamore beside the well, and have your dessert for the 
 plucking. No obsequious waiter shook his napkin as you passed ; no 
 ringleted barmaid crossed your musing steps ; no jingling of bells, 
 or discordant cries, or high-voiced remonstrances disturbed you. The 
 hum of the summer bee, or the flapping plash of a trout, were about 
 the only sounds in the stillness, and all was as peaceful and as calm 
 and as dreamy as the most world-weary could have wished it. 
 
 • Of those who frequented the spot, some merely knew that the host 
 Lad seen better days. Others, however, were aware that Peter Bar- 
 ring^on had once been a man of large fortune, and represented his 
 county in the Irish Parliament. Though not eminent as a politician, 
 he was one of the great convivial celebrities of a time that boasted of 
 • Curran, and Avanmore, and Parsons, and a score of others, any one of 
 whom, in our own day, would have made a society famous. Barring- 
 ton, too, was the almoner of the monks of the screw, and " Peter's 
 pence" were immortalized in a song by Ned Lysaght, of which I once 
 possessed, but have lost, a copy. 
 
 One tnight imagine there could be no difficulty in showing how, ia 
 that wild period of riotous living and costly rivalry, an Irish gentle- 
 man ran through all Hs property, and left himself penniless. It was, 
 indeed, a time of utter recklessness, many seeming possessed of that 
 devil-may-care spirit that drives a drowning crew to break open the 
 spirit-room and go down in an orgie. But Barrington's fortune was 
 so large, and his successes on the turf so considerable, that ifc 
 appeared incredible when his estate^ came to the hammer, and all his 
 pei!S(DiM,l property was sold ofi"; so complete hia ruin, that, as he said 
 himself, the " only shelter he had was an umbrella, and even that he 
 borrowed from Dan DrisooU, the sheriff's officer." 
 
 Of course there were theories in plenty to account for the disaster, 
 and, as usual, so many knew, many a long day ago, how hard pressed 
 he Lad been for money, and what ruinous interest he was obliged 
 
BAEEINGTON. dt 
 
 to pay, tin at last rumours filtered all down to one channel, and the 
 world agreed that it was all his son's doing, and that the scamp 
 G-eorge had ruined his father. This son, his only child, had gone out 
 to India in a cavalry regiment, and was celebrated aU over the East 
 for a costly splendour that rivalled the great Grovernment oificials. 
 [From every retired or invalided officer who came back from Bengal 
 were beard stories of Mad Barrington's extravagance : his palace on 
 the Hooghly, his racing stud, bis elephants, his army of retainers — all 
 narratives which, no matter in what spirit retailed, seemed to delight 
 old Peter, who, at every fresh story of his son's spendthrift magnifi- 
 cence, would be sure to toast his health, with a racy enthusiasm whose 
 sincerity was not to be doubted. 
 
 Little wonder need there be if in feeding such extravagance avasti 
 estate melted away, and acre followed acre, till all that remained of a 
 property that ranked next to the Ormonds was the little cottage over 
 whose door the tin trout dangled, and the few roods of land around 
 it : sorry remnant of a princely fortune ! 
 
 But Barrington himself had a passion, which, inordinately in- 
 dulged, has brought many to their ruin. He was intensely fond of 
 law. It was to him all that gambling is to other men. All that 
 gamesters feel of hope and fear, all the intense excitement they de- 
 rive from the vacillating fortunes of play, Barrington enjoyed in a 
 lawsnit. Every step of the proceeding had for him an immense 
 iwterest. The driest legal documents, musty declarations, demurrers, 
 pleadings, replies, affidavits, and counter-affidavits, were his choicest 
 reading ; and never did a young lady hurry to her room with the last 
 new novel with a stronger anticipation of delight than did Barring- 
 ton when carrying away to his little snuggery a roU of parchments 
 or rough drafts, whose very iterations and jargon would have driven 
 most men half crazy. This same snuggery of his was a curiosity, too, 
 the walls being all decorated with portraits of legal celebrities, not 
 selected with reference to their merit or distinction, but solely from 
 their connexion with some suit in which he had been engaged ; and 
 thus under the likeness of Chief Baron O'Ghrady might be read, " Bar- 
 rington versus Brazier, 1802 ; a juror withdrawn :" Justice Moore's por- 
 trait was inscribed, "Argument in Chambers, 1808;" and.so on, even 
 to the portraits of leading counsel, all were marked and 'dated only 
 as they figured in the great campaign. — the more than thirty years' 
 war — ^he carried on against Eortune. 
 
 Let not my reader suppose for one moment that this litigious 
 taste grew out of a spirit of jarring discontent or distrust. Notlfing 
 of the kind. Barrington was merely a gambler-; and with whatever 
 
 b2 
 
4 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 dissatisfaction the declaration may be met, I am prepared to show 
 that gambling, however faulty in itself, is not the vice of cold, selfish, 
 and sordid men, but of warm, rash, sometimes over-generous tem- 
 peraments. Be it well remembered that the professional play-man 
 is, of all others, the one who has least of a gamester in his heart ; his 
 superiority lying in the simple fact that his passions are never en- 
 gaged, his interest never stirred. Oh ! beware of yourself in com- 
 pany with the polished antagonist, who only smiles when he loses, 
 whom nothing adverse ever disturbs, but is calmly serene under the 
 most pitiless pelting of luck. To come back : Barrington's passion 
 for law was an intense thirst for a certain species of excitement ; a 
 verdict was to him the odd trick. Let him, however, but win the 
 game, there never was a man so indifferent about the stakes. 
 
 Tor many a year back he had ceased to follow the great events of 
 the world. !For the stupendous changes in Europe he cared next to 
 nothing. He scarcely knew who reigned over this empire or that 
 kingdom. Indifferent to art, science, letters, and even society, his 
 interest was intense about all that went on in the law courts, and it 
 was an interest so catholic, that it took in everything and everybody, 
 from the great judge upon the bench to the small taxing-officer who 
 nibbled at the bill of costs. 
 
 Fortunately for him, his sister, a maiden lady of some eighteen or 
 twenty years his junior, had imbibed nothing of this passion, and, by 
 her prudent opposition to it, stemmed at least the force of that cur- 
 rent which was bearing him to ruin. Miss Dinah Barrington had 
 been the great belle of the Irish court — I am ashamed to say how 
 long ago — and though at the period my tale opens there was not 
 much to revive the impression, her high nose, and full blue eyes, and 
 a mass of wonderfully unchanged brown hair, proclaimed her to be — 
 what she was very proud to call herself — a thorough Barrington, a 
 strong type of a frank nature, with a bold, resolute will, and a very 
 womanly heart beneath it. 
 
 "When their reverses of fortune first befel them, Miss Barrington 
 wished to emigrate. She thought that in Canada, or some other far- 
 away land, their altered condition might be borne less painfully, and 
 that they could more easily bend themselves to humble offices where 
 none but strangers were to look on them ; but Barrington clung to 
 his country with the tenacity of an old captain to a wreck. He de- 
 clared he could not bring himself to the thought of leaving his bones 
 in a strange land, but he never confessed what he felt to be the 
 strongest tie of all, two unfinished lawsuits, the old record of Bar- 
 rington V. Brazier, and a Privy Council case of Barrington and Lot 
 
BAEEINGTON. 5 
 
 Eammadahu Mohr against the India Company. To have left his coun- 
 try with these still undecided seemed to him — like the act of a com- 
 mander taking flight on the morning of a general action — an amount 
 of cowardice he could not contemplate. ISTot that he confided this 
 opinion to his sister, though he did so, in the very fullest manner, to his 
 old follower and servant, Darby Cassan. Darby was the last rem- 
 nant of a once princely retinue, and in his master's choice of him to 
 accompany his fallen fortunes, there was something strangely indica- 
 tive of the man. Had Darby been an old butler or a body-servant, 
 had he been a favourite groom, or in some other capacity, one whose 
 daily duties had made his a familiar face, and whose functions could still 
 be available in an humble state, there would have seemed good reason 
 for the selection ; but Darby was none of these : he had never served 
 in hall or pantry ; he had never brushed the cobweb from a bottle, 
 or led a nag to the door. Of all human professions his were about 
 the last that could address themselves to the cares of a little house- 
 hold ; for Darby was reared, bred, and passed fifty odd years of his- 
 life as an earth-stopper ! 
 
 A very ingenious German writer has attempted to show that the- 
 sympathies of the humble classes with pursuits far above their owa 
 has always its origin in something of their daily life and habits, just 
 as the sacristan of a cathedral comes to be occasionally a tolerable 
 art critic from his continual reference to Eubens and Vandyck. Is 
 it possible that Darby may have illustrated the theory, and that his 
 avocations as earth-stopper may have suggested what he assuredly 
 possessed, a perfect passion for law. If a suit was a great game 
 to Barrington, to Darby it was a hunt ! and though his per- 
 sonal experiences never soared beyond Quarter Sessions, he gloried 
 in all he saw there of violence and altercation, of vituperative 
 language and impassioned abuse. Had he been a rich man, free to 
 enjoy his leisure, he would have passed all his days listening to these 
 hot discussions. They were to him a sort of intellectual bull-fight, which 
 never could be too bloody or too cruel. Have I said enough, therefore, 
 to show the secret link which bound the master to the man ? I 
 hope so ; and that my reader is proud of a confidence with which 
 Miss Barrington herself was never entrusted. She believed that 
 Darby had been taken into favour from some marvellous ability he 
 was supposed to possess, applicable to their new venture as inn- 
 keepers. Phrenology would perhaps have pronounced Darby a 
 heaven-born host, for his organ of acquisitiveness was grandly de- 
 veloped. Amidst that great household, where the thriftless habits of 
 the master had descended to the servants, and rendered all reckless 
 
b BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 and wasteful alike, Darby had thriven and grown almost rich. Was 
 it that the Irish eUmate used its iniluence over him, for in his prac- 
 tice to "put by something for a rainy day," his savings had many 
 promptings ? Aa the reputation of having money soon attached to 
 him, he was often applied to in the hunting-field or at the kennel, 
 for small loans, by the young bloods who frequented the Hall, and 
 being always repaid three or four fold, he grew to have a very high 
 conception of what banking must be when done on a large scale. 
 Besides all this, he quickly learned that no character attracts more 
 sympathy, especially amongst the class of young squires and sport- 
 ing men, than a certain quaint simplicity, so flattering in its contrast 
 to their own consummate acuteness. Now, he was simple to their 
 heart's content. He usually spoke of himself as " Poor Darby, God 
 help him !" and, in casting up those wonderful accounts, which he 
 kept by notches on a tally-stick, nothing was more amusing than to 
 witness his bewilderment and confusion, the inconceivable blunders 
 he would make, even to his own disadvantage, all sure to end at last, 
 in the heart-spoken confession, that it was " clean beyand him," and 
 he'd " leave it aU to your honour ; pay just what ye plaze, and long 
 life to ye !" 
 
 Is it that women have some shrewd perception of character denied 
 to men ? Certainly Darby never imposed upon Miss Barrington. 
 She read him like a book, and he felt it. The consequence was a very 
 cordial dislike, which strengthened with every year of their ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Though Miss Barrington ever believed that the notion of keeping 
 an inn originated with her brother, it was Darby first conceived the 
 project, and, indeed, by his own skill and crafty intelligence was it 
 carried on; and while the words, "Peter Barrington," figured in 
 very smaU letters, it is true, over the door to comply with a legal 
 necessity, to most of the visitors he was a mere myth. Now, if 
 Peter Barrington was very happy to be represented by deputy — or, 
 better stUl, not represented at all — Miss Dinah regarded the matter 
 in a very different light. Her theory was, that, in accepting the 
 humble station to which reverse of fortune brought them, the world 
 ought to see all the heroism and courage of the sacrifice. She insisted 
 on being a foreground figure, just to show them, as she said, " That 
 I take nothing upon me. I am the hostess of a little wayside inn — 
 no more !" How little did she know of her own heart, and how far 
 was she from even suspecting that it was the ci-devant belle making 
 one " last throw" for the admiration and, homage which once were 
 offered her freely. 
 
BAEEINGTOIT. 7 
 
 Such were the three chief personages who dwelt under that secluded 
 roof, half overgrown with honeysuckle and dog-roses — specimens of 
 that wider world without, where jealousies, and distrusts, and petty- 
 rivalries are warriag; for as in one tiny globule of water are repre- 
 sented the elements which malce oceans and seas, so is it in the 
 moral world; and "the family" is only humanity, as the artists say, 
 "reduced." 
 
 JPor years back Miss Barrington had been plotting to depose Darby. 
 With an ingenuity quite feminine, she managed to connect him with 
 every chagrin that crossed and every annoyance that befel them. If 
 the pig ploughed up the new peas in the garden, it was Darby had 
 left the gate open ; it was his hand overwound the clock ; and a very 
 significant hint showed that when the thunder soured the beer, Mr. 
 Darby knew more of the matter than he was likely to teU. Against 
 such charges as these, iterated and reiterated to satiety, Barrington 
 would reply by a smile, or a good-natured excuse, or a mere gesture 
 to suggest patience, till his sister, fairly worn out, resolved on another 
 line of action. " As she could not banish the rats," to use her own 
 words, " she would scuttle the ship." 
 
 To explain her project, I must go back in my story, and state that 
 her nephew, George Barrington, had sent over to England, some 
 fifteen years before, a little girl, whom he called his daughter. She 
 was consigned to the care of his banker in London, with directions 
 that he should communicate with Mr. Peter Barrington, announce 
 the child's safe arrival, and consult with him as to her future destina- 
 tion. Now, when the event took place, Barrington was in the very 
 crisis of his disasters. Overwhelmed with debts, pursued by creditors, 
 regularly hunted down, he was driven day by day to sign away most 
 valuable securities for mere passing considerations, and obliged to 
 accept any conditions for daily support. He answered the banker's 
 letter, briefly stating his great embarrassment and begging him to 
 give the child his protection for a few weeks or so, tiU some arrange- 
 ment of his affairs might enable him to offer her a home. 
 
 The time, however, glided over, and the hoped-for amendment never 
 came — far from it. Writ& were out against him, and he was driven 
 to seek a refuge in the Isle of Man, at that time the special sanctuary 
 of insolvent sinners. Mr. Leonard G-ower wrote again, and proposed 
 that, if no objection would be made to the plan^ the child should be 
 sent to a certain convent near Namur, in the Netherlands, where his 
 own daughter was then placed for her education. Aunt Dinah would 
 have rejected — ay, or would have resented, such a proposal as an 
 insult, had the world but gone on better with them. That her grand- 
 
8 BAEEINaTOir. 
 
 niece Bhould be brought up a Catholic was an outrage on the whole 
 Barrington blood. But calamity had brought her low — very low 
 indeed. The child, too, was a heathen — a Hindoo or a Buddhist 
 perhaps — for the mother was a native woman, reputed, indeed, to be a 
 Princess. But who could know this ? Who could vouch that George 
 was ever married at all, or if such a ceremony were possible ? All 
 these were " attenuating circumstances," and as such she accepted 
 them ; and the measure of her submission was filled up when she re- 
 ceived a portrait of the little girl, painted by a native artist. It re- 
 presented a dark-skinned, heavy-browed child, with wide, full eyea, 
 thick lips, and an expression at once florid and sullen — not any of the 
 traits one likes to associate with infancy — and it was with a half 
 shudder Aunt Dinah closed the miniature, and declared that " the 
 sight of the little savage actually frightened her." 
 
 Not so poor Barrington. He professed to see a great resemblance 
 to his son. It was George all over. To be sure, his eyes were deep 
 blue, and his hair a rich brown; but there was something in the 
 nose, or perhaps it was the mouth — no, it was the chin — ay, it was 
 the chin was George's. It was the Barrington chin, and no mistake 
 about it. 
 
 At all events, no opposition was made to the banker's project, and 
 the little girl was sent off to the convent of the Holy Cross, on the 
 banks of the Meuse. She was inscribed on the roll as the Princess 
 Doondiah, and bore the name till her father's death, when Mr. Gower 
 suggested that she should be called by her family name. The letter 
 with the proposal, by some accident, was not acknowledged, and the 
 writer, taking silence to mean consent, desired the superior to address 
 her henceforth as Miss Barrington ; the first startling intimation of 
 the change being a strangely, quaintly-written note, addressed to her 
 grand-aunt, and signed " Josephine Barrington." It was a cold, 
 formal letter — so very formal, indeed, as to read like the copy of a 
 document — asking for leave to enter upon a novitiate of two years' 
 duration, at the expiration of which she would be nineteen years of 
 age, and in a position to decide upon taking the veil for life. The 
 permission, very urgently pressed for by Mr. Gower in another 
 letter, was accorded, and now we have arrived at that period in which 
 but three months only remained of the two years whose closure was 
 to decide her fate for ever. 
 
 Barrington had long yearned to see her. It was with deep and 
 bitter self-reproach he thought over the cold neglect they had shown 
 her. She was all that remained of poor George, his boy — for so he 
 called him, and so he thought of him — long after the bronzed cheek 
 
BAEEiiraTOir. 9 
 
 and the prematurely whitened hair had tempered his manhood. To 
 be sure all the world said, and he knew himself, how it was chiefly 
 through that " boy's" extravagance he came to ruin. But it was over 
 now. The event that sobers down reproach to sorrow had come. 
 He was dead ! All that arose to memory of him were the traits that 
 suggested hopes in his childhood, or gave triumph in his riper years ; 
 and oh, is it not better thus ? for what hearts would be left us if we 
 were to carry in them the petty rancours and jealousies which once 
 filled them, but which, one day, we buried in the cold clay of the 
 churchyard. 
 
 Aunt Dinah, moved by reasons long canvassed over in her ovra. 
 mind, at last began to think of recalling her grand-niece. It was so 
 very bold a project that, at first, she could scarcely entertain it. The 
 Popery was very dreadful ! Her imagination conjured up the cottage 
 converted into a little Baal, with false gods and graven images, and 
 holy-water fonts at every turn ; but the doubtful legitimacy was 
 worse again. She had a theory that it was by lapses of this kind the 
 "blue blood" of old families grew deteriorated, and that the downfal 
 of many an ancient house was traceable to these corruptions. Par 
 better, she deemed it, that the Barringtons should die out for ever 
 than their line be continued by this base and ignoble grafting. 
 
 There is a contre for every povr in this world. It may be a weak 
 and an insuificient one, it is true, but it is a certainty that all our 
 projects must come to a debtor or creditor reckoning, and the very 
 best we can do is to strike an honest balance ! 
 
 How Miss Dinah essayed to do this we shall learn in the next 
 chapter and what follows it. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A WET MORNING AT HOME. 
 
 Ip there was anything possessed a more than common terror for 
 Barrington, it was a wet day at the cottage ! It was on these dreary 
 visitations that his sister took the opportunity of going into " com- 
 mittee of supply" — an occasion not merely for the discussion of fiscal 
 matters, but for asking the most vexatious questions and demanding 
 the most unpleasant explanations. 
 
 "We can all, more or less, appreciate the happiness, of that right 
 
10 BAEEUfGWOir. 
 
 honourable gentleman on the Treasury bench, who has to reply to the 
 crude and unmeaning inquiries of some aspiring Oppositionist, and 
 who wishes to know if her Majesty's Q-overnmeat have demanded an 
 indemnity from the King of Dahomey for the consul's family eaten 
 by him at the last court ceremonial ? What compensation is to be 
 given to' Captain Balrothery for his week's imprisonment at Leghorn, 
 in consequence of his having thrown the customs officer and a land- 
 ing-waiter into the sea ? Or what mark of her Majesty's favour will 
 the noble Lord recommend should be conferred upon Ensign Digges 
 for the admirable imitation he gave of the dancing dervishes at 
 Benares, and the just ridicule he thus threw upon these degrading 
 and heathenish rites ? 
 
 It was to a torture of this order, far more reasonable and pertinent, 
 however, that Bamington usually saw himself reduced whenever the 
 weather was so decidedly unfavourable that egress was impossible- 
 Poor fellow, what shallow pretexts would he stammer out for absent- 
 ing himself from home — what despicable subterfuges to put off an 
 audience. He had forgotten to put down the frame on that melon- 
 bed. There was that awning over the boat not taken in. He'd step 
 out to the stable and give Billy, the pony, a touch of the white oils 
 on that swelled hock. He'd see if they had got the young lambs 
 under cover. In fact, from his perturbed and agitated manner, you 
 would have imagined that rain was one of the rarest incidents of an 
 Irish climate, and only the very promptest measures could mitigate 
 the calamity. 
 
 " May I ask where are you off to in such haste, Peter ?" asked 
 Miss Dinah one morning, just as Barrington had completed all his 
 arrangements for a retraat ; far readier to brave the elements than 
 the more pitiless pelting that awaited him within doors. 
 
 " I just remembered," said he, mildly, " that I had left two night- 
 lines out at the Point, and with this fresh in the river it would be as 
 well if I'd step down and see " 
 
 "And see if the river was where it was yesterday," broke she in, 
 sneeringly. 
 
 " No, Dinah. But you see that there's this to be remarked about 
 night-lines " 
 
 "That they never catch any fish!" said she, sternly. "It's no 
 weather for you to go tramping about in the wet grass. Tou made 
 fuss enough about your lumbago last week, and I suppose you don't 
 want it back again. Besides" — and here her tone grew authoritative 
 — " I have got up the books." And with these words she threw on 
 the table a number of little greasy-looking volumes, over which poor 
 
BAEEINGTOK. 11 
 
 Barrington's sad glances wandered, pretty mucli as migbt a victim's 
 over the thumb-screws and the flesh-nippers of the Holy Inquisition. 
 
 "I've a slight touch of a headache this morning, Dinah." 
 
 " It won't be cured by going out in the rain. Sit down there," 
 said she, peremptorily, " and see with your own eyes how much 
 longer your means wUl enable you to continue these habits of waste 
 and extravagance." 
 
 "These what?" said he, perfectly astounded. 
 
 "These habits of waste and extravagance, Peter Barrington. I 
 repeat my words." 
 
 Had a venerable divine, being asked on the conclusion of an edify- 
 ing discourse, for how much longer it might be his intention to 
 persist in such ribaldries, his astonishment could scarce have been 
 greater than Barrington's. 
 
 " "Why, sister Dinah, are we not keeping an inn ? la not tHs the 
 Eisherman's Home?" 
 
 " I should think it is, Peter," said she, with scorn. " I suspect lie 
 finds it so. A very excellent name for it it is !" 
 
 " Must I own that I don't understand you, Dinah ?" 
 
 " Of course you don't. You never did aU your life. Ton never 
 knew you were wet till you were" half drowned, and. that's what the 
 world calls having such an amiable disposition ! Ain't your friends 
 nice friends ! They are always telling you how generous you are — 
 how free-handed — how benevolent. What a heart he has ! Ay, but 
 thank Providence there's very little of that charming docility about 
 me, is there ?" 
 
 " K"one, Dinah — none," said he, not in the least suspecting to what 
 he was bearing testimony. 
 
 She became crimson in a minute, and in a tone of some emotion 
 said, " And if there had been, where should you, and where should I 
 be to-day ? On the parish, Peter Barrington — on the parish ; for 
 it's neither i/our head or yoew hands would have saved us from it." 
 
 "Tou're right, Dinah; you're right there. You never spoke a 
 truer word." And his voice trembled as he said it. 
 
 " I didn't mean that, Peter," said she, eagerly ; " but you are too 
 confiding — too trustfiiL. Perhaps it takes a woman to detect all the 
 little wUes and snares that entangle us in our daily life?" 
 
 " Perhaps it doesy ' said he, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " At aU events you needn't sigh over it, Peter Barrington. It's 
 not one of those blemishes in human nature that have. to be deplored 
 ao feelingly. I hope women are as good as men." 
 
 " Pifty thousand times, better, in every quality of kindliness and 
 generosity." 
 
12 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " Humpli !" said slie, tossing her head impatiently. " We're not 
 here for a question in ethics ; it is to the very lowly task of examining 
 the house accounts I would invite your attention. Matters cannot 
 go on as they do now, if we mean to keep a roof over us." 
 
 " But I have always supposed we were doing pretty well, Dinah. 
 Tou know we never promised ourselves to gain a fortune by this 
 venture; the very utmost we ever hoped for was to help us along — 
 to aid us to make both ends meet at the end of the year. And as 
 Darby tells me " 
 
 " Oh, Darby tells you ! What a reliable authority to quote from ! 
 Oh, don't groan so heavily ! I forgot myself. I wouldn't for the 
 world impeach such fidelity or honesty as his." 
 
 " Be reasonable, sister Dinah — do be reasonable ; and if there is 
 anything to lay to his charge " 
 
 " You'll hear the case, I suppose,'' cried she, in a voice high-pitched 
 in passion. " You'll sit up there, like one of your favourite judges, 
 and call on Dinah Barrington against Cassan ; and perhaps when the 
 cause is concluded we shall reverse our places, and I become the 
 defendant ! But if this is your intention, brother Barrington, give 
 me a little time. I beg I may have a little time." 
 
 Now this was a very favourite request of Miss Barrington's, and 
 she usually made it in the tone of a martyr ; but truth obliges us to 
 own that never was a demand less justifiable. Not a three-decker of 
 the Channel fleet was readier for a broadside than herself. She was 
 always at quarters, and with a port-fire burning. 
 
 Barrington did not answer this appeal ; he never moved — he scarcely 
 appeared to breathe, so guarded was he lest his most unintentional 
 gesture should be the subject of comment. 
 
 " When you have recovered from your stupefaction," said she, 
 calmly, "will you look over that line of figures, and then give a 
 glance at this total ? After that, I will ask you what fortune could 
 stand it." 
 
 "This looks formidable indeed," said he, poring over the page 
 through his spectacles. 
 
 " It is worse, Peter. It is formidable." 
 
 " After all, Dinah, this is expenditure. Now for the incomings !" 
 
 " I suspect you'U have to ask your prime minister for tJiem. Per- 
 haps he may vouchsafe to tell you how many twenty-pound notes have 
 gone to America, who it was that consigned a cargo of new potatoes to 
 Liverpool, and what amount he invested in yarn at the last fair of 
 Graigue ? and when you have learned these facts, you will know all 
 you are ever likely to know of joar profits .'" I have no means of 
 
BABBIITQTOlf. 13 
 
 conveying the intense scorn with which she uttered the last word of 
 this speech. 
 
 " And he told me — not a week back — that we were going on 
 famously !" 
 
 " "Why wouldn't he ? I'd like to hear what else he could say. 
 Pamously, indeed, for Mm, with a strong balance in the savings-bank, 
 and a gold watch — yes, Peter, a gold watch — in his pocket. This is no 
 delusion, nor illusion, or whatever you call it, of mine, but a fact — a 
 downright fact." 
 
 " He has been toiling hard many a year for it, Dinah, don't forget 
 that." 
 
 " I believe you want to drive me mad, Peter. Tou know these are 
 things that I can't bear, and that's the reason you say them. Toil, 
 indeed ! I never saw him do anything except sit on a gate at the 
 Lock Meadows, with a pipe in his mouth ; and if you asked him what 
 he was there for, it was a ' track' he was watching, '' a dog-fox that 
 went by every afternoon to the turnip-field.' Very great toil that 
 was !" 
 
 " There wasn't an earth-stopper like him in the three next 
 counties ; and if I was to have a pack of fox-hounds to morrow " 
 
 " Tou'd just be as great a fool as ever you were, and the more sorry 
 I am to hear it ; but you're not going to be tempted, Peter Barring- 
 ton. It's not foxes we have to think of, but where we're to find 
 shelter for ourselves." 
 
 " Do you know of anything we could turn to, more profitable, 
 Dinah," asked he, mildly. 
 
 " There's nothing could be much less so, I know that I Tou are 
 not very observant, Peter, but even to you it must have become ap- 
 parent that great changes have come over the world in a few years. 
 The persons who formerly indulged their leisure were all men of I'ank 
 and fortune. Who are the people who come over here now to amuse 
 themselves ? Staleybridge and Manchester creatures ; with factory 
 morals and bagman manners ; treating our house like a commercial 
 inn, and actually disputing the bill by asking for items. Tes, Peter, 
 I overheard a fellow telling Darby last week that the ' 'ouse was 
 dearer than the Halbion !' " 
 ' " Travellers will do these things, Dinah." 
 
 " And if they do, they shall be shown the door for it, as sure as my 
 name is Dinah Barrington." 
 
 " Let us give up the inn altogether, then," said he, with a sudden 
 impatience. 
 
 " The very thing I was going to propose, Peter," said she, 
 solemnly. 
 
14 BAUEIKSTOir. 
 
 ""What! — how!" cried he, for the acceptance of what only 
 escaped him in a moment of anger overwhelmed and stunned him. 
 "jHow are we to live, Dinah ?" 
 
 " Better without than with it — there's my answer to that. Let us 
 look the matter fairly in the face, Peter," said she, with a calm and 
 measured utterance. " Thisdealiug with the world ' on honour' must 
 ever he a losing game. To screen ourselves from the vulgar neces- 
 sities of our condition, we must submit to any terms. So long as our 
 intercourse with life gave us none hut gentlemen to deal with, we 
 escaped well and safely. That race would seem to have thinned off 
 of late, however, or, what comes to the same, there is such a deluge 
 of spurious coin one never knows what is real gold." 
 
 "Tou may be right, Dinah ; you maybe right." 
 
 " I know I am right ; the experience has been the growth of some 
 years, too. All our efforts to escape the odious contact of these 
 people have multiplied our expenses. Where one man used to 
 suffice, we keep three. You yourself, who felt it no indignity to 
 go out a fishing formerly with a chance traveller, have to own with 
 what reserve and caution you would accept such companionship 
 now." 
 
 ■" Nay, nay, Dinah, not exactly so far as that " 
 
 " And why not ? "Was it not less than a fortnight ago three Bir- 
 mingham men crossed the threshold, calling out for ' old Peter — was 
 old Peter to the good yet ?' " 
 
 " They were a little elevated with wiae, sister, remember that ; 
 and, besides, they never knew, never had heard of me in my onee 
 condition." 
 
 "And are we so changed that they cannot recognise the class we 
 pertain to ?" 
 
 " 'Nab you, Dinah ; certainly not you ; but I frankly own I can put 
 up with rudeness and incivility better than a certain showy courtesy 
 some Tulgar people practise towards me. In the one case I feel I am 
 not known, and my secret is safe. In the other, I have to stand out 
 as the ruined gentleman, and I am not always sure that I play the 
 part as gracefully as I ought." 
 
 " Let us leave emotions, Peter, and descend to the low land of 
 arithmetic, by giving up two boatmen, John and Terry " 
 
 " Poor Terry !" sighed he, with a faint, low accent. 
 
 " Oh ! if it be ' poor Terry !' I've done," said she, closing the boot, 
 and throwing it down with a slap that made him start. 
 
 " Nay, dear Dinah ; but if we could manage to let him have some- 
 thing — say five shillings a week — he'll not need it long ; and the port 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 15 
 
 wine that was doing his rheumatism such good is nearly finished ; 
 he'Jl inisB it sorely." 
 
 " Were you giving him Henderson's wine — the 'llyintage ?" oried 
 she, pale with indignation. 
 
 " Just a bottle or two, Dinah ; only as medicine." 
 
 " As a fiddlestick, Sir. I declare I have no patience with you ; 
 there's no excuse for such folly, not to say the ignorance of giving 
 these creatures what they never were used to. Did not Doctor Dill 
 tell you that -tonics, to be effective, must always have some relation to 
 the daily habits of the patient ?" 
 
 " Very true, Dinah ; but the discourse was pronounced when I 
 saw him putting a bottle of old Madeira in his gig that I had left 
 for Anne M'Cafferty, adding, he'd send her something far more 
 strengthening." 
 
 " Eight or wrong I don't care ; but this I know, Terry Dogherty 
 isn't going to finish off Henderson's port. It is rather too much to 
 stand, that we are to be 'treating beggars to luxuries, when we can't 
 say to-morrow where we shall find salt for our potatoes." This was 
 a somewhat favourite illustration of Miss Barrington — either imply- 
 ing that the commodity was an essential to human life, or the use of 
 it an emblem of extreme destitution. 
 
 " I conclude we may dispense with Tom Divett's services," resumed 
 she. " "We can assuredly get on without a professional rat-catcher." 
 
 " If we should, Dinah, we'll feel the loss ; the rats make sad 
 havoc of the spawn, and destroy quantities of the young fish 
 besides." 
 
 " His two ugly terriers eat just as many chickens, and never leave 
 U8 an egg in the place. And now for Mr. Darby " 
 
 " Tou surely don't think of parting with Darby, sister Dinah ?" 
 
 " He shall lead the way," replied she, in a firm and peremptory 
 voice ; " the very first of the batch ! And it will doubtless be a 
 great comfort to you to know that you need not distress yourself 
 about any provision for his declining years. It is a care that he has 
 attended to on his own part. He'll go back to a very well-feathered 
 nest, I promise you." 
 
 Barrington sighed heaTily, for he had a secret sorrow on that 
 score. He knew, though his sister did not, that he had from year to 
 year been borrowing every pound of Darby's savings to pay the costs 
 of law charges, always hoping and looking for the time when a 
 verdict in his favour would enable him to restore the money twice 
 told. "With a very dreary sigh, then, did he here allude " to the 
 weU-feathered nest" of one he had left bare and destitute. He 
 
16 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 cleared his throat and made an effort'to avow the whole matter ; but 
 his courage failed him, and he sat mournfully shfiking his head, partly 
 in sorrow, partly in shame. His sister noticed none of these signs ; 
 she was rapidly enumerating all the reductions that could be made — 
 all the dependencies cut off ; there were the boats, which constantly 
 required repairs ; the nets, eternally being renewed — aU to be dis- 
 carded ; the island, a very pretty little object in the middle of the 
 river, need no longer be rented. " Indeed," said she, " I don't 
 know why we took it, except it was to give those memorable pic-nics 
 you used to have there." 
 
 " How pleasant they were, Dinah ; how delightful," said he, totally 
 overlooking the spirit of her remark. 
 
 " Oh, they were charming, and your own popularity was bound- 
 less ; but I'd have you to bear in mind, brother Peter, that popu- 
 larity is no more a poor man's luxury than champagne. It is a very 
 costly indulgence, and can rarely be had ' on credit.' " 
 
 Miss Barrington had pared down retrencKment to the very quick. 
 She had shown that they could live not only without boatmen, rat- 
 catchers, gardener, and man-servant, but that, as they were to give up 
 their daily newspaper, they could dispense with a full ration of candle- 
 light ; and yet, with all these reductions, she declared that there was 
 still another encumbrance to be pruned away, and she proudly asked 
 her brother if he could guess what it was ? 
 
 Now Barrington felt that he could not live without a certain 
 allowance of food, nor would it be convenient, or even decent, to dis- 
 pense with raiment ; so he began, as a last resource, to conjecture 
 that his sister was darkly hinting at something which might be a 
 substitute for a home, and save house rent, and he half testily ex- 
 claimed : " I suppose we're to have a roof over us, Dinah !" 
 
 " Tes," said she, dryly, " I never proposed we should go and live 
 in the woods. What I meant had a reference to Josephine " 
 
 Barrington's cheek flushed deeply in an instant, and, with a voice 
 trembling with emotion, he said : 
 
 " If you mean, Dinah, that I'm to cut oif that miserable pittance 
 
 — that forty pounds a year — I give to poor George's girl " He 
 
 stopped, for he saw that in his sister's face which might have appalled 
 a bolder heart than his own, for while her eyes flashed fire, her thin 
 lips trembled with passion ; and so, in a very faltering humility, he 
 added : " But you never meant that, sister Dipah. Ton would be 
 the very last in the world to do it." 
 
 " Then why impute it to me ; answer me that !" said she, crossing 
 her hands behind her back, and staring haughtily at him. 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 17 
 
 " Just because I'm clean at my wits' end— just because I neitber 
 understand one word I hear, or what I say in reply. If you'll just 
 teU me wbat it is you propose, I'll do my best, witb Grod's blessing, 
 to follow you ; but don't ask me for advice, Dinah, and don't fly out 
 because I'm not as quick witted and as clever as yourself!" 
 
 There was something almost so abject in his misery, that she seemed 
 touched by it, and, in a voice of a very calm and kindly meaning, she 
 
 " I have been thinking a great deal over that letter of Josephine's ; 
 she says she wants our consent to take the veil as a nun ; that by 
 the rules of the order, when her novitiate is concluded, she must go 
 into the world for at least some months — a time meant to test her faith- 
 fulness to her vows, and the tranquillity with which she can renounce 
 for ever all the joys and attractions of life. "We, it is true, have no 
 means of surrounding her with such temptations ; but we might try 
 and supply their place by some less brilliant, but not less attractive 
 ones. We might oiFer her, what we ought to have offered her years 
 ago, a home ! What do you say to this, Peter ?" 
 
 " That I love you for it, sister Dinah, with all my heart," said he, 
 kissing her on each cheek ; " that it makes me happier than I knew I 
 ever was to be again." 
 
 " Of course, to bring Josephine here, this must not be an inn, 
 Peter." 
 
 " Certainly not, Dinah — certainly not. But I can think of nothing 
 but the joy of seeing her — poor G-eorge's child ! Howl have yearned 
 to know if she was like him — if she had any of his ways — any traits 
 of that quaint, dry humour he had — and, above all, of that disposition 
 that made him so loved by every one." 
 
 " And cheated by every one, too, brother Peter ; don't forget 
 that !" 
 
 " Who wants to think of it now ?" said he, sorrowfully. 
 
 " I never reject a thought because it has unpleasant associations. It 
 would be but a sorry asylum which only admitted the well-to-do and 
 the happy." 
 
 " How are we to get the dear child here, Dinah ? Let us consider 
 the matter. It is a long journey off'." 
 
 " I have thought of that, too," said she, sententiously • " but not 
 made up my mind." 
 
 "Let us ask M'Corraick about it, Dinah; he's coming up this 
 evening to play his Saturday night's rubber with DHL He knows 
 the Continent well." 
 
 " There will be another saving that I didn't remember, Peter. The 
 
 c 
 
18 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 weekly bottle of whisky and the candles, not tc speak of the four or 
 five shillings your pleasant companions invariably carry away with 
 them ; all may be very advantageously dispensed with." 
 
 ""When Josephine's here I'll not miss it," said he, good humouredly- 
 Then suddenly remembering that his sister might not deem the 
 speech a gracious one to herself, he was about to add something, fbut 
 she was gone. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 QUE NEXT NBIGHBOUES. 
 
 SnorLD there be amongst my readers any one whose fortvme it 
 has been in life only to associate with the amiable, the interesting, 
 and the agreeable, all whose experiences of mankind are rose-tinted, 
 to him I would say, Skip over two people I am now about to intro- 
 duce, and take up my story at some later stage, for I desire to be 
 truthful, and, as is the misfortune of people in my situation, I may 
 be very disagreeable. 
 
 After all, I may have made more excuses than were needful. -The 
 persons I would present are in that large category, the common- 
 place, and only as uninviting and bs tiresome as we may any day 
 meet in a second-class on the raLLroad. Mourish, therefore, penny 
 trumpets, and announce Major M'Oormiek. The Major, so confi- 
 dently referred to by Barrington in our last chapter as a high 
 authority on matters continental, was a very shattered remnant of 
 the unhappy "Waleheren expedition. He was a small, mean-lodking, 
 narrow-faced man, with a thin, bald head, and red whiskers. He 
 walked very lame from an injury to his.hip-; " his wound," he called 
 it, though his candour did not exjilain .that it was incurred by being 
 thrown down a hatchway by a brother officer in a drunken brawl. In 
 character he was a saving, penurious creature, without one single 
 sympathy outside his own immediate interests. When some sixteen 
 or eighteen years before the Barringtons had settled in the neigh- 
 bourhood, the Major began to entertain thoughts of matrimony. Old 
 soldiers are rather given to consider marriage as an institution 
 especially intended to solace age and console rheumatism, and so 
 M'Cormick debated with himself whether he had not ■arrived at the 
 suitable time for this indulgence, and also whether Miss Dinah 
 
BABKIlf&TON. 19 
 
 ^arringtoji was not the individual destined to aliare Hs lot and 
 season Us gruel. 
 
 iBut a few years back and his ambition would as soon have aspired 
 to an arch-duchess as to the sister of Barrington, of Barrington 
 Hall, whose realms of social distinction separated [them ; but now, 
 feUen from their high estate, forgotten by the world, and poor, they 
 had come down— at least, he thought ;B0— to a level in whidh theje 
 would be no presumption in his pretensions. Indeed, I half suspect 
 that he iihought there was something very high-minded and generous 
 in his intentions with regard to ithem. At aH. events, there wasa. 
 struggle of some sort in his mind which went on from year to year 
 undecided. !Now, there are men — 'for the most part old bachelors^- 
 to whom an unfinished project is a positive luxury, who like to add, 
 day by day, a few threads to the web of fate, but no more. To the 
 Major it was quite 'enough that "some fine day or other "—so he 
 phrased it — he'd make his ofier, just as he thought how, in the same 
 propitious weather, he'd put a new roof on his cottage, and fill tip that 
 quarry-thole near his gate, into which he had narrowly escaped 
 tumbling some half-dozen times. But, thanks to his caution and pro- 
 crastination, the roof, and the iprojeot, and the quarry-hole were 
 exactly, or very nearly, in the same state they had been eighteen 
 years before. 
 
 Eumour said — as rumour will .always saj whatever has a tinge of 
 ill mature dn it— that Miss Barrington would Jiave accepted him ; 
 vulgar report declared that she would "jump at ithe ofier." Whether 
 this be or not the appropriate way of receiving a matrimonial pro- 
 posal, the lady was not called on to display her activity. He never 
 told his love. 
 
 It is very hard to forgive that secretary, home or foreign, who in 
 the day of his power and patronage could, Ibut did mot, make us easy 
 for life with this mission or that commissionership. It is not easy to 
 believe that our uncle the bishop could not, without any undue 
 strain upon his conscience, have made us something, albeit a clerical 
 error, in his diocese, l)ut infinitely more difficult is it to pardon him 
 who, having suggested dreams .of wedded happiness, still stands 
 hesitating,, doubting, and canvassing — a timid bather, who shivers on 
 theibeaeh, and then puts on his clothes again. 
 
 It took a long. time — it always does in suchcases — ere Miss Bar- 
 rington came to read this man aright. Indeed, the light of her own 
 hopes had dazzled her, and she never saw him Clearly till they were 
 extinguished ; but rwhen the knowledge did come, lit came trebled 
 with, compound interest, and she saw him in all 1;hat displayed his 
 
 c2 
 
20 BAEEIirGTOK. 
 
 miserable selfishness ; and altliough her brother, who found it hard 
 to believe any one bad who had not been tried for a capital felony, 
 would explain away many a meanness by saying, " It is just his way 
 — ^a way, and no more !" she spoke out fearlessly, if not very dis- 
 creetly, and declared she detested him. Of course she averred it was 
 his manners, his want of breeding, and his familiarity that displeased 
 her. He might be an excellent creature — perhaps he was — that was 
 nothing to her ; all his moral qualities might have an interest for his 
 friends, she was a mere acquaintance, and was only concerned for 
 what related to his bearing in society. Then Walchereh was posi- 
 tively odious to her. Some little solace she felt at the thought that 
 the expedition was a failure and inglorious ; but when she listened to 
 the fiftieth time-told tale of fever and ague, she would sigh, not for 
 those who suffered, but over the one that escaped. It is a great 
 blessing to men of uneventful lives and scant imagination when there 
 is any one incident to which memory can refer unceasingly. Like 
 some bold headland last seen at sea, it lives in the mind throughout 
 the voyage. Such was this iU-starred expedition to the Major. It 
 ■dignified his existence to himself, though his memory never soared 
 above the most ordinary details and vulgar incidents. Thus he would 
 maunder on for hours, telling how the ships sailed and parted com- 
 pany, and joined again ; how the old Brennus mistook a signal and 
 put back to Hull, and how the Sarah Beeves, his own transport, was 
 sent after her. Then he grew picturesque about Mushing, as first 
 seen through the dull fogs of the Scheldt, with village spires peeping 
 ■through the heavy vapour, and the strange Dutch language, with its 
 queer names for the vegetables and fruit brought by the boats along- 
 side. 
 
 " Ton won't believe me. Miss Dinah, but, as I sit here, the peaches 
 was like little melons, and the cherries as big as walnuts." 
 
 " They made cherry-bounce out of them, I hope. Sir," said she, with 
 a scornful smile. 
 
 " No, indeed, ma'am," replied he, dull to the sarcasm, " they ate 
 them in a kind of sauce with roast-pig, and mighty good too !" 
 
 But enough of the Major ; and now a word, and only a word, for 
 his companion, abeady alluded to by Barrington. Doctor Dill had 
 been a poor " Dispensary Doctor" for some thirty years, with a small 
 practice, and two or three grand patrons at some miles off, who em- 
 ployed him for the servants, or for the children in " mild cases," and 
 who even extended to him a sort of contemptuous courtesy that 
 serves to mate a proud man a bear, and an humble man a sycophant. 
 
 Dill was the reverse of proud, and took to the other line with much 
 
BAEEINGTON. 21 
 
 kindliness. To have watched him in his daily round you would have 
 said that he liked heing trampled on, and actually enjoyed being 
 crushed. He smiled so blandly, and looked so sweetly under it all, 
 as though it was a kind of moral shampooing, from which he would 
 come out all the fresher and more vigorous. 
 
 The world is certainly generous in its dealings with these tempera- 
 ments ; it indulges them to the top of their hearts, and gives them 
 humiliations to their heart's content. Humour — the same wicked 
 goddess who libelled Miss Barrington — ^hinted that the Doctor was 
 not, within his own walls and under his own roof, the suffering angel 
 the world saw him, and that he occasionally did a little trampling 
 there on his own account. However, Mrs. Dill never complained ; 
 and though the children wore a tremulous terror and submissiveness 
 in their looks, they were only suitable family traits, which all re- 
 dounded to their credit, and made them " so like the Doctor." 
 
 Such were the two worthies who slowly floated along on the current 
 of the river of a calm summer's evening, to visit the Barringtons. As 
 usual, the talk was of their host. They discussed his character, and 
 his habits, and his debts, and the dif&culty he had in raising that little 
 loan ; and in close juxtaposition with this fact, as though pinned on 
 the back of it, his sister's overweening pride and pretension. It had 
 been the Major's threat for years that he'd " take her down a peg 
 one of these days." But either he was mercifully unwilling to per- 
 form the act, or that the suitable hour for it had not come ; but there 
 she remained, and there he left her, not taken down one inch, but 
 loftier and haughtier than ever. As the boat rounded the point 
 from which the cottage was visible through the trees and some of 
 the outhouses could be descried, they reverted to the ruinous state 
 everything was falling into. " Straw is cheap enough, anyhow," said 
 the Major. " He might put a new thatch on that cow-house, and 
 I'm sure a brush of paint wouldn't ruin any one." Oh, my dear 
 reader ! have you not often heard — I know that I have — such com- 
 ments as these, such reflections on the indolence or indifference 
 which only needed so very little to reform, done, too, without trouble 
 or dif&culty, habits that could be corrected, evil ways reformed, and 
 ruinous tendencies arrested, all as it were by a " brush of paint,'" or 
 something just as uncostly ? 
 
 " There doesn't seem to be much doing here, DiU," said M'Cormick, 
 as they landed. " All the boats are drawn up ashore. And faith ! I 
 don't wonder, that old woman is enough to frighten the fish out of the 
 river." 
 
 " Strangers do not always like that sort of thing," modestly re- 
 
22 BAEElNaTOir. 
 
 marked the Doeter— the " always" being peculiarly marked for em- 
 phasiB. " Some -mil say, an inn should be an inn." 
 
 " That's my view of it. What I say is this : I want my bit of fish, 
 and my beefsteak, and my pint of wine, and I don't want to know^ 
 that the landlord's grandfather entertained the king, or that his aunt 
 was a lady-in-waiting. 'Be as high as you like,' says I, 'but don't 
 make the bill so'— eh, DiUt" And he cackled the harsh ungenial 
 laugh which seems the birthright of all sorry jesters ; and the 
 Doctor gave a little laugh too; more from habit, however, than 
 enjoyment. 
 
 " Do you know. Dill," said the Major, dis^gaging himself from 
 the arm which his lameness compelled him to lean on, and standing 
 still in the pathway—*' do you know that I never reach thus far with- 
 out having a sort of struggle with myself whether I won't turn back 
 and go home again. Can you explain that, now F' 
 
 " It is the wound, perhaps, pains you, coming up the hill." 
 
 " It is not the Wound. It's that woman !" 
 
 " Miss Barrington ?" 
 
 " Just so. I have her before me now, sitting up behind the urn 
 there, and saying, ' Have you had tea. Major M'Cormick ?' when she 
 knows well she didn't give it to me. Don't you feel that going up to 
 the table for your cup is for all the world like doing homage ?" 
 
 " Her manners are cold — certainly cold." 
 
 " I wish they wete. It's the fire that's in her I'm afraid of! She 
 has as wicked an eye in her head as ever I saw." 
 
 "She was greatly admired once, I'm told; and she has many 
 remains of beauty." 
 
 " Oh ! for the matter of looks, there's worse. It's her nature, her 
 temper — herself, in fact, I can't endure." 
 
 ""What is it you can't endure, M'Cormick?" cried Barrington, 
 emerging from a side walk where he had just caught the last words. 
 " If it be anything in this poor place of mine, let me hear, that I may 
 have it amended."" 
 
 " How are ye — how are ye ?" said the Major, with a very confused 
 manner. " I was talking politics with Dill. 1 was telling him how 
 I hated them Tories." 
 
 " I believe they are all pretty much alike," said Barrington ; " at 
 least, I knew they were in my day. And though we used to abuse 
 him, and drink all kind of misfortunes to him every day of our lives, 
 there wasn't a truer gentleman, nor a finer fellow in Ireland, than 
 Lord Castlereagh." 
 
ay/yr/?^ 
 
 %iya^J ^:^^^.^^^^ ■ 
 
EAEEIirGTON. 23 
 
 " I'm sure of it. I've often heard the same remark," chimedin Dill. 
 " It's a pity you didn't think so at the time of the Union," said 
 M'Cormick, with a sneer. 
 
 " Many of us did ; but it would not make us sell our country. But 
 what need is there grang back to- those times, and things that ean't 
 be helped now ? Conafi in and hare a cup of tea. I see my sister is 
 waiting for us." 
 
 "Why was it that Miss Barrington, on that evening, was grander 
 and statelier than ever ? "Was it some anticipation of the meditated 
 change in their station had impressed her manner with more of pride ?, 
 I know not ; but true it is she received her visitors with a reserve that 
 was actually chilling. To no end did Barrington exert himself to con- 
 ceal or counteract this fisigidity.. In all our moral chemistry we have 
 never yet hit upon an antidote to a chilling, reception. 
 
 The Doctor was used to this freezing process, and did not suffer like 
 his companion. To him, life was. a huge ice-pail ; but he defied frost- 
 bite, and bore it. The Major, however, chafed and fidgeted under 
 the treatment, and muttered to himself very yengeful sentimenta 
 about that. peg he had determined to take her- down from. 
 
 " I was hoping to be able to offer you a .nosegay, dear lady," said 
 Dill — this was his customary mode of address to her, an ingenious 
 blending of affection! with deference, but in which the stronger accent 
 on the last word- showed the deference tocpredominate — :" but the 
 rain has come so late, there's not. a stock in^the garden fit to present 
 to you." , ■ 
 
 " It is jtjpt as well. Sir. I detest gillyflowers.:'' . 
 The Major's eyesjsparkled vrith a spiteful ddight, for he was sorely- 
 jealous ofthe Doctor's ease under difficulties.' 
 " "We have, indeed;, a few moss-roses." 
 
 " Ifone to be compared to our own. Sir. Do not. think of iti.". 
 The Major felt that his- vas not a giving- disposition, and conse- 
 quently it exempted him from rubs and rebuffs of this sort. Mesm- 
 while, unabashed by failure, the Doctor essayed once more : " Mrs^ 
 Dill is only waiting^to have the car mended, to come over and pay 
 her dutiful respects to you. Miss Dinah." 
 
 " Pray tell hernot tO' mind it. Doctor Dill," replied she, sharply^ 
 " or to wait till the fourth of next month, which wiLL make it exactly 
 a year since her last visit, and her call can be then an annual one, 
 like the tax-gatherer's." 
 
 " Bother them for taxes altogether," chimed in Barrington, whose 
 ear only caught the last word. " Tou haven't done with the county 
 
24 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 cess when there's a fellow at you for tithes ; and they're talking of a 
 poor-rate." 
 
 " Tou may perceive, Doctor Dill, that your medicines have not 
 achieved a great success against my brother's deafness." 
 
 "We were all so at "Walcheren," broke in M'Cormick ; "vrhen 
 we'd come out of the trenches we couldn't hear for hours." 
 
 " My voice may be a shrill one, Major M'Cormick, but I'll have 
 you to believe that it has not destroyed my brother's tympanum." 
 
 " It's not the tympanum is engaged, dear lady ; it's the Eustachean 
 tube is the cause here. There's a passage leads down from the in- 
 ternal ear " 
 
 " I declare, Sir, I have just as little taste for anatomy as for forti- 
 fication ; and though I sincerely wish you could cure my brother, as 
 I also wish these gentlemen could have taken "Walcheren, I have 
 not the slightest desire to know how." 
 
 " I'll beg a little more tea in this, Ma'am," said the Major, holding 
 out his cup. 
 
 " Do you mean water. Sir ? Did you say it was too strong?" 
 " "With your leave, I'll take it a trifle stronger," said he, with a 
 malicious twinkle in his eye, for he knew all the oflFence his speech 
 implied. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so. Major M'Cormick. I'm happy to 
 know that your nerves are stronger than at the time of that expe- 
 dition you quote with such pleasure. Is yours to your liking. Sir ?" 
 " I'll ask for some water, dear lady," broke in DUl, who began 
 to think that the fire was hotter than usual. " As I said to Mrs. 
 Dill, ' Molly,' says I, ' how is it that I never drink such tea any- 
 where as at the ' " He stopped, for he was going to say, the 
 
 Barringtons, and he trembled at the liberty; and he dared not 
 say the Fisherman's Home, lest it should be thought he was recal- 
 ling their occupation ; and so, after a p^use, and a cough, he stam- 
 mered out — " ' at the sweet cottage.' " Nor was his confusion the 
 less at perceiving how she had appreciated his difficulty, and ^iras 
 smiling at it. 
 
 " Very few strangers in these parts lately, I believe," said M'Cor- 
 mick, who knew that his remark was a dangerous one. 
 
 "I fancy none. Sir," said she, palmly. "We, at least, have no 
 customers, if that be the name for them." 
 
 " It's natural, indeed, dear lady, you shouldn't know how they are 
 called," began the Doctor, in a fawning tone, " reared and brought 
 up as you were." 
 The cold, steady stare of Miss Barrington arrested his speech, and. 
 
BABEoaToir. 25 
 
 though he made immense efforts to recover himself, there was that ia 
 her look which totally overcame him. " Sit down to your rubber, 
 Sir," said she, in a whisper, that seemed to thriU through his veins. 
 " You will find yourself far more ' at home at the odd trick there, 
 than attempting to console me about my lost honours." And with, 
 this fierce admonition, she gave a little nod, half in adieu, half in 
 admonition, and swept haughtily out of the room. 
 
 M'Cormick heaved a sigh as the door closed after her, which very 
 plainly bespoke how much he felt the relief. 
 
 " My poor sister is a bit out of spirits this evening," said Bar- 
 rington, who merely saw a certain show of constraint over his com- 
 pany, and never guessed the cause. " We've had some unpleasant 
 letters, and one thing or another to annoy us, and if she doesn't 
 join us at supper, you'll excuse her, I know, M'Cormick." 
 
 " That we wUl, with " He was going to add, " with a heart 
 
 and a half," for he felt, what to him was a rare sentiment, " grati- 
 tude," but Dill chimed in : 
 
 *' Of course, we couldn't expect she'd appear. I remarked she was 
 nervous when we came in. I saw an expression in her eye " 
 
 " So did I, faith," muttered M'Cormick, " and I'm not a doctor." 
 
 " And here's our whist-table," said Barrington, bustling about ; 
 '' and there's a bit of supper ready there for us in that room, and 
 we'll help ourselves, for I've sent Darby to bed. And now give me 
 a hand with these cards, for they've all got mixed together." 
 
 Barrington's task was the very wearisome one of trying to sort, 
 out an available pack from some half-dozen of various sizes and 
 colours. 
 
 " Isn't this for aU the world like raising a regiment out of twenty 
 volunteer corps ?" said M'Cormick^ 
 
 " Dill would call it an hospital of incurables," said Barrington. 
 " Have you got a knave of spades, and a seven ? Oh dear, dear ! 
 the knave, with the head off him ! I begin to suspect we must look 
 up a new pack." There \fas a tone of misgiving in the way he said 
 this ; for it implied a reference to his sister, and all its consequences. 
 Affecting to search for new cards in his own room, therefore, he arose 
 and went out. 
 
 " I wouldn't live in a slavery like that," muttered the Major, " to 
 be King of Prance." 
 
 " Something has occurred here. There is some latent source of 
 irritation," said Dill, cautiously. " Barrington's own manner ia 
 fidgety and uneasy. I have my suspicion matters are going on but 
 poorly with them." 
 
26 EAEBINGTOH". 
 
 "While this sage diagnosis was being' uttered, M'Cormick had 
 taken' a short excursion into the adjoining room, from, which he re- 
 turned, eating a pickled onion. " It's the old story ; the cold roast 
 loin and the dish of salad. Listen ! Did you hear that shout ?" 
 
 " I thought I heard one a while back; but I fancied afterwards it 
 was only the noiae of the river over the stones." 
 
 " It is some fellows drawing the- river ; they poach under his' very- 
 windows, and he never sees them." 
 
 " I'm afraid we're not to have our rubber this evening," said Dill, 
 mournfully. 
 
 " There's a thing, now, I don't understand !" said M'Cormick, ia 
 a low but bitter voice. " ISo man is obliged to see company,, but 
 when he does do it), he oughtn't to be running- about for a tumbler 
 here and a mustard'-pot there. There's the noise again; it's fellows 
 robbing the salmon-weir !"' 
 
 " No rubber to-night, I perceive that," reiterated the Doctor, still 
 intent upon the one theme. 
 
 "A thousand pardons' I ask from each of you," cried Barrington, 
 coming^ hurriedly in, with a somewhat flushed face ; " but I've haA 
 such a hunt for these cardsi When I put a thing away, now-a-days, 
 it's as good as gone to me, for I remember nothing. But here, we 
 are, now, all right." 
 
 The party, like men eager to retrieve lost time, were soon deep in 
 their game, very little being uttered, save such remarks as the tjontest. 
 called for. The Major was of that order of players who .firmly 
 believe fortune will desert them if they don't whine and complain of 
 their luck, and so everything from him was a lamentation. The 
 Doctor, who regarded whist pathologically, no more gave up a game 
 than he would a patient. He had witnessed marvellous recoveries in 
 the most hopeless cases, and he- had been rescued by a " revoke" in 
 the last hour. TTnlike eaeh^ Biarrington was one who- liked to chat 
 over his game, as he would over his wine. Not that he took little in- 
 terest in it, but it had- no power to absorb and engross him. If a man^ 
 derive very grea* pleasure from a pastime in which, after years and 
 years of practice, he can attain no eminence nor any mastery, you 
 may be almost certain he is one of an amiable temperament. Nothing 
 short of real goodness of nature could go- on deriving enjoyment from 
 a pursuit associated with continual defeats. Such a one must be 
 hopeful, hemust be submissive, he must have no touch of ungenerous 
 jealousy in his nature, amd, withal, a zeai'ou* wish to do better. Now 
 he who can be all thesfr, in anything, is no bad fellow. 
 
 If Barrington, therefore, was beaten, he bore it well. Cards were 
 
BABErsraTON. 27 
 
 often enough againat him, his play was always so ; and though the 
 Doctor had words of bland consolation for disaster, such as the habita 
 of his craft taught him, the Major was a pitiless adversary, who. 
 never omitted the opportunity of disinteEring all his opponents' 
 blunders, and singing a song of triumph over them. Bat so it is — 
 tot genera hominv/m — so many kinds of whist-players are there ! 
 
 Hour after hour went over, and it was late in the night. None felt 
 disposed to sup — at least none proposed it. The stakes were small it 
 is true, but small things are great to little men^ and Barrington's 
 guests were always- the winners. 
 
 " I believe if I was to be a good player — which I know in my heart 
 I never shall," said Barrington, " that my luck would swamp me after 
 all. Look at that hand now, and say is there a trick in it ?" As he 
 said this; he spreaxl out the cards of his " dummy" on the table, with 
 the disconsolation of one thoroughly beaten. 
 
 ""Well, it might be worse," said DiU, consolingly. "There's a 
 queen of diamond's; and I wouldn't : say, if you could get an oppor- 
 tunity to trump theclub " 
 
 " Let him try it," broke in the merciless Major ; "let him just try 
 it! My name isn't Dan M'Cormick if he'll win one card in that hand. 
 There now, I lead the ace of clubs. Play!" 
 
 " Patience, Major, patience ; let me look over my hand. I'm bad 
 enough at the best, but I'U be worse if you hurry me. Is that a king 
 or a knave I see there ?" 
 
 "It's neither; it's the queen!" barked out the Major. 
 
 "Doctor, you'll have to look after my eyes as well as my ears. In- 
 deed, I scarcely know which is the worst. "Was not that a voice 
 outside?" 
 
 " I should think it was ; there have been fellows shouting there the 
 whole evening. I suspect they don't leave you many fish in this part 
 of the river." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," interposed Dill, blandly, " but you've taken 
 up mycard by mistake." 
 
 "Whilef Barrington was excusing himself, and trying to recover his 
 lost clue to the game, there came a violent knocking at the door,, and 
 a loud voice called out, " Holloa ! "Will some of ye open the door, or 
 must I put my foot through it ?" 
 
 " There is somebody there," said Barrington, quietly, for he had 
 now caught the words correctly ; and taking a candle, he hastened out. 
 
 "At last," cried a stranger, as the door opened — " at last! Doyou 
 know that we've been full twenty minutes here, listening to your 
 animated discussion over the odd trick ? — I, fainting with hunger, and 
 
28 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 my frien'd, with pain." And so saying, lie assisted another to limp 
 forward, who leaned on his arm and moved with the greatest diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 The mere sight of one in suffering repressed any notion of a re- 
 joinder to this somewhat rude ■ speech, and Barrington led the way 
 into the room. ■ ' ' > ■ ' 
 
 "Have you met with an accident ?''. asked he, as he placed the 
 sufferer on a sofa. • ' .r .. , , . 
 
 "Yes,", interposed , the', first-speakerj :." he slipped down one of 
 those rocks into the river, and has sprained, if he has, not broken, 
 something." , , ■ ''.--: -',-',,,;■.,. > ,■...... ; 
 
 • ,"It,is our good fortune 'to. have advice here ; this gentleman is a 
 
 do'Cto'r."' ■ ' ., -u ■'.':■'.: : ■ -i. ■ -t r -i, ■ 
 
 ■ ".Of 'the Eoyal College, and an M'tD., of Aberdpen .besides," said 
 Dni, with a professional smile, : while, turning back his cuffs, he pro- 
 ceeded to rem,ove the shoe .and' stocking of ,his.patient. . 
 - . " Do;i't be afraid of hurting, but; just , tell, me at once what's the 
 inJEitter^" said the young fellow, down Whose cheeks great drops were 
 rolling: in yhisagoliy. '■ ■. : ' ; '; • 
 
 . ."There is no pronouncing- at once ; there is great tumefactionhere. 
 It may be a mere sprain," or ittnay bea fracture of -the fibula. simple, 
 6r'afra'cture with luxation.'.', - ; ; . . ■ ■ .. . 
 
 ".Veil; if jQU. can't. tell the injury,:tell us what'sto^be done^for it, 
 G-et him to bed, I suppose, first ?" said the friend. . , • ■.• 
 
 " By all means to -bed,- and coldapiplications pnthe affected,part." 
 
 ''Here's. a room, all ready, and.athaiid,''.said,-Barrington, opening 
 the. doorjinto ia little, chamber replete with comfort and propriety. 
 
 " Come," said the first- speaker, "Tred, all this is very snug; one 
 might 'have fallen upon worse quartfers."' . And so saying, he assisted 
 his friendforward, and- deposited him, upQn the bed. 
 
 While the Doctor busied himself with the medicaL cares for his 
 patient, and- arranged with due skiU.-the appliances ,. to relieve his 
 present suffering, the other stranger related ■ how they had lost their 
 way, having first of all taken the ;wrong bank of. the river, and been 
 obliged to retrace their steps upwards of three miles to retrieve their 
 mistake. 
 
 " Where were you going to ?" asked Barrington. 
 
 " We were in search of a little inn they had told us of, called the 
 ' rishermau's Home'. I conclude we have reached it at last, and you 
 are the host, I take it?" 
 
 Barrington bowed assent. 
 
 " And these gentlemen are visitors here." But without waiting 
 
<s>?v 
 
 'Uy^ 
 
BAEEINGTOir. 2£> 
 
 for any reply — difficult at all times, for he spoke with great rapidity 
 and continual change of topic — he now stooped down to whisper 
 something to the sick man. "My friend thinks he'll do capitally 
 now, and, if we leave him, that he'll soon drop asleep ; so I vote we 
 give him the chance." Thus saying, he made a gesture for the others 
 to leave, following them up as they went, almost like one enforcing 
 an order. 
 
 " If I am correct in my reading, you are a soldier, sir,'' said Bar- 
 rington, when they reached the outer room, "and this gentleman 
 here is a brother officer — Major M'Cormick." 
 
 "Pull pay, eh?" 
 
 " No, I am an old "Walcheren man." 
 
 " "Walcheren — "Walcheren — why that sounds like Malplaquet or 
 Blenheim ! Where the deuce was "Walcheren ? Didn't believe that 
 there was an old tumbril of that affair to the fore still. Tou were 
 all licked there, or you died of the ague, or jaundice ? Oh, dummy 
 whist, as I live ! "Who's the unlucky dog has got the dummy ? — bad as 
 Walcheren, by Jove ! Isn't that a supper I see laid out there ? Don't 
 I smell Stilton from that room ?" 
 
 " If you'll do us the honour to join us " 
 
 " That I will, and astonish you with an appetite, too ! We break- 
 fasted at a beastly hole called Graigue, and tasted nothing since, ex- 
 cept a few peaches I stole out of an old fellow's garden on the river- 
 side — ' Old Dan the miser,' a country fellow called him." i 
 
 " I have the honour to have afforded you the entertainment you 
 speak of," said M'Cormick, smarting with anger. 
 
 " AU right ! The peaches were excellent— would have been better 
 if riper. I'm afraid I smashed a window of yours ; it was a stone I 
 shied at a confounded dog, a sort of terrier. Pickled onions and 
 walnuts, by all that's civilised ! And so this is the ' Ksherman's Home,' 
 and you the fisherman, eh ! Well, why not show a light or a lantern 
 over the door? who the deuce is to know that this is a place of 
 entertainment ? We only guessed it at last." 
 
 " May I help you to some mutton," said BarrLngton, more amused 
 than put out by his guest's discursiveness. * 
 
 " By all means. But don't carve it that way : cut it lengthwise, as 
 if it were the saddle, which it ought to have been. Tou must tell me 
 where you got this sherry. I have tasted nothing like it for many a 
 day — real brown sherry. I suppose you know how they brown it ? 
 it's not done by sugar — that's a vulgar error. It's done by boiling; 
 they boil down so many butts, and reduce them to about a fourth or 
 a fifth. Tou haven't got any currant-jelly, have you ? it is just as 
 
30 BABEINaxON. 
 
 good with ^cold mutton as Lot And thenatiisitbe mine thus reduced 
 they use for colouring matter. I got up all my Bberry esperiences 
 on the spot." 
 
 " The wine you .approve of has been in my -cellar about &e-and- 
 forty years." 
 
 "It -would not if I'd have been your .neighbour, o-ely upon that. 
 I'd have secured every bottle of it for our mess ; and mind, whatever 
 remains of it is mine." 
 
 " Might I make bold to remark," said Dill, interposing, " that we 
 are the guests of my friendihere on this occasion." 
 
 "Eh, what— guests?" 
 
 "I am proud enough to believe that you wiU not refuse me the 
 honour of your company ; for though an innkeeper, I write myself 
 gentleman," said Barrington, blandly, though .not without emotion. 
 
 " I should think you might," broke in the stranger, heartily ; " and 
 I'd say the man who had a doubt about your claims had very little 
 of his own. And now a word of apology for the mode of our entrance 
 here, and to introduce myself. I am Colonel 'Hunter, of the .2Iat 
 Hussars ; my friend is a young subaltern of the regiment." 
 
 A moment before, and all the awkwardness of hia position was 
 painful to Barrington. He felt that the traveller was there ibj a 
 right, free to order, condemn, and criticise as he pleased. The few 
 words of explanation, given in.aU the frankness of a soldier and with 
 the tact of a -gentleman, relieved this -embarraasmanJ;, and he was 
 himself again. As for JM'XDormiok and DiU, the mere announcement 
 of the regiment he commanded seemed to.mave^and impress them. 
 It was one of those .corps egpeoiallyknown in the service for the rank 
 and fortune of its - officers. The Prince himself was their ColiOnel, 
 and they had acquired, a widemotoriety forexclusiveness and pride, 
 which, v?hen treated by unfriendly critics, assumed a shape leas 
 favourable still. 
 
 Colonel Hunter, if he were to be taken as a type of his regiment, 
 might have rebutted a gaoddeal of this floating criticism ; he had afine 
 honest countenance,! a rich mellow voiee, and a sort of easy jollity in 
 rftauner, that spoke well both for his spirits and his temper. He did, 
 it is true, occasionally chafe against some susceptible spot or other 
 of those around him, but there was no malice .prepense iu it any 
 more than there is intentional offence in the passage of a strong man 
 through a crowd ; so he elbowed.his way, sand pushed on in conversa- 
 tion, never so much as .suspecting that he jostled .any one in his 
 pal^. 
 
 Both Baxriagton and Hunter were inveterate' apoEtsmen, and they 
 
BAEEINGTQir. 31 
 
 ranged over hiintiiig-fieliis, and grouse mountains, and partridge 
 stubble, and trout streams, with all the zest of men who feel a sort of 
 mesmeric brotherhood in the interchange of their experiences. Long 
 after the Major and the Doctor had taken their Jeave, they sat there 
 recounting stories of their seyeral adventures, • and xecalling incidents 
 of flood and field. 
 
 In xeturn for a cordial invitation to Hunter to 'stay and fish ±he 
 river for. some days, Barrington pledged himself to visit .the Colonel 
 the first tim^ he should go up to Kilkenny. 
 
 " And I'll mount you. Tou shall have a horse I never lent in my 
 life. I'll put you on ' Trumpeter' — sire Sir iBbrcules — no mistake 
 there ; would carry sixteen stone with the fastest haunds in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Barrington shook his head, and smiled, as he said, " It's two-and- 
 twenty years since I sat a fence. I' m afraid I'll not revive the iame of 
 my horsemanship by appearing:a;gain.inihe saddle." 
 
 ".Why, what age do you call yourself?" 
 
 " Eighty-three, if I live to August nest." 
 
 " I'd not have guessed you within teii years ofTt. I've just passed 
 fifty, and abeady I begin'to look for a horse "with'more bone ibeneath 
 the knee, and more substance across theiloine." 
 
 " Theseareionlypnefflonitory -symptoms, after aR," said Barrington, 
 laughing. " You've manya. day ibeifore youcomeitoa fourteen-hand 
 cob and a kitchen chainto mount him." 
 
 Hunter laughed at' the picture, and dashed away, ia his own half- 
 reckless way, to (Other 'topics. Tie talked of his ^regiment proudly, 
 and told iBarTington what ;a splendid set of young fellows were his 
 officers. " I'U show you such a mess," said he, " as no corps in the 
 ■service can match." While he talked of 'their high-hearted and 
 generous natures,, and withi enthusiasm of the life of a soldier, Barring- 
 ton could scarcely refrain from speaking of Ms own "boy," the son 
 from whom he had hoped so much, and whose loss had been the 
 death-blow to all his ambitions. There were, however, circumstances 
 in that story which sealed his lips ; and though the father never 
 believed one syllable of the allegations against his son — though he 
 had paid the penalty of a King's Bench mandamus and imprisonment 
 for horse-whipping the editor who had aspersed his "boy," the 
 world and the world's verdict were against him, and he did not dare 
 to revive the memory of a name against which all the severities of the 
 press had once been directed, and public opinion had condemned 
 with all its weight and power. 
 
 " I see that I am wearying you," said Hunter, as he remarked the 
 
32 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 grave and saddened expression that now stole over Barrington's face. 
 " I ought to have remembered what an hour it was — more than half- 
 past two." And, without waiting to hear a reply, he shook his 
 host's hand cordially and hurried off to his room. 
 
 "While Barrington busied himself in locking up the wine, and 
 putting away half-finished decanters — cares that his sister's watchful- 
 ness very' imperatively exacted — he heard, or fancied he heard, a voice 
 from the room where the sick man lay. lie opened the door very 
 gently and looked in. 
 
 " All right," said the youth. " I'm not asleep, nor did I want to 
 sleep, for I have been listening to you and the Colonel these two 
 hours, and with rare pleasure, I can tell you. The Colonel would 
 have gone a hundred mUes to meet a man like yourself, so fond of 
 the field and such a thorough sportsman." 
 
 " Tes, I was so once," sighed Barrington, for already had come a 
 sort of reaction to the late excitement. 
 
 " Isn't the Colonel a fine fellow ?" said the young man, as eager 
 to relieve the awkwardness of a sad theme as to praise one he loved. 
 " Don't you like him ?" 
 
 "That I do!" said Barrington, heartily. " His fine genial spirit 
 has put me in better temper with myself than I fancied was in my 
 nature to be. "We are to have some trout-fishing together, and I 
 promise you it shan't be my fault if Tie doesn't like me." 
 
 " And may I be of the party — ^may I go vfith you ?" 
 
 " Only get well of your accident, and you shall do whatever you 
 like. By the way, did not Colonel Hunter serve in India ?" 
 
 " For fifteen years. He has only left Bengal within a few 
 months.'' 
 
 " Then he can probably help me to some information. He may be 
 able to tell me Good night, good night," said he hurriedly ; " to- 
 morrow will be time enough to think of this." 
 
BAEEINGTON- 33 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 FEED OONTEKS. 
 
 Vert soon after daybreak the Colonel was up and at the bedside 
 of his young friend. 
 
 " Sorry to wake you, Ered," said he, gently, " but I have just got 
 an urgent despatch, requiring me to set out at once for Dublin, and 
 I didn't like to go without asking how you get on." 
 
 " Oh, much better, Sir. I can move the foot a little, and I feel 
 assured it's only a severe sprain." 
 
 " That's all right. Take your own time, and don't attempt to move 
 about too early. Tou are in capital quarters here, and will be well 
 looked after. There is only one difficulty, and I don't exactly see 
 how to deal with it. Our host is a reduced gentleman, brought down 
 to keep an inn for support, but what benefit he can derive from it is 
 not so very clear ; for when I asked the man who fetched me hot 
 water this morning for my bill, he replied that his master told him I 
 was to be his guest here for a week, and not on any account to accept 
 money from me. Ireland is a very strange place, and we are learning 
 something new in it every day, but this is the strangest thing I have 
 met yet." 
 
 " In my case this would be impossible. I must of necessity give a 
 deal of trouble — not to say that it would add unspeakably to my 
 annoyance to feel that I could not ask freely for what I wanted." 
 
 " I have no reason to suppose, mind you, that you are to be dealt 
 with as I have been, but it would be well to bear in mind who and 
 what these people are." 
 
 " And get away from them as soon as possible," added the young 
 fellow, half peevishly. 
 
 " Nay, nay, Pred ; don't be impatient. You'll be delighted with 
 the old fellow, who is a heart-and-soul sportsman. What station he 
 once occupied I can't guess, but in the remarks he makes about horses 
 and hounds, all his knowing hints on stable management and the 
 treatment of young cattle, one would say that he must have had a 
 large fortune and kept a great establishment." 
 
 In the half self-sufficient toss of the head which received this 
 
34 BABBINOTON. 
 
 speech, it was plain that the young man thought his Colonel was 
 easily imposed on, and that such pretensions as these would have 
 very little success^ with Mm. 
 
 " I have no douht some of your brother officers will take a run 
 down to see how you get on, and, if so, I'll send over a hamper of 
 wine, or something of the kind, that you can manage to make him 
 accept." 
 
 " It will not be very difficult, I opine," said the young man, 
 laughingly. 
 
 "No, no," rejoined the other, misconstruing the drift of his words. 
 " You have plenty of tact, Ered. Tou'U do the thing with all due 
 delicacy. And. now, good-by. Let me hear haw, you. fere, here." 
 And with a hearty farewell. they parted. 
 
 Uhere was, none astir in the cottage but Darby as the Colonel set 
 out to gain the high road, where tlie post-horses awaited him. Trom 
 Daiby, however, as he went along, he gathered much of his host's 
 former history. It was with astonishment he learned that the 
 splendid house of Barrington Hall, where he had been dining with 
 an Earl a few days ago, was the old family seat of that poor inn- 
 keeper; that the noble deer-park had once acknowledged him for 
 master. " And will again, plase God.!" burst in Darby, who thirsted 
 for an opportunity to launch out into law, and all its. bright hopes and 
 prospects. 
 
 " "We have a. record on trial in Trinity Term, and an argument 
 before the twelve Judges, and the case is as plain as the nose on your 
 honour's face ; for it was ruled by Chief Baron Medge, in the great 
 cause of ' Peters against Todd, a widow,' that a settlement couldn't 
 be broke by an estreat" 
 
 " Tou are quite a lawyer, I see," said the Colonel. 
 
 " I wish I was. I'd rather be a Judge on the bench than a King 
 on his throne." 
 
 "And yet I am beginning to suspect law may have cost your 
 master dearly." 
 
 " It's not ten, nor twenty — no, nor thirty — thousand pounds would 
 see him through it !" said Darby, with a triumph in his tone that 
 seemed to proclaim a very proud declaration. " There's families 
 would be comfortable for life with just what we spent upon special 
 juries." 
 
 " "Well, as you tell me he has no family, the injury has been all 
 his own." 
 
 " That's true. "We're the last of the ould stock," said he, sorrow- 
 fully ; and little more passed between them, till the Colonel, on part- 
 
BAEEINGTON. 35 
 
 ing, put a couple of guineas in Ms hand, and enjoined him to look 
 after the young friend he had left behind him. 
 
 It is now my task to introduce iiis young gentleman to my readers. 
 Prederict Conyers, a Comet in his Majesty's Hussars, was the only 
 son of a very distinguished officer, Lieutenant-Gteneral Conyers, a 
 man who had not alone served with great reputation in the field, but 
 held offices of high political trust in India, the country where aU his 
 life had been passed. Holding a high station as a political resident 
 at a native court, wielding great power, and surrounded by an unde- 
 viating homage, General Conyers saw his son growing up to manhood' 
 with everything that could foster pride and minister to self-exaltation. 
 around him. It was not alone the languor and indolence of an 
 Eastern life that he had' to dread for him, but the haughty temper 
 and overbearing spirit so sure to come out of habits of domination, in. 
 very early life. 
 
 Though he had done all that he could to educate his son^ by master» 
 brought at immense cost from Europe, the really important element 
 of education — the self-control and respect for others' rights — only to 
 be acquired by daily life and intercourse with equals, this he could 
 not supply; and he saw, at last, that the project he had so long 
 indulged, of keeping his son with him, must be abandoned. Perhaps 
 the rough speech of an old comrade helped to dispel the illusion, as 
 he asked, "Are you bringing up that boy to be a Eajah?" His 
 first thought was to send him to one of the Universities, his great 
 desire being that the young man should feel some ambition for public 
 life and its distinctions. He bethought him, however, that while the- 
 youth of Oxford and Cambridge enter upon a college career, trained 
 by all the discipline of our public schools, Ered would approach the 
 ordeal without any such preparation whatever. Without one to exert 
 authority over him, little accustomed to the exercise of self-restraint, 
 the experiment was too perilous. 
 
 To place him, therefore, where, from the very nature of the position, 
 some guidance and control would be exercised, and where, by the 
 working of that model democracy — a mess — he would be taught to 
 repress self-sufficiency and presumption, he determined on the army, 
 and obtained a cometcy in a regiment commanded by one who had 
 long served on his own staff. To most young fellows such an opening 
 in life would have seemed all that was delightful and. enjoyable. To 
 be just twenty, gazetted to a splendid cavalry corps, with a father 
 rich enough and generous enough to say, " Live like the men about 
 you, and. don't be afraid that your cheques will come back to you," 
 these are great aids to a very pleasant existence. Whether the 
 
 d2 
 
36 BABEIlf&TON. 
 
 enervation of that life of Oriental indulgence had now become a 
 nature to him, or whether he had no liking for the service itself, or 
 whether the change from a condition of almost princely state to a 
 position of mere equality with others, chafed and irritated him, but 
 so is it, he did not " take to" the regiment, nor the regiment to 
 him. 
 
 'Now it is a fact, and not a very agreeable fact either, that a man 
 with a mass of noble qualities may fail to attract that kindliness and 
 good feeling towards him which a far less worthy individual, merely 
 by certain traits, or by the semblance of them, of a yielding, passive 
 nature, is almost sure to acquire. 
 
 Conyers was generous, courageous, and loyal, in the most chivalrous 
 sense of that word, to every obligation of friendship. He was emi- 
 nently truthful and honourable; but he had two qualities whose 
 baneful influence would disparage the very best of gifts. He was " im- 
 perious," and, in the phrase of his brother officers, " he never gave 
 in." Some absurd impression had been made on him, as a child, that 
 obstinacy and persistency were the noblest of attributes, and that, 
 having said a thing, no event or circumstance could ever occur to in- 
 duce a change of opinion. 
 
 Such a quality is singularly unfitted to youth, and marvellously 
 out of place in a regiment ; hence was it that the " Eajah," as he was 
 generally called by his comrades, had few intimates, and not one 
 friend amongst them. 
 
 If I have dwelt somewhat lengthily on these traits, it is because 
 their possessor is one destined to be much before us in this history. 
 I will but chronicle one other feature. I am sorry it shovild be a dis- 
 qualifying one. Owing in great measure, perhaps altogether, to his 
 having been brought up in the East, where Hindoo craft and subtlety 
 were familiarised to his mind from infancy, he was given to suspect 
 that few things were ever done from the motives ascribed to them, 
 and that under the open game of life was another concealed game, 
 which was the real one. As yet, this dark and pernicious distrust 
 had only gone the length of impressing him with a sense of his own 
 consummate acuteness, an amount of self-satisfaction, which my 
 reader may have seen tinging the few words he exchanged with his 
 Colonel before separating. 
 
 Let us now see him as he sits in a great easy-chair, his sprained 
 ankle resting on another, in a little honeysuckle-covered arbour of 
 the garden, a table covered with books, and fresh flowers beside him, 
 while Darby stands ready to serve him from the breakfast-table 
 where a very tempting meal is already spread out. 
 
1 ^-^ — ^'^t-l^f.d^ 
 
 
BAEEUfGTOir. 37 
 
 " So, then, I can't see your master, it seems," said Conyers, half 
 peevishly. 
 
 " Paix you can't ; he's ten miles oif by this. He got a letter by 
 the post, and set out half an hour after for Kilkenny. He went to 
 your honour's door, but seeing you was asleep he wouldn't wake you ; 
 ' but Darby,' says he, ' take care of that young gentleman, and mind,' 
 says he, ' that he wants for nothing.' " 
 
 " Very thoughtful of Mm — very considerate indeed," said the youth ; 
 but in what precise spirit it is not easy to say. " "Who lives about 
 here ? What gentlemen's places are there, I mean ?" 
 
 " There's Lord Carrackmore, and Sir Arthur Godfrey, and Moore- 
 of Ballyduff, and Mrs. Powerscroft of the G-rove " 
 
 " Do any of these great folk ever come down here ?" 
 
 Darby would like to have given a ready assent — he would have- 
 been charmed to say that they came daily, that they made the place 
 a continual' rendezvous; but as he saw no prospect of being able to 
 give his fiction even twenty-four hours' currency, he merely changed 
 from one leg to the other, and, in a tone of apology, said, " Betimes 
 they does, when the sayson is fine." 
 
 " Who are the persons who are most frequently here ?" 
 
 " Those two that you saw last night — the Major and Doctor Dill.. 
 They're up here every second day, fishing, and eating their dinner 
 with the master." 
 
 "Is the fishing good?" 
 
 "Thebest in Ireland." 
 
 "And what shooting is there — any partridges ?" 
 
 " Partridges, be gorra ! Tou couldn't see the turnips for them."' 
 
 " And woodcocks ?" 
 
 " Is it woodcocks ! The sky is black with the sight of , them." 
 
 "Any lions?" 
 
 "Well, maybe an odd one now and then," said Darby, half apolo- 
 gising for the scarcity. 
 
 There was an inefiable expression of self-satisfaction in Conyers's 
 face at the subtlety with which he had drawn Darby into this admis- 
 sion ; and the delight in his own acuteness led him to ofier the poor 
 fellow a cigar, which he took with very grateful thanks. 
 
 " From what you tell me, then, I shall find this place stupid enough 
 till I am able to be up and about, eh ? Is there any one can play 
 chess hereabout ?" 
 
 " Sure there's Miss Dinah ; she's a great hand at it they tell me." 
 
 " And who is Miss Dinah ? Is she young — is she pretty ?" 
 
 Darby gave a very cautious look all around him, and then closing 
 
38 BAEEIirGTON. 
 
 one eye, -so as to give his face a look of intense cunning, he nodded 
 very significantly twice. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 "I mane that she'll never see sixty; and for the matter of 
 beauty " 
 
 " Oh, you've said quite enough ; I'm not curious about her looks. 
 Now for another point. If I should want to get away from this, 
 what other inn or hotel is there in the neighbonrhood ?" 
 
 " There's Joe M'Cabe's, at Inistioge ; but you are bettei^ where you 
 are. "Where will you see fresh butter like that ? and look at the 
 cream, the spoon wUl stand in it. Par and near it's given np to her 
 that nobody can make coffee like Miss Dinah; and when you taste them 
 trout you'll teU me if they're not fit for the king." 
 
 " Everything is excellent— could not be better ; but there's a diffi- 
 culty. There's a matter which to me at least makes a stay here most 
 unpleasant. My friend tells me that he could not get his biH — that 
 he was accepted as a guest. Now I can't permit this " 
 
 " There it is, now," said Darby, approaching the table, and droppiug 
 his voice to a confidential whisper. " That's the master's way. If he 
 gets a stranger to sit down with him at dinner or supper, he may eat 
 and drink as long as he plases, and sorra sixpence he'll pay ; and it's 
 that same ruins us, nothing else, for it's then he'll call for the best 
 sherry, and that ould Madeira that's worth a guinea a bottle. What's 
 the use, after all, of me inflaming the bill on the next traveller, and 
 puttiug down everything maybe double ? And worse than all," con- 
 tinued he, in a tone of horror, " let him only hear any one com- 
 plain about his bill, or saying, ' What's this ?' or 'I didn't get that,' 
 out he'll come, as mighty and as grand as the Lord-Liftinint, and say, 
 'I'm sorry. Sir, that we failed to make this place agreeable to you. 
 Will you do me the favour not to mind the bill at aU ?' and with that 
 he'd tear it up in little bits and walk away." 
 
 " To me that would be only additional offence. I'd not endure it." 
 
 "What could you do? You'd maybe slip a five-pound note into 
 my hand, and say, ' Darby, my man, settle this little matter for me ; 
 you know the ways of the place.' " 
 
 " I'll not risk such an annoyance, at all events, that I'm deter- 
 mined on." 
 
 Darby began now to perceive that he had misconceived his brief, 
 and must alter his pleadings as quickly as possible ; in fact, he saw he 
 was " stopping an earth" he had meant merely to mask. " Just leave 
 it all to me, your honour, leave it all to me, and I'll have your bill for 
 you every morning on the breakfast-table. And why wouldn't you ? 
 
BAEEINGTON. 39 
 
 Why -would a gentleman like your honour be behouldin' to any one for 
 his meat and dhrink ?" burst he in, with an eager rapidity. " Why 
 wouldn't you say, ' Darby, bring me this, get me that, fetch me the 
 other ; expinse is no object in life to me.' " 
 
 There was a faint "twinkle of humour in the eye of Conyers, and 
 Darby stopped short, and with that half-lisping simplicity which a 
 low Irishman understands to perfection, and can exercise whenever 
 the occasion requires, he said, " But sure, isn't your honour laughing 
 at me ? isn't it just making fun of me you are ? all because I'm a poor 
 ignorant crayture that knows no better !" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind," said Conyers, frankly. "I was only 
 smiling at thoughts that went through my head at the moment." 
 
 " Well, faix ! there's one coming up the path now won't make you 
 laugh," said Darby, as he whispered, " it's Doctor DiU." 
 
 The Doctor was early with his patient ; if the case was not one of 
 urgency, the sufferer was in a more elevated rank than usually fell to 
 the chances of Dispensary practice. Then, it promised to-be one of 
 those nice chronic cases, in which tact and personal agreeability— the 
 two great strongholds of Doctor Dill in his own estimation — were of 
 far more importance than the materia medica. Now, if DiU's world 
 was not a very big one, he knew it thoroughly. He was a chronicle 
 of all the family inoideflts of the county, and could recount every 
 disaster of every house for thirty miles round. 
 
 When the sprain had, therefore, been duly examined, and all the 
 pangs of the patient sufficiently condoled with to establish the phy- 
 sician as a man of feeling. Dill proceeded to his task as a man of the 
 world. Conyers, however, abruptly stopped him, by saying, " TeU me 
 how I'm to get out of this place ; some other inn, I mean ?" 
 " Tou are not comfortable here, then ?" asked Dill. 
 " In one sense, perfectly so. I like the quietness, 'the delightful 
 tranquillity, the scenery — everything, in short, but one circumstance. 
 I'm afraid these "worthy people — ^whoever they are — want to regard 
 me as a guest. Now I don't know them — never saw them — don't care 
 to see them. My Colonel has a liking for all this sort of thing. It 
 has, to his mind, a character of adventure that amuses him. It 
 wouldn't in the least amuse me, and so I want to getaway." 
 
 "Tes," repeated Dill, blandly, after him, "wants to get away; 
 desires to change the air." 
 
 " Not at all," broke in Conyers, peevishly ; " no question of air 
 whatever. I don't want to be on a visit. I want an inn. What is 
 this place they tell me of up the river, Inis — something ?" 
 
 " Inistioge. M'Oabe's house ; the ' Spotted Duck ;' very small, very 
 poor, far from clean, besides." 
 
40 BABEINGTON. 
 
 " Is there nothing else? Can't you think of some other place, for 
 I can't have my servant here, circumstanced as I am now." 
 
 The Doctor paused to reply. The medical mind is eminently ready- 
 witted, and Dill at a glance took in all the dangers of removing Ma 
 patient. Should he transfer him to his own village, the visit, which now- 
 had to be requited as a journey of three miles and upwards, would 
 then be an affair of next door. Should he send him to Thomastown, 
 it would be worse again, for then he would be within the precincts of 
 a greater than Dill himself — a practitioner who had a one-horse 
 phaeton, and whose name was written on brass. " Would you dis- 
 like a comfortable lodging in a private family — one of the first re- 
 spectability I may make bold to call it ?" 
 
 " Abhor it ! — couldn't endure it ! I'm not essentially troublesome 
 or exacting, but I like to be able to be either whenever the humour 
 takes me." 
 
 " I was thinking of a house where you might freely take these 
 liberties " 
 
 "Liberties! I call them rights, Doctor, not liberties! Can't 
 you imagine a man, not very wilful, not very capricious, but who, 
 if the whim took him, wouldn't stand being thwarted by any habits 
 of a so-called respectable family ? There, don't throw up your eyes, 
 and misunderstand me. All I mean is, that my hours of eating and 
 sleeping have no rule. I smoke everywhere ; I make as much noise 
 as I please ; and I never brook any impertinent curiosity about what 
 I do, or what I leave undone." 
 
 " Under all the circumstances, you had, perhaps, better remain 
 where you are," said DiU, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Of course, if these people will permit me to pay for my board 
 and lodging. If they'll condescend to let me be a stranger, I ask 
 for nothing better than this place." 
 
 " Might I offer myself as a negotiator?" said DiU, insinuatingly; 
 " for I opine that the case is not of the difficulty you suppose. WiU 
 you confide it to my hands ?" 
 
 " "With all my heart. I don't exactly see why there should be a 
 negotiation at all ; but if there must, pray be the special envoy." 
 
 When DUl arose and set out on his mission, the young fellow 
 looked after him with an expression that seemed to say : " How you 
 all imagine you are humbugging me, while I read every one of you 
 like a book." 
 
 Let us follow the Doctor, and see how he acquitted himself in his 
 diplomacy. 
 
BAKEIlfGTOlf. 41 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 
 
 DooTOE Dill had knocked twice at the door of Miss Barringtou's 
 little sitting-room, and no answer was returned to his summons. 
 
 " Is the dear lady at home ?" asked he, blandly. But, though he 
 waited for some seconds, no reply came. 
 
 " Might Doctor Dill be permitted to make his compliments ?" 
 
 " Tes, come in," said a sharp voice, very much with the expres- 
 sion of one wearied out by importunity. Miss Barrington gave 
 a brief nod in return for the profound obeisance of her visitor, 
 and then turned again to a large map which covered the table be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " I took the opportunity of my professional call here this morn- 
 ing " 
 
 " How is that young man — is anything broken ?" 
 
 " I incline to say there is no fracture. The flexors, and perhaps 
 indeed the annular ligament, are the seat of aU. the mischief." 
 
 " A common sprain, in fact ; a thing to rest for one day, and hold 
 under the pump the day after." 
 
 " The dear lady is always prompt— always energetic ; but these 
 sort of cases are often complicated, and require nice management." 
 
 " And frequent visits," said she, with a dry gravity. 
 
 " AU the world must live, dear lady — all the world must live." 
 
 " Your profession does not always sustain your theory, Sir ; at 
 least, popular scandal says you kill as many as you cure." 
 
 " I know the dear lady has little feith in physic." 
 
 " Say none. Sir, and you will be nearer the mark : but, remember, 
 I seek no converts ; I ask nobody to deny himself the luxuries of 
 senna and gamboge because I prefer beef and mutton. You wanted 
 to see my brother, I presume," added she, sharply, " but he started 
 early this morning for Kilkenny. The Solicitor- General wanted to 
 say a few words to him on his way down to Cork." 
 
 " That weary law ! that weary law !" ejaculated DUl, fervently ; 
 for he well knew with what little favour Miss Barrington regarded 
 litigation. 
 
 " And why so, Sir ?" retorted she, sharply. " What greater ab- 
 
42 BAEEINQTON. 
 
 surdity is there in being hypochondriac about your property than your 
 person ? My brother's taste inclines to depletion by law ; others 
 prefer the lancet." 
 
 "Always witty, always smart, the dear lady," said DUl, with a 
 sad attempt at a smile. The flattery passed without acknowledg- 
 ment of any kind, and he resumed : " I dropped in this morning to 
 you, dear lady, on a matter which, perhaps, might not be altogether 
 pleasing to you." 
 
 " Then don't do it. Sir." 
 
 " If the dear lady would let me finish " 
 
 " I was warning you, Sir, not even to begin." 
 
 "Tes, Madam," said he, stung into something like resistance, 
 " but, I would have added, had I been permitted, without any due 
 reason for displeasure on your part." 
 
 " And are you the fitting judge of that. Sir ? If you know, as you 
 say yon know, that you are about to give me pain, by what presump- 
 tion do you assert that it must be for my benefit ? What's it all 
 about ?" 
 
 "I come on the part of this young gentleman, dear lady, who, 
 having learned — I cannot say where or how — that he is not. to con- 
 sider himself here at an inn, but as a guest, feels, with all the grati- 
 tude that the occasion warrants, that he has no claim to the atten- 
 tion, and that it is one which would render his position here too 
 painful to persist in." 
 
 "How did he come by this impression, Sir? Be fi;ank andtell 
 me." 
 
 '" I am really unable to say, Miss Dinah." 
 
 " Come, Sir, be honest and own that the delusion arose from your- 
 self — yes, from yourself. It was in perceiving the courteous delicacy 
 with which you declined a fee that he conceived this flAttering notion 
 of us ; but go back to him. Doctor, and say it is a 'pure mistake ; that 
 his breakfast wiU cost him one shilling, and his dinner two ; the price 
 of a boat to fetch him up to Thomastown is half-a-crown, and that the 
 earlier he orders one the better. Listen to me. Sir," said she, and her 
 lips trembled with passion — " listen to me, while I speak of this for 
 the first and last time. "Whenever my brother, recurring to what he 
 once was, has been emboldened to treat a passing stranger as his 
 guest, the choice has been so judiciously exercised as to fall upon one 
 who could respect the motive and not resent the liberty ; but never 
 
 till this moment has it befallen us to be told that the possibility 
 
 the bare possibility— of such a presumption should be met by a 
 declaration of refusal. Go back, then, to your patient, Sir ; assure 
 
BA^EINGTOir. 43 
 
 him that he is at an inn, and that he has the right to he all that his 
 purse and his want of manners can ensure him." 
 
 " Dear kdy, I'm, mayhe, a had negotiator." 
 
 " I trust sincerely, Sir, you are a hetter doctor." 
 
 " Nothing on earth was further from my mind than offence " 
 
 " Tery possibly, Sir ; but, as you are aware, blisters will occa- 
 sionally act with all the violence of caustics, so an irritating theme 
 may be pressed at a very ina,uspicious moment. My cares as a 
 hostess are not in very good favour with me just now. Counsel 
 your young charge to a change of air, and I'll think no more of the 
 matter." 
 
 Had it been a queen who had spoken, the Doctor could not more 
 palpably have felt that his audience had terminated, and his only 
 duty was to withdraw. 
 
 And so he did retire, with much bowing and graciously smiling, 
 and indicating, 'by all imaginable contortions, gratitude for the past 
 and humility for ever. 
 
 " I rejoice that I am not obliged to record as history the low hut fer- 
 vent mutteriugs that feU from his lips as he'closed the door after him, 
 and by a gesture of menace showed his feelings towards her he had 
 just quitted. " Insolent old woman !" he burst out as he went along, 
 "how can she presume to forget a station that every incident of her 
 daily life recals ? In the rank she once held, and can never return 
 to, such manners would be an outrage ; but I'U not endure it again. 
 It is your last triumph, Miss Dinah ; make much of it." Thus sus- 
 tained by a very Dutch courage — for this national gift can come of 
 passion as well- as drink — ^he made his way to his patient's presence, 
 smoothing his brow as he went, and recalling the medico-chirurgical 
 serenity of his features. 
 
 " I have not done much, but I have accomplished something," said 
 he, blandly. " I am at a loss to understand what they mean by in- 
 troducing all these caprices into their means of life ; but assuredly it 
 will not attract strangers to the house;" 
 
 " "What are the caprices you allude to ?" 
 
 " Well, it is not very easy to say ; perhaps I have not expressed 
 my meaning quite correctly ; but one thing is clear, a stranger likes 
 to feel that his only obligation in an inn is to discharge the hill." 
 
 " I say, Doctor," broke in Conyers, " I have "been thinking the 
 
 matter over. Why should I not go back to my quarters ? There 
 
 might surely he some means contrived to convey me to the 'high 
 
 road ; after that, there will be no difficulty whatever." 
 
 The Doctor actually shuddered at the thought. The sportsman 
 
44 BABEUfGTON. 
 
 who sees the bird he has just winged flutter away to his neighbour's 
 preserve, may understand something at least of Doctor Dill's discom- 
 fiture as he saw his wealthy patient threatening a departure. He 
 quickly; therefore, summoned to his aid all those terrors which had 
 so often done good service on like occasions. He gave a little 
 graphic sketch of every evil consequence that might come of an im- 
 prudent journey. The catalogue was a bulky one ; it ranged over 
 tetanus, mortification, and disease of the bones. It included every 
 sort and description of pain as classified by science, into " dull, 
 weary, and incessant" or " sharp lancinating agony." Now Conyers 
 was as brave as a lion, but had, withal, one of those temperaments 
 which are miserably sensitive under suffering, and to which the mere 
 description of pain is itself an acute pang. When, therefore, the 
 Doctor drew the picture of a case very like the present one, where 
 amputation came too late, Conyers burst in with, " Por mercy's sake, 
 wiU you stop ! I can't sit here to be cut up piecemeal ; there's not 
 a nerve in my body you haven't set ajar." The Doctor blandly 
 took out his massive watch, and laid his fingers on the young man's 
 pulse : "Ninety-eight, and slightly intermittent," said he, as though 
 to himself. 
 
 " "What does that mean ?" asked Conyers, eagerly. 
 
 " The irregular action of the heart implies abnormal condition of 
 the nervous system, and indicates imperatively rest, repose, and tran- 
 quillity." 
 
 " If lethargy itself be required, this is a capital place for it," sighed 
 Conyers, drearily. 
 
 " You haven't turned your thoughts to what I said a while ago, 
 being domesticated, as one might caU it, in a nice quiet family, with 
 all the tender attentions of a home, and a little music in the 
 evening." 
 
 Simple as these words were, Dill gave to each of them an almost 
 honeyed utterance. 
 
 " No ; it would bore me excessively. I detest to be looked after ; I 
 abhor what are called attentions." 
 
 "Unobtrusively offered — tendered with a due delicacy and re- 
 serve f " 
 
 " "Which means a sort of simpering civility that one has to smirk 
 for, in return. No, no; I was bred up in quite a different school, 
 where we clapped our hands twice when we wanted a servant, and the 
 fellow's head paid for it if he were slow a coming. Don't tell me any 
 more about your pleasant family, for they'd neither endure me, nor I 
 them. G-et me well as fast as you can, and out of thie confounded 
 
BAEEINSTOir. 45 
 
 place, and I'll give you leave to make a vascular preparation of me if 
 you catcli me here again !" 
 
 The Doctor smiled, as doctors know how to smile when patients 
 think they have said a smartness, and now each was somewhat on 
 better terms with the other. 
 
 " By the way, Doctor," said Conyers, suddenly, " you haven't told 
 me what the old woman said. What arrangement did you come to ?" 
 
 " Tour breakfast will cost one shilling, your dinner two. She made 
 no mention of your rooms, but only hinted that, whenever you took 
 your departure, the charge for the boat was half-a-crown." 
 
 " Come, all this is very business-like, and to the purpose ; but 
 where, in Heaven's name, did any man live in this fashion for so 
 little ? "We have a breakfaat-mess, but it's not to be compared to 
 this — such a variety of bread, such grilled trout, such a profusion of 
 fruit. After all. Doctor, it is very like being a guest, the nominal 
 charge being to escape the sense of a favour. But perhaps one can 
 do here as at one of those ' hospices ' in the Alps, and make a present 
 at parting to requite the hospitality." 
 
 " It is a graceful way to record gratitude," said the Doctor, who 
 liked to think that the practice could be extended to other re- 
 miniscences. 
 
 " I must have my servant and my books, my pipes and my Spitz 
 terrier. I'll get a target up, besides, on that cherry-tree, and practise 
 pistol-shooting as I sit here. Could you find out some idle fellow who 
 would play chess or ecarte with me — a curate or a priest — I'm not 
 particular ; and when my man Holt comes, I'll make him string my 
 grass-mat hammock between those two elms, so that I can fish with- 
 out the bore of standing up for it. Holt is a rare clever fellow, and 
 you'll see how he'll get things in order here before he's a day in the 
 place." 
 
 The Doctor smiled again, for he saw that his patient desired to be 
 deemed a marvel of resources and a mine of original thought. The 
 Doctor's smile was apportioned to his conversation, just as he added 
 syrups in his prescriptions. It was, as he himself called it, the 
 " vehicle," without special efficacy in itself, but it aided to get down 
 the " active principle." But he did more than smile. He promised 
 all possible assistance to carry out his patient's plans. He was almost 
 certain that a friend of his — an old soldier, too — a Major M'Cormick 
 — could play ecarte, though, perhaps, it might be cribbage ; and then 
 Pather Cody, he could answer for it, was wonderful at skittles, 
 though, for the present, that game might not be practicable ; and as. 
 for books, the library at Woodstay was full of them, if the key could 
 
46 BAEEIlTGTOlf. 
 
 only be come at, for the family was abroad ; and, in fiict, he displayed 
 a most generous willingness to oblige, although, when brought to the 
 rude test of reality, his pictures were only dissolving views of plea- 
 sures to come. 
 
 When he took his leave at last, he left Conyers in far better spirits 
 than he found him. The young fellow had begun to castle build about 
 howhe should pass his time, and in such architecture there is no room 
 for ennui. And what a rare organ must construotiveness be, when even 
 in: its mockery it can, yield such pleasure ! "We are very prone to 
 envy the rich man, whose wealth sets no limit to his caprices ; but is 
 not a rich fancy, that wondrous imaginative power which unweariedly 
 invents new incidents; new personages, new situations, a very covetable 
 possession ? And can we not, in the gratification; of the very humblest 
 exercise of this quality, rudely approximate to the ecstasy of him who 
 wields it in all its force ? Not that Fred Conyers was one of these ; 
 he was a mere tyro in the faculty, and could only carry himself into 
 a region where he saw his Spitz terrier jump between the back rails 
 of a chair, and himself sending bullet after bullet: through the very 
 centre of the bull's-eye. 
 
 Be it so. Perhaps you and I, too, my reader, have; our Spitz terrier 
 and bull's-eye days, and, if so, let us be grateful for them. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 THE DOCTOK's DAUGHTEB. 
 
 Whethee it was that Doctor Dill expended all the benevolence of 
 his disposition in the course of his practice, and came home utterly 
 exhausted, but so it was thathis family never saw him in those moods 
 of blandness which he invariably appeared in to his patients. In fact, 
 however loaded he went forth with these wares of a morning, he dis- 
 posed of every item of his stock before he got back at night; and 
 Avhen poor Mrs. Dill heard, as she from time to time did hear, of the 
 Doctor's gentleness, his kindness in suffering, his beautiful and touch- 
 ing sympathy with sorrow, she listened with the. same sort of semi- 
 stupid astonishment she would have felt on hearing some one eulo- 
 gising the climate of Ireland, and growing rapturoua about the blue 
 sky and the glorious sunshine. Unhappy little woman, she only saw 
 him in his dark days of cloud and rain, and she never came into his 
 
BAEEITrGTOlT. 47 
 
 presence except in a sort of moral mackintosb made for the worst 
 weather. 
 
 The Doctor's family consisted of seven children, but our concern 
 is only with the two eldest — a son and a daughter. Tom was 
 two years younger than his sister, who, at this period of our story, 
 was verging on nineteen. He was an awkward, ungainly youth, 
 large jointed, but weakly, vidth a sandyjred head a^d a much-freckled 
 face, just such a disparaging counterpart of his sister aS; a coarse 
 American piracy often presents of one of our weU-printed, richly- 
 papered English editions. "It was all there," but aU, unseemly, un- 
 graceful, undignified; for Polly Dill was pretty. Her hair was 
 auburn, her eyes a deep hazel, and her skin a marvel of transparent 
 whiteness. Tou would never have hesitated to call her a very pretty 
 girl if you had not seen her brother, but, having seen him, all the 
 traits of her good looks suffered in the same way that G-risi's Norma 
 does from the horrid recollection of Paul Bedford's. 
 
 After all, the resemblance went very little further than this " tra- 
 vestie," for while he was a slow, heavy- witted, loutish creature, with 
 low tastes and low ambitions, she was a clever, intelligent girl, very 
 eagerly intent on making something of her advantages. Though the 
 Doctor was a general practitioner, and had a shop, which he called 
 " Surgery," in the village, he was received at the greathouses in a sort 
 of half-intimate, half-patronising fashion ; as one, in short, with whom 
 it was not necessary to be formal, but it might become very incon- 
 venient to have a coldness. These were very sorry credentials for 
 acceptance, but he- made no objection to them. 
 
 A few, however, of the " neighbours" — ^it would be ungenerous to 
 inquire the motive, for in this world of ours it is just as well to 
 regard one's five-pound note as convertible into five gold sovereigns, 
 and not speculate as to the kind of rags it is made of — ^were pleased 
 to notice Miss DUl, and occasionally invite her to their larger 
 gatherings^ so that she not only gained opportunities of cultivating 
 her social gifts, but, what is often a greater spur to ambition, of com- 
 paring them with those of others. 
 
 Now this same measuring process, if only conducted without any 
 envy or ungenerous rivalry, is not without its advantage. Polly 
 Dill made it really profitable. I wiH not presume to say that, in her 
 heart of hearts, she did not envy the social accidents that gave others 
 precedence before her, but into her heart of hearts neither you nor 
 I have any claim to enter. Enough that we know nothing in her 
 outward conduct; or bearing revealed such a sentiment. As little 
 did she maintain her position by flattery, which many in her am- 
 
48 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 biguous station would have relied upon as a strongbold. No ; Polly 
 followed a very simple policy, whicli was all the more successful 
 that it never seemed to be a policy at all. She never in any way 
 attracted towards her the attentions of those men who, in the 
 marriageable market, were looked on as the choice lots ; squires in 
 possession, elder sons, and favourite nephews, she regarded as so 
 much forbidden frjiit. It was a lottery, in which she never took a 
 ticket. It is incredible how much kindly notice and favourable 
 recognition accrued to her from this line. 
 
 "We all know how pleasant it is to be next to the man at a pro- 
 miscuous dinner who never eats turtle nor cares for " Cliquot ;" 
 and in the world at large there are people who represent the cala- 
 pash and the champagne. 
 
 Then Polly played well, but was quite as ready to play as to 
 dance. She sang prettily, too, and had not the slightest objection 
 that one of her simple ballads should be the foil to a grand perform- 
 ance of some young lady, whose artistic agonies rivalled Alboni's. 
 So cleverly did Polly do all this, that even her father could not dis- 
 cover the secret of her success ; and though he saw " his little girl," as 
 he called her, more and more sought after and invited, he continued 
 to be persuaded that all this favouritism was only the reflex of his 
 own popularity. How, then, could mere acquaintances ever suspect 
 what to the eye of those nearer and closer was so inscrutable ? 
 
 Polly Dill rode very well and very fearlessly, and occasionally was 
 assisted to "a mount" by some country gentleman, who combined 
 gallantry with profit, and knew that the horse he lent could never be 
 seen to greater advantage. Yet, even in this, she avoided display, 
 quite satisfied, as it seemed, to enjoy herself thoroughly, and not 
 attract any notice that could be avoided. Indeed, she never tried 
 for " a place," but rather attached herself to some of the older and 
 heavier weights, who grew to believe that they were especially in 
 charge of her, and nothing was more common, at the end of a hard 
 run, than to hear such self-gratulations as, " I think I took great 
 care of you, Miss Dill ?" " Eh, Miss Polly ! you see I'm not such a 
 bad leader !" and so on. 
 
 Such was the Doctor's "little girl," whom I am about to present 
 to my readers under another a^ect. She is at home, dressed in a 
 neatly-fitting but very simple cotton dress, her hair in two plain 
 bands, and she is seated at a table, at the opposite of which lounges 
 her brother Tom, with an air of dogged and sleepy indolence, which 
 extends from his ill-trimmed hair to his ill-buttoned waistcoat. 
 
 " Never mind it to-day, Polly," said he, with a yawn. " I've been 
 
BAEEINGHOir. 49 
 
 up all night, and have no head for work. There's a good girl, let's 
 have a chat instead." 
 
 " Impossible, Tom," said she, calmly, but with decision. " To-day 
 is the third. Tou have only three weeks now and two days be- 
 fore your examination. "We have all the bones and ligaments to 
 go over again, and the whole vascular system. Tou've forgotten 
 every word of Harrison." 
 
 " It doesn't signify, Polly. They never take a fellow on anything 
 but two arteriesfor the navy. Grove told me so." 
 
 " Grove is an ass, and got plucked twice. It is a perfect disgrace 
 to quote him." 
 
 " "Well, I only wish I may do as well. He's assistant-surgeon to 
 the Taurus gun-brig on the African station ; and if I was there, it's 
 little I'd care for the whole lot of bones and balderdash." 
 
 " Coine, don't be silly. Let us go on with the scapula. Describe 
 the glenoid cavity." 
 
 " If you were the girl you might be, I'd not be bored with all this 
 stupid trash, Polly." 
 
 " "What do you mean? I don't understand you." 
 " It's easy enough to understand me. Tou are as thick as thieves, 
 you and that old Admiral — that Sir Charles Cobham. I saw you 
 talking to the old fellow at the meet the other morning. Tou've only 
 to say, ' There's Tom — my brother Tom — wants a navy appointment ; 
 he's not passed yet, but if the fellows at the Board got a hint, just 
 
 as much as, " Don't be hard on him " ' " 
 
 " I'd not do it to make you a post-captain. Sir," said she, severely. 
 " Tou very much overrate my influence, and very much underrate my 
 integrity, when you ask it." 
 
 " Hoity-toity ! ain't we dignified ! So you'd rather see me plucked, 
 eh ?" 
 
 "Tes, if that should be the only alternative." 
 " Thank you, Polly, that's all ; thank you," said he, and he drew 
 his sleeve across his eyes. 
 
 " My dear Tom," said she, laying her white soft hand on his coarse 
 brown Augers, " can you not see that if I even stooped to anything 
 so unworthy, that it would compromise your whole prospects in 
 life? Tou'd obtain an assistant-surgeoncy, and never rise above it." 
 " And do I ask to rise above it ? Do I ask anything beyond 
 getting out of this house, and earning bread that is not grudged 
 me?" 
 
 " Nay, nay ; if you talk that way, I've done." 
 
 " "Well, I do talk that way. He sent me off to Kilkenny last week 
 
 £ 
 
50 BABEINGTON. 
 
 — you saw it yourself — to bring out that trash for the shop, and he 
 wouldn't pay the car hire, and made me carry two stone of carbonate 
 of magnesia and a jar of leeches fourteen miles. Tou were just taking 
 that post and rail out of jSTixon'a lawn as I came by. Tou saw me 
 well enough." 
 
 " I am glad to say I did not," said she, sighing. 
 
 " I sawyoM, then, and how that grey carried you ! Tou were waving 
 a handkerchief in your hand ; what was that for ?" 
 
 " It was to show Ambrose Bushe that the ground was good ; he was 
 afraid of being staked !" 
 
 " That's exactly what I am. I'm afraid of being ' staked up' at the 
 Hall, and if yow'd take as much trouble about your brother as you 
 did-for Ambrose Eushe^ — " 
 
 " Tom, Tom, I have taken it for eight weary months. I believe I 
 know Bell on the bones, and Harrison on the arteries, by heart !" 
 
 " Who thanks you ?" said he, doggedly. " "When you read a thing 
 twice you never foDget it ; but it's not so with me." 
 
 " Try what a little work will do, Tom ; be assured there is not half 
 as much disparity between people's brains as there is between their 
 industry." 
 
 " I'd rather, have luck than either, I know that. It's the only thing 
 after all." 
 
 She gave a very deep sigh, and leaned her head on lier hand. 
 
 "Work and toil as hard as you may,'' continued he, with aU the 
 fervour of one on a favourite theme, " if you haven't luck you'll be 
 beaten. Caii you deny that, Polly ?" 
 
 " If you allow me to call merit what you call luck, I'll agree with 
 you. But I'd much rather go on with our work. What is the in- 
 sertion of the deltoid ? I'rn sure! you know that!" 
 
 "The deltoid! the deltoid!" muttered he. "I forget all about 
 the deltoid, but of course it's like the rest of them. It's inserted 
 into a ridge, or a process, or whatever you call it " 
 
 " Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you presume to face 
 your examiners with such ignorance as this?" 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do, Polly— Groves told me 7ie did it— if I 
 find my pluck failing me, I'll have a go of brandy before I go in." 
 
 She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity of this 
 speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at him who spoke 
 it. At the same moment Doctor DiU opened the door, calling out 
 sharply, "Where's that fellow Tom? Who has seen him this 
 morning p" 
 
^-y^^^u!^ .^i//y. 
 
BABRITTGTOir. 51 
 
 " He's here, papa," said Polly. " "We are brashingup the anatomy 
 for the last time." 
 
 " His head must be in capital order for it, after bis night's exploit. 
 I heard of you, Sir, and your reputable wager. Noonan was up here 
 this morning with the whole story !" 
 
 " I'd have won if they'd not put snuff in the punch " 
 
 " Tou are a shameless bound " 
 
 " Oh, papa ! If you knew how be was working — how eager be is 
 to pass bis examination, and be a credit to us aU, and owe his inde- 
 pendence to himself " 
 
 " I know more of him than you do, Miss— far more, too, than be is 
 aware of — and I know something of myself also ; and I tell bim now, 
 that if he is rejected at the examination, he need not come back here 
 with the news." 
 
 " And where am I to go, then ?" asked the young fellow, half 
 insolently. 
 
 " Tou may go " "Where to, the Doctor was not suffered to in- 
 dicate, for already Polly bad thrown herself into bis arms and arrested 
 the speech. 
 
 " "Well, I suppose I can 'list ; a fellow need not know much about 
 gallipots for that." As he said this, be snatched up his tattered old 
 cap and made for the door. 
 
 " Stay, Sir ! I have business for you to do," caried Dill, sternly. 
 " There's a young gentleman at the ' Fisherman's Home' laid up with 
 a bad sprain. I have prescribed twenty leeches on the part. Go down 
 and apply them." 
 
 " That's what old Molly Day used to do," said Tom, angrily. 
 
 " Tes, Sir, and knew more of the occasion that required it than you 
 will ever do. See that you apply them all to the outer ankle, and 
 attend well to the bleeding ; the patient is a young man of rank, with 
 whom you bad better -take no liberties." 
 
 "If I go a tall " 
 
 " Tom, Tom, none of this !" said Polly, who drew very close to him, 
 and looked up at him with eyes full of tears. 
 
 " Am I going as your son this time ? or did you tell bim— as you 
 told Mr. Nixon — ^that you'd send your young man ?" 
 
 " There ! listen to that !" cried the Doctor, turning to Polly. « 1 
 hope you are proud of your pupil." 
 
 She made no answer, but whispering some hurried words in her 
 brother's ear, and pressing at the same time something into his hand, 
 she shuffled bim out of the room, and closed the door. 
 
 £2 
 
52 BAEEINGTOK. 
 
 The Doctor now paced the room, so engrossed by passion that 
 he forgot he was not alone, and uttered threats and mumbled out dark 
 predictions with a fearful energy. Meanwhile, Polly put by the books 
 and drawings, and removed everything which might recal the late 
 misadventure. 
 
 " "What's your letter about, papa ?" said she, pointing to a square- 
 shaped envelope which he still held in his hand. 
 
 " Oh, by the way," said he, quietly, " this is from Cobham. They 
 ask us up thereto dinner to-day, and to stop the night." The Doctor 
 tried very hard to utter this speech with the unconcern of one alluding 
 to some every-day occurrence. Nay, he did more, he endeavoured to 
 throw into it a certain air of fastidious weariness, as though to 
 say, " See how these people will have me ; mark how they persecute 
 me with their attentions !" 
 
 PoUy understood the "situation" perfectly, and it was with actual 
 curiosity in her tone she asked, " Do you mean to go, Sir ?" 
 
 "I suppose we must, dear," he said, with a deep sigh. "A pro- 
 fessional man is no more the arbiter of his social hours than of his 
 business ones. Cooper always said dining at home costs a thousand 
 a year." 
 
 " So much, papa ?" asked she, with much semblance of innocence. 
 
 " I don't mean to myself," said he, reddening, " nor to any physi- 
 cian in country practice ; but we all lose by it, more or less." 
 
 Polly, meanwhile, had taken the letter, and was reading it over. 
 It was very brief. It had been originally begun, " Lady Cobham 
 presents," but a pen was run through the word§, and it ran : 
 
 " Deae Doctoe DiiiL, — If a short notice wiU not inconvenience 
 you, will you and your daughter dine here to-day at seven ? There 
 is no moon, and we shall expect you to stay the night. 
 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 " Geoegiana Cobham. 
 
 " The Admiral hopes Miss D. will not forget to bring her music." 
 
 " Then we go, Sir ?" asked she, with eagerness, for it was a house 
 to which she had never yet been invited, though she had long wished 
 for the entree. 
 
 " I shaU go, certainly," said he. " As to you, there will be the old 
 discussion with your mother as to clothes, and the usual declaration 
 that you have really nothing to put on." 
 
 " Oh ! but I have, papa. My wonderful-worked muslin, that was 
 to have astonished the world at the race ball, but which arrived too 
 
BABEINGTOlf. 
 
 53 
 
 late, is now quite ready to captivate all beliolders ; and I have just 
 learned that new song, ""Where's the slave so lowly?" which I 
 mean to give with a most rebellious fervour; and, in fact, I am 
 dying to assault this same fortress of Cobham, and see what it is like 
 inside the citadel." 
 
 " Pretty much like Woodstay, and the Grove, and Mount Kelly, 
 and the other places we go to," said Dill, pompously. " The same 
 sort of rooms, the same sort of dinner, the same company ; nothing 
 different but the liveries." 
 
 " Very true, papa ; but there is always an interest in seeing how 
 people behave in their own house, whom you have never seen except 
 in strangers'. I have met Lady Cobham at the Beachers', where she 
 scarcely noticed me. I am curious to see what sort of reception she 
 will vouchsafe me at home." 
 
 " Well, go and look after your things, for we have eight miles to 
 drive, and Billy has already been at Dangan and over to Mooney's 
 Mills, and he's not the fresher for it." 
 
 " I suppose I'd better take my hat and habit, papa ?" 
 
 " What for, child ?" 
 
 " Just as you always carry your lancets, papa — ^you don't know 
 what may turn up." And she was off before he could answer her. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 TOM dill's first PATIEHT. 
 
 Befoeb Tom Dill had set 'out on his errand he had learned aU. 
 about his father and sister's dinner engagement, nor did the contrast 
 with the way in which his own time was to be passed at all improve 
 his temper. Indeed, he took the opportunity of intimating to his 
 mother how few favours fell to her share or his own — a piece of in- 
 formation she very philosophically received, all her sympathies being 
 far more interested for the sorrows of " Clarissa Harlowe" than for 
 any incident that occurred around her. Poor old lady ! she had read 
 that story over and over again, till it might seem that every word and 
 every comma in it had become her own ; but she was blessed with a 
 memory that retained nothing, and she could cry over the sorrowful 
 bits, and pant with eagerness at the critical ones, just as passionately. 
 
54 BAEEINGTOIf. 
 
 just as feryently, as she had done for years and years before. Dim, 
 vague perceptions she might haye retained of the personages, but 
 these only gave them a stronger truthfulness, and made them more 
 like the people of the real world, whom she had seen passingly once, 
 and was now to leam more about. I doubt if Mezzofanti ever 
 derived one-tenth of the pleasure from aU his marvellous memory 
 that she did from the. want of one. 
 
 Blessed with that one book, she was proof against aU the common 
 accidents of life. It was her sanctuary against duns, and difficulties, 
 and the Doctor's temper. As the miser feels a sort of ecstasy in the 
 secret of his hoarded wealth, so had she an intense enjoyment in 
 thinking that all dear Clarissa's trials and sufferings were only known 
 to her. Neither the Doctor, nor Polly, nor Tom, so much as sus- 
 pected them. It was like a confidence between Mr. Eichardson and 
 herself, and for nothing on earth would she have betrayed it. 
 
 Tom had no such resources, and he set out on his mission with no 
 very remarkable good feeling towards the world at large. Still, 
 Polly had pressed into his hand a gold half guinea — some very long- 
 treasured keepsake, the birthday gift of a godmother in times remote, 
 and now to be converted into tobacco and beer, and some articles of 
 fishing gear which he greatly needed. 
 
 Seated in one of those light canoe-shaped skiflTs — "cots" as they 
 are called on these rivers — he suffered himself to be carried lazily 
 along by the stream, while he tied his flies and adjusted his tackle. 
 There is sometimes a stronger sense of unhappiness attached to what 
 is called being " hardly used" by the world, than to a direct and pal- 
 pable misfortune, for though the sufferer may not be able, even to his 
 own heart, to set out, with clearness, one single count in the indict- 
 ment, yet a general sense of hard treatment, unfairness, and so forth, 
 brings with it great depression, and a feeling of desolation. 
 
 Like all young fellows of his stamp, Tom only saw his inflictions, 
 not one of his transgressions. He knew that his father made a 
 common drudge of him, employed him in all that was wearisome and 
 even menial in his craft, admitted him to no confidences, gave him no 
 counsels, and treated him in every way like one who was never 
 destined to rise above the meanest cares and lowest duties. Even 
 those little fleeting glances at a brighter future which Polly would 
 now and then open to his ambition, never came from his father, who 
 woidd actually ridicule the notion of his obtaining a degree, and 
 make the thought of a commission in the service a subject for 
 mockery. 
 
 He was low in heart as he thought over these things. " If it were 
 
BAEEINGION. 56 
 
 rot for Polly," so he said to himself, " he'd go and enlist ;" or, as his 
 boat slowly floated into a dark angle of the stream, where the water 
 was stiU and the shadow deep, he even felt he could do worse. 
 " Poor Polly !" said he, as he moved his hand to and fro in the cold 
 clear water, " you'd be very, very sorry for me. Tou, at least, knew 
 that I was not aU bad, and that I wanted to be better. It was no 
 fault of mine to have a head that couldn't learn. I'd be clever if I 
 could, and do everything as well as she does ; but when they see that 
 I have no talents, that if they put the task before me I cannot master 
 it, sure they ought to pity me, not blame me." And then he bent 
 over the boat and looked down eagerly into the water, tUlj by long 
 dint of gazing, he saw, or he thought he saw, the gravelly bed be- 
 neath; and again he swept his hand through it — ^it was cold, and 
 caused a slight shudder. Then suddenly, with some fresh impulse, 
 he threw oiF his cap, and kicked his shoes from him. His trembling 
 hands buttoned and unbuttoned his coat with some infirm, uncertain 
 purpose. He stopped and listened ; he heard a sound ; there was 
 some one near — quite near. He bent down and peered under the 
 branches that hung over the stream, and there he saw a very old and 
 infirm man, so old and infirm that he could barely creep. He had 
 been carrying a little bundle of fagots for firewood, and the cord had 
 given way, and his burden fallen, scattered, to the ground. This 
 was the noise Tom had heard. !For a few minutes the old man 
 seemed overwhelmed with his disaster, and stood motionless, con- 
 templating it ; then, as it were, taking courage, he laid down his 
 stafi!, and bending on his knees, set slowly to work to gather up his 
 
 There are minutes in the lives of all of us when some simple inci- 
 dent will speak to our hearts with a force that human words never 
 carried — ^when the most trivial event will teach a lesson that all our 
 wisdom never gave us. " Poor old fellow," said Tom, " he has a stout 
 heart left to him still, and he'll not leave his load behind him !" And 
 then his own craven spirit flashed across him, and he hid his face in 
 his hand and cried bitterly. 
 
 Suddenly rousing himself with a sort of convulsive shake, he sent 
 the skiff with a strong shove in shore, and gave the old fellow what 
 remained to him of Polly's present ; and then, with a lighter spirit 
 than he had known for many a day, rowed manfully on his way. 
 
 The evening — a soft, mellow, summer evening — ^was just falling as 
 Tom reached the little boat quay at the " Ksherman's Home" — ^a spot 
 it was seldom his fortune to visit, but one for whose woodland beauty 
 and trim comfort he had a deep admiration. He would have liked to 
 
56 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 have lingered a little to inspect the boat-house, and the little aviary 
 over it, and the small cottage on the island, and the little terrace made 
 to fish from, but Darby had caught sight of him as he landed, and 
 came hurriedly down to say that the young gentleman was grow- 
 ing very impatient for his coming, and was even hinting at sending 
 for another doctor if he should not soon appear. 
 
 If Oonyers was as impatient as Darby represented, he had at least 
 surrounded himself with every appliance to allay the fervour of that 
 spirit. He had dined under a spreading sycamore-tree, and now sat 
 with a table richly covered before him. Pruit, flowers, and wine 
 abounded with a profusion that might have satisfied several guests, 
 for, as he understood that he was to consider kimself at an inn, he 
 resolved, by ordering the most costly things, to give the house all the 
 advantage of his presence. The most delicious hothouse fruit had 
 been procured from the gardener of an absent proprietor in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and several kinds of wine figured on the table, over which, 
 and half shadowed by the leaves, a lamp had been suspended, throw- 
 ing a fitful light over all, that imparted a most picturesque efiect to 
 the scene. 
 
 And yet, amidst all these luxuries and delights,' Balshazzar was 
 discontented ; his ankle pained him ; he had been hobbling about on 
 it all day, and increased the inflammation considerably ; and, besides 
 this, he was lonely ; he had no one but Darby to talk to, and had 
 •grown to feel for that sapient functionary a perfect abhorrence. His 
 everlasting compliance, his eternal coincidence with everything, being 
 a torment infinitely worse than the most dogged and mulisK opposi- 
 tion. When, therefore, he heard at last that the Doctor's son had 
 •come with the leeches, he hailed him as a welcome guest. 
 
 " What a time you have kept me waiting," said he, as the loutish 
 young man came forward, so astounded by the scene before him 
 that he lost all presence of mind. '' I have been looking out for 
 you since three o'clock, and pottering down to the river and back so 
 often, that I have made the leg twice as thick again." 
 
 "Why didn't you sit quiet?" said Tom, in a hoarse, husky tone. 
 
 " Sit quiet !" replied Conyers, staring half angrily at him ; and then 
 as quickly perceiving that no impertinence, had been intended, which 
 the other's changing colour and evident confusion attested, he begged 
 him to take a chair and fill his glass. " That next you is some sort 
 of Ehine wine ; this is sherry ; and here is the very best claret I ever 
 tasted." 
 
 " Well, I'U take that," said Tom ; who, accepting the recommenda- 
 tion amidst luxuries all new and strange to him, proceeded to fiU his 
 
EAEBiSaTOlf. 57 
 
 glass, but so tremblingly, that he spilled the wine all about the table, 
 and then hurriedly wiped it up with his handkerchief. 
 
 Conyers did his utmost to set his guest at his ease. He passed 
 his cigar-case across the table, and led him on, as well as he might, 
 to talk. But Tom was awe-struck, not alone by the splendours 
 around him, but by the condescension of his host, and he could not 
 divest himself of the notion that he must have been mistaken for 
 somebody else, to whom all these blandishments might be rightfully 
 due. 
 
 " Are you fond of shooting ?" asked Conyers, trying to engage a 
 conversation. 
 
 " Tes," was the curt reply. 
 
 " There must be good sport hereabouts, I should say. Is the game 
 well preserved ?" 
 
 " Too well for such as me. I never get a shot without the risk of 
 a gaol, and it would be cheaper for me to kill a cow than a wood- 
 cock !" There was a stern gravity in the way he said this that 
 made it irresistibly comic, and Conyers laughed out in spite of 
 himself. 
 
 " Haven't you a game license ?" asked he. 
 
 " Haven't I a coach-and-six ? Where would I get four pounds 
 seven and ten to pay for it ?" 
 
 The appeal was awkward, and for a moment Conyers was silent. 
 At last he said, "Tou fish, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Tes ; I kill a salmon whenever I get a quiet spot that nobody 
 sees me, and I draw the river now and then with a net at night." 
 
 " That's poaching, I take it." 
 
 " It's not the worse for that !" said Tom, whose pluck was by this 
 time considerably assisted by the claret. 
 
 " Well, it's an unfair way to take fish, at all events, and destroys 
 real sport." 
 
 " Eeal sport is filling your basket.'' 
 . " No, no ; there's no real sport in doing anything that's unfair — 
 
 anything that's un " He stopped short, and swallowed off a 
 
 glass of wine to cover his confusion. 
 
 " That's all mighty fine for you, who not only can pay for a license, 
 but you're just as sure to be invited here, there, and everywhere 
 there's game to be killed. But think of me, that never snaps a cap, 
 never throws a line, but he knows it's worse than robbing a hen-roost, 
 and often, maybe, just as fond of it as yourself!" 
 
 Whether it was that, coming after Darby's mawkish and servile 
 agreement with everything, this rugged nature seemed more palatable. 
 
58 BAEEHrGTOlf. 
 
 I caxinofc say, but so it was, Conyers felt pleasure in talking to this 
 rough, unpolished creature, and hearing his opinions in turn. Had 
 there been in Tom Dill's manner the slightest shade of any pretence, 
 was there any element of that which, for want of a better word, we 
 call " Snobbery," Conyers would not have endured him for a moment, 
 but Tom was perfectly devoid of this vulgarity. He was often coarse 
 in his remarks, his expressions were rarely measured by any rule of 
 good manners, but it was easy to see that he never intended offence, 
 nor did he so much as suspect that he could give that weight to any 
 opinion which he uttered to make it of moment. 
 
 Besides the^e points in Tom's favour, there was another, which also 
 led Conyers on to converse with him. There is some very subtle 
 self-flattery in the condescension of one well to do in all the gifts of 
 fortune associating, in an assumed equality, with some poor fellow to 
 whom fate has assigned the shady side of the highway. Scarcely a 
 subject can be touched without suggesting something for self-gratu- 
 lation ; every comparison, every contrast is in his favour, and Conyers, 
 without being more of a puppy than the majority of his order, con- 
 stantly felt how immeasurably above all his guest's views of his life 
 and the world were his own. Not alone that he was more moderate 
 in language and less prone to attribute evil, but with a finer sense of 
 honour and a wider feeling of liberality. 
 
 "When Tom at last, with some shame, remembered that he had for- 
 gotten all about the real object of his mission, and had never so much 
 as alluded to the leeches, Conyers only laughed, and said, " Never 
 mind them, to-night. Come back to-morrow and put them on ; and 
 mind — come to breakfast at ten or eleven o'clock." 
 
 " "What am I to say to my father ?" 
 
 " Say it was a whim of mine, which it is. Tou are quite ready to 
 do this matter now. I see it ; but I say no. Isn't that enough ?" 
 
 " I suppose so !" muttered Tom, with a sort of dogged misgiving. 
 
 "It strikes me that you have a very respectable fear of your 
 governor. Am I right ?" 
 
 "Ain't you afraid of yours ?" bluntly asked the other. 
 
 " Afraid of mine !" cried Conyers, with a loud laugh ; " I should 
 think not. "Why, my father and myself are as thick as two thieves. 
 I never was in a scrape that I didn't tell him. I'd sit down this 
 minute and write to him just as I would to any fellow in the regi- 
 ment." 
 
 " Well, there's only one in all the world I'd tell a secret to, and it 
 isn't my father !" 
 
 « "Who is it, then ?" 
 
BAEEIXGTOJT. 39 
 
 " My sister Polly !" It was impossible to haye uttered these words 
 ■with a stronger sense of pride. He dwelt slowly upon each of them, 
 and, when he had finished, looked as though he had said something 
 utterly undeniable. 
 
 " Here's her health — in a bumper, too !" cried Conyers. 
 
 " Hurray — ^hurray !" shouted out Tom, as he tossed off his full 
 glass, and set it on the table with a bang that smashed it. " Oh, I 
 beg pardonJ I didn't mean to break the tumbler." 
 
 " Never mind it, DiU. ; it's a trifle. I half hoped you had done it 
 on purpose, so that the glass should never be drained to a less 
 honoured toast. Is she like you ?" 
 
 " Like me — ^like me ?" asked he, colouring deeply. " Polly like 
 me?" 
 
 "1 mean, is there a family resemblance? Could you be easily 
 known as brother and sister ?" 
 
 " Ifot a bit of it. Polly's the prettiest girl in this county, and she's 
 better than she's handsome. There's nothing she can't do. I taught 
 her to tie flies, and she can put wings on a green-drake now that 
 would take in any salmon that ever swam. Martin Keene sent her 
 a pound-note for a book of ' brown hackles,' and, by the way, she 
 gave it to me. And if you saw her on the back of a horse ! — ^Ambrose 
 Bushe's grey mare, the wickedest devil that ever was bridled, one 
 buck jump after another the length of afield, and the mare trying to 
 get her head between her fore-legs, and PoUy hjindling her so quiet, 
 never out of temper, never hot, but always saying, ' Ain't you ashamed 
 of yourself. Dido ? Don't you see them all laughing at us ?' " 
 
 " I'm quite curious to see her. "WiH you_ present me one of these 
 days ?" 
 
 Tom mumbled out something perfectly unintelligible. 
 
 " I hope that I may be permitted to make her acquaintance," re- 
 peated he, not feeling very certain that his former speech was quite 
 understood. 
 
 " Maybe so," grumbled he out at last, and sat back in his chair 
 with a look of sulky ill humour ; for so it was that poor Tom, in his 
 ignorance of life and its ways, deemed the proposal one of those free- 
 and-easy suggestions which might be made to persons of very inferior 
 station, and to whom the fact of acquaintanceship should be accounted 
 as a great honour. 
 
 Conyers was provoked at the little wHlingness shown to meet his 
 offer — an offer he felt to be a very courteoua piece of condescension 
 on his part — and now both sat in silence. At last Tom Dill, long 
 struggling with some secret impulse, gave way, and in a tone far 
 
60 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 more decided and firm than heretofore, Baid, " Maybe you think, from 
 seeing what sort of a fellow I am, that my sister ought to be like 
 me ; and because Jhave neither manners nor education, that she's the 
 same ? But listen to me, now ; she's just as little like me as you are 
 yourself. You're not more of a gentleman than she's a lady !" 
 
 "I never imagined anything else." 
 
 " And what made you talk of bringing her up here, to present her 
 to you, as you called it ? Was she to be trotted out in a cavasin, like 
 a filly ?" 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Conyers, good humouredly, "you never 
 made a greater mistake. I begged that you would present me to 
 your sister. I asked the sort of favour which is very common in the 
 world, and in the language usually employed to convey such a request. 
 I observed the recognised etiquette " 
 
 " "What do I know about etiquette ? If you'd have said, ' Tom Dill, 
 I want to be introduced to your sister,' I'd have guessed what you 
 were at, and I'd have said, ' Come back in the boat with me to- 
 morrow, and so you shall.' " 
 
 " It's a bargain, then. Dill. I want two or three things in the 
 village, and I accept your offer gladly." 
 
 Not only was peace now ratified between them, but a closer feeling 
 of intimacy established ; for poor Tom, not much spoiled by any 
 excess of the world's sympathy, was so delighted by the kindly interest 
 shown him, that he Jaunched out freely to tell all about himself and 
 his fortunes, how hardly treated he was at home, and how iU usage 
 had made him despondent, and despondency made him dissolute. 
 " It's all very well to rate a fellow about his taste for low pleasures 
 and low companions; but what if he's not rich enough for better? 
 He takes them just as he smokes cheap tobacco, because he can afford 
 no other. And do you know," continued he, " you are the first 
 real gentleman that ever said a kind word to me, or asked me to sit 
 down in his company. It's even so strange to me yet, that maybe 
 when I'm rowing home to-night I'll think it's all a dream — that it was 
 the vfine got into my head." 
 
 " Is not some of this your own fault ?" broke in Conyers. " "What 
 if you had held your head higher " 
 
 "Hold my head higher!" interrupted Tom. ""With this on it, 
 eh ?" And he took up his ragged and worn cap from the ground, 
 and showed it. " Pride is a very fine thing when you can live up to 
 it; but if you can't, it's only ridiculous. I don't say," added he, 
 after a few minutes of silence, " but if I was far away from this, 
 where nobody knew me, where I didn't owe little debts on every 
 
BAEEIlfGTOlf. 61 
 
 side, and wasn't obliged to be intimate with, every idle vagabond 
 about — I don't say but I'd try to be something better. If, for 
 instance, I could get into the navy " 
 
 " Why not the army ? You'd like it better." 
 
 " Ay 1 but it's far harder to get into. There's many a rough fellow 
 like myself aboard ship that they wouldn't take in a regiment. 
 Besides, how could I get in without interest ?" 
 
 "My father is a Lieutenant- General. I don't know whether he 
 could be of service to you." 
 
 " A Lieutenant- General !" repeated Tom, with the reverential aw© 
 of one alluding to an actual potentate. 
 
 " Tes. He has a command out in India, where I feel full sure he 
 could give you something. Suppose you were to go out there ? I'd 
 write a letter to my father, and ask him to befriend you." 
 
 " It would take a fortune to pay the journey," said Tom, despond- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Not if you went out on service ; the Government would send 
 you free of cost. And even if you were not, I thinlc we might manage 
 it. Spealc to your father about it." 
 
 " No," said he, slowly. " No-; but I'll talk it over with Polly. 
 Not but I know well she'll say, ' There you are, castle-building and 
 romancing. It's all moonshine ! Nobody ever took notice of you — 
 nobody said he'd interest himself about you.' " 
 
 " That's easily remedied. If you like it, I'll tell your sister all 
 about it myself. I'll tell her it's my plan, and I'll show her what I 
 think are good reasons to believe it will be successful." 
 
 "Oh! would you — would you?" cried he, with a choking sensa- 
 tion in the throat ; for his gratitude had made him almost hysterical. 
 
 " Yes," resumed Conyers. " When you come up here to-morrow 
 we'll arrange it all. I'll turn tlie matter all over in my mind, too, 
 and I have little doubt of our being able to carry it through." 
 
 " You'll not tell my father, though ?" 
 
 " Not a word, if you forbid it. At the same, time you must see 
 that he'll have to hear it all, later on." 
 
 " I suppose so," muttered Tom, moodily, and leaned hia head 
 thoughtfully on his hand. But one half-hour back and he would 
 have told Conyers why he desired this concealment ; he would have 
 declared that his father, caring more for his services than his future 
 good, would have thrown every obstacle to his promotion, and would 
 even, if need were, so represented him to Conyers that he would have 
 appeared utterly unworthy of his interest and kindness ; but now, 
 not one word- of all this escaped him. He never hinted another re- 
 
62 BAEBIK&TOIT. 
 
 proach against his father, for already a purer spring had opened in his 
 nature, the rocky heart had been smitten by words of gentleness, 
 and he would have revolted against that which should, degrade him in 
 his own esteem. 
 
 "G-ood night," said Conyers, with a hearty shake of the hand, 
 " and don't forget your breakfast engagement to-morrow." 
 
 " What's this ?" said Tom, blushing deeply, as he found a crumpled 
 bank-note in his palm. 
 
 " It's your fee, my good fellow, that's all," said the other, laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 " But I can't take a fee; I have never done so. I have no right 
 to one. I am not a Doctor yet." 
 
 " The very first lesson in your profession is not to anger your 
 patient, and if you would not provoke me, say no more on this 
 matter." There was a half-semblance of 'haughtiness in these words, 
 that perhaps the speaker never intended ; at all events, he was quick 
 enough to remedy the effect, for he laid his hand good naturedly on 
 the other's shoulder, and said, " !Por my sake, Dill — for my sake." 
 
 " I wish I knew what I ought to do," said Tom, whose pale cheek 
 actually trembled with agitation. • " I mean," said he, in a shaken 
 voice, " I wish I knew what would make you think best of me." 
 
 "Do you attach so much value to my good opinion, then ?" 
 
 " Don't you think I might ? When did I ever meet any one that 
 treated me this way before ?" 
 
 The agitation in which he uttered these words imparted such a 
 semblance of weakness to him, that Conyers pressed him down into 
 a chair, and filled up his glass with wine. 
 
 " Take that off, and you'll be aU right presently," said he, in a 
 Icind tone. 
 
 Tom tried to carry the glass to his lips, but his hand trembled so 
 that he had to set it down on the table. 
 
 " I don't know how to say it," began he, " and I don't know 
 whether I ought to say it, but somehow I feel as if I could give my 
 heart's blood if everybody would behave to me the way you do. I 
 don't mean, mind you, so generously, but treating me as if — as if — 
 as if — " gulped he out at last, " as if I was a gentleman." 
 
 " And why not ? As there is nothing in your station that should 
 deny that claim, why should any presume to treat you other- 
 wise ?" 
 
 " Because I'm not one !" blurted he out ; and covering his face mth 
 his hands, he sobbed bitterly. 
 
 " Come, come, my poor fellow, don't be downhearted. I'm not 
 
BAEEINGTOK. 63 
 
 much older than yourself, but I've seen a good deal of life ; and, mark 
 my words, the price a man puts on himself is the very highest penny 
 the world will ever bid for him ; he'll not always get that, but he'll 
 never — no, never, get a farthing beyond it !" 
 
 Tom stared vacantly at the speaker, not very sure whether \he 
 understood the speech, or that it had any especial application to him. 
 
 " "When you come to know life as well as I do," continued Conyers, 
 who had now launched into a very favourite theme, " you'll learn the 
 truth of what I say. Hold your head high, and if the world desires 
 to see you, it must at least look up !" 
 
 " Ay, but it might laugh, too !" said Tom, with a bitter gravity, 
 which considerably disconcerted the moralist, who pitched away his 
 cigar impatiently, and set about selecting another. 
 
 " I suspect I understand your nature. Por," said he, after a 
 moment or two, " I have rather a knack in reading people. Just 
 answer me frankly a few questions." 
 
 " Whatever you like," said the other, in a half sulky sort of 
 manner. 
 
 " Mind," said Conyers, eagerly, " as there can be no offence in- 
 tended, you'll not feel any by whatever I may say." 
 
 " Go on," said Tom, in the same dry tone. 
 
 "Ain't you obstinate?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " I knew it. "We had not talked half an hour together when I 
 detected it, and I said to myself, ' That fellow is one so rooted in his 
 own convictions, it is scarcely possible to shake him.' " 
 
 " "What next ?" asked Tom. 
 
 " Tou can't readily forgive an injury ; you find it very hard to 
 pardon the man whahas wronged you." 
 
 " I do not ; if he tfldn't go on persecuting me I wouldn't think of 
 him at all." 
 
 " Ah, that's a mistake. "W"ell, I know you better than you know 
 yourself; you do keep up the memory of an old grudge — you can't 
 help it." 
 
 " May be so, but I never knew it." 
 
 " Tou have, however, just as strong a sentiment of gratitude." 
 
 " I never knew that either," muttered he ; " perhaps because it has 
 had so little provocation !" 
 
 " Bear in mind," said Conyers, who was rather disconcerted by the 
 want of concurrence he had met with, " that I am in a great measure 
 referring to latent qualities — things which probably require time and 
 circumstance to develop." 
 
G4 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " Ob, if tliat's it," said Dill, " I can no more object than I could 
 if you talked to me about what is down a dozen fathoms in the earth 
 under our feet. It may be granite, or it may be gold, for what I 
 know, the only thing I see is the gravel before me." 
 
 " I'll tell you a trait of your character you can't gainsay," said 
 Conyers, who was growing more irritated by the opposition so un- 
 expectedly met with, " and it is one you need not dig a dozen fathoms 
 down to discover — you are very reckless." 
 
 " Eeckless — reckless — you call a fellow reckless that throws away 
 his chance, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " But what if he never had one ?" 
 
 " Every man has a destiny ; every man has that in his fate which 
 he may help to make or to mar as he inclines to. I suppose you 
 admit that ?" 
 
 " I don't know," was the sullen reply. 
 
 " Not know ? Surely you needn't be told such a fact to recog- 
 nise it !" 
 
 " All I know is this," said Tom, resolutely, "that I scarcely ever 
 did anything in my life that it wasn't found out to be wrong, so that 
 at last I've come to be pretty careless what I do, and if it wasn't for 
 
 Polly — if it wasn't for Polly " He stopped, drew his sleeve 
 
 across his eyes, and turned away, unable to finish. 
 
 " Come, then," said Conyers, laying his hand affectionately on the 
 other's shoulder, " add my friendship to lier love for you, and see if 
 the two will not give you encouragement, for I mean to be your 
 friend. Dill." 
 
 " Do you ?" said Tom, with the tears in his eyes. 
 
 " There's my hand on it." 4 
 
BAEEINGTON. 65 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 FINE ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 Theee is a law of compensation even for the small things of this 
 life, and, by the wise enactments of that law, human lappiness, on the 
 whole, is pretty equally distributed. The rich man, probablj, never felt 
 one tithe of the enjoyment in his noble demesne that it yielded to 
 some poor artisan who strolled through it on a holiday, and tasted at 
 once the charms of a woodland scene with all the rapturous delight 
 of a day of rest. 
 
 Arguing from these premises, I greatly doubt if Lady Cobham, at 
 the head of her great household, vpith her house crowded with distin- 
 guished visitors, surrounded by every accessory of luxury and splen- 
 dour, tasted anything approaching to the delight felt by one, the very 
 humblest of her guests, and who for a brief twenty-four hours par- 
 took of her hospitality. 
 
 Polly Dill, with all her desire and ambition for notice amongst the 
 great people of the county, had gone to this dinner-party with con- 
 siderable misgivings. She only knew the Admiral in the hunting- 
 field ; of her Ladyship, she had no knowledge whatever, save in a few 
 dry sentences uttered to her from a carriage one day at " the meet," 
 when the Admiral, with more sailor.like frankness than politeness, 
 presented her by saying, "This is the heroine of the day's run, 
 Doctor Dill's daughter." And to this was responded a stare through 
 a double eye-glass, and a cold smile and a few still colder words, 
 affecting to be compliment, but sounding far more like a correction 
 and a rebuke. 
 
 No wonder, then, if Polly's heart was somewhat faint about ap- 
 proaching as a hostess one who could be so repelling as a mere 
 acquaintance. Indeed, one less resolutely bent on her object would 
 not have encountered all the mortification and misery her anticipa- 
 tion pictured ; but Polly fortified herself by the philosophy that said, 
 " There is but one road to this goal : I must either take that one, or 
 abandon the journey." And so she did take it. 
 
 Either, however, that she had exaggerated the grievance to her 
 own mind, or that her Ladyship was more courteous at home than 
 abroad, but Polly was charmed with the kindness of her reception. 
 
 r 
 
66 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 Lady Cobham had shaken hands with her, asked her had she heen 
 hunting lately, and was about to speak of her horsemanship to a grim 
 old lady beside her, when the arrival of other guests cut short the 
 compliment, and Polly passed on — her heart lightened of a great load 
 — to mix with the general company. 
 
 I have no doubt it was a pleasant country-house ; it was called 
 the pleasantest in the county. On the present occasion it counted 
 amongst its guests not only the great families of the neighbourhood, 
 but several distinguished visitors from a distance, of whom two at 
 least are note-worthy — one, the great lyric poet ; the other, the first 
 tragic actregs of her age and country. The occasion which assembled 
 them was a project originally broached at the Admiral's table, and so 
 frequently discussed afterwards that it matured itself into a congress. 
 The plan was to get up theatricals for the winter season at Kilkenny, 
 in which all the native dramatic ability should be aided by the first 
 professional talent. Scarcely a country-house that could not boast 
 of at least one promising performer. Euthven, and Campion, and 
 Probart had in their several walks been applauded by the great in art, 
 and there were many others who in the estimation of friends were 
 just as certain of a high success. 
 
 Some passing remark on Polly's good looks, and the suitability of 
 her face and style for certain small characters in comedy — the pink- 
 ribboned damsels who are made love to by smart valets — ^induced 
 Lady Cobham to include her in her list ; and thus, on these meagre 
 credentials, was she present. She did not want notice or desire 
 recognition ; she was far too happy to be there, to hear, and see, and 
 mark, and observe all around her, to care for any especial attention. 
 If the haughty Arabellas and G-eorgianas who 'swept past her with- 
 out so much as a glance, were not, in her own estimation, superior in 
 personal attractions, she knew well that they were so in all the acci- 
 dents of station and the advantages of dress ; and perhaps — wlio 
 knows ? — the reflection was not such a discouraging one. 
 
 Ifo memorable event, no incident worth recording, marked her 
 visit. In the world of such society the machinery moves with regu- 
 larity and little friction. The comedy of real life is admirably played 
 out by the well-bred, and Polly was charmed to see with what 
 courtesy, what consideration, what deference, people behaved to each 
 other; and all without an efibrt— perhaps without even a thought. 
 
 It was on the following day, when she got home and sat beside her 
 mother's chair, that she related all she had seen. Her heart was 
 filled with joy, for, just as she was taking her leave. Lady Cobham 
 had said, " Tou have been promised to us for Tuesday next, Miss 
 
BAREIlfGTOir. 67 
 
 Dill. Pray don't forget it!" And now she was busily engaged in 
 the cares of toilette ; and though it was a mere question of putting 
 bows of a sky-blue ribbon on a muslin dress — one of those little 
 travesties by which rustic beauty emulates ball-room^ splendour — to 
 her eyes it assumed all the importance of a grand preparation, and 
 one which she could not help occasionally rising to contemplate at a 
 little distance. 
 
 " Won't it be lovely, mamma," she said, " with a moss-rose — a 
 mere bud — on each of those bows ? But I haven't told you of how 
 he sang. He was the smallest little creature in the world, and he 
 tripped across the room with his tiny feet like a bird, and he kissed 
 Lady Cobham's hand with a sort of old-world gallantry, and pressed a 
 little sprig of jasmine she gave him to his heart — this way — and then 
 he sat down to the piano. I thought it strange to see a man play !" 
 
 " Effeminate — very," muttered the old lady, as she wiped her 
 spectacles. 
 
 " "Well, I don't know, mamma — at least after a moment I lost all 
 thought of it, for I never heard anything like his singing before. He 
 had not much voice, nor, perhaps, great skill, but there was an ex- 
 pression in the words, a rippling melody with which the verses ran 
 from his lips, while the accompaniment tinkled on beside them, per- 
 fectly rapturous. It all seemed as if words and air were begotten of 
 the moment, as if, inspired on the instant, he poured forth the verses,, 
 oil which he half dwelt, while thinking over what was to follow, im- 
 parting an actual anxiety as you listened, lest he should not be ready 
 with his rhyme ; and through all there was a triumphant joy that 
 lighted up his face and made his eyes sparkle with a fearless lustre, 
 as of one who felt the genius that was within him, and could trust it." 
 And then he had been so complimentary to herself, called her that 
 charming little " rebel," after she had sung " "Where's the Slave," and 
 told her that until he had heard the words from her lips he did not 
 know they were half so treasonable. " But, mamma, dearest, I have 
 made a conquest — and such a conquest, the hero of the whole 
 society — a Captain Stapylton, who did something, or captured some- 
 body, at "Waterloo — a bold dragoon, with a gorgeous pelisse all 
 slashed with gold, and such a mass of splendour that he was quite 
 dazzling to loolc upon." She went on, still very rapturously, to picture 
 him. " Not very young — that is to say, he might be thirty-five, or 
 perhaps a little more — tall, stately, even dignified in appearance, with 
 a beard and moustache almost white — for he had served much in 
 India, and he was dark-skinned as a native." And this fine soldier, 
 so sought after and so courted, had been markedly attentive to her, 
 
 r2 
 
68 BABEINGTOir. 
 
 danced with her twice, and promised she should have his Arab, 
 " Mahmoud," at her next visit to Cobham. It was very evident that 
 his notice of her had called forth certain jealousies from young ladies 
 of higher social pretensions, nor was she at all indifferent to the peril 
 of such sentiments, though she did not speak of them to her mother, 
 for in good truth that vrorthy woman was not one to investigate a 
 subtle problem, or suggest a wise counsel; not to say that her in- 
 terests were far more deeply engaged for Miss Harlowe than for her 
 daughter Polly, seeing that in the one case every motive, and the 
 spring to every motive, was familiar to her, while in the other she pos- 
 sessed but some vague and very strange notions of what was told her. 
 Clarissa had made a full confidence to her : she had wept out her 
 sorrows on her bosom, and sat sobbing on her shoulder. Polly came 
 to her with the frivolous narrative of a ball-room flirtation, which 
 threatened no despair nor ruin to any one. Here were no heart- 
 cpnsuming miseries, no agonising terrors, no dreadful casualties that 
 might darken a whole existence, and so Mrs. Dill scarcely followed 
 Polly's story at all, and never with any interest. 
 
 Polly went in search of her brother, but he had left home early that 
 morning with the boat, no one knew whither, and the Doctor was 
 in a towering rage at his absence. Tom, indeed, was so full of his 
 success with young Conyers, that he never so much as condescended 
 to explain his plans, and simply left a message to say, " It was likely 
 he'd be back by dinner-time." Now Doctor Dill was not in one of 
 his blandest humours. Amongst the company at Cobham, he had 
 found a great physician from Kilkenny, plainly showing him that all 
 his social sacrifices were not to his professional benefit, and that if 
 colds and catarrhs were going, his own services would never be called 
 in. Captain Stapylton, too, to whom Polly had presented him, told 
 him that he " feared a young brother ofiicer of his. Lieutenant Con- 
 yers, had fallen into the bands of some small village practitioner, and 
 that he would take immediate measures to get him back to head- 
 quarters," and then moved off, without giving him the time for a cor- 
 rection of the mistake. 
 
 He took no note of his daughter's little triumphs, the admiration 
 that she excited, or the flatteries that greeted her. It is true he did 
 not possess the same means of measuring these that she had, and in 
 all that dreary leisure which besets an unhonoured guest, he had 
 ample time to mope, and fret, and moralise, as gloomily as might be. 
 If, then, he did not enjoy himself on his visit, he came away from it 
 soured and ill-humoured. 
 
 He denounced "junketings" — by which unseemly title he desig- 
 
EAEETH&TOK. 69 
 
 nated the late entertainment — as amusements too costly for persons 
 of his means. He made a rough calculation — a very rough one — of all 
 that the " precious tomfoolery" had cost : the turnpike which he had 
 paid, and the perquisites to servants — which he had not ; the expense 
 of Polly's finery — a hazarded guess she would have been charmed to 
 have had confirmed ; and, ending the whole with a startling total, de- 
 clared that a reign of rigid domestic economy must commence from 
 that hour. The edict was something like what one reads from the 
 Prench Government, when about to protest against some licence of 
 the press, an3 which opens by proclaiming that " the latitude hitherto 
 conceded to public discussion has not been attended with those gra- 
 tifying results so eagerly anticipated by the Imperial administration." 
 Poor Mrs. Dill — like a mere journalist — never knew she had been en- 
 joying blessings till she was told she had forfeited them for ever, and 
 she heard with a confused astonishment that the household charges 
 would be still further reduced, and yet food arid fuel and light be not 
 excluded from the supplies. He denounced Polly's equestrianism as 
 a most ruinous and extravagant pursuit. Poor Polly, whose field 
 achievements had always been on a borrowed mount ! Tom was a 
 scapegrace, whose debts would have beggared half a dozen families 
 — wretched dog, to whom a guinea was a gold-mine ; and Mrs. Dill, 
 unhappy Mrs. Dill, who neither hunted, nor smoked, nor played 
 skittles, after a moment's pause, he told her that his hard-earned 
 pence should not be wasted in maintaining a " circulating library." 
 Was there ever injustice like this ? Talk to a man with one meal a day 
 about gluttony, lecture the castaway at sea about not giving way to 
 his appetites, you might just as well do so as preach to Mrs. Dill — with 
 her one book, and who never wanted another — about the discursive 
 costliness of her readings. 
 
 Could it be that, like the cruel gaoler, who killed the spider the 
 prisoner had learned to love, he had resolved to rob her of Clarissa ? 
 The thought was so overwhelming that it stunned her ; and thus 
 stupified, she saw the Doctor issue forth on his daily round, without 
 venturing one word in answer. And he rode on his way — on that 
 strange mission of mercy, meanness, of honest sympathy, or mock 
 philanthropy, as men's hearts and natures make of it — and set out 
 for the " Fisherman's Home." 
 
70 BAESIirGTON. 
 
 CHAPTEEJX. 
 
 A COUNTRY DOOTOE. 
 
 In a story, as in a voyage, one must occasionally travel with uncon- 
 genial companions. Now I tave no reason for hopiitg that any of 
 my readers care to keep Doctor Dill's company, and yet it is with 
 Doctor Dill we must now for a brief space foregather. He was on his 
 way to visit his patient at the " Fisherman's Home," having started, 
 intentionally very early, to be there before Stapylton could have 
 interposed with any counsels of removing him to Kilkenny. 
 
 The world in its blind confidence in medical skill, and its unbounded 
 belief in certain practitioners of medicine, is but scantily just to the 
 humbler members of the craft in regard to the sensitiveness with 
 which they feel the withdrawal of a patient from their care, and the 
 substitution of another physician. The Doctor, who has not only 
 heard, but felt, Babington's adage, that the difference between a good 
 physician and a bad one is only " the difference between a pound and 
 a guinea," naturally thinks it a hard thing that his interests are to be 
 sacrificed for a mere question of five per cent. He knows, besides, 
 that they each work on the same materials with the same tools, and 
 it can be only through some defect in his self-confidence that he can 
 bring himself to believe that the patient's chances are not pretty 
 much alike in his hands or his rival's. Now Doctor DiU had no 
 feelings of this sort ; no undervaluing of himself found a place in his 
 nature. He regarded medical men as tax-gatherers, and naturally 
 thought it mattered but little which received the impost ; and, thus 
 reflecting, he bore no good will towards that gallant Captain, who, as 
 we have seen, stood so well in his daughter's favour. Even hardened 
 men of the world — old footsore pilgrims of life — have their prejudices, 
 and one of these is to be pleased at thinking they had augured un- 
 favourably of any one they had afterwards learned to dislike. It 
 smacks so much of acuteness to be able to say, " I was scarcely pre- 
 sented to him ; we had not exchanged a dozen sentences when I saw 
 this, that, and t'other." DUl knew this man was overbearing, insolent, 
 and oppressive, that he was meddlesome and interfering, giving advice 
 unasked for, and presuming to direct where no guidance was re- 
 quired. He suspected he was not a man of much fortune ; he doubted 
 
BAEBIIfGTOK. 
 
 71 
 
 he was a maa of good family. All his airs of pretensions— very high 
 and mighty they were — did not satisfy the Doctor. As he said 
 himself, he was a very old bird, but he forgot to add that he had 
 always lived in an extremely small cage. • 
 
 The Doctor had to leave his horse on the high road and take a 
 small footpath, which led thiTough some meadows till it reached the 
 little copse of beech and ilex that sheltered the cottage and effectually 
 hid it from all view from the road. The Doctor had just gained the 
 last stile when he suddenly came upon a man repairing a fence, and 
 whose labours were being overlooked by Miss Barrington. He had 
 scarcely uttered his most respectful salutations, when she said, " It 
 is, perhaps, the last time you will take that path through the Lock 
 Meadow, Doctor Dill. We mean to close it up after this week." 
 
 " Close it up, dear lady ! — a right of way that has existed Heaven 
 knows how long. I remember it as a boy myself." 
 
 "Very probably, Sir, and what you say vouches for great anti- 
 quity ; but things may be old and yet not respectable. Besides, it 
 never was what you have called it — a right of vvay. If it was, where 
 did it go to ?" 
 
 " It went to the cottage, dear lady. The Home was a mill in those 
 
 " Well, Sir, it is no longer a mill, and it will soon cease to be an 
 inn." 
 
 " Indeed, dear lady ! And am I to hope that I may congratulate 
 such kind friends as you have ever been to me on a change of 
 fortune ?" 
 
 "Tes, Sir; we have grown so poor that, to prevent utter destitu- 
 tion, we have determined to keep a private station ; and, with refer- 
 ence to that, may I ask you when this young gentleman could bear 
 removal without injury?" 
 
 " I have not seen hira to-day, dear lady ; but, judging from the 
 inflammatory symptoms I remarked yesterday, and the great nervous 
 depression ' ' 
 
 " I know nothing about medicine, Sir ; but if the nervous depres- 
 sion be indicated by a great appetite and a most noisy disposition, 
 his ease must be critical." 
 
 " Woise, dear lady !" 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; assisted by your son, he sat over his wine till past 
 midnight, talking extremely loudly, and occasionally singing. They 
 have now been at breakfast since ten o'clock, and you will very soon 
 be able to judge by your own ears of the well-regulated pitch of the 
 conversation." 
 
72 BAEEIKGTOlf. 
 
 " My son, Miss Dinah ! Tom Dill at breakfast here ?" 
 
 " I don't know whether his name be Tom or Harry, Sir, nor is it 
 to the purpose ; but he is a red-haired youth, with a stoop in the 
 shoulders, and a muflh-abused cap." 
 
 Dill groaned over a portrait which to him was a photograph. 
 
 " I'll see to this, dear lady. This shall be looked into," muttered 
 he, with the purpose of a man who pledged himself to a course of 
 action ; and with this he moved on. Nor bad he gone many paces 
 from the spot when he heard the sound of voices, at first in some con- 
 fusion, but afterwards clearly and distinctly. 
 
 " I'll be hanged if I'd do it, Tom," cried the loud voice of Conyers. 
 " It's all very fine talking about paternal authority and all that, and 
 so long as one is a boy there's no help for it, but you and I are men. 
 We have a right to be treated like men, haven't we ?" 
 
 " I suppose so," muttered the other, half sulkily, and not exactly 
 sseing what was gained by the admission. 
 
 " Well, that being so," resumed Conyers, " I'd say to the governor, 
 ' What allowance are you going to make me ?' " 
 
 " Did you do that with your father ?" asked Tom, earnestly. 
 
 " No, not exactly," stammered out the other. " There was not, 
 in fact, any need for it, for my governor is a rare joUy fellow — 
 such a trump ! What he said to me was, ' There's a cheque-book, 
 George ; don't spare it.' " 
 
 " Which was as much as to say, ' Draw what you like.' " 
 
 " Tes, of course. He knew, in leaving it to my honour, there was 
 no risk of my committing any excess ; so you see there was no neces- 
 sity to make my governor ' book up.' But if I was in your place 
 I'd do it. I pledge you my word I would." 
 
 Tom only shook his head very mournfully, and made no answer. 
 He felt, and felt truly, that there is a worldly wisdom learned only 
 in poverty and in the struggles of narrow fortune, of which the well- 
 to-do know absolutely nothing. Of what avail to talk to him of an 
 unlimited credit, or a credit to be bounded only by a sense of honour ? 
 It presupposed so much that was impossible, that he would have 
 laughed if his heart had been but light enough. 
 
 "Well, then," said Conyers, "if you haven't courage for this, let 
 me do it — let me speak to your father." 
 
 " What could you say to him ?" asked Tom, doggedly. 
 
 " Say to him ? — what could I say to him ?" repeated he, as he lighted 
 a fresh cigar, and affected to be eagerly interested in the process. 
 " It's clear enough what I'd say to him." 
 
 " Let us hear it, then," growled out Tom, for he had a sort of coarse 
 
BAEEINGTON. 73 
 
 enjoyment at the other's embarrassment. " I'll be the Doctor now, 
 and listen to you." And with this he squared his chair full in front 
 of Conyers, and crossed his arms imposingly on his chest. " Ton 
 said you wanted to speak to me about my son Tom, Mr. Conyers ; 
 what is it you have to say ?" 
 
 "Well, I suppose I'd open the matter delicately, and perhaps 
 adroitly. I'd say, ' I have remarked, Doctor, that your son is a 
 young fellow of very considerable abilities ' " 
 
 " For what ?" broke in Tom, huskily. 
 
 " Come, you're not to interrupt in this fashion, or I can't continue. 
 I'd say something about your natural cleverness, and what a pity it 
 would be if, with very promising talents, you should not have those 
 fair advantages which lead a man to success in life." 
 
 "And do you know what he^d say to aU that ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you. He'd say ' Bother !' Just ' bother.' " 
 
 " What do you mean by ' bother ?' " 
 
 " That -what you were saying was all nonsense. That you didn't 
 know, nor you never could know, the struggles of a man like himself, 
 just to make the two ends meet — not to be rich, mind you, or lay by 
 money, or have shares in this, or stocks in that, but just to live, and 
 no more." 
 
 " Well, I'd say, ' Give him a few hundred pounds, and start 
 him.' " 
 
 " Why don't you say a few thousands ? It would sound grander, 
 and be just as likely. Can't you see that everybody hasn't a Lieu- 
 tenant- General for a father ? and that what yoa'd give for a horse — 
 that would, maybe, be staked to-morrow — would, perhaps, be a for- 
 tune for a fellow like me ? What's that I hear coming up the river ? 
 That's the Doctor, I'm sure. I'll be off till he's gone." And vrith- 
 out waiting to hear a word he sprang from his chair and disappeared 
 in the wood. 
 
 Doctor Dill only waited a few seconds to compose his features, 
 somewhat excited by what he had overheard; and then coughing 
 loudly, to announce his approach, moved gravely along the gravel 
 path. 
 
 " And how is my respected patient ?" asked he, blandly. " Is the 
 inflammation subsiding, and are our pains diminished?" 
 
 " My ankle is easier, if you mean that," said Conyers, bluntly. 
 
 " Tes, much easier — much easier," said the Doctor, examining the 
 limb ; " and our cellular tissue has less effusion, the sheaths of the 
 tendons freer, and we are generally better. I perceive you have had 
 
74 B.VEKINGTOIf. 
 
 tbe leeches applied. Did Tom — ^my son — give you satisfaction? 
 "Was he as attentive and as careful as yon wished ?" 
 
 " Yes, I liked him. I wish he'd come up here every day while I 
 remain. Is there any objection to that arrangement ?" 
 
 "None, dear Sir — none. His time is fully at your service; he 
 ought to be working hard. It is true he should be reading eight or 
 ten hours a day, for his examination ; but it is hard to persuade him 
 to it. Young men will be young men !" 
 
 ;■ " I hope so, with all my heart. At least, I, for one, don't want to 
 be an old one. Will you do me a favour. Doctor ? and will you 
 forgive me if I don't know how to ask it with all becoming delicacy ? 
 I'd like to give Tom a helpiug hand. He's a good fellow — I'm certain 
 he is. WiU you let me send him out to India, to my father ? He 
 has lots of places to give away, and he'd be sure to find something to 
 suit him. You have heard of General Conyers, perhaps, the political 
 resident at Delhi ? That's my governor." In the hurry and rapidity 
 with which he spoke, it was easy to see how he struggled with a sense 
 of shame and confusion. 
 
 Doctor Dill was profuse of acknowledgments ; he was even moved 
 as he expressed his gratitude. " It was true," he remarked, "that 
 his life had been signalled by these sort of graceful services, or rather 
 ofiers of services ; for we are proud, if we are poor. Sir. ' DUl aut 
 nil ' is the legend of our crest, which means that we are ourselves or 
 nothing." 
 
 "I conclude everybody else is in the same predicament," broke in 
 Conyers, bluntly. 
 
 " Not exactly, young gentleman — not exactly. I think I could, 
 perhaps, explain " 
 
 " No, no ; never mind it. I'm the s'tupidest fellow in the world at 
 a nice distinction; besides, I'll take your word for the fact. You 
 have heard of my father, haven't you ?" 
 
 " I heard of him so late as last night, from a brother officer of 
 yours. Captain Stapylton." 
 
 " Where did you meet Stapylton," asked Conyers, quickly. 
 
 " At Sir Charles Cobham's. I was presented to him by my daughter, 
 and he made the most kindly inquiries after you, and said that, if 
 possible, he'd come over here to-day to see you." 
 
 " I hope he won't, that's all," muttered Conyers. Then, correcting 
 himself suddenly, he said, " I mean, I scarcely know him ; he has only 
 joined us a few months back, and is a stranger to every one in the 
 regiment. I hope you didn't tell him where I was." 
 
 " I'm afraid that I did, for I remember his adding, ' Oh ! I must 
 carry him off. I must get him back to head-quarters.' " 
 
BAEEINGTON. 
 
 75 
 
 " Indeed ! Let us see if he will. That's the style of these ' Com- 
 pany's' ofEcers — he was in some Native corps or other — they always 
 fancy they can bully a subaltern ; but Black Stapylton wiU find him- 
 self mistaken this time." 
 
 " He was afraid that you had not fallen into skilful hands ; and of 
 course it would not have come well from me to assure him of the 
 opposite." 
 
 "Well, but what of Tom, Doctor? Tou have given me no 
 answer." 
 
 " It is a case for reflection, my dear young friend, if I may be 
 emboldened to call you so. It is not a matter I can say yes or no to 
 on the instant. I have only two grown-up children : mj daughter, 
 the most affectionate, the most thoughtful of girls, educated, too, in 
 a way to grace any sphere " 
 
 "You needn't tell me that Tom is a wild fellow," broke in 
 Conyers — for he well understood the antithesis that was coming — 
 " he owned it all to me, himself. I have no doubt, too, that he made 
 the worst of it ; for, after all, what signifies a dash of extravagance, 
 or a mad freak or two ? Tou can't expect that we should all be as 
 wise, and as prudent, and as cool-headed as Black Stapylton." 
 
 " You plead very ably, young gentleman," said Dill, with his 
 smoothest accent, " but you must give me a little time." 
 
 " Well, I'll give you till to-morrow — to-morrow, at this hour; for 
 it wouldn't be fair to the poor fellow to keep him in a state of un- 
 certainty. His heart is set on the plan ; he told me so." 
 
 " I'll do my best to meet your wishes, my dear young gentleman ; 
 but please to bear in mind that it is the whole future fate of my 
 son I am about to decide. Your father may not, possibly, prove so 
 deeply interested as you are : he may — not unreasonably either — 
 take a colder view of this project : he may chance to form a lower 
 estimate of my poor boy, than it is your good nature to have done." 
 
 " Look here. Doctor; I know my governor something better than 
 you do, and if I wrote to him, and said, ' I want this fellow to come 
 home with a lac of rupees,' he'd start him to-morrow with half the 
 money. If I were to say, ' You are to give him the best thing 
 in your gift,' there's nothing he'd stop at ; he'd make him a judge, 
 or a receiver, or some one of those fat things, that send a man 
 back to England with a fortune. What's that fellow whispering 
 you about ? It's something that concerns me." 
 
 This sudden interruption was caused by the approach of Darby, 
 who had come to whisper something in the Doctor's ear. 
 
 " It is a message he has brought me ; a matter of little conse- 
 quence. I'll look to it. Darby. Tell your mistress it shall be at- 
 
76 BAHEINGTOIT. 
 
 tended to." Darby lingered for a moment, but the Doctor motioned 
 him away, and did not speak again till he had quitted the spot. 
 " How these fellows will wait to pick up w^hat passes between their 
 betters," said Dill, while he continued to follow him with his eyes. 
 " I think I mentioned to you once already, that the persons who 
 keep this house here are reduced gentry, and it is now my task to 
 add that, either from some change of fortune, or from caprice, they 
 are thinking of abandoning the inn, and resuming — so far as may be 
 possible for them — their former standing. This project dates before 
 your arrival here ; and now, it would seem, they are growing impa- 
 tient to effect it : at least, a very fussy old lady — Miss Barrington — 
 has sent me word by Darby, to say her brother will be back here 
 to-morrow or next day, with some friends from Kilkenny, and she 
 asks at what time your convalescence is likely to permit removal." 
 
 " Turned out, in fact. Doctor — ordered to decamp ! You must 
 say I'm ready, of course ; that is to say, that I'll go at once. I don't 
 exactly see how I'm to be moved in this helpless state, as no carriage 
 can come here ; but you'll look to all. that for me. At all events, go 
 immediately, and say I shall be off within an hour or so." 
 
 " Leave it all to me — leave it in my hands. I think I see what is 
 to be done," said the Doctor, with one of his confident little smiles, 
 and moved away. 
 
 There was a spice of irritation in Conyers's manner as he spoke. 
 He was very little accustomed to be thwarted in anything, and 
 scarcely knew the sensation of having a wish opposed, or an obstacle 
 set against him, but simply because there was a reason for his quit- 
 ting the place, grew all the stronger his desire to remain there. He 
 looked around him, and never before had the foliage seemed so grace- 
 ful ; never had the tints of the copper-beech blended so harmoniously 
 with the stone-pine and the larch ; never had the eddies of the river 
 laughed more joyously, nor the blackbirds sung witli a more im- 
 petuous richness of melody. " And to say that I must leave all this, 
 just when I feel myself actually clinging to it. I could spend my 
 whole life here. I glory in this quiet, unbroken ease ; this life, that 
 slips along as waveless as the stream there ! Why shouldn't I buy it ; 
 have it all my own, to come down to, whenever I was sick and weary 
 of the world and its dissipations ? The spot is small ; it couldn't be 
 very costly : it would take a mere nothing to maintain. And to 
 have it all one's own !" There was an actual ecstasy in the thought ; 
 for in that same sense of possession there is a something that re- 
 sembles the sense of identity. The little child with his toy, the 
 aged man with his proud demesne, are tasters of the same pleasure. 
 
BABBINGTOlf. 
 
 77 
 
 " Tou are to use your own discretion, my dear young gentleman, 
 and go when it suits you, and not before," said the Doctor, return- 
 ing triumphantly, for be felt like a successful envoy. " And now I 
 ■will leave you. To-morrow you shall have my answer about Tom." 
 
 Conyers nodded vaguely ; for, alas ! Tom, and all about Mm, had 
 completely lapsed from his memory. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 BE 1 N G " B O 11 E D.'' 
 
 It is a high testimony to that order of architecture which we call 
 castle-building, that no man ever lived in a house so fine he could not 
 build one more stately still out of his imagination. Nor is it only to 
 grandeur and splendour this superiority extends, but it can invest 
 lowly situations and homely places with a charm which, alas, no 
 reality can rival. 
 
 Conyers was a fortunate fellow in a number of ways ; he was 
 young, good-looking, healthy, and rich. Fate had made place for 
 him on the very sunniest side of the Causeway, and with all that, he 
 was happier on that day, through the mere play of his fancy, than all 
 his wealth could have made hira. He had fashioned out a life for 
 himself in that cottage, very charming, and very enjoyable in its 
 way. He would make it such a spot that it would have resources for 
 him on every hand, and he hugged himself in the thought of coming 
 down here with a friend, or, perhaps, two friends, to pass days of that 
 luxurious indolence so fascinating to those who are, or fancy they 
 are, wearied of life's pomps and vanities. 
 
 Now there are no such scoifers at the frivolity and emptiness of 
 human wishes as the well-to-do young fellows of two or tl\ree-and- 
 twenty. They know the " whole thing," and its utter rottenness. 
 They smile compassionately at the eagerness of all around them ; they 
 look with a bland pity at the race, and contemptuously ask, Of what 
 value the prize when it is won ? They do their very best to be 
 gloomy moralists, but they cannot. They might as well try to shiver 
 when they sit in the sunshine. The vigorous beat of young hearts, 
 and the full tide of young pulses, will tell against all the mock 
 misanthropy that ever was fabricated ! It would not be exactly fair 
 to rank Conyers in this school, and yet he was not totally exempt 
 from some of its teachings. Who knows if these little imaginary 
 
78 BAEEniTGTOir. 
 
 glooms, these brain-created miseries, are not a kind of moral " alter- 
 ative" which, though depressing at the instant, render the constitu- 
 tion only more vigorous after ? 
 
 At all events, he had resolved to have the cottage, and, going prac- 
 tically to work, he called Darby to his counsels to tell him the ex- 
 tent of the place, its boundaries, and whatever information he could 
 afford as to the tenure and its rent. 
 
 " Tou'd be for buying it, your honour !" said Darby, with the keen, 
 quick-sightedness of his order. 
 
 " Perhaps I had some thoughts of the kind ; and, if so, I should 
 keep you on." 
 
 Darby bowed his gratitude very respectfully. It was too long a 
 vista for him to strain his eyes at, and so he made no profuse display 
 of thankfulness. "With all their imaginative tendencies, the lower 
 Irish are a very bird-in-the-hand sort of people. 
 
 " Not more than seventeen acres !" cried Couyers, in astonish- 
 ment. " Why, I should have guessed about forty, at least. Isn't 
 that wood there part of it ?" 
 
 " Tes, but it's only a strip, and the trees that you see yonder is in 
 Carriclough ; and them two meadows below the salmon weir isn't 
 ours at all ; and the island itself we have only a lease of it." 
 
 " It's all in capital repair, well kept, well looked after ?" 
 
 " "Well, it is, and isn't !" said he, with a look of disagreement. 
 " He'd have one thing, and she'd have another ; Ae'd spend every 
 shilling he could get on the place, and sAe'd grudge a brush of paint, 
 or a coat of whitewash, just to keep things together." 
 
 " I see nothing amiss here," said Conyers, looking around him. 
 " Nobody could ask or wish a cottage to be neater, better furnished, 
 or more comfortable. I confess I do not perceive anything<wanting." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure, it's very nate, as your honour says ; but then " 
 
 And he scratched his head, and looked confused. 
 
 " But then, what — out with it ?" 
 
 " The earwigs is dreadful ; wherever there's roses and sweetbriar 
 there's no livin' with them. Open the window and the place is full 
 of them." 
 
 Mistaking the surprise he saw depicted in his hearer's face for 
 terror. Darby launched forth into a description of insect and reptile 
 tortures that might have suited the tropics ; to hear him, all the 
 stories of the white ant of India, or the gallinipper of Demerara, were 
 nothing to the destructive powers of the Irish earwig. The place 
 was known for them all over the country, and it was years and years 
 lying empty, "by rayaon of thim plagues." 
 
BAEBISGTOX. 
 
 79 
 
 Ifow, if Conyers was not intimidated to the full extent Darby in- 
 tended by this account, he was just as far from guessing the secret 
 cause of this representation, which was simply a long-settled plan of 
 succeeding himself to the ownership of the " Fisherman's Home" 
 when, either from the course of nature or an accident, a vacancy would 
 occur. It was the grand dream of Darby's life, the island of his 
 Government, his seat in the Cabinet, his Judgeship, his Garter, his 
 everything, in short, that makes human ambition like a cup brimful 
 and overflowing ; and what a terrible reverse would it be if all these 
 hopes were to be dashed just to gratify the passing caprice of a mere 
 traveller ! 
 
 " I don't suppose your honour cares for money, and, maybe, you'd 
 as soon pay twice over the worth of anything ; but here, between 
 our two selves, I can tell you, you'd buy an estate in the county 
 cheaper than this little place. They think, because they planted 
 most of the trees and made the fences themselves, that it's like the 
 King's Park. It's a fancy spot, and a fancy price they'll ask for it. 
 But I know of another, worth ten of it — a real, elegant place ; to be 
 sure, its a trifle out of repair, for the ould naygur that has it won't 
 lay out a sixpence, but there's every convaniency in life about it. 
 There's the finest cup potatoes, the biggest turnips ever I see on it, 
 and fish jumpin' into the parlour-window, and hares runnin' about 
 like rats." 
 
 "I don't care for all that; this cottage and these grounds here 
 liave taken my fancy." 
 
 " And why wouldn't the other, when you seen it ? The ould Major 
 that lives there wants to sell it, and you'd get it a r^al bargain. Let 
 me row your honour up there this evening. It's not two miles ofi", 
 and the river beautiful all the way." 
 
 Conyers rejected' the proposal abruptly, haughtily. Darby had 
 dared to throw down a very imposing card-edifice, and for the mo- 
 ment the fellow was odious to him. All the golden visions of his 
 early morning, that poetised life he was to lead, that elegant pas- 
 toralism, which was to blend the splendour of LucuUus with the 
 simplicity of a Tityrus, all rent, torn, and scattered by a vile hind, 
 who had not even a conception of the ruin he had caused. 
 
 And yet Darby had a misty consciousness of some success. He 
 did not, indeed, know that his shell had exploded in a magazine, but 
 he saw, from the confusion in the garrison, that his shot had told 
 severely, somewhere. 
 
 " Maybe your honour would rather go to-morrow ? or maybe 
 you'd like the Major to come up here himself, and speak to you ?" 
 
80 BAEEINOTON. 
 
 " Once for all, I tell you, No ! Is that plain ? No ! And I may 
 add, my good fellow, that if you knew me a little better, you'd not 
 tender me any advice I did not ask for." 
 
 " And why would I ? Wouldn't I be a baste if I did ?" 
 
 " I think so," said Conyers, dryly, and turned away. He was out 
 of temper with everything and everybody — the Doctor, and his ab- 
 ject manner ; Tom, and his roughness ; Darby, and his roguish air of 
 self-satisfied craftiness ; all, for the moment displeased and offended 
 him. " I'll leave the place to-morrow : I'm not sure I shall not go 
 to-night. D'ye hear ?" 
 
 Darby bowed respectfully. 
 
 " I suppose I can reach some spot, by boat, where a carriage can 
 be had ?" 
 
 " By coorse, your honour. A.t Hunt's Mills, or Shibnabrack, 
 you'll get a car easy enough. I won't say it will be an elegant con- 
 vaniency, but a good horse will rowl you along into Thomastown, 
 where you can change for a shay." 
 
 Strange enough, this very facility of escape annoyed him. Had 
 Darby only told him that there were all manner of difficulties to 
 getting away — that there were shallows in the river, or a landslip 
 across the road — he would have addressed himself to overcome the 
 obstacles like a man ; but to hear that the course was open, that any 
 one might take it, was intolerable. 
 
 " I suppose, your honour, I'd better get the boat ready, at all 
 events ?" 
 
 " Tes, certainly — that is — not till I give further orders. I'm the 
 only stranger here, and I can't imagine there can be much difficvilty 
 in having a boat at any hour. Leave me, my good feUow ; you only 
 worry me. Go !" 
 
 And Darby moved away, revolving within himself the curious 
 problem, that if, having plenty of money enlarged a man's means of 
 enjoyment, it was strange how little effect it produced upon his man- 
 ners. As for Conyers, he stood moodily gazing on the river over 
 whose placid surface a few heavy raindrops were just falling; great 
 clouds, too, rolled heavily over the hill-sides, and gathered into 
 ominous-looking masses over the stream, while a low moaning sound 
 of very far-off thunder foretold a storm. 
 
 Here, at least, was a good tangible grievance, and he hugged it to 
 his heart. He was weather-bouud ! The tree-tops were already 
 shaking wildly, and dark scuds flying fast over the mottled sky. It 
 was clear that a severe storm was near. "No help for it now," 
 muttered he, " if I must remain here till to-morrow." And, hobbling 
 
BAllEIlfGTON. 81 
 
 as well as he could into the house, he seated himself at a window to 
 watch the hurricane. Too closely pent up hetween the steep sides of 
 tlie river for anything like destructive power, the wind only shook 
 the trees violently, or swept along the stream with tiny waves, which 
 warred against the current; but even these were soon beaten down 
 by the rain — that heavy, swooping, splashing rain, that seems to come 
 from the overflowing of a lake in the clouds. Darker and darker 
 grew the atmosphere as it fell, till the banks of the opposite side 
 were gradually lost to view, while the river itself became a yeUow 
 flood, surging up amongst the willows that lined the banks. It was 
 not one of those storms whose grand effects of lightning, aided by 
 pealing thunder, create a sense of sublime terror, that has its own 
 ecstasy ; but it was one of those dreary evenings when the dull sky 
 shows no streak of light, and when the moist earth gives up no per- 
 fume, when foliage and hill-side and rock and stream are leaden- 
 coloured and sad, and one wishes for winter, to close the shutter and 
 draw the curtain, and creep close to the chimney-corner as to a 
 refuge. 
 
 Oh, what comfortless things are these summer storms ! They come 
 upon us like some dire disaster in a time of festivity. They swoop 
 down upon our days of sunshine, like a pestilence, and turn our joy 
 into gloom, and all ovx gladness to despondency, bringing back to 
 our minds memories of comfortless journeys, weariful ploddings, long 
 nights of suffering. 
 
 I am but telling what Conyers felt at this sudden change of weather. 
 Tou and I, my good reader, know better. "We feel how gladly the 
 parched earth drinks up the refreshing draught, how the seared grass 
 bends gratefully to the skimming rain, and the fresh buds open with 
 joy to catch the pearly drops. We know, too, how the atmosphere, 
 long imprisoned, bursts forth into a joyous freedom, and comes back 
 to us fresh from the sea and the mountain rich in odour and redolent 
 of health, making the very air we breathe an exquisite luxury. We 
 know all this, and much more that he did not care for. 
 
 Now, Conyers was only " bored," as if anything could be much 
 worse ; that is to say, he was in that state of mind in which resources 
 yield no distraction, and nothing is invested with an interest sufficient 
 to make it even passingly amusing. He wanted to do something, 
 though the precise something did not occur to him. Had he been 
 well, and in full enjoyment of his strength, he'd have sallied out into 
 the storm and walked off his ennui by a wetting. Even a cold would 
 be a good exchange for the dreary blue-devilism of his depression, but 
 this escape was denied him, and he was left to fret, and chafe, and 
 
 G 
 
82 BAEEIlfGTOir. 
 
 fever himself, moving from window to chimney-corner, and from 
 chimney-corner to sofa, till at last, baited by self-tormentings, he 
 opened his door and sallied forth to wander through the rooms, 
 taking his chance where his steps might lead him. 
 
 Between the gloomy influences of the storm and the shadows of a 
 declining day he could mark but indistinctly the details of the rooms 
 he was exploring. They presented little that was remarkable ; they 
 were modestly furnished, nothing costly nor expensive anywhere, but 
 a degree of homely comfort rare to 'find in an inn. They had, above 
 all, that habitalile look which so seldom pertains to a house of enter- 
 tainment, and, in the loosely-scattered bookSj-prints, and maps, showed 
 a sort -of flattering trustfulness in the stranger who might sojourn 
 there; His wanderings led him at length into a somewhat more pre^ 
 teatious room, with a piano and a harp, at one angle of which a little 
 octangular tower opened, with' windows in every face, and the spaces 
 between them Completely covered by miniatures in oil, or small 
 cabinet pictures. A small table with a chess-board stood here, and 
 an unfinished game yet remained on the board. As Conyers bent 
 over to look, he perceived that a book, whose leaves were held open 
 by a smelling-bottle, lay on the chair next the table. He took this 
 up, and saw that it was a little' volume treating of the game, and that 
 the pieces on the board represented a problem. With the eagerness 
 of a man thirsting for some occupation, he seated himself at the table, 
 and set to work at the question. " A Mate in Six Moves " it was 
 headed, but the pieces had been already disturbed by some one at- 
 tempting the solution. He replaced them by the directions of the 
 volume, and devoted. himself earnestly to the- task. He was not a 
 good player, and the problem posed him. He tried it again and again, 
 but ever unsuccessfully. He' fancied that up! to a certain point he 
 bad followed the right track, and repeated the same opening moves 
 each time. Meanwhile th©' evening was fast closing in, and it was 
 only with difficulty he could See the pieces on the board. 
 
 Bending low over the table, he was straining his eyes at the game, 
 when a low, gentle voice from behind his chair said, " "Would you not 
 ■wish candles. Sir ? It is too dark to see here." 
 
 Conyers turned hastily, and as hastily recognised that the person 
 who addressed him was a gentlewoman. He arose at once, and made 
 a sort of apology for his intruding. 
 
 " Had I known you were a chess-player. Sir," said she, with the 
 demure gravity of a composed manner, " I believe I shouW have sent 
 you a challenge, for my brother, who is my usual adversary, is from 
 home." 
 
?'>?Z-< 
 
BAiiEiiirGTOsr. 88 
 
 " If I should prove a very unworthy enemy, Madam, you will find 
 me a very grateful one, for I am sorely tired of my own company." 
 
 " In that case, Sir, I beg to offer you mine, and a cup of tea along 
 with it." 
 
 Conyers accepted the invitation joyfully, and followed Miss Bar- 
 rington to a small but most comfortable little room, where a tea 
 equipage of exquisite old china vras already prepared. 
 
 " I see you are in admiration of my teacups ; they are the rare 
 Canton blue, for we tea-drinkers have as much epicurism in the form 
 and colour of a cup as wine-bibbers profess to have in a hock or a 
 cliiret glass. Pray take the sofa ; you will find it more comfortable 
 than a chair. I am aware you have had an accident." 
 
 Very few and simple as vrere her words, she threw into her manner 
 a degree of courtesy that seemed actual kindness, and coming, as this 
 did, after his late solitude and gloom, no wonder was it that Conyers 
 was charmed with it. There was, besides, a quaint formality — a sort 
 of old-world politeness in her breeding — which relieved the interview 
 of awkwardness by taking it out of the common category of such 
 events. 
 
 When tea was over they sat down to 'chess, at which Conyers had 
 merely proficiency enough to be worth beating ; perhaps the quality 
 stood him in good stead ; perhaps certain others, such as his good 
 looks and his pleasing manners, were even better aids to him ; but 
 certain it is. Miss Barrington liked her guest, and when, on arising 
 to say good night, he made a bungling attempt to apologise for 
 having prolonged his stay at the cottage beyond the period which 
 suited their plans, she stopped him by saying, with much courtesy, 
 " It is true, Sir, we are about to relinquish the inn, but pray do not 
 deprive us of the great pleasure we should feel in associating its last 
 day or two with a most agreeable guest. I hope you will remain till 
 my brother comes back and makes your acquaintance." 
 
 Conyers very cordially accepted the proposal, and went off to his 
 bed far better pleased vrith himself and with all the world than he 
 well believed it possible he could be a couple of hours before. 
 
 g2 
 
84 BABEIITGTOIf. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 A NOTE TO BE ANSWERED. 
 
 While Conyers was yet in bed the following morning, a messenger 
 arrived at the house with a note for him, and waited for the answer. 
 It was from Stapylton, and ran thus : 
 
 " Cobham Hall, Tuesday morning. 
 
 " Deae Con., — The world here — and part of it is a very pretty 
 world, with silky tresses and trim ankles — has declared that you have 
 had some sort of slight accident, and are laid up at a miserable way- 
 side inn, to be blue-devilled and doctored a discretion. I strained 
 my shoulder yesterday, hunting — my horse swerved against a tree — 
 or I should ascertain all the particulars of your disaster in person ; 
 so there is nothing left for it but a note. 
 
 " I am here domesticated at a charming country-house, the host an 
 old Admiral, the hostess a ci-devant belle of London — in times not 
 very recent and more lately what is called in newspapers ' one of the 
 ornaments of the Irish Court.' We have abundance of guests — 
 county dons and native celebrities, clerical, lyrical, and quizzical, 
 several pretty women, a first-rate cellar, and a very tolerable cook. 
 I give you the catalogue of our attractions, for I am commissioned 
 by Sir Charles and my Lady to ask you to partake of them. The 
 invitation is given in all cordiality, and I hope you will not decline 
 it, for it is, amongst other matters, a good opportunity of seeing an 
 Irish ' interior,' a thing of which I have always had my doubts and 
 misgivings, some of which are now solved ; others I should like to 
 investigate with your assistance. In a word, the whole is worth 
 seeing, and it is, besides, one of those experiences which can be had 
 on very pleasant terms. There is perfect liberty : always something 
 going on, and always a way to be out of it, if you like. The people 
 are, perhaps, not more friendly than in England, but they are far 
 more familiar ; and if not more disposed to be pleased, they tell you 
 they are, which amounts to the same. There is a good deal of 
 splendour, a wide hospitality, and, I need scarcely add, a considerable 
 share of bad taste. There is, too, a costly attention to the wishes of 
 a guest, which will remind you of India, though, I must own, the 
 
BAUEINGTOlf. 
 
 85 
 
 Irish Brahmin has not the grand, high-bred air of the Bengalee. But 
 again I say, come and see. 
 
 " I have been told to explain to you why they don't send their boat. 
 There is something about draught of water, and something about a 
 ' gash,' whatever that is : I opine it to be a rapid. And then I am 
 directed to say, that if you will have yourself paddled up to Brown's 
 Barn, the Cobham barge will be there to meet you. 
 
 " I write this with some difficulty, lying on my back on a sofa, 
 while a very pretty girl is impatiently waiting to continue her read- 
 ing to me of a new novel called ' The Antiquary,' a capital story, but 
 strangely disfigured by whole scenes in a Scottish dialect. Tou must 
 read it when you come over. 
 
 " Tou have heard of Hunter, of course. I am sure you will be 
 sorry at his leaving us. Eor myself, I knew him very slightly, and 
 shall not have to regret him like older friends ; not to say that I have 
 been so long in the service that I never believe in a Colonel. Would 
 you go with him if he gave you the offer ? There is such a row and 
 uproar all around me, that I must leave off. Have I forgotten to say, 
 that if you stand upon the ' dignities,' the Admiral will go in person 
 to invite you, though he has a foot in the gout. I conclude you will 
 not exact this, and I Icnow they will take your acceptance of this 
 mode of invitation as a great favour. Say the hour and the day, and 
 believe me yours always, 
 
 " HOBACE StAPXLTOIT. 
 
 " Sir Charles is come to say that if your accident does not interfere 
 with riding, he hopes you will send for your horses. He has ample 
 stabling, and is vain-glorious about his beans. That short-legged 
 chesnut you bought from Norris would cut a good figure here, as the 
 fences lie very close, and you must be always ' in hand.' If you saw 
 how the women ride ! There is one here now — a ' half-bred 'un' — that 
 pounded ufa all — a whole field of us — last Saturday. Tou shall see 
 her. I won't promise you'll follow her across her country." 
 
 The first impression made on the mind of Conyers by this letter 
 was surprise that Stapylton, with whom he had so little acquaintance, 
 should write to him in this tone of intimacyj Stapylton, whose cold 
 almost stern manner seemed to repel any approach, and now he 
 assumed all the free-and-easy air of a comrade of his own years and 
 standing. Had he mistaken the man, or had he been misled by 
 inferring from his bearing in the regiment what he must be at heart ? 
 This, however, was but a passing thought ; the passage which inte- 
 
86 BABBINGTON. 
 
 rested him moafc of all was about Hunter. Where and for what 
 could he have left, then ? It was a regiment he had served in since 
 he entered ths army. What could have led him to exchange ? and 
 why, when he did so, had he not written him one line — even one — to 
 say as much ? It was to serve under Hunter, his father's old aide- 
 de-camp in times back, that he had entered that regiment — to be 
 with him, to have his friendship, his counsels, his guidance. Colonel 
 Hunter had treated him like a son in every respect, and Conyers felt 
 in his heart that this same affection and interest it was which formed 
 his strongest tie to the service. The question, " Would you go with 
 him if he gave you the offer ?" was like a reflection on him, while no 
 such option had been extended to him. What more natural, after 
 all, than such an offer? so Stapylton thought — so aU the world would 
 think. How he thought over the constantly recurring questions of 
 his brother-officers : "Why didn't you go with Hunter?" "How 
 came it that Hunter did not name you on bis staff ?" " Was it fair 
 — was it generous in one who owed all his advancement to his fether 
 — to treat him in this fashion?" " Were the ties of old friendship so 
 lax as all this ?" " Was distance such an enemy to every obliga- 
 tion of affection?" "Would his father believe that such a slight 
 had been passed upon him undeservedly? Would not the ready 
 inference be, ' Hunter knew you to be incapable — unequal to the 
 duties he required. Hunter must have his reasons for passing you 
 over !' " and such like. These reflections, very bitter in their way, 
 were broken in upon by a request from Miss Barrington for his com- 
 pany at breakfast. Strange enough, he had half forgotten that there 
 was such a person in the world, or that he had spent the preceding 
 evening very pleasantly in her society. 
 
 " I hope you have had a pleasant letter," said she, as he entered, 
 with Stapylton's note still in his hand. 
 
 " I can scarcely call it so, for it brings me news that our Colonel — 
 a very dear and kind friend to me — is about to leave us."^ 
 
 " Are not these the usual chances of a soldier's life ? I used to be 
 very familiar once on a time with such topics." 
 
 " I have learned the tidings so vaguely, too, that I can make nothing 
 of them. My correspondent is a mere acquaintance — a brother officer, 
 who has lately joined us, and cannot feel how deeply his news has 
 affected me ; in fact, the chief burden of his letter is to convey an 
 invitation to me, and he is full of country-house people and pleasures. 
 He writes from a place called Cobham." 
 
 " Sir Charles Cobham's. One of the best houses in the county." 
 
BAEEINGTON. 87 
 
 "Do you know them ?" asked Conyers, who did not, till the words 
 were out, remember how awkward they might prove. 
 
 She flushed slightly for a moment, but, speedUy recovering herself, 
 said, "Tes, we knew them once. They had just come to the country, 
 and purchased that estate, when our misfortunes overtook us. They 
 showed us much attention, and such kindness as strangers could 
 show, and they evinced a disposition to continue it ; but, of course, 
 our relative positions made intercourse impossible. I am afraid," 
 said she, hastily, " I am talking in riddles all this time. I ought to 
 have told you that my brothep once owned a good estate here. We 
 Barringtons thought a deal of ourselves in those days." She tried 
 to say these words with a playfnl levity, but her voice shook, and her 
 lip trembled in spite of her. 
 
 Conyers muttered something unintelligible about "his having 
 heard before," and his sorrow to have awakened a painful theme ; 
 but she stopped him hastily, saying, " These are all such old stories 
 now, one should be able to talk them over unconcernedly ; indeed, it 
 is easier to do so than to avoid the subject altogether, for there is no 
 such egotist as your reduced gentleman." She made a pretext of 
 giving him his tea and helping him to something, to cover th& 
 awkward pause that followed, and then asked if he intended to accept, 
 the invitation to Cobham. 
 
 " Not if you will allow me to remain here. The Doctor says three 
 days more will see me able to go back to my quarters." 
 
 " I hope you will stay for a week at least, for I scarcely expect my 
 brother before Saturday. Meanwhile, if you have any fancy to visit 
 Cobham, and make your acquaintance with the family there, remember- 
 you have all the privileges of an inn here, to come and go, and stay 
 at your pleasure." 
 
 " I do not want to leave this. I wish I was never to leave it," 
 muttered he below his breath. 
 
 " Perhaps I guess what it is that attaches you to this place," said 
 she, gently. " Shall I say it ? There is something quiet, something 
 domestic here, that recals 'Home.' " 
 
 " But I never knew a home,'' said Conyers, falteringly. " My 
 mother died when I was a mere infant, and I knew none of that 
 watchful love that first gives the sense of home. Tou may be right, 
 however, in supposing that I cling to this spot as what should seem 
 to me like a home, for I own to you I feel very happy here." 
 
 " Stay then and be happy," said she, holding out her hand, which 
 he clasped warmly, and then pressed to his lips. 
 
88 BABEINGTON. 
 
 " Tell your friend to come over and dine with you any day that he 
 can tear himself from gay company and a great house, and I will do 
 my best to entertain him suitably." 
 
 " No. I don't care to do that ; he is a mere acquaintance ; there 
 is no friendship between us, and, as he is several years older than me, 
 and far wiser, and more man of the world, I am more chilled than 
 cheered by his company. But you shall read his letter, and I'm 
 certain you'll make a better guess at his nature than if I were to 
 give you my own version of him at any length." So saying, he 
 handed Stapylton's note across the table, and Miss Dinah, having 
 deliberately put on her spectacles, began to read it. 
 
 " It's a fine manly hand — very bold and very legible, and says 
 something for the writer's frankness. Eh ! ' a miserable wayside 
 inn!' This is less than just to the poor ' Fisherman's Home.' Posi- 
 tively, you must make him come to dinner, if it be only for the sake 
 of our character. This man is not amiable. Sir," said she, as she 
 read on, " though I could swear he is pleasant company, and some- 
 times witty. But there is little of genial in his pleasantry, and less 
 ««f good nature in his wit." 
 
 " Go on," cried Conyers ; " I'm quite with you." 
 
 " Is he a person of family ?" asked she, as she read on some few 
 lines further. 
 
 " We know nothing about him ; he joined us from a native corps, 
 qn India ; but he has a good name, and apparently ample means. 
 _His appearance and manner are equal to any station." 
 
 " For all that, I don't like him, nor do I desire that you should like 
 him. There is no wiser caution than that of the Psalmist against 
 ' sitting in the seat of the scornful.' This man is a scofier." 
 
 " And yet it is not his usual tone. He is cold, retiring, almost 
 shy. This letter is not a bit like anything I ever saw in his 
 character." 
 
 "Another reason to distrust him. Set my mind at ease by saying 
 ' No' to his invitation, and let me try if I cannot recompense you by 
 homeliness in lieu of splendour. The young lady," added she, as she 
 folded the letter, " whose horsemanship is commemorated at the ex- 
 pense of her breeding, must be our Doctor's daughter. She is a very 
 pretty girl, and rides admirably. Her good looks and her courage 
 might have saved her the sarcasm. I have my doubts if the man that 
 uttered it be thorough-bred." 
 
 " "Well, I'll go and write my answer," said Conyers, rising. " I have 
 been keeping his messenger waiting all this time. I will show it to 
 you before I send it off." 
 
BAEEINOTON. 89 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 THE ANSWEB. 
 
 " Will this do ?" said Conyers, shortly after entering the room with 
 a very brief note, but which, let it be owned, cost him fully as much 
 labour as more practised hands occasionally bestow on a more lengthy 
 despatch. " I suppose it's all that's civil and proper, and I don't care 
 to make any needless professions. Pray read it, and give me your 
 opinion." 
 
 It was so brief that I may quote it : 
 
 " Deab Captain Stapylton, — Don't feel any apprehensions about 
 me. I am in better quarters than I ever fell into in my life, and my 
 accident is not worth speaking of. I wish you had told me more of 
 our Colonel, of whose movements I am entirely ignorant. I am sin- 
 cerely grateful to your friends for thinking of me, and hope, ere I 
 leave the neighbourhood, to express to Sir Charles and Lady Cobham 
 how sensible I am of their kind intentions towards me. 
 
 " I am, most faithfully yours, 
 
 " F. CoirrEEs." 
 
 " It is very well, and tolerably legible," said Miss Barrington, 
 dryly ; " at least, I can make out everything but the name at the 
 end." 
 
 " I own I do not shine in penmanship ; the strange characters at 
 the foot were meant to represent ' Conyers.' " 
 
 " Conyers ! Conyers ! How long it is since I heard that name last, 
 jind how familiar I was with it once. My nephew's dearest friend 
 was a Conyers." 
 
 " He must have been a relative of mine in some degree ; at least, 
 we are in the habit of saying that all of the name are of one family." 
 
 Not heeding what he said, the old lady had fallen back in her 
 meditations to a very remote " long ago," and was thinking of a time 
 when every letter from India bore the high-wrought interest of a ro- 
 mance, of which her nephew was the hero — times of intense anxiety, 
 indeed, but full of hope withal, and glowing with all the rich colour- 
 
90 BAEEIiraTON. 
 
 ing with which love and an exalted imagination can invest the inci- 
 dents of an adventurous life. 
 
 " It was a great heart he had, a splendidly generous nature, far too 
 high-souled and too exacting for common friendships, and so it was 
 that he had few friends. I am talking of my nephew," said she, cor- 
 recting herself suddenly. " What a boon for a young man to have 
 met him, and formed an attachment to him. I wish you could have 
 known him. George would have been a noble example for you!" 
 She paused for some minutes, and then suddenly, as it were remem- 
 bering herself, said, " Did you tell me just now, or was I only 
 dreaming, that you knew Ormsby Conyers ?" 
 
 " Ormsby Conyers is my father's name," said he, quickly. 
 
 " Captain in the 25fch Dragoons ?" asked she, eagerly. 
 
 " He was so, some eighteen or twenty years ago." 
 
 " Oh, then, my heart did not deceive me," cried she, taking his 
 hand with both her own, " when I felt towards you like an old friend. 
 After we parted last night, I asked myself, again and again, how 
 was it that I already felt an interest in you ? What subtle instinct 
 was it that whispered this is the son of poor Greorge's dearest friend — 
 this is the son of that dear Ormsby Conyers, of whom every letter is 
 full ? Oh, the happiness of seeing you under this roof! And what a 
 surprise for my poor brother, who clings only the closer, with every 
 year, to all that reminds him of his boy !" 
 
 " And you knew my father, then ?" asked Conyers, proudly. 
 
 " Ifever met him ; but I believe I knew him better .than many who 
 were his daily intimates ; for years my nephew's letters were journals 
 of their joint lives — ^they seemed never separate. But you shall read 
 them yourself. They go back to the time when they both landed at 
 Calcutta, young and ardent spirits, eager for adventure, and urged 
 by a bold ambition to win distinction. From that day they were in- 
 separable. Tliey hunted, travelled, lived together ; and so attached 
 Lad they become to each other, that George writes in one letter : 
 ' They have oiFered me an appointment on the Staff, but as this 
 would separate me from Ormsby, it is not to be thought of.' It was 
 to me George always wrote, for my brother never liked letter- 
 writing, and thus I was my nephew's confidante, and entrusted with 
 all his secrets. Nor was there one in which your father's name did 
 not figure. It was, how Ormsby got him out of this scrape, or took 
 his duty for him, or made this explanation, or raised that sum of 
 money, that filled all these. At last — I never knew why or how — 
 George ceased to write to me, and addressed all his letters to his 
 
BAEEINOTON. 91 
 
 fatter, marked ' Strictly private' too, so that I never saw wiiat they 
 contained. My brother, I believe, suffered deeply from the conceal- 
 ment, and there must have been what to him seemed a sufficient 
 reason for it, or he would never have excluded me from that share in 
 his confidence I had always possessed. At all events, it led to a sort 
 of estrangement between us — the only one of our lives. He would 
 tell me at intervals that George was on leave ; George was at the 
 HUls ; he was expecting his troop ; he had been sent here or there ; 
 but nothing more, till one morning, as if unable to bear the burden 
 longer, he said, ' George has made up his mind to leave his regiment 
 and take service with one of the native Princes. It is an arrange- 
 ment sanctioned by the Government, but it is one I grieve over and 
 regret greatly.' I asked eagerly to hear further about this step, but 
 he said he knew nothing beyond the bare fact. I then said, ' What 
 does his friend Conyers think of it ?' and my brother dryly replied, ' I 
 am not aware that he has been consulted.' Our own misfortunes 
 were fast closing around us, so that really we had little time to think 
 of anything but the difficulties that each day brought forth. George's 
 letters grew rarer and rarer ; rumours of him reached us ; stories of 
 his gorgeous mode of living, his princely state and splendid retinue, 
 of the high favour he enjoyed with the Sajah, and the influence he 
 wielded over neighbouring chiefs ; and then we heard, stiU only by 
 rumour, that he had married a native Princess, who had some time 
 before been converted to Christianity. The first intimation of the 
 fact from himself came, when, announcing that he had sent his 
 daughter, a child of about five years old, to Europe to be edu- 
 cated " She paused here, and seemed to have fallen into a 
 
 reverie over the past ; when Conyers suddenly asked : 
 
 " And what of my father aU this time ? "Was the old intercourse 
 kept up between them ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you. I do not remember that his name occurred 
 till the memorable case came on before the House of Commons — the 
 inquiry, as it was called, into Colonel Barrington's conduct, in the 
 case of Edwardes, a British-born subject of his Majesty, serving in 
 the army of the Eajah of Luckerabad. You have, perhaps, heard 
 of it?" 
 
 " "Was that the celebrated charge of torturing a British subject ?" 
 
 " The same ; the vilest conspiracy that ever was hatched, and the 
 cruelest persecution that ever broke a noble heart. And yet there 
 were men of honour, men of the purest fame and most unblemished 
 character, who barkened in to that infamous cry, and actually sent 
 
92 BiEKINGTON. 
 
 out emissaries to India to collect evidence against my poor nephew. 
 For a while the whole country rang with the case. The low papers, 
 which assailed the' Government, made it matter of attack on the 
 nature of the British rule in India, and the ministry only sought to 
 make George the victim to screen themselves from puhHc indignation. 
 It was Admiral Byng's case once more. But I have no temper to 
 speak of it even after this lapse of years ; my blood boils now at the 
 bare memory of that foul and pequred association. If you would 
 follow the story, I will send you the little published narrative to your 
 room, but, I beseech you, do, not again revert to it. How I have 
 betrayed myself to speak of it I know not. For many a long year I 
 have prayed to be able to forgive one man, who has been the bitterest 
 enemy of our name and race. I have asked for strength to bear the 
 burden of our calamity,' but more earnestly a hundredTfold I have en- 
 treated that forgiveness might enter my heirt, and that if vengeance 
 for this cruel wrong was 'at my hand, I could be able to say, ' No, the 
 time for such feeling is gone by.'. Let me not, then,be tempted by 
 any revival of this theme to recal, all the sorrow and all the indigna- 
 tion it once caused me. This infamous book contains the whole 
 story as the world, then believed it. Ton will read it with interest, 
 for it concerned one whom your father dearly loved. But, again I 
 say, when we meet again let us not return to it. These letters, too, 
 will amuse you,; they are the diaries of your father's early life in 
 India as much as George's, but of them we can talk freely." ; 
 
 It was so evident that she was speaking with a forced calm, and 
 that all her self-restraint might at any moment prove unequal to the 
 effort she was making, that Conyers, affecting to have a few words to 
 say to Stapylton's messenger, stole away, and hastened to his room 
 to look over the letters and the volume she had given him. 
 
 He had scarcely addressed himself to his task when a knock came 
 to the door, and at the same instant it was opened in a slow, half- 
 hesitating way, and Tom DiU stood before him. Though evidently 
 dressed for the occasion, and intending to present himself in a moat 
 favourable guise, Tom looked far more vulgar and unprepossessing 
 than in the worn costume of his every-day life, his bright-buttoned 
 blue coat and yellow waistcoat being only aggravations of the low- 
 bred air that unhappily beset him. Worse even than this, however, 
 was the fact that, being somewhat nervous about the interview before 
 him, Tom had taken what his father would have called a diffusable sti- 
 mulant, in the shape of " a dandy of punch," and bore the evidences 
 of it in a heightened colour and a very lustrous but wandering eye. 
 
^, 
 
 i^^gi&a^^^^^ „ 
 
 c-iWz- '=^-'/-^:^;2^-si^ /^e<)^. 
 
BABETNGTON. 93 
 
 " Here I am," said he, entering with a sort of easy swagger, but 
 far more affected than real, notwithstanding the "dandy." 
 
 " "Well, and what then ?" asked Conyers, haughtily ; for the vulgar 
 presumption of his manner was but a sorry advocate in his favour. 
 " I don't remember that I sent for you." 
 
 " No ; but my father told me what you said to him, and I was to 
 come up and thank you, and say ' Done!' to it all." 
 
 Conyers turned a look — not a very pleased or a very flattering look 
 — at the loutish figure before him, and in his changing colour might 
 be seen the conflict it cost him to keep down his rising temper. He 
 was, indeed, sorely tried, and his hand shook as he tossed over the 
 books on his table, and endeavoured to seem occupied in other 
 matters. 
 
 " Maybe you forget all about it," began Tom. " Perhaps you 
 don't remember that you offered to fit me out for India, and send me 
 over with a letter to your father ■" 
 
 " !N'o, no, I forget nothing of it ; I remember it all." He had 
 almost said " only too well," but he coughed down the cruel speech, 
 and went on hurriedly : " Tou have come, however, when I am en- 
 gaged^ — wTien I have other things to attend to. These letters here 
 
 In fact, this is not a moment when I can attend to you. Do you 
 
 understand me ?" 
 
 " I believe I do," said Tom, growing very pale. 
 
 " To-morrow, then, or the day after, or next week, will be time 
 enough for all this. I must think over the matter again." 
 
 " I see," said Tom, moodily, as he changed from one foot to the 
 other, and cracked the joints of his fingers, till they seemed dis- 
 located. " I see it all." 
 
 " "What do you mean by that ? — what do you see ?" asked Conyers, 
 angrily. 
 
 " I see that Polly, my sister, was right ; that she knew you better 
 than any of us," said Tom, boldly, for a sudden rush of courage had 
 now filled his heart. " She said, ' Don't let him turn your head, 
 Tom, with his fine promises. He was in good humour and good 
 spirits when he made theni, and perhaps meant to keep them too ; 
 but he little knows what misery disappointment brings, and he'll 
 never fret himself over the heavy heart he's giving you, when he 
 wakes in the morning with a change of mind. And then, she said 
 another thing," added he, after a pause. 
 
 " And what was the other thing ?" 
 
 " She said, ' If you go up there, Tom,' says she, ' dressed out like 
 
94 BABEINaTOS. 
 
 a sliopboy in his Sunday suit, he'll he actually shocked at his haying 
 taken an interest in you. He'll forget all ahout your hard lot and 
 your struggling fortune, and only see your vulgarity.' ' Tour vul- 
 garity' — that was the word." As he said this, his lip trembled, and 
 the chair he leaned on shook under his grasp. 
 
 " Gro back, and tell her, then, that she was mistaken," said Conyers, 
 whose own voice now quavered. " Tell her, that when I give my 
 word, I keep it ; that I will maintain everything I said to you or to 
 your father ; and that when she imputed to me an indifference as to 
 the feelings of others, she might have remembered whether she was 
 not unjust to mine. Tell her that, also." 
 
 " I will," said Tom, gravely. " Is there anything more ?" 
 
 " No, nothing more," said Conyers, who with difficulty suppressed 
 a smile at the words and the manner of his questioner. 
 
 " Good-by, then. You'll send for me when you want me," said 
 Tom ; and he was out of the room, and half way across the lawn, ere 
 Conyers could recover himself to reply. 
 
 Conyers, however, flung open the window, and cried to him to 
 come hack. 
 
 " I was nigh forgetting a most important part of the matter, Tom," 
 said he, as the other entered, somewhat pale and anxious-looking. 
 " Tou told me, t'other day, that there was some payment to be made 
 — some sum to be lodged before you could present yourself for 
 examination. What about this ? When must it be done ?" 
 
 " A month before I go in,'' said Tom, to whom the very thought of 
 the ordeal seemed full of terror and heart-sinking. 
 
 " And how soon do you reckon that may be ?" 
 
 " Polly says not before eight weeks at the earliest. She says we'll 
 have to go over Bell on the Bones all again, and brush up the Liga- 
 ments besides. If it was the Navy, they'd not mind the nerves ; but 
 they tell me the Army fellows often take a man on the fifth pair, and 
 I know if they do me, it's mighty little of India I'll see." 
 
 " Plucked, eh ?" 
 
 'i "I don't know what you mean by ' plucked,' but I'd be turned 
 
 iback, which is perhaps the same. And no great disgrace either,'' 
 
 j added he, with more of courage in his voice ; " Polly herself says 
 
 there's days she couldn't remember all the branches of the fifth, and 
 
 , the third is almost as bad." 
 
 " I suppose if your sister could go up in your place, Tom, you'd 
 be quite sure of your diploma?" 
 
 " It's many and many a day I wished that same," sighed he, heavily. 
 
BABEIITGTON. 
 
 95 
 
 " If you heard her going over the ' SubclaYian,' you'd swear sLe had 
 the book in her hand." 
 
 Conyers could not repress a smile at this slTange piece of feminine 
 accomplishment, but he was careful not to let Tom perceive it. Not, 
 indeed, that the poor fellow was in a very observant mood ; Polly's 
 perfections, her memory, and her quickness, were the themes that 
 filled up his mind. 
 
 " "What a rare piece of luck for you to have had such a sister, 
 Tom !" 
 
 " Don't I say it to myself — don't I repeat the very same words 
 every morning when I awake ? Maybe I'll never come to ally good ; 
 maybe my father is right, and that I'll only be a disgrace as long as 
 I live ; but I hope one thing, at least, I'll never be so bad that I'U 
 forget Polly, and all she done for me. And I'U tell you more," said 
 he, with a choking fuhtess in his throat : " if they turn me back at 
 my examination, my heart will be heavier for her than for myself." 
 
 " Come, cheer up, Tom ; don't look on the gloomy side. You'll 
 pass, I'm certain, ajid with credit, too. , Here's the thirty pounds 
 you'll have to lodge " 
 
 " It is only twenty they require. And, besides, I couldn't take it ; 
 it's my father must pay." He stammered, and hesitated, and grew 
 pale and then crimson, while his lips trembled and his chest heaved 
 and fell almost convulsively. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, Tom," said Conyers, who had to subdue his 
 own emotion by an assumed sternness. " The plan is all my own, 
 and I will stand no interference with it. I mean that you should 
 pass your examination without your father knowing one word about 
 it. Tou shall come back to him with your diploma, or whatever it 
 is, in your hand, and say, ' There, Sir, the men who have signed 
 their names to that, do not think so meanly of me as you do." 
 
 " And he'd say, 'The more fools they !' " said Tom, with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 " At all events," resumed Conyers, " I'll have my own way. Put 
 that note in your pocket, and whenever you are gazetted Surgeon- 
 Major to the Guards, or Inspector- G-eneral of all the Hospitals in 
 G-reat Britain, you can repay me, and with interest besides, if you 
 like it." 
 
 " You've given me a good long day to be in your debt," said Tom ; 
 and he hurried out of the room before his over-full heart should 
 betray his emotion. 
 
 It is marvellous how quicldy a kind action done to another recon- 
 
96 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 ciles a man to himself. Doubtless conscience, at sucli times, con- 
 descends to play the courtier, and -whispers, " What a good fellow 
 you are ! and how unjust the world is when it calls you cold, and 
 haughty, and ungenial !" Not that I would assert higher and better 
 thoughts than these do not reward him who, Samaritan-like, binds 
 up the wounds of misery, but I fear me much that few of us resist 
 self-flattery, or tliose little delicate adulations one can oifer to his 
 own heart when nobody overhears him. 
 
 At all events, Conyers was not averse to this pleasure, and grew 
 actually to feel a strong interest for Tom Dill, all because that 
 poor fellow had been the recipient of his bounty; for so is it the 
 waters of our nature must be stirred by some act of charity or kind- 
 ness, else their healing virtues have small efficacy, and cure not. 
 
 And then he wondered and questioned himself whether Polly 
 might not possibly be right, and that his " Governor" would marvel 
 where and how he had picked up so strange a specimen as Tom. 
 That poor fellow, too, like many an humble flower, seen not disad- 
 vantageously in its native wilds, would look strangely out of place 
 when transplanted and treated as an exotic. Still, he could trust to 
 the wide and generous nature of his father to overlook small defects 
 of manner and breeding, and take the humble feUow kindly. 
 
 Must I own that a considerable share of his hopefulness was de- 
 rived from thinking that the odious blue coat and brass buttons 
 could scarcely make part of Tom's kit for India, and that in no 
 other costume known to civilised man could his protege look so 
 unprepoBsessingly. 
 
BAEEINGTON. 97 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 
 
 The journal which Miss Barrington had placed in Conyers's hands 
 was little else than the record of the sporting adventures of two young 
 and very dashing fellows. There were lion and tiger-hunts, so little 
 varied in detail that one might serve for all, though doubtless to the 
 narrator each was marked with its own especial interest. There were 
 travelling incidents and accidents, and straits for money, and mishaps, 
 and arrests, and stories of steeple-chases and balls all mixed up 
 together, and recounted so very much in the same spirit as to show 
 how very little shadow mere misadventure could throw across the 
 sunshine of their every-day life. But every now and then Conyers 
 came upon some entry which closely touched his heart. It was how 
 nobly Ormsby behaved. What a splendid fellow he was ! so frank, 
 BO generous, such a horseman ! " I wish you saw the astonishment of 
 the Mahratta fellows as Ormsby lifted the- tent-pegs in full career ; 
 he never missed one. Ormsby won the rifle-match ; we all knew he 
 would. Sir Peregrine invited Ormsby to go with him to the Hills, 
 but he refused, mainly because I was not asked." Ormsby has been 
 offered this, that, or t'other ; in fact, that one name recurred in every 
 second sentence, and always with the same marks of affection. How 
 proud, too, did Barrington seem of his friend. " They have found out 
 that no country-house is perfect without Ormsby, and he is positively 
 persecuted with invitations. I hear the ' Gr.-Gr.' is provoked at 
 Ormsby's refusal of a Staff appointment. I'm in rare luck ; the old 
 Eajah of Tannanoohr has asked Ormsby to a grand elephant-hunt 
 next week, and I am to go with him. I'm to have a leave in October. 
 Ormsby managed it somehow ; he never fails whatever he takes in 
 hand. Such a fright as I got yesterday ! There was a report in the 
 camp Ormsby was going to England with despatches ; it's all a mis- 
 take, however, he says. He believes he might have had the oppor- 
 tunity, had he cared for it." 
 
 If there was not much in these passing notices of his father, there 
 was quite enough to impart to them an intense degree of interest. 
 There is a wondrous charm, besides, in reading of the young days of 
 those we have only known in maturer life, in hearing of them when 
 they were fresh, ardent, and impetuous ; in knowing, besides, how they 
 
 H 
 
98 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 were regarded by contemporaries, how loved and valued. It was not 
 merely that Ormsby recurred m almost every page of this journal, 
 but the record bore testimony to his superiority and the undisputed 
 sway he exercised over his companions. This same power of domi- 
 nating and directing had been the distinguishing feature of his after- 
 life, and many an unruly and turbulent spirit had been reclaimed 
 under Ormsby Conyers's hands. 
 
 As he read on he grew also to feel a strong interest for the writer 
 himself; the very heartiness of the affection he bestowed on his father, 
 and the noble generosity with which he welcomed every success of 
 that " dear fellow Ormsby," were more than enough to secure his 
 interest for him. There was a bold, aliaost reckless dash, too, about 
 Barrington which has a great charm occasionally for very young men. 
 He adventured upon life pretty much as heivomld try to cross a river ; 
 he never looked for a shallow nor inquired for a ford, but plunged 
 boldly in, and trusted to his brfl,ve heart and his strong arms for the 
 rest. No one, indeed, reading even these rough notes, could hesitate 
 to pronounce which of the two would "make the spoon" and which 
 " spoil the horn." Xoimg Conyers was eager to find some mention 
 of the incident to which Miss Barringtoia had vaguely alluded. JSe 
 wanted to read G-eorge Barrington's own account before he opened 
 the little pamphlet she gave him, but the journal closed years before 
 this event ; and, although some of the letters came down to a later 
 date, none approached the period he wanted. 
 
 It was not till after some time that he remarked how much more 
 unfrequently his father's name occurred in the latter portion of the 
 correspondence. Entire pages would contain no reference to him, 
 and in the last letter of all there was this towards the end : " AftCT 
 all, I am almost sorry that I am first for purchase, for I believe 
 Ormsby is most anxious for his troop. I say ' I believe,' for he has not 
 told me so, and when I ofiered to give way to him, he seemed half 
 offended with me. Ton know what a bungler I am where a matter 
 of any delicacy is to be treated, and you may easily fancy either that 
 i mismanaged the affair grossly, or that I am as grossly mistaken. 
 One thing is certain, I'd see promotion far enough, rather than let it 
 make a coldness between us, which could never occur if he were as 
 frank as he used to be. My dear aunt, I wish I had your wise bead 
 to counsel me, for T have a scheme in my mind which I have scarcely 
 courage for without some advice, and for many reasons I cannot ask 
 O.'s opinion. Between this and the next mail I'll think it over 
 carefully, and tell you what I intend. 
 
 " I told you that Ormsby was going to marry one of the Governor- 
 
BAEEnroTOTS'. 99 
 
 General's daugbters. It is all off— at least, I hear so — and 0. has 
 asked for leave to go home. I suspect he is sorely cut up about this, 
 but he is too proud a fellow to let the world see it. Eeport says that 
 Sir Peregrine heard that he played. So he does, because he does 
 everything, and everything well. If he does go to England, he will 
 certainly pay you a visit. Make much of him for my sake; you 
 could not make too much for his own." 
 
 This was the last mention of his father, and he pondered long and 
 thoughtfully over it. He saw, or fencied he saw, the first faint glim- 
 merings of a coldness between them, and he hastily turned to the 
 printed report of the House of Commons' inquiry, to see what part 
 his father had taken. His name occurred but once ; it was appended 
 to an extract of a letter, addressed by him to the Grovemor-Greneral. 
 It was a confidential report, and much of it omitted in publication. 
 It was throughout, however, a warm and generous testimony to 
 Barrington's character. " I never knew a man," said he, " less 
 capable of anything mean or unworthy ; nor am I able to imagine 
 any temptation strong enough to warp him from what he believed to 
 be right. That on a question of policy his judgment might be wrong, 
 I am quite ready to admit, but I will maintain that, on a point of 
 honour, he would, and must be, infallible." Underneath this pas- 
 sage there was written, in Miss Barrington's hand, " Poor G-eorge 
 never saw this ; it was not published till after his death." So in- 
 terested did young Conyers feel as to the friendship between these 
 two men, and what it could have been that made a breach between 
 them — if breach there were — that he sat a long time without open- 
 ing the little volume that related to the charge against Colonel 
 Barrington. He had but to open it, however, to guess the spirit in 
 which it was written. Its title was, " The Story of Samuel Edwardes, 
 with an Account of the Persecutions and Tortures inflicted on him 
 by Colonel Greorge Barrington, when serving in command of the 
 Forces of the Meer Nagbeer Assahr, Eajah of Luckerabad, based 
 on the Documents produced before the Committee of the House, and 
 private authentic Information." Opposite to this lengthy title was 
 an ill-executed woodcut of a yonng fellow tied up to a tree, and 
 being flogged by two native Indians, with the inscription at foot : 
 " Mode of celebrating His Majesty's Birthday, 4th of June, 18 — , at 
 the B«sidence of Luckerabad." 
 
 In the writhing figure of the youth, and the ferocioBS glee of his 
 executioners, the artist had displayed all his skill in expression, and 
 very unmistakably shown, besides, the spirit of the pabiication. I 
 
 h2 
 
100 BAEEINGTOIf. 
 
 have no intention to inflict this upon my reader. I will simply give 
 Lim — and as briefly as I am able — its substance. 
 
 The Eajah of Luckerabad, an independent sovereign, living on the 
 best of terms with the Government of the Company, had obtained 
 permission to employ an English officer in the chief command of his 
 army, a force of some twenty odd thousand, of all arms. It was 
 essential that he should be one not only well acquainted with the 
 details of command, but fully equal to the charge of organisation of a 
 force ; a man of energy and decision, well versed in Hindostanee, 
 and not altogether ignorant of Persian, in which, occasionally, cor- 
 respondence was carried on. Amongst the many candidates for an 
 employment so Certain to ensure the fortune of its possessor, Major 
 Barrington, then a brevet Lieutenant-Colonel, was chosen. 
 
 It is not improbable that, in mere technical details of his art, he 
 might have had many equal and some superior to him ; it was well 
 known that his personal requisites were above all rivalry. He was a 
 man of great size and strength, of a most commanding presence, an 
 accomplished linguist in the various dialects of Central India, and a 
 great master of all manly exercises. To these qualities he added an 
 Oriental taste for splendour and pomp. It had always been his 
 habit to live in a style of costly extravagance, with the retinue of a 
 petty Prince, ■ and when he travelled it was with the following of a 
 native chief. 
 
 Though naturally enough such a station as a separate command 
 gave might be regarded as a great object of ambition by many, there 
 was a good deal of surprise felt at the time that Barrington, re- 
 putedly a man of large fortune, should have accepted it; the more 
 so since, by his contract, he bound himself for ten years to the Bajah, 
 and thus for ever extinguished all prospect of advancement in his 
 own service. There were all manner of guesses afloat as to his rea- 
 sons. Some said that he was already so embarrassed by his extrava- 
 gance, that it was his only exit out of difficulty ; others pretended 
 that he was captivated by the gorgeous splendour of that Eastern 
 life he loved so well; that pomp, display, and magnificence were 
 bribes he could not resist ; and a few, who affected to see more 
 nearly, whispered that he was unhappy of late, had grown peevish 
 and uncompanionable, and sought any change, so that it took him 
 out of his regiment. Whatever the cause, he bade his brother- 
 officers farewell without revealing it, and set out for his new desti- 
 nation. He had never anticipated a life of ease or inaction, but he 
 was equally far from imagining anything like what now awaited him. 
 Corruption, falsehood, robbery, on every hand ! The army was little 
 
BAEEINGTOK. 101 
 
 else than a great brigand establishment, living on the peasants, and 
 exacting, at the sword's point, whatever they wanted. There was 
 no obedience to discipline. The Eajah troubled himself about no- 
 thing but his pleasures, and, indeed, passed his days so drugged with 
 opium, as to be almost insensible to all around him. In the tri- 
 bunals there was nothing but bribery, and the object of every one 
 seemed to be to amass fortunes as rapidly as possible, and then 
 hasten away from a country so insecure and dangerous. 
 
 For some days after his arrival, Barrington hesitated whether he 
 would accept a charge so apparently hopeless ; his bold heart, how- 
 ever, decided the doubt, and he resolved to remain. His first care 
 was to look about him for one or two more trustworthy than the 
 masses, if such there should be, to assist him, and the Eajah referred 
 him to his secretary for this purpose. It was with sincere pleasure 
 Barrington discovered that this man was English — that is, his father 
 had been an Englishman, and his mother was a Malabar slave in the 
 Eajah's household : his name was Edwardes, but called by the natives 
 All Edwardes. He looked about sixty, but his real age was forty- 
 six when Barrington came to the Eesidence. He was a man of con- 
 siderable ability, uniting all the craft and subtlety of the Oriental 
 with the dogged perseverance of the Briton. He had enjoyed the 
 full favour of the Eajah for nigh twenty years, and was strongly 
 averse to the appointment of an English officer to the command of 
 the army, knowing full well the influence it would have over his own 
 fortunes. He represented to the Eajah that the Company was only 
 intriguing to absorb his dominions with their own ; that the new 
 Commander-in-Chief would be their servant and not his ; that it was 
 by such machinery as this they secretly possessed themselves of aU 
 knowledge of the native sovereigns, learned their weakness and their 
 strength, and through such agencies hatched those plots and schemes 
 by which many a chief had been despoiled of his state. 
 
 The Eajah, however, saw that if he had a grasping Grovernment on 
 one side, he had an insolent and rebellious army on the other. There 
 was not much to choose between them, but he took the side that he 
 thought the least bad, and left the rest to Fate. 
 
 Having failed with the Eajah, Edwardes tried what he could do 
 with Barrington ; and certainly, if but a tithe of what he told him 
 were true, the most natural thing in the world would have been that he 
 should give up his appointment, and quit for ever a land so hopelessly 
 sunk in vice and corruption. Cunning and crafty as he was, however, 
 he made one mistake, and that an irreparable one. When dilating 
 on the insubordination of the army, its lawless ways and libertine 
 
102 BABEINGTON. 
 
 habits, he declared that nothing short of a superior force in the field 
 could have any chance of enforcing discipline. " As to a command," 
 said lie, " it is simply ludicrous. Let any man try it, and they will 
 cut him down in the very midst of his staff." 
 
 That unlucky speech decided the question ; and Barringtcm simply 
 said: 
 
 " I have heard plenty of this sort of thing in India — I never saw 
 it— I'll stay." 
 
 Stay he did : and he did more, he reformed that rabble, and made 
 of them a splendid force, able, disciplined, and obedient. "With the 
 influence of his success, added to that derived from the confidence 
 reposed in him by the Eajah, he introduced many and beneficial 
 changes into the administration : he punished peculators by military 
 law, and brought knavish suttlers to the drum-head. In fact, by the 
 exercise of a salutary despotism, he rescued the state from an im- 
 pending bankruptcy and ruin, placed its finances in a healthy con- 
 dition, and rendered the country a model of prosperity and content- 
 ment. The Eajah had, like most of his rank and class, been in liti- 
 gation, occasionally in armed contention, with some of his neighbours, 
 one especially, an uncle, whom he accused of having robbed him, 
 when his guardian, of a large share of bis heritage. This suit had 
 gone on for years, varied at times by little raids into each other's 
 territories, to burn villages and carry away cattle. Though with a 
 force more than sufficient to have carried the question with a strong 
 hand, Barrington preferred the more civilised mode of leaving the 
 matter in dispute to others, and suggested the Company as arbi- 
 trator. The negotiations led to a lengthy correspondence, in which 
 Edwardes and his son, a youth of seventeen or eighteen, were actively 
 occupied, and although Barrington was not without certain mis- 
 givings as to their trustworthiness and honesty, he knew their ca- 
 pacity, and had not, besides, any one at all capable of replacing 
 them. While these affairs were yet pending, Barrington married the 
 daughter of the Meer, a young girl whose mother had been a convert 
 to Christianity, and who had herself been educated by a Catholic 
 missionary. She died, in the second year of her marriage, giving 
 birth to a daughter ; but Barrington had now become so completely 
 the centre of all action in the state, that the Eajah interfered in no- 
 thing, leaving in his hands the undisputed control of the Govern- 
 ment ; nay, more, he made him his son by adoption, leaving to him 
 not alone all his immense personal property, but the inheritance to 
 his throne. Though Barrington was advised by all the great legal 
 authorities he consulted in England that such a bequest could not be 
 
BAEBIlfGTaS. 103 
 
 good m law, nor a British subject be permitted to succeed to the 
 rights of an. Eastern, sovereignty, he obstinately" declared that the 
 point was yet untried ; that however theoretically the opinion might 
 be correct, practically the question had not been determined, nor 
 had any case yet occurred to rule as a precedent on it. If he was 
 not much of a lawyer, he was of a temperament that could not brook 
 opposition. In fact, to make Mm take any particular road in life, 
 you had only to erect a barricade on it When, therefore, he was 
 told the matter could not be, his answer was, " It shall !" Calcutta 
 lawyers, men deep in knowledge of Oriental law and custom, learned 
 Moonshees and Pundits, were despatched by him, at enormous cost, 
 to England, to confer with the great authorities at home. Agents 
 were sent over to procure the influence of great Parliamentary 
 speakers and the leaders in the Press to the cause. For a matter 
 which, in the beginning, he eared seaireely anything, if at all, he had 
 now grown to feel the most intense and absorbing interest. Half 
 persuading himself that the personal question was less to him than 
 the great privilege and right of an Englishman, he declared that he 
 would rather die a beggar in the defence of the cause, than abamdon 
 it. So possessed was he, indeed, of his rights, and so resolved to 
 maintaan them, supported by a firm belief that they would and must 
 be ultimately conceded to him, that in the correspondence with the 
 other chiefs every reference which spoke of the future sovereignty of 
 Luekerabad included his own name and title, and this with an osten- 
 tation quite Oriental. 
 
 Whether Edwardes had been less warm and energetic in the cause 
 than Barrington expected, or whether his counsels were less palatable^ 
 certain it is. he grew daily more and more distrustful of himj but an 
 event soon occurred to make this suspicion a certainty. 
 
 The negotiations between the Meer and his uincle had been so 
 successfully conducted by Barrington, that the latter agreed to give 
 up three " Pegunnahs," or villages, he had mirightfully- seized, upon, 
 and to pay a heavy mulct besides for the unjust occupation of them. 
 This settlement had been, as may be imagined, a work of much time 
 and labour, and requiring not only immense forbearance and patience, 
 but intense watchfulness and unceasing skill and craft. Edwajdes, 
 of course, was constantly engaged in the affair, with the details of 
 which he had been for years familiar. Now, although Barrington 
 was satisfied vrith the zeal he displayed, he was less so with his 
 counsels, Edwardes always insisting that in every dealing with an 
 Oriental you must inevitably be beaten if you would not make use 
 of all the stratagem and deceit he is sure to employ against yon. 
 
104 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 There was not a day on which the wily secretary did not saggest 
 some cunning expedient, some clever trick, and Bamngton's abrupt 
 rejection of them only impressed him with a notion of his weakness 
 and deficiency. 
 
 One morning — ^it was after many defeats — ^Edwardes appeared with 
 the draft of a document he had been ordered to draw out, and in 
 which, of his own accord, he had made a large use of threats to the 
 neighbouring chief, should he continue to protract these proceedings. 
 These threats very unmistakably pointed to the dire consequences of 
 opposing the great Government of the Company, for, as the writer 
 argued, the succession to the Ameer being already vested in an Eng- 
 lishman, it is perfectly clear the powerful nation he belongs to wiE 
 take a very summary mode of dealing with this question if not settled 
 before he comes to the throne. He pressed, therefore, for an imme- 
 diate settlement, as the best possible escape from difficulty. 
 
 Barrington scouted the suggestion indignantly ; he would not hear 
 of it. 
 
 " What," said he, " is it while these very rights are yet in litiga- 
 tion that I am to employ them as a menace ? Who is to secure me 
 being one day Hajah of Luckerabad ? Not you, certainly, who have 
 never ceased to speak coldly of my claims. Throw that draft into the 
 fire, and never propose a like one to me again 1" 
 
 The rebuke was not forgotten. Another draft was, however, pre- 
 pared, and in due time the long-pending negotiations were concluded, 
 the Meer's uncle having himself come to Luckerabad to ratify the 
 contract, which, being engrossed on a leaf of the Kajah's Koran, was 
 duly signed and sealed by both. 
 
 It was during the festivities incidental to this visit that Edwardes, 
 who had of late made a display of wealth and splendour quite unac- 
 countable, made a proposal to the Eajah for the hand of his only 
 unmarried daughter, sister to Barrington's wife. The Eajah, long 
 enervated by excess and opium, probably cared little about the 
 matter : there were, indeed, but a few moments in each day when he 
 could be fairly pronounced awake. . He referred the question to 
 Barrington. Not satisfied with an insulting rejection of the pro- 
 posal, Barrington, whose passionate moments were almost madness, 
 tauntingly asked by what means Edwardes had so suddenly acquired 
 the wealth which had prompted this demand. He hinted that the 
 sources of his fortune were more than suspected, and at last, carried 
 away by anger, for the discussion grew violent, he drew from his desk 
 a slip of paper, and held it up. " When your father was drummed 
 out of the 4th Bengal Eusiliers for theft, of which this is the record, 
 
BAEBINGTOir. 
 
 105 
 
 ■ the family was scarcely so ambitious." 'Ear an instant Edwardes 
 seemed overcome almost to fainting; but he rallied, and, with a 
 menace of his clenched hand, but without one word, he hurried away 
 before Barrington could resent the insult. It was said that he did 
 not return to his house, but, taking the horse of an orderly that he 
 found at the door, rode away from the palace, and on the same night 
 crossed the frontier into a neighbouring state. 
 
 It was on the follo?ring morning, as Barrington was passing a 
 cavalry regiment in review, that young Edwardes, forcing his way 
 through the staff, insolently asked, " "What had become of his father ?" 
 and at the same instant levelling a pistol, he fired. The ball passed 
 through Barrington's shako, and so close to the head that it grazed 
 it. It was only with a loud shout to abstain that Barrington arrested 
 the gleaming sabres that now flourished over his head. " Tour father 
 has fled, youngster !" cried he. " "When you show him that " — and 
 he struck him across the face with his horsewhip — " tell him how near 
 you were to have been an assassin !" With this savage taunt, he gave 
 orders that the young fellow should be conducted to the nearest 
 frontier, and turned adrift. Neither father nor son ever were seen 
 there again. 
 
 Little did George Barrington suspect what was to come of that 
 morning's work. Through what channel Edwardes worked at first 
 was not known, but that he succeeded in raising up for himself 
 friends in England is certain ; by their means the very gravest 
 charges were made against Barrington. One allegation was that by 
 a forged document, claiming to be the assent of the English Grovern- 
 ment to his succession, he had obtained the submission of several 
 native chiefs to his rule and a cession of territory to the Eajah 
 of Luckerabad ; and another charged him with having cruelly tor- 
 tured a British subject named Samuel Edwardes — an investigation 
 entered into by a Committee of the House, and becoming, while it 
 lasted, one of the most exciting subjects of public interest. Nor was 
 the anxiety lessened by the death of the elder Edwardes, which 
 occurred during the inquiry, and which Barrington's enemies declared 
 to be caused by a broken heart ; and the martyred, or murdered 
 Edwardes, was no uncommon heading to a paragraph of the time. 
 
 Conyers turned to the massive Blue-book that contained the pro- 
 ceedings " in Committee," but only to glance at the examination of 
 witnesses, whose very names were unfamOiar to him. He could per- 
 ceive, however, that the inquiry was a long one, and, from the tone 
 of the member at whose motion it was instituted, angry and vin- 
 dictive. 
 
106 BAEEUrGTQir. 
 
 Edwapdes appeared to have preferred charges of long-cofatinued 
 persecution and oppression, and there was native testimonj in abun- 
 dance to sustain the allegation ; while the British Commissioner sent 
 to Luckerabad came back so psrejudiced against Barrington, from bis 
 proud and haughty bearing, that his report was unfavourable to him 
 in all respects. There were, it is true, letters from various high 
 quarters, all speaking of Barrington's early career as both honourable 
 and distinguished ; and, lastly, there was one signed Ormsby Conyers, 
 a warm-hearted teBtimony " to the most straightforward gentleman 
 and truest friend I have ever known." These were words the young 
 man read and re-read a dozen times. 
 
 Conyers turned eaigerly to read what decision had been come to by 
 the Committee, but the proceedings had come abruptly to an end 1^ 
 George Barrington's death. A few lines at the close of the pamphlet 
 mentioned that, being summoned to appear before the Grovernor- 
 Greneral in Council at Calcutta, Barrington refused. An armed force 
 was despatched to occupy Luckerabad, on the approach of which 
 Barrington rode forth to meet them, attended by a brilliant staff — 
 with what precise object none knew — ^but the sight of a considerable 
 force, drawn up at a distance in what seemed order of battle, implied 
 at least an intention to resist. Coming on towards the advanced 
 pickets at a fast gallop, and not slackening speed when challenged, 
 the men, who were Bengal infantry, fired, and Barrington fell, pierced 
 by four bullets. He never uttered a word after, though he lingered 
 on till evening. The force was commanded by Lieutenant- General 
 Conyers. 
 
 There was little more to. tell The Eajah implicated in the charges 
 brought against Barrington, and totally unable to defend himself, 
 despatched a confidential minister, Meer Mozarjah, to Europe to do 
 what he might by bribery. This unhappy blunder filled the measure 
 of his ruin, and after a yetj brief inquiry the Eajah was declared to 
 have forfeited hi» throne and all his rights of succession. The Com- 
 pany took possession of Luckerabad as a portion of British India, 
 but from a generous compassion towards the deposed chief, graciously 
 accorded him a pension of ten thousand rupees a month during his 
 life. 
 
 My reader will bear in mind that I have given him this recital not 
 as it came before Conyers, distorted by falsehood and disfigured by 
 misstatements, but have presented the facts as nearly as tbey might 
 be derived from a candid examination of all the testimony adduced. 
 Ere I return to my own tale, I ought to add that Edwardes, dis- 
 credited and despised by some, upheld and maintained by others, left 
 
BABBISGTOir. 107 
 
 Calcutta witt the proceeds of a iandsome subscription raised in. bia 
 behalf. "Whether he -went to reside in Europe, or retired to some 
 other part of India, is not known. He was heard of no more. 
 
 As for the Bajab, bis efforts still continued to obtain a revision of 
 the sentence pronounced upon him, and his case was one of those 
 ■which newspapers slur over and privy councils try to escape from, 
 leaving to Time to solve what Justice has no taste for. 
 
 But every now and then a, Blue-book would appear, beaded " East 
 India (the deposed Eajah of Luckerabad)," while a line in an even- 
 ing paper would intimate that the Envoy of Meer Nagheer Assahr 
 bad arrived at a certain West-end hotel to prosecute the suit of his 
 Highness before the Judicial Committee of the Lords. How plea- 
 santly does a paragraph dispose of a whole life-load of sorrows and of 
 wrongs that perhaps are breaking the hearts that carry them ! 
 
 Wlule I once more apologise to my reader for the length to which 
 this narrative has run, I owe it to myself to state that, had I pre- 
 sented it in the garbled and incorrect version which came before 
 Conyers, and bad I interpolated all the misconceptions he incurred, 
 the mistakes be first fell into and then corrected, I should have been 
 far more tedious and intolerable still ; and now I am again under 
 weigh, with easy canvas, but over a calm sea, and under a sky but 
 slightly clouded. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 barringtok's rOKD. 
 
 CoiTYEES had scarcely finished bis reading when he was startled by 
 the galloping of horses under his window ; so close, indeed, did they 
 come that they seemed to shake the little cottage with their tramp. 
 He looked out, but they had already swept past, and were hidden 
 from bis view by the copse that shut out the river. At the same 
 instant he beard the confused sound of many voices, and what sounded 
 to bim like the plash of horses in the stream. 
 
 Urged by a strong curiosity, he_ hurried down stairs and made 
 straight for the river by a path that led through the trees, but before 
 he could emerge from the cover be heard cries of " Not there L not 
 there! Lower down I" "No, no! up higher! up higher! H^d 
 
108 BAEEllfGTOir. 
 
 up the stream, or you'll be caught in the gash." "Don't hurry; 
 you've time enough !" 
 
 "When he gained the bank it was to see three horsemen, wLo seemed 
 to be cheering, or, as it might be, warning a young girl, who, mounted 
 on a powerful black horse, was deep in the stream, and evidently en- 
 deavouring to cross it. Her hat hung on the back of her neck by its 
 ribbon, and her hair had also fallen down, but one glance was enough 
 to show that she was a consummate horsewoman, and whose courage 
 was equal to her skill ; for while steadily keeping her horse's head to 
 the swift current, she was careful riot to control him overmuch, or 
 impede the free action of his powers. Heeding, as it seemed, very 
 little the counsels or warnings showered on her by the bystanders, 
 not one of whom, to Conyers's intense amazement, had ventured to 
 accompany her, she urged her Horse steadily forward. 
 
 "Don't hurry — take it easy !" called out one of the horsemen, as 
 he looked at his watch. " Tou have fifty-three minutes left, and it's 
 all turf." 
 
 " She'll do it— I know she will !" " She'll lose— she must lose !" 
 "It's ten mUes to Foynes Gap!" "It's more!" "It's less!" 
 " There ! — see ! — she's in, by Jove ! she's in !" These varying com- 
 ments were now arrested by the intense interest of the moment, the 
 horse having impatiently plunged into a deep pool, and struck out to 
 swim with all the violent exertion of an affrighted animal. " Keep 
 his head up !" " Let him free — quite free !" " Get your foot clear 
 of the stirrup !" cried out the bystanders, while in lower tones they 
 muttered, " She would cross here !" " It's all her own fault !" Just 
 at this instant she turned iu her saddle, and called out something, 
 which, drovraed in the rush of the river, did not reach them. 
 
 " Don't you see," cried Conyers, passionately, for his temper could 
 no longer endure the impassive attitude of this on-looking, " one of 
 the reins is broken, her bridle is smashed ?" 
 
 Arid, without another word, he sprang into the river, partly wading, 
 partly swimming, and soon reached- the place where the horse, re- 
 strained- by one rein alone, swam in a small circle, fretted by restraint 
 and maddened by inability to resist. 
 
 " Leave him to me — let go your rein," said Conyers, as he grasped 
 the bridle close to the bit; and the animal, accepting the guidance, 
 suffered himself to be led quietly till he reached the shallow. Once 
 there, he bounded wildly forward, and, splashing through the current, 
 leaped up the bank, where he was immediately caught by the others. 
 
 By the time Conyers had gained the laud, the girl had quitted her 
 saddle and entered the cottage, never so much as once turning a look 
 
//a^-'t 
 
BAEEINGTON. 109 
 
 on him who had rescued her. If he could not help feeling mortified 
 at this show of indifference, he was not less puzzled by the manner 
 of the others, who, perfectly careless of his dripping condition, dis- 
 cussed amongst themselves how the bridle broke, and what might 
 have happened if the leather had proved tougher. 
 
 " It's always the way with her," muttered one, sulkily. " I told 
 her to ride the match in a ring-snaffle, but she's a mule in obstinacy ! 
 She'd have won easily — ay, with five minutes to spare— if she'd have 
 crossed at Nunsford. I passed there last week without wetting a 
 girth." 
 
 "She'll not thank yoM, young gentleman, whoever you are," said 
 the oldest of the party, turning to Conyers, "for your gallantry. 
 She'll only remember you as having helped her to lose a wager !" 
 
 " That's true !" cried another. " I never got as much as thank 
 you for catching her horse one day at Lyrath, though it threw me 
 out of the whole run afterwards." 
 
 " And this was a wager, then P" said Conyers. 
 
 " Tes. An English officer that is stopping at Sir Charles's said 
 yesterday that nobody could ride from Lowe's ToUy to Foynes as the 
 crow flies ; and four of us took him up — twenty-five pounds apiece — 
 that Polly Dill would do it — and against time, too — an hour and 
 forty." 
 
 " On a horse of mine," chimed in another — " Baythershin !" 
 
 " I must say it does not tell very well for your chivalry in these 
 parts," said Conyers, angrily. " Could no one be found to do the 
 match without risking a young girl's life on it ?" 
 
 A very hearty burst of merriment met this speech, and the elder of 
 the party rejoined : 
 
 " Ton must be very new to this country, or you'd not have said 
 that, Sir. There's not a man in the hunt could get as much out of a 
 horse as that girl." 
 
 " Not to say," added another, vdth a sly laugh, " that the English- 
 man gave five to one against her when he heard she was going to 
 ride." 
 
 Disgusted by what he could not but regard as a most disgraceful 
 wager, Conyers turned away, and walked into the house. 
 
 " Go and change your clothes as fast as you can," said Miss Bar- 
 rington, as she met him in the porch. " I am quite provoked you 
 should have wetted your feet in such a cause." 
 
 It was no time to ask for explanations, and Conyers hurried away 
 to his room, marvelling much at what he had heard, but even more 
 astonished by the attitude of cool and easy indifference as to what 
 
110 BABHUfGHOir. 
 
 might have imperilled a human life. He had often heard of the reck- 
 less habits and absurd extravagances of Irish life, but he fancied that 
 they appertained to a time long past, and that society had gradually 
 assumed the tone and the temper of the English. Then he began to 
 wonder to what class in life these persons belonged. The girl, so 
 well as he could see, was certainly handsome, and appeared ladylike ; 
 and yet, why had she not even by a word acknowledged the service 
 he rendered her ? And, lastly, what could old Miss Barrington mean 
 by that scornful speech ? These were all great puzzles to him, and, 
 like many great puzzles, only the more embarrassing the more they 
 were thought over. 
 
 The sound of voices drew him now to the window, and he saw one 
 of the riding party in converse with Darby at the door. They talked 
 in a low tone together, and laughed ; and then the horseman, chucking 
 a half-crown towards Darhy, said aloud, 
 
 " And teU her that we'U send the boat down for her as soon as we 
 get back." 
 
 Darby touched his hat gratefully, and was about to retire within, 
 the house, when he caught sight of Conyers at the window. He 
 waited till the rider had turned the angle of the road,, and then said, 
 
 " That's Mr. St. Greorge. They used to call him the Slasher, he 
 killed so many in duels long ago ; but he's like a lamb now." 
 
 " And the young lady ?" 
 
 " The young lady is it !" said Darby, with the air of one not 
 exactly concurring in the designation, " She's old Dill's daughter, 
 the doctor that attends you." 
 
 "What was it all about?" 
 
 " It was a bet they made with an English captain this morning 
 that she'd ride from Lowe's J?olly to the Gap in an hour and a half. 
 The captain took a hundred on it, because 'ke thought she'd have to 
 go round by the bridge ; and they pretinded the same, for they gave 
 all kinds of directions about clearing the carts out of the road, for it's 
 market-day at Thomaetown ; and away went the Captain as hard as 
 he could, to he at the bridge first, to " time her," as she passed. But 
 he has won the money !" sighed he, for the thought of so much Irish 
 coin going into a Saxon pocket completely overcame him ; " and, 
 what's more," added he, " the gentleuian says it was all your fault !" 
 
 " All my fault !" cried Conyers, indignantly. " All my fault ! 
 Do they imagine that I either knew or cared for their trumpery 
 wager ! I saw a girl struggling in. a danger ifrom which not one of 
 them had the manliness to rescue her !" 
 
BAEEHrOTOir. Ill 
 
 " Oh, take my word for it," burst in Darby, "it's nab courage they 
 want !" 
 
 " Then it is something far better than even courage, and I'd like to 
 tell them so." 
 
 And he turned away as much disgusted with Darby as with the 
 rest of his countrymen. Now, all the anger that filled his breast was 
 not, in reality, proTolsed by the want of gallantry that he condemned ; 
 a portion, at least, was owing to the marvellous indifference the young 
 lady had manifested to her preserver. Was peril such an every-day 
 incident of Irish life that no one cared for it, or was gri^tude a 
 quality not cultivated in this strange land ? Such were the puzzles 
 that tormented him as he descended to the dcawing-room. 
 
 As he opened the door, he heard Miss Barrington's voice, in a tone 
 which he rightly guessed to be reproof, and caught the words, " Just 
 as unwise as it is unbecoming," when he entered. 
 
 " Ml. Couyers, Miss Dill," said the old lady, stiffly; "the young 
 gentleman who saved you — ^the heroine you rescued!" The two 
 allocutions were delivered with a gesture towards each. To cover a 
 moment of extreme awkwardness, Comyers blundered out something 
 about being too happy, and a slight service, and a hope of no iU 
 conseqiiences to herself. 
 
 " Have no fears on tliat score, Sir," broke in Miss Dinah. " Manly 
 young ladies are the hardiest things in nature. They are as insensible 
 
 to danger as they are to " She stopped, and grew crimson, partly 
 
 from anger, and partly from the unspoken word, that had almost 
 escaped her. 
 
 "Nay, Madam," said Polly, quietly, ^'I am really very much 
 ' ashamed.' " And, simple as the words were, Miss Barrington felt 
 the poignancy of their application to herself and her hand trembled 
 over the embroidery she was working. She tried to appear calm, 
 but in vain ; her colour came and went, and the stitches, in spite of 
 her, grew irregular ; so that, after a moment's struggle, she pushed 
 the frame away and left the room. While this very brief and pain- 
 ful incident was passing, Conyers was wondering to himself how the 
 dashing horsewoman, with flushed cheek, flashing eye, and dishevelled 
 hair, could possibly be the quiet, demure girl, with a downcast look, 
 and almost Quaker-like simplicity of demeanour. It is but fair to 
 add, though he himself did not discover it, that the contributions of 
 Miss Dinah's wardrobe, to which poor PoUy was reduced for dress, 
 were not exactly of a nature to heighten her personal atia-actions ; 
 nor did a sort of short jacket, and a very much beflounced petticoat, 
 
112 BAEEINGHOlf. 
 
 set off the girl's figure to advantage. Polly never raised her eyes 
 from the work she was sewing as Miss Barrington withdrew, hut, in 
 a low, gentle voice, said, " It was very good of you, Sir, to come to 
 my rescue, hut you mustn't think ill of my countrymen for not 
 having done so ; they had given their word of honour, not to lead a 
 fence, nor open a gate, nor, in fact, aid me in any way." 
 
 " So that, if they could win their wager, your peril was of little 
 matter," broke he in. 
 
 She gave a little low quiet laugh, perhaps as much at the energy 
 as at the words of- his speech. "After all," said she, "a wetting is 
 no great misfortune ; the worst punishment of my offence was one 
 that I never contemplated." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked he. 
 
 " Doing penance for it in this costume," said she, drawing out the 
 stiff folds of an old brocaded silk, and displaying a splendour of 
 flowers that might have graced a peacock's tail ; " I never so much 
 as dreamed of this !" 
 
 There was something so comic in the way she conveyed her dis- 
 tress, that he laughed outright. She joined him ; and they were at 
 once at their ease together. 
 
 " I think Miss Barrington called you Mr. Conyers," said she, 
 " and if so, I have the happiness of feeling that my gratitude is be- 
 stowed where already there has been a large instalment of the sen- 
 timent. It is you who have been so generous and so kind to my 
 poor brother." 
 
 " Has he told you, then, what we have been planning together ?" 
 
 " He has told me all that you had planned out for him," said she, 
 with a very gracious smile, which very slightly coloured her cheek, 
 and gave great softness to her expression. " My only fear was that 
 the poor boy should have lost his head completely, and perhaps ex- 
 aggerated to himself your intentions towards him, for, after aU, I 
 can scarcely think " 
 
 " What is it that you can scarcely think ?" asked he, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 " Ifot to say," resumed she, unheeding his question, " that I can- 
 not imagine how this came about. What could have led him to tell 
 you-T-B, perfect stranger to him — ^his hopes and fears, his struggles 
 and his sorrows ? How could you^by what magic did you inspire 
 him with that trustful confidence which made him open his whole 
 heart before you ? Poor Tom, who never before had any confessor 
 than myself!" *■ 
 
 " Shall I tell you how it came about ? It was talking of you." 
 
BAEEIIfGTOir. 113 
 
 " Of ine ! — talking of me !" and her cheek now flushed more 
 deeply. 
 
 " Tea. We had rambled on over fifty themes, not one of which 
 seemed to attach him strongly, till, in some passing allusion to his 
 own cares and difllculties, he mentioned one who has never ceased to 
 guide and comfort him ; who shared not alone his sorrows, but his 
 hard hours of labour, and turned away from her own pleasant paths 
 to tread the dreary road of toil beside him." 
 
 " I think he might have kept aU this to himself," said she, with a 
 tone of almost severity. 
 
 " How could he ? How was it possible -to tell me his story, and 
 not touch upon what imparted the few tints of better fortune that 
 lighted it ? I'm certain, besides, that there is a sort of pride in re- 
 vealing how much of sympathy and affection we have derived from 
 those better than ourselves, and I could see that he was actually 
 vain of what you had done for him." 
 
 " I repeat, he might have kept this to himself. But let us leave 
 this matter ; and now tell me — for I own I can hardly trust my poor 
 brother's triumphant tale — tell me seriously what the plan is ?" 
 
 Conyers hesitated for a few seconds, embarrassed how to avoid 
 mention of himself, or to allude but passingly to his own share in the 
 project. At last, as though deciding to dash boldly into the ques- 
 tion, he said : " I told him, if he'd go out to India, I'd give him such 
 a letter to my father that his fortune would be secure. My gover- 
 nor is something of a swell out there" — and he reddened, partly in 
 shapie, partly in pride, as he tried to disguise his feeling by an affec- 
 tation of ease — " and that with Jiim for a friend, Tom would be cer- 
 tain of success. Tou smile at my confidence ; but you don't know 
 India, and what scores of fine things are — so to say — to be had for 
 asking ; and although doctoring is aU very well, there are fifty other 
 ways to make a fortune faster. Tom could be aUeceiver of Eevenue ; 
 he might be a Political Eesident. Tou don't know what they get. 
 There's a fellow at Baroda has four thousand rupees a month, and I 
 don't know how much more for dak-money.'' 
 
 " I can't help smiling," said she, " at the notion of poor Tom in a 
 palanquin. But, seriously. Sir, is all this possible ? or might it not 
 be feared that your father, when he came to see my brother — who, 
 with many a worthy quality, has not much to prepossess in his 
 favour — when, I say, he came to see your protege, is it not likely 
 tliat he might — might — hold him more cheaply than you do ?" 
 
 " Not when he presents a letter from me— not when it's I that 
 have taken him up. You'll believe me, perhaps, when I teU you 
 
 I 
 
114 BAEEINaTOK. ' 
 
 what happened when I was but ten years old. We were up at Eaji- 
 goon, in the Hills, when a dreadful hurricane swept over the country, 
 destroying everything before it : rice, paddy, the indigo-crop, all were 
 carried away, and the poor people left totally destitute. A subscrip- 
 tion-list was handed about amongst the British residents, to afford 
 Some aid in the calamity, and it wfi,8 my tutor, a native Moonshee, 
 who went about to collect the sums. One morning he came back 
 somewhat disconsolate at his i^ant of success. A payment of eight 
 thousand rupees had to be made for grain on that day, and he had 
 not, as he hoped and expected, the money ready. He talked freely 
 to me of his disappointment, so that at list, my feelings being 
 worked upon, I took up my pen and wrote down my name on the 
 list, with the sum of eight thousand tuples- to it Shocked at what 
 he regarded as an act 6i levity, he carried the' J)£lper to my father, 
 who at" bnce saiS, ' IVed -Wrote it;' his name- shall not be dis- 
 honoured ;' and the money was paid. , I ask you, now, am I reckon- 
 ibg too much on one who could do that,and for a inere child, too?" 
 
 ".That was nobly done," said shte. With enthusiasm ; and though 
 Conyera went on, with warmth, to- tell more of his ifather's generous 
 nature, she seemed less to Itsten than to ' feUow out some thread of 
 her own reflections. Was. it so^e speculation as to the temperament 
 the son of such a father might possess ? or was it some pleasurable 
 ■jreverie regarding one who might do any extravagance and yet be 
 forgiven ? My deader may- guess this, perhaps, I cannot. Whatever 
 lier speculation, it lent a vfery charming expression to her features — 
 that air of gentle, tranquil haippiness we like to believe the lot of 
 ■guileless, simple natures. 
 
 Conyers, Mke many young men of his order, was very fond of talk- 
 "ing of himself, of his ways-,^his habits; and his tetnper, and she listened 
 to him very prettily — so prettily, indeed, that when Darby, slyly 
 peeping in at the hal&opened door, announced that the boat had 
 come, he felt well inclined to^pitch' the messenger into the stream. 
 
 " I must go and say good-by to Miss Barrington," said Polly, 
 rising. " I hope that this rustling finery will impart some dignity to 
 my demeanour." And drawing wide the massive folds, she made a 
 very deep curtsey, throwing back her head haughtily as she resumed 
 her height iu admirable imitation of a bygone school of manners. 
 
 " Very well — very well indeed ! Quite as like what it is meant for 
 as is Miss Polly Dill for the station she counterfeits !" said Miss 
 Dinah, as, throwing wide the door, she stood before them. 
 
 " I am overwhelmed by your ilattery. Madam," said Polly, who, 
 •though very red, lost none of her self-possession ; " but I feel that, 
 
^i^?U'^ .^■tU' ^//u,i ^%^'l/t^.- cY- hiP7t^/t>tJ' 
 
BAEEIlfaTOSr. 115 
 
 like the trayeller who tried on Charlemagne's armour, I am far more 
 equal to combat in my every-day clothes." 
 
 " Do not enter the Hsts with me in either," said Miss Dinah, with 
 a look of the haughtiest insolence. " Mr. Conyers, wiU you let me 
 show you my flower-garden ?" 
 
 " Delighted ! But I wiU first see Miss DiU to her boat." 
 
 " As you please, Sir," said the old lady ; and she withdrew with a 
 proud toss of her head that was very unmistakable in its import. 
 
 " What a severe correction that was !" said Polly, half gaily, as she 
 went along, leaning on his arm. " And you know that, whatever my 
 offending, there was no mimicry in it. I was simply thinking of some 
 great.grandmother who had perhaps captivated the heroes of Dettingen ; 
 and, talking of heroes, how courageous of yow to come to my rescue." 
 
 "Was it that her arm only trembled slightly, or did it really press 
 gently on his own as she said this ? Certainly Conyers inclined to 
 the latter hypothesis, for he drew her more closely to his side, and 
 said, " Of course I stood by you. She was all in the wrong, and I 
 mean to tell her so." 
 
 " Not if you would serve me," said she, eagerly. " I have paid the 
 penalty, and I object strongly to be sentenced again. Oh, here's the 
 boat !" 
 
 " "Why, it's a mere skiff. Are you safe to trust yourself in such a 
 thing?" asked he, for the canoe-shaped " cot" was new to him. 
 
 " Of course !" said she, lightly stepping in. " There is even room 
 for another." Then, hastUy changing her theme, she asked, " May I 
 tell poor Tom what you have said to me, or is it just possible that you 
 wiU come up one of these days and see us ?" 
 
 " If I might be permitted " 
 
 " Too much honour for ua !" said she, with such a capital imitation 
 of his voice and manner that he burst into a laugh in spite of himself. 
 
 " Mayhap Miss Barrington was not so far wrong, after all: you ore 
 a terrible mimic." 
 
 " Is it a promise, then ? Am I to say to my brother you will come ?" 
 Said she, seriously. 
 
 " Faithfully !" said he, waving his hand, for the boatmen had 
 already got the skiff under weigh, and were sending her along like an 
 arrow from a bow. 
 
 Polly turned and kissed her hand to him, and Conyers muttered 
 something over his own stupidity for not being beside her, and then 
 turned sulkily back towards the cottage. A few years ago and he had 
 thought he could have passed his life here ; there was a charm in the 
 unbroken tranquillity that seemed to satisfy the longings of 4iis heart 
 
 i2 
 
116 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 and now, all of a sudden, the place appeared desolate. Have you never, 
 dear reader, felt, in gazing on some fair landscape, with, mountain, and 
 stream, and forest before you, that the scene was perfect, wanting 
 nothing in form, or tone, or colour, till suddenly a flash of strong 
 sunlight from behind a cloud lit up some spot with a glorious 
 lustre, to fade away as quickly into the cold tint it had worn before — 
 have you not felt then, I say, that the picture had lost its marvellous 
 attraction, and that the very soul of its beauty i had departed? In 
 vain you try to recal the past impression ; your memory will mourn 
 over the lost, and refuse to be comforted. And so is it often in life : 
 the momentary charm that came unexpectedly can become all in all 
 to our imaginations, and its departure leave a blank, like a death, 
 behind it. 
 
 "Not was he altogether satisfied with Miss Barrington. The " old 
 woman " — alas ! for his gallantry, it was so that he called her to him- 
 self — was needlessly severe. Why should a mere piece of harmless 
 levity be so visited. At all events, he felt certain that he himself 
 would have shown a more generous spirit. Indeed, when Polly had 
 quizzed him, he took it all good naturedly, and by thus turning his 
 thought to his natural goodness and the merits of his character, he 
 at length grew somewhat more well-disposed to the world at large. 
 He knew he was naturally forgiving, and he felt he was very generous. 
 Scores of fellows, bred up as he was, would have been perfectly un- 
 endurable ; they would have presumed on their position, and done 
 this, that, and t'other. Not one of them would have dreamed of 
 taking up a poor ungainly bumpkin, a country doctor's cub, and 
 making a man of him ; not one of them would have had the heart 
 to conceive or the energy to carry out such a project. And yet this 
 he would do. Polly herself, sceptical as she was, should be brought 
 to admit that he had kept his word. Selfish fellows would limit their 
 plans to their own engagements, and weak fellows could be laughed 
 out of their intentions; but he flattered himself that he was neither 
 of these, and it was really fortunate tbat the world should see how 
 little spoiled a fine nature could be, though surrounded with all the 
 temptations that are supposed to be dangerous. 
 
 In this happy frame — for he was now happy — he re-entered the 
 cottage. " What a coxcomb !" will say my reader. Be it so. But 
 it was a coxcomb who wanted to be something better. 
 
 Miss Barrington met him in the porch, not a trace of her late dis- 
 pleasure on her face, but with a pleasant smile she said, " I have just 
 got a few lines from my brother. He writes in excellent spirits, for 
 he has gained a lawsuit; not a very important case, but it puts 
 
BAEEINGTON. Il7 
 
 US in a position to carry out a little project we are full of. He will 
 be here by Saturday, and hopes to bring with him an old and valued 
 friend, the Attorney- General, to spend a few days with us. I am 
 therefore able to promise you an ample recompense for all the loneli- 
 ness of your present life. I have cautiously abstained from telling 
 my brother who you are ; I keep the delightful surprise for the 
 moment of your meeting. Tour name, though associated with some 
 sad memories, will bring him back to the happiest period of his life." 
 
 Conyers made some not very intelligible reply about his reluctance 
 to impose himself on them at such a time, but she stopped him with 
 a good-humoured smile, and said : 
 
 " Tour father's son should know that where a Barrington lived he 
 had a home — not to say you have already paid some of the tribute of 
 this homeliness, and seen me very cross and ill tempered. Well, let 
 us not speak of that now. I have your word to remain here." And 
 she left him to attend to her household cares, while he strolled into 
 the garden, half amused, half embarrassed by all the strange and new 
 interests that had grown up so suddenly around him. 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 
 
 "Whethee from simple caprice, or that Lady Cobham desired to 
 mark her disapprobation of Polly Dill's share in the late wager, is not 
 open to me to say, but the festivities at Cobham were not, on that 
 day, graced or enlivened by her presence. If the comments on her 
 absence were brief, they were pungent, and some wise reflections, 
 too, were uttered as to the dangers that must inevitably attend all 
 attempts to lift people into a sphere above their own. Poor human 
 nature ! that unlucky culprit who is flogged for everything and for 
 everybody, bore the brunt of these severities, and it was declared that 
 Polly had only done what any other girl " in her rank of life " might 
 have done ; and this being settled, the company went to luncheon, 
 their appetites none the worse for the small auto-da-fe they had just 
 celebrated. 
 
 " Tou'd have lost your money. Captain," whispered Ambrose Bushe 
 to Stapylton, as they stood talking together in a window recess, "if 
 
118 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 that girl had only taken the river three hundred yards higher up. 
 Even as it waa, she'd have breasted her horse at the bank if the 
 bridle had not given way. I suppose you have seen the place ?" 
 
 " I regret to say I have not. They teU me it's one of the strongest 
 rapids in the river." 
 
 " Let me describe it to you," replied he ; and at once set about a 
 picture, in which certainly no elements of peril were forgotten, and 
 all the dangers of rocks and rapids were given with due emphasis. 
 Stapylton seemed to listen with fitting attention, throwing out the 
 suitable "Indeed! is it possible!" and such-like interjections, his 
 mind, however, by no means absorbed by the narrative, but dwelling 
 solely on a chance name that had dropped from the narrator. 
 
 " Tou called the place ' Barrington's Ford,' " said he at last. " Who 
 is Barrington?" 
 
 " As good a gentleman by blood and descent as any in this room, 
 but now reduced to keep a little wayside inn — the 'Fisherman's Home,' 
 it is called. AH come of a spendthrift son, who went out to India, 
 and ran through every acre of the property before he died." 
 
 " What a strange vicissitude ! And is the old man much broken 
 by it ?" 
 
 " Some would say he was ; my own opinion is, that he bears up won- 
 derfully. Of course, to me, he never makes any mention of the past ; 
 but while my father lived, he would frequently talk to him over by- 
 gones, and liked nothing better than to speak of his son, Mad George 
 as they called him, and tell all his wildest exploits and most hair- 
 brained achievements. But you have served yourself in India. Have 
 you never heard of George Barrington ?" 
 
 Stapylton shook his head, and dryly added that India was very 
 large, and that even in one Presidency a man might never hear what 
 went on in another. 
 
 " Well, this fellow made noise enough to be heard even over here. 
 He married a native woman, and he either shook off his English alle- 
 giance, or was suspected of doing so. At all events, he got himself 
 into troubles that fijiished him. It's a long, complicated story, that I 
 have never heard correctly. The upshot was, however, old Barrington 
 was sold out stick and stone, and if it wasn't for the ale-house he 
 might starve." 
 
 " And his former friends and associates, do they rally round him 
 and cheer him ?" 
 
 " Not a great deal. Perhaps, however, that's as much his fault as 
 theirs. He is very proud, and very quick to resent anything like 
 consideration for his changed condition. Sir Charles would have him 
 
BAEBINGTOlf. 
 
 119 
 
 up here — he has tried it scores of times, but all in vain ; and now he 
 is left to two or three of his neighbours, the Doctor and an old half- 
 pay Major, who lives on the river, and I believe really he never sees 
 any one else. Old M'Cormick knew George Barrington well ; not 
 that they were friends — two men less alike never lived ; but that's 
 enough to make poor Peter fond of talking to him, and telling all 
 about some lawsuits George left him for a legacy." 
 
 " Tbis Major that you speak of, does he visit here p I don't re- 
 member to have seen him." 
 
 " M'Cormick !" said the other, laughing. " JSTo, he's a miserly old 
 fellow that hasn't a coat fit to go out in, and he's no loss to any one. 
 It's as much as old Peter Barrington can do to bear his shabby ways 
 and his cranky temper, but he puts up with everything because he 
 knew his son George. That's quite enough for old Peter ; and if you 
 were to go over to the cottage, and say, ' I met your son up in 
 Bombay or Madras ; we were quartered together at Bam-something- 
 or-other,' he'd tell you the place was your own, to stop at as long as 
 you liked, and your home for life." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Stapylton, affecting to feel interested, while he 
 followed out the course of his own thoughts, 
 
 " Not that the Major could do even that much !" continued Bushe, 
 who now believed that he had found an eager listener. " There was 
 only one thing in this world he'd like to talk about— "Walcheren. 
 Go how or when you liked, or where or for what — no matter, it was 
 Walcheren you'd get, and nothing else." 
 
 " Somewhat tiresome this, I take it !" 
 
 " Tiresome is no name for it ! And I don't know a stronger proof 
 of old Peter's love for his son's memory, than that, for the sake of 
 liearing about him, he can sit aJid listen to the ' expedition.' " 
 
 There was a half- unconscious mimicry in the way lie gave the last 
 word that showed how the Major's aocentg had eaten their way into 
 his sensibilities. 
 
 " Your portrait of this Major is not tempting," said Stapylton, 
 ■smiling. 
 
 " Why would it ? He's eighteen or twenty years in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and I never heard that he said a kind word or did a 
 generous act by any one. But I get cross if I talk of him. Where 
 are you going this morning ? Will you come up to the Long Callows 
 and look at the yearlings ? The Admiral is very proud of his .young 
 stock, and thinks he has some of the best bone and blood in Ireland 
 there at this moment." 
 
 " Thanks, no ; I have some notion of a long walk this morning. I 
 
120 BABEINGTON. 
 
 take sbame to myself for having seen so little of the country here 
 since I came, that I mean to repair my fault, and go off on a sort of 
 Toyage of discovery." 
 
 " Pollow the river from Brown's Barn dovpn to Inistioge, and if you 
 ever saw anything prettier I'm a Scotchman." And, with this ap- 
 palling alternative, Mr. Bushe walked away, and left the other to 
 his own guidance. 
 
 Perhaps Stapylton is not the companion my reader would care to 
 stroll with, even along the grassy path beside that laughing river, 
 with spray-like larches bending overhead, and tender water-lilies 
 streaming, like pennants, in the fast-running current. It may be that 
 he or she would prefer some one more impressionable to the woodland 
 beauty of the spot, and more disposed to enjoy the tranquil loveliness 
 around him ; for it is true the swarthy soldier strode on, little heed- 
 ing the picturesque effects which made every succeeding reach of the 
 river a subject for a painter. He was bent on finding out where 
 M'Cormick lived, and on making the acquaintance of that bland 
 individual. 
 
 " That's the Major's, and there's himself," said a countryman, as he 
 pointed to a very shabbily-dressed old man hoeing his cabbages in a 
 dilapidated bit of garden-ground, but who was so absorbed in his 
 occupation as not to notice the approach of a stranger. 
 
 " Am I taking too great a liberty," said Stapylton, as he raised 
 his hat, " if I ask leave to follow the river path through this lovely 
 spot." 
 
 " Eh — what ? — how did you come ? Tou didn't pass round by the 
 young wheat, eh?" asked M'Cormick, in his most querulous voice. 
 
 " I came along by the margin of the river." 
 
 " That's just it !" broke in the other. " There's no keeping them 
 out that way. But I'U have a dog, as sure as my name is Dan. I'U 
 have a bull-terrier that'll tackle the first of you that's trespassing 
 there." 
 
 " I fancy I'm addressing Major M'Cormick," said Stapylton, never 
 noticing this rude speech, " and if so, I will ask him to accord me 
 the privilege of a brother-soldier, and let me make myseK known to 
 him — Captain Stapylton, of the Prince's Hussars." 
 
 " By the wars !" muttered old Dan ; the exclamation being a 
 favourite one with him to express astonishment at any startling 
 event. Then, recovering himself, he added, " I think I heard there 
 were three or four of ye stopping up there at Cobham ; but I never 
 go out myself anywhere. I live very retired down here." 
 
 "I'm not surprised at that. When an old soldier can nestle 
 
BAEEHrGTON. 121 
 
 down in a lovely nook like this, he has very little to regret of what 
 the world is busy about outside it." 
 
 " And they are all ruining themselves besides," said M'Cormick, 
 with one of his malicious grins. " There's not a man in this county 
 isn't mortgaged over head and ears. I can count them aU on my 
 fingers for you, and tell what they have to live on." 
 
 " Tou amaze me," said Stapylton, with a show of interest. 
 
 " And the women are as bad as the men : nothing fine enough for 
 them to wear ; no jewels rich enough to put on ! Did you ever hear 
 them mention mel'" asked he, suddenly, as though the thought 
 flashed upon him that he had himself been exposed to comment of a 
 very difierent kind. 
 
 " They told me of an old retired officer, who owned a most pic- 
 turesque cottage, and said, if I remember aright, that the view from 
 one of the windows was accounted one of the most perfect bits of 
 river landscape in the kingdom." 
 
 " Just the same as where you're standing — no difference in life," 
 said M'Cormick, who was not to be seduced by the flattery into any 
 demonstration of hospitality. 
 
 " I cannot imagine anything finer," said Stapylton, as he threw 
 himself at the foot of a tree, and seemed really to revel in enjoyment 
 of the scene. " One might, perhaps, if disposed to be critical, ask 
 for a little opening in that copse yonder. I suspect we should get 
 a peep at that bold clifi', whose summit peers above the tree-tops." 
 
 " You'd see the quarry, to be sure," croaked out the Major, " if 
 that's what you mean." 
 
 " May I ofier you a cigar ?" said Stapylton, whose self-possession 
 was pushed somewhat hard by the other. " An old campaigner is 
 sure to be a smoker." 
 
 " I am not. I never had a pipe in my mouth since Walcheren." 
 
 " Since "Walcheren ! You don't say that you are an old "Wal- 
 cheren man ?" 
 
 " I am, indeed. I was in the second battalion of the 103rd — the 
 Duke's Eusiliers, if ever you heard of them." 
 
 " Heard of them ! The whole world has heard of them ; but I 
 didn't know there was a man of that splendid corps surviving. Wliy, 
 
 they lost — let me see — they lost every officer but " Here a 
 
 vigorous effort to keep his cigar alight interposed, and kept him oc- 
 cupied for a few seconds. " How many did you bring out of action 
 — four was it, or five ? I'm certain you hadn't sis !" 
 
 " We were the same as the Buffs, man for man," said M'Cormick. 
 
 " The poor Bufis ! — ^very gallant fellows, too !" sighed Stapylton. 
 
122 PABEINOTOir, 
 
 " I have always raaiatained, and I always will maintain, tbat the) 
 Waloheren expedition, though not a success, was the proudest 
 achievement of the British arms." 
 
 "Tlie shakes always began after sunrise, and in less than ten 
 minutes you'd see your nails growing hlue." 
 
 " How dreadful !" 
 
 "And if you felt your nose, you wouldn't know it was your nose ; 
 you'd think it was a hit of a cold carrot." 
 
 " Why was that ?" 
 
 " Because there was no circulation ; the blood would stop going 
 round ; and you'd be that way for four hours — till the sweating took 
 you — -just the same as dead." 
 
 " There, don't go on — I can't stand it — my nerves are all ajar 
 already." 
 
 " And then the cramps came on," continued M'Cormick, in an 
 ecstasy over a listener whose feelings he could harrow; "first in.th^ 
 calves of the legs, and then all along the spine, so that you'd be 
 bent like a fish." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, spare me ! I've seen some rough work, bu'^ 
 that description of yours is perfectly horrifying ! And when one 
 thinks it was the glorious old 105th——" 
 
 " No, the 103rd ; the 105th was at Barbadoes," broke in the 
 Major, testily. 
 
 " So they were, and got their share of yellow fever at that very 
 time, too," said Stapylton, hazarding a not very rash conjecture. 
 
 " Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't," was the dry rejoinder.; 
 
 It required all Sfcapylton's nice tact to get the Major once more full 
 swing at the expedition, but he at last accomplished the feat, and with 
 such success that M'Cormick suggested an adjournment within doors^ 
 and faintly hinted at a possible something to drink. The wily guest, 
 however, declined this. " He liked," he said, " that nice breezy spot 
 under those fine old trees, and with that glorious reach of the river 
 before them. Could a man but join to these enjoyments," he con- 
 tinued, "just a neighbour or two — an old friend or so that he really 
 liked — -one not alone agreeable from his tastes, but to whom the link 
 of early companionship also attached us, with this addition I could- 
 njall this a paradise," 
 
 " Well, I have the village doctor," croaked out M'Cormick, " and 
 .there's Barrington — old Peter— up at the " Fisherman's Home." I 
 hare them by way of society. I might have better, and I might 
 have worse." 
 . " They told me at Cobham that there was no getting you tp '-go 
 
BABEOrGTOIf. 
 
 12? 
 
 out ;' that, like a regular old soldier, you liked your own chimney- 
 corner, and eould not be tempted away from it." 
 
 "They didn't try very hard, anyhow," said he, harshly. "I'll be 
 nineteen years here if I live till November, and I think I got two in- 
 vitations, and one of them to a ' dancing tea,' whatever that is ; so 
 that you may observe they didn't push the temptation as far as St. 
 Anthony's !" 
 
 Stapylton joined in the laugh with which M'Cormick welcomed his 
 own droUery. 
 
 "Tour doctor," resumed he, "is, I presume, the father of the 
 pretty girl who rides so cleverly ?" 
 
 " So they teU me. I never saw her mounted but once, and she 
 smashed a melon-frame for me, and not so much as ' I ask your 
 pardon !' afterwards." 
 
 "And Barrington," resumed Stapylton, " is the ruined gentleman 
 I have heard of, who has turned innkeeper. An extravagant son, I 
 believe, finished him ?" 
 
 " His own taste for law cost him just as much," muttered 
 M'Cormick. " He had a trunk fuU of old title-deeds, and bonds, and 
 settlements, and he was always poring over them, discovering, by the 
 way, flaws in this and omissions in that, and then he'd draw up a ease 
 for counsel, and get consultations on it, and, before you could turn 
 round, there he was, trying to break a wiU or get out of a. covenant, 
 with a special jury and the strongest Bar in Ireland. That's what 
 ruined him." 
 
 " I gather from what you tell me that he is a bold, determined, and 
 perhaps a vindictive man. Am I right r" 
 
 "Ton are not; he's an easy-tempered fellow, and careless, like 
 every one of his name and race. If you said he hadn't a wise head 
 on his shoulders, you'd be nearer the mark. Look what he's going 
 to do now !" cried he, warming with his theme : " he's going to give 
 up the inn " 
 
 " Give it up ! And why ?" 
 
 '' Ay, that's the question •would puzzle him to answer ; but it's the 
 haughty old sister persuades him that he ought to take this black 
 girl — George Barrington's daughter — home to live with him, and 
 that a shebeen isn't the place to bring her to, and she a negress! 
 That's more of the family wisdom !" 
 
 " There may be afiection in it." 
 
 " Affection ! Por what — for a black ? Ay, and a black that they 
 never set eyes on ! If it was old "Withering had the affection for bar 
 I wouldn't be surprised." 
 
124 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " "What do you mean ? Who is he ?" 
 
 "The Attorney- Genera), who has heen fighting the East India 
 Company for her these sixteen years, and making more money out of 
 the case than she'll ever get back again. Did you ever hear of Bar- 
 rington and Lot Eammadahn Mohr against the India Company? 
 That's the case. Twelve millions of rupees and the interest on them ! 
 And I believe in my heart and soul old Peter would be well out of it 
 for a thousand pounds." 
 
 " That is, you suspect he must be beaten in the end ?" 
 " I mean, that I'm sure of it ! "We have a saying in Ireland, ' It's 
 not fair for one man to fall upon twenty,' and it's just the same thing 
 to go to law with a great rich Company. You're sure to have the 
 worst of it." 
 
 " Did it never occur to them to make some sort of a compromise ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Old Peter always thinks he has the game in his 
 
 hand, and nothing would make him throw up the cards. No ; I believe 
 
 if you offered to pay the stakes, he'd say, ' Play the game out, and let 
 
 the winner take the money !' " 
 
 " His lawyer may possibly have something to say to this spirit." 
 " Of course he has ; they are always bolstering each other up. It 
 is, ' Barrington, my boy, you'll turn the corner yet. You'll drive up 
 that old avenue to the house you were born in, Barrington of Bar- 
 rington HaU;' or, 'Withering, I never heard you greater than on that 
 point before the twelve Judges ; or, ' Your last speech at Bar was finer 
 than Curran.' They'd pass the evening that way, and call me a 
 cantankerous old hound when my back was turned, just because I 
 didn't hark in to the cry. Maybe I have the laugh at them, after all." 
 And he broke out into one of his most discordant cackles to cor- 
 roborate his boast. 
 
 " The sound sense and experience of an old Walcheren man might 
 have its weight with them. I know it would with meP 
 
 " Ay," muttered the Major, half aloud, for he was thinking to him- 
 self whether this piece of flattery was a bait for a little whisky-and- 
 water. 
 
 " I'd rather have the unbought judgment of a shrewd man of the 
 world than a score of opinions based upon the quips and cranks of an 
 attorney's instructions." 
 
 "Ay!" responded the other, as he mumbled to himself, "He's 
 mighty thirsty." 
 
 " And, what's more," said Stapylton, starting to his legs, " I'd 
 follow the one as implicitly as I'd reject the other. I'd say, 
 
BABEIITGTOir. 125 
 
 ' M'Cormick is an old friend ; we have known each other since boy- 
 hood.' " 
 
 " No we haven't. I never saw Peter Barrington till I came to 
 live here." 
 
 " "Well, after a close friendship of years with his son " 
 
 " Nor that either," broke in the implacable Major. " He was 
 always cutting his jokes on me, and I never could abide him, so that, 
 the close friendship you speak of is a mistake." 
 
 " At all events," said Stapylton, sharply, " it could be no interest 
 of yours to see an old — an old acquaintance lavishing his money on 
 lawyers and in the pursuit of the most improbable of aU results. You 
 have no design upon him ! You don't want to marry his sister !" 
 
 " No, by G-emini !" — a favourite expletive of the Major's in urgent 
 moments. 
 
 " Nor the Meer's daughter either, I suppose ?" 
 
 " The black ! I think not ! Not if she won the lawsuit, and was 
 as rich as — r-she never wiU be." 
 
 " I agree with you there. Major, though I know nothing of the 
 case or its merits ; but it is enough to hear that a beggared squire is 
 on one side, and Leadenhall-street on the other, to predict the 
 upshot, and, for my own part, I wonder they go on with it." 
 
 " I'll tell you how it is," said M'Cormick, closing one eye, so as to 
 impart a look of intense cunning to his face. " It's the same with 
 law as at a fox-hunt : when you're tired out beating a cover, and ready 
 to go off home, one dog — very often the worst in the whole pack — 
 will yelp out. Tou know well enough he's a bad hound, and never 
 found in his life. What does that signify ? "When you're wishing a 
 thing, whatever flatters your hopes is all right — isn't that true ? — and 
 away you dash after the yelper as if he was a good hound." 
 
 " Tou have put the matter most convincingly before me.'' 
 
 " How thirsty he is now !" thought the Major ; and grinned mali- 
 ciously at his reflection. 
 
 " And the upshot of, all," said Stapylton, like one summing up a 
 case — " the upshot of all is, that this old man is not satisfied with his 
 ruin if it be not complete : he must see the last timbers of the wreck 
 carried away ere he leaves the scene of his disaster. Strange, sad 
 infatuation !" 
 
 " Ay," muttered the Major, who really had few sympathies with 
 merely moral abstractions. 
 
 " Not what I should have done in a like case ; nor yow either 
 Major, eh ?" 
 
126 BAEEisraioir. 
 
 "Very likely not." 
 
 " But so it is. There are men who cannot be practical, do what 
 they will. This is above them." 
 
 A sort of grunt gave assent to this proposition, and Stapylton, who 
 began to feel it was a drawn game, arose to take his leave. 
 
 " I owe yon a very delightful morning. Major !" said he. " I wish 
 I could think it was not to be the last time I was to have this plea- 
 sure. Do you ever come up to Kilkenny ? Does it ever occur to 
 you to refresh your old mess recollections ?" 
 
 Had M'Cormick been asked whether he did not occasionally drop 
 in at Holland House, and brush up his faculties by intercourse with 
 the bright spirits who resorted there, he could scarcely have been 
 more astounded. That he, old Dan M'Cormick, should figure at a 
 mess-table — he, whose wardrobe, a mere skeleton battalion thirty 
 years ago, had never since been recruited, he should mingle with the 
 gay and splendid young fellows of a " crack" regiment ! 
 
 " I'd just as soon think of — of -" he hesitated how to measure 
 
 an unlikelihood — " of marrying a young wife, and taking her off to 
 ^ Paris !" 
 
 " And I don't see any absurdity in the project. There is certainly 
 a great deal of brilliancy about it !" 
 
 "And something bitter, too!" croaked out M'Cormick, with a 
 fearful grin. 
 
 " Well, if you'll not come to see me, the chances are I'll come 
 over and make you another visit before I leave the neighbourhood." 
 He waited a second or two, not more, for some recognition of this 
 offer, but none came, and he continued : " I'll get you to stroll down 
 with me, and show me this ' Fisherman's Home' and its strange pro- 
 prietor." 
 
 " Oh, I'll do that!" said the Major, who had no objection to a 
 plan which by no possibility could involve himself in any cost. 
 
 "As it is an inn, perhaps they'd let us have a bit of dinner. What 
 Would you say to being my guest there to-morrow ? Would that suit 
 you?" 
 
 " It would suit me well enough !" was the strongly marked reply. 
 
 " Well, we'll do it this wise. You'll send one of your people over 
 to order dinner for two at — shall we say five o'clock ? — yes, five— to- 
 morrow. That will give us a longer evening, and I'll call here for you 
 about four. Is that agreed ?" 
 
 " Yes, that might do," was M'Cormick's half-reluctant assent, for 
 in reality there were details in the matter that he scarcely fancied. 
 I'irst of all, he had never hitherto crossed that threshold except as an 
 
BAEEINGTON. 127 
 
 invited guest, and he had his misgivings about the prudence of ap- 
 pearing in any other character ; and, secondly, there was a responsi- 
 bility in ordering the dinner which he liked just as little, and, as he 
 Inuttered to himself, " Maybe I'll have to order the bill, too !" 
 
 Some unlucky experiences of casualties of this sort had, perhaps, 
 shadowed his early life, for so it was, tha;t long after Stapylton had 
 taken his leave and gone off, the Major stood there ruminating over 
 this unpleasant contingency, and ingeniously imagining all the pleas 
 he could put in, should his apprehensions prove correct, against his 
 own indebtedness. 
 
 "Tell Miss Dinah," said he to his messenger — "tell her 'tis an 
 officer by the name of Captain Staples, or something like that, that's 
 up at Cobham, that wants a dinner for two to-morrow at five o'clock ; 
 and mind that you don't say who the other is, for it's nothing to her. 
 And if she asks you what sort of a dinner, say the best in the house, 
 for the Captain — mind you say the Captain — is to pay for it, and the 
 other man only dines with him. There now, you have your orders, 
 and take care that you follow them !" 
 
 There was a shrewd twinkle in the messenger's eye as he listened, 
 vrhich, if not exactly complimentary, guaranteed how thoroughly he 
 comprehended the instructions that were given to him; and the Major 
 saw him set forth on his mission, well assui'ed that he could trust his 
 envoy. 
 
 In that nothing-for-nothing world Major M'Cormick had so long 
 lived in, and to whose practice and ways he had adapted all his 
 thoughts, there was something puzzling in the fact of a dashing cap- 
 tain of Hussars, of " the Prince's Own," seeking him out, to form his 
 acquaintance and invite him to dinner. Now, though the selfishness 
 of an unimaginative man is the most complete of all, it yet exposes 
 him to fewer delusions than the same quality when found allied with 
 a hopeful or fanciful temperament. M'Cormick had no " distractions" 
 from such sources. He thought very ill of the world at large ; he 
 expected extremely little from its generosity, and he resolved to be 
 " quits" with it. To his often-put question, " What brought him here ? 
 — what did he come for?" he could find no satisfactory reply. He 
 scouted the notion of " love of scenery, solitude, and so forth," and as 
 fully he ridiculed to himself the idea of a stranger cariug to hear the 
 gossip and small-tallj of a mere country neighbourhood. " I have 
 it!" cried he at last, as a bright thought darted through his brain — 
 " I have it at last ! He wants to pump me about the ' expedition.' 
 It's for that he's come. He affected surprise, to be sure, when I 
 said I was a Walcheren man, and pretended to be amazed besides ; 
 
128 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 but that was all make-lielieve. He knew well enougli who and what 
 I was, before he came. And he was so cunning, leading the conver- 
 sation away in another direction, getting me to talk of old Peter and 
 his son George. Wasn't it deep? — wasn't it sly ? "Well, maybe we 
 are not so innocent as we look, ourselves ; maybe we have a trick in 
 our sleeves too ! ' With a good dinner and a bottle of port wine,' 
 says he, ' I'll have the whole story, and be able to write it with the 
 signature " One who was there." ' But you're mistaken this time, 
 Captain ; the sorrow bit of Walcheren you'll hear out of my mouth 
 to-morrow, be as pleasant and congenial as you like. I'll give you 
 the Barring^ons, father and son — ay, and old Dinah too, if you fancy 
 her — but not a syllable about the expedition. It's the Scheldt you 
 want, but you'll have to ' take it out ' in the Granges." And his 
 uncouth joke so tickled him, that he laughed till his eyes ran over ; 
 and in the thought that he was going to obtain a dinner under false 
 pretences, he felt something as nearly like happiness as be had tasted 
 for many a long day before. 
 
BABEINQTON. 129 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 Miss BiBEiNGTOif waited with impatience for Conyera's appear- 
 ance at the breatfast-table ; she had received such a pleasant note 
 irom her brother, and she was so eager to read it. That notion of 
 imparting some conception of a dear friend by reading his own words 
 to a stranger is a very natural one. It serves so readily to corrobo- 
 rate aU we have already said, to fill up that picture of which we have 
 but given the mere outline, not to speak of the inexplicable charm 
 there is in being able to say, " Here is the man without reserve or 
 disguise — here he is in all the freshness and warmth of genuine feel- 
 ing ; no tricks of style, no turning of phrases to mar the honest ex- 
 pression of his nature. Tou see him as we see him." 
 
 " My brother is coming home, Mr. Conyers ; he will be here to-day. 
 Here is his note," ^aid Miss Dinah, as she shook hands with her 
 guest. " I must read it for you : 
 
 " ' At last, my dear Dinah — at last I am free, and, with all my love 
 of law and laywers, right glad to turn my steps homeward. Not but 
 I have had a most brilliant week of it ; dined with my old school- 
 fellow Longmore, now Chief Baron, and was the honoured guest of 
 the " Home Circuit," not to speak of one glorious evening with a 
 club called the " TJnbriefed," the pleasantest dogs that ever made good 
 speeches for nothing ! — an amount of dissipation upon which I can 
 well retire and live for the next twelve months. How strange it 
 seems to me to be once more in the "world," and listening to scores 
 of things in which I have no personal interest ; how small it makes my 
 own daily life appear, but how secure and how home-like, Dinah ! Tou 
 have often heard me grumbling over the decline of social agreeability, 
 and the dearth of those pleasant speeches that could set the table in 
 a roar. Tou shall never hear the same complaint from me again. 
 These fellows are just as good as their fathers. If I missed anything, 
 it was that glitter of scholarship, that classical turn which in the olden 
 day elevated table-talk, and made it racy with the smart aphorisms 
 and happy conceits of those who, even over their wine, were poets and 
 orators. But perhaps I am not quite fair even in this. At all events, 
 I am not going to disparage those who have brought back to my old 
 age some of the pleasant memories of my youth, and satisfied me 
 
130 BAEEINSTON, 
 
 that even yet I have a heart for those social joys I once loved so 
 dearly ! 
 
 " ' And we have won our suit, Dinah — at least, a juror was with- 
 drawn by consent — and Brazier agrees to an arbitration as to the 
 Moyalty lands, the whole of Clanebrach and Barrymaquilty property 
 being released from the sequestration.' 
 
 "This is all personal matter, and technical besides," said Miss 
 Barrington, " so I sldp it. 
 
 " ' Withering was finer than ever I heard Mm in the speech toi 
 evidence. We had been taunted with our. defensive attitude so 
 suddenly converted into an attack, and he compared our position to- 
 Wellington's at Torres Yedras. The Chief Justice said Curran, at, 
 his best, never excelled it, and they have called me nothing but Lord 
 WeUington ever since. And now, Dinah, to answer the question 
 your impatience has been putting these ten minutes : " What of the 
 money part of aU this triumph ?" I fear much, my dear sister, we 
 are to take little by our motion. The costs of the campaign cut up 
 all but the glory ! Hogan's bill extends to thirty-eight folio pages, 
 and there's a codicil to it of eleven more, headed " Confidential be- 
 tween Client and Attorney," and though I have npt in a rapid survey 
 seen anything above five pounds, the gross total is two thousand 
 seven hundred and forty-three pounds three and fourpence. I must 
 and will say, however, it was a great suit, and admirably prepared. 
 There was not an instruction Withering did not find substantiated, 
 and Hogan is equally delighted with Mm. With all my taste for 
 field sports and manly games, Dinah, I am firmly convinced that a 
 good trial at bar is a far finer spectacle than the grandest tournament 
 that ever was tilted. There was a skirmish yesterday that I'd rather 
 have witnessed than I'd have seen Brian de Bois himself at Ashby- 
 de-la-Zouch. And, considering that my own share for this passage at 
 arms will come to a trifle above two thousand pounds, the confession 
 may be taken as an honest one. 
 
 " ' And who is your young guest whom I shall be so delighted to 
 see ? This gives no clue to him, Dinah, for you know well how I 
 would welcome any one who has impressed you so favourably. 
 Entreat of him to prolong his stay for a week at least, and if I can 
 persuade Withering to come down with me, we'U. try and make his 
 sojourn more agreeable. Look out for me — at least, about five o'clock 
 — and have the green-room ready for W., and let Darby be at Holt's 
 Style to take the trunks, for Withering likes that walk through the 
 woods, and says that he leaves his wig and gown on the holly-bushes 
 there till he goes back.' " 
 
BAEEiireKroN. 131 
 
 The next paragraph, she Bkimmed over to herself. It was one about 
 an advance that Honan had let him have of two hundred pounds, 
 " Quite ample," W. says, " for our excursion to fetch over Josephine." 
 Some details as to the route followed, and some wise hints about 
 travelling on the Continent, and a hearty concurrence on the old 
 lawyer's part with the whole scheme. 
 
 " These are little home details," said she, hurriedly, " but you have 
 heard enough to guess what my brother is like. Here is the conclusion ; 
 
 " ' I hope your young friend is a fisherman, which will give me 
 more chance of his company than walking up the partridges, for which 
 I am getting too old. Let him, however, understand that we mean 
 him to enjoy himself in his own way, to have the most perfect liberty, 
 and that the only despotism we insist upon is, not to be late for 
 dinner. 
 
 " ' Tour loving brother, 
 
 " ' PbTEB BAEBIITGTOir. 
 
 " ' There is no fatted calf to feast our return, Dinah, but Withering 
 has an old weakness for a roast sucking-pig. Don't you think we 
 could satisfy it ?' " 
 
 Conyers readily caught the contagion of the joy Miss Barrington 
 felt at the thought of her brother's return. Short as the distance^ 
 was that separated him from home, his absences were so rare, it 
 seemed as though he had gone miles and miles away, for few people 
 ever lived more dependent on each other with interests more concen- 
 trated, and all of whose hopes and fears took exactly the same direc- 
 tion, than this brother and sister, and this, too, with some strong dif- 
 ferences on the score of temperament of which the reader already has 
 had an inkling. 
 
 What a pleasant bustle that is of a household that prepares for 
 the return of a well-loved master ! What feeling pervades twenty 
 little' offices of every day routine ! And how dignified by affection 
 are the smallest cares and the very, humblest attentions. " He Hkes 
 this !" "He is so fond of that !" are heard at every moment. It is 
 then that one inarks how the observant eye of love has followed the 
 most ordinary tricks of habit, and treasured them as things to be 
 remembered. It is not the key of the street door in your pocket, nor 
 the lease of the premises in your drawer, that make a home. Let 
 us be grateful when we remember that, in this attribute, the humblest 
 shealing on the hill-side is not inferior to the palace of the king ! 
 
 Conyers, I have said, partook heartily of Miss Barrington's delight, 
 and gave a willing help to the preparations that went forward. All 
 
 e2 
 
132 BAEEiifaToir. 
 
 ■were soon busy -within doors and without. Some were raking the 
 gravel before the door ; while others were disposing the flower-pots 
 in little pyramids through the grass plats ; and then there were trees 
 to be nailed up, and windows cleaned, and furniture changed, in 
 various ways. What superhuman efforts did not Conyers make to 
 get an old jet d'eau to play, which had not spouted for nigh twenty 
 years ; and hbw reluctantly he resigned himself to failure and assisted 
 Betty to shake a carpet ! 
 
 And when aU was completed, and the soft and balmy air sent the 
 odourof the rose and the jessamine through the open windows, within 
 which every appearance of ease and comfort prevailed, Miss Barrington 
 sat down at the piano and began to refresh her memory of some Irish 
 airs, old favourites of Withering' s, which he was sure to ask for. There 
 was that in the plaintive wildness which strongly interested Conyers ; 
 while, at the same time, he was astonished at the skill of one at 
 whose touch, once on a time, tears had trembled in the eyes of those 
 who listened, and whose fingers had not yet forgot their cunning. 
 
 " Who is that standing without there ?" said Miss Barrington, 
 suddenly, as she saw a very poor-looking countryman who had drawn 
 close to the window to listen. " Who are you ? and what do you 
 want here ?" asked she, approaching him. 
 
 " I'm Terry, ma'am — Terry Delany, the Major's man," said he, 
 taking off his hat. 
 
 " Never heard of you ; and what's your business ?" 
 
 " 'Tis how I was sent ! your honour's reverence," began he, falter- 
 ing at every word, and evidently terrified by her imperious style of 
 address. " 'Tis how I came here with the master's compliments — 
 not indeed his own, but the other man's — to say, that if it was 
 plazing to you, or, indeed, anyhow at all, they'd be here at five 
 o'clock to dinner ; and though it was yesterday I got it^ I stopped 
 with my sister's husband up at Toynes Gap, and misremembered it all 
 till this morning, and I hope your honour's reverence won't tell it on 
 me, but have the best in the house all the same, for he's rich enough, 
 and can well afford it." 
 
 " What can the creature mean ?" cried Miss Barrington. " Who 
 sent you here ?" 
 
 "The Major himself; but not for him, but for the other that's up 
 at Cobham." 
 
 " And who is this other ? What is he called ?" 
 
 " 'Twas something like Hooks, or Nails ; but I can't remember," 
 said he, scratching his head — in sign of utter and complete bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
BAEEIITGTOir. 133 
 
 " Did any one ever hear the like ! Is the fellow an idiot ?" ex 
 claimed she, angrily. 
 
 "No, my lady; but many a one might be that lived with ould 
 M'Cormick!" burst out the man iu a rush of unguardedness. 
 
 " Try and collect yourself, my good fellow," said Miss Barrington, 
 smiling, in spite of herself at his confession, " and say, if you can, 
 what brought you here ?" 
 
 " It's just, then, what I said before," said he, gaining a little more 
 courage. " It's dinner for two ye're to have ; and it's to be ready at five 
 o'clock ; but ye're not to look to ould Dan for the money, for he as 
 good as said he would never pay sixpence of it, but 'tis all to come 
 out of the other chap's pocket, and well affordin' it. There it is now, 
 and I defy the Pope o' Eome to say that I didn't give the message 
 right !" 
 
 "Mr. Conyers," began Miss Barrington, in a voice shaking with 
 agitation, " it is nigh twenty years siace a series of misfortunes- 
 brought us so low in the world, that " She stopped, partly- 
 overcome by indignation, partly by shame ; and then, suddenly turn- 
 ing towards the man, she continued, in a firm and resolute tone, 
 " Go back to your master and say, 'Miss Barrington hopes he has. 
 sent a fool on his errand, otherwise his message is so insolent it wUl' 
 be far safer he should never present himself here again !' Do you. 
 hear me ? Do you understand me ?" 
 
 " If you mane, you'd make them throw him in the river, the divil* 
 a straw I'd care, and I wouldn't wet my feet to pick him out of it !" 
 
 " Take the message as I have given it you, and do not dare to mix 
 up anything of your own with it." 
 
 " Paix I won't. It's trouble enough I have without that ! I'H 
 tell him there's no dinner for him here to-day, and that, if he's wise,, 
 he won't come over to look for it." 
 
 " There, go — ^be off," cried Conyers, impatiently, for he saw that 
 Miss Barrington's temper was being too sorely tried. 
 
 She conquered, however, the indignation that at one moment had 
 threatened to master her, and in a voice of tolerable calm said, 
 
 " May I ask you to see if Darby, or any other of the workmen, 
 are in the garden? It is high time to take dovm these insignia 
 of our traffic, and tell our friends how we would be regarded in 
 future." 
 
 " "Will you let me do it ? I ask as a favour that I may be permitted 
 to do it," cried Conyers, eagerly ; and, without waiting for her 
 answer hurried away to fetch a ladder. He was soon back again and 
 at work.. 
 
1S4 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 "Take care how you remove that board, Mr. Convers," said she 
 " If there be the tiniest sprig of jessamine broken my brother will 
 miss it. He has been watching anxiously for the time when the 
 white bella would shut out every letter of his name, and I'd like 
 him not to notice the change immediately. There, you are doing it 
 .very handily indeed. There is another holdfast at this corner. Ah, 
 be careful ; that is a branch 'of the passion- tree, and though it looks 
 dead, you will see it covered with flowers m:8pring. Nothing could 
 be better. Now for the last emblem of our craft — can you teach it ?" 
 . " Oh easily," said Conyers, as he raised his eyes to where the little 
 tin fish hung glittering above him. The ladder, however, was too 
 short, and, .striding on one bf the 'highest rungs, still he- could not 
 reach .the ilittle iron stanchion. "I must have it, though," cried 
 he ; "I mean to claim that as my prize. It will be the only fish I 
 ever took'with my own hands." He now cautiously crept up another 
 step of the ladder, supporting himself by the frail creepers which 
 covered the walls. " Help me now with -a erociked stick, and I shall 
 catch it." 
 
 " I'll fetch'you one," said she, disappearing .within the porch. 
 
 Still wistfully looking at the object of his pursuit, Conyers never 
 turned his eyes downwards as the sound of steps apprised him some 
 one was n6ar, and, concluding it to be Miss Barriugtou, he said, " I'm 
 half afraid that I have torn some of this jessamine-tree from the 
 wall; but seO, here's the prize !" A slight air of wind' had wafted 
 it towards him, and he snatched the fish from its slender Chain and 
 held it up in triumph. 
 
 "A poacher caught in the fact, Barrington!" said a deep voice 
 from "below ; and Gonyers, looking down,' saw two men both advanced 
 in life, very gravely watching his proceedings. 
 
 Not a little ashamed of a situation to which he never expected an 
 audience, he hastily descended the ladder, but before he reached the 
 ground Miss Barrington was in her brother's arms, and welcoming 
 him home with all the warmth of true affection. This over, she next 
 shook hands cordially with his companion, whom she called Mr. 
 Withering. 
 
 " And now, Peter," said slie, "to present one I have been longing 
 to make known to you. Tou, who never forget a well-known face, 
 will recognise him." 
 
 " My eyes are not what they used to be," said Barrington, holding 
 out his hand to Conyers. " but they are good enough to see the young 
 gentleman I left here when I went away." 
 
 " Tes, Peter," said she, hastily ; " but does the sight of him bring 
 back to you no memory of poor George ?"_ 
 

BAEBisaTOir. 135 
 
 " George was dark as a Spaniard, and this gentleman — ^bnfc pray, 
 Sir, forgive this rudeness of our's, and let us make ourselves better 
 acquainted within doors. Tou mean to stay some time here, I 
 hope." 
 
 " I only wish I could ; but I have already overstayed my leave, 
 and waited here only to shake your hand before I left." 
 
 " Peter, Peter," said Miss Dinah, impatiently, " must I then teU 
 whom you are speaking to ?" 
 
 Barrington seemed puzzled. He looked from the stranger to his 
 sister, and back again. 
 
 She drew near and whispered in his ear : " The son of poor George's 
 dearest friend on earth — the son of Ormsby Conyers." 
 
 " Of whom ?" said Barrington, in a startled and half-angry voice. 
 
 " Of Ormsby Conyers." 
 
 Barrington trembled from head to foot ; his face, for an instant 
 crimson, became suddenly of an ashy paleness, and his Toice shook as 
 he said, 
 
 " I was not — I am not — prepared for this honour. I mean, I 
 
 could not have expected that Mr. Conyers would have desired 
 
 Say this — do this for me, "Withering, for I am not equal to it," said 
 the old man, as, with his hands pressed over his face, he hurried 
 within the house, followed by his sister. 
 
 "I cannot make a guess at the explanation my friend has left 
 me to make," cried Withering, courteously ; " but it is plain to see 
 that your name has revived some sorrow connected with the great 
 calamity of his Ufe. Tou have heard of his son, Colonel Bar- 
 rington ?" 
 
 " Yes, and it yvas because my father had been his dearest friend 
 that Miss Barrington insisted on my remaining here. She told me, 
 over and over again, of the joy her brother would feel on meeting 
 me " 
 
 " "Where are you going — what's the matter ?" asked "Withering, 
 as a man hurriedly passed out of the house and made for the river. 
 
 " The master is taken bad, Sir, and I'm going to Inistioge for the 
 doctor." 
 
 "Let me go with you," said Conyers; and, only returning by a 
 nod the good-by of Withering, he moved past and stepped into the 
 boat. 
 
 " "What an afternoon to such a morning !" muttered he to himself, 
 as the tears started from his eyes and stole heavily along his 
 cheeks. 
 
136 BAEBIlfGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 Ie Conyers had been in the frame of mind to notice it, the con- 
 trast between the neat propriety of the " Kaherman's Home," and 
 the disorder and slovenliness of the little inn at Inistioge, could not 
 have failed to impress itself upon him. The " Spotted Duck" was 
 certainly, in all its details, the very reverse of that quiet and pic- 
 turesque cottage he had just quitted. But what did he care at that 
 moment for the roof that sheltered him, or the table that was spread 
 before him ? For days back he had been indulging in thoughts of 
 that welcome which Miss Barrington had promised him. He fancied 
 how, on the mere mention of his father's name, the old man's affec- 
 tion would have poured' forth iu a flood of kindest words ; he had even 
 prepared himself for a scene of such emotion as a father might have 
 felt on seeing one who brought back to mind his own son's earlier 
 years ; and instead of all this, he found himself sbuimed, avoided, 
 repulsed. If there was a thing on earth in which his pride was 
 greatest, it was his name, and yet it was on the utterance of that 
 word, " Conyers," old Barrington turned away and left him. 
 
 Over and over again had he found the spell of his father's name 
 and title opening to him society, securing him attentions, and obtain- 
 ing for him that recognition and acceptance which go so far to make 
 life pleasurable, and now that word, which would have had its 
 magic at a palace, fell powerless and cold at the porch of a humble 
 cottage. 
 
 To say that it was part of his creed to believe his father could do 
 no wrong, is weak. It was his whole belief — his entire and com- 
 plete conviction. To his mind his father embodied all that was noble, 
 high-hearted, and chivalrous. It was not alone the testimony of those 
 who served under him could be appealed to. All India, the Govern- 
 ment at home, his own sovereign, knew it. From his earliest infancy 
 he had listened to this theme, and to doubt it seemed like to dispute 
 the fact of his existence. How was it, then, that this old man refused 
 to accept what the whole world had stamped with its value ? "Was it 
 that he impugned the services which had made his father's name 
 famous throughout the entire East ? 
 
 He endeavoured to recal the exact words Barrington had used 
 
BAEEINGTON. 137 
 
 towards him^ but he could not succeed. There was something, he 
 thought, about intruding, unwarrantably intruding ; or it might be a 
 mistaken impression of the welcome that awaited him. Which was 
 it ? or was it either of them ? At aU events, he saw himself rejected 
 and repulsed, and the indignity was too great to be borne. 
 
 "While he thus chafed and fretted, hours went by, and Mr. M'Cabe, 
 the landlord, had made more than one excursion iato the room, under 
 pretence of looking after the fire, or seeing that the windows were 
 duly closed, but in reality very impatient to learn his guest's inten- 
 tions regarding dinner. 
 
 " "Was it your honour said that you'd rather have the chickens 
 roast than biled ?" said he at last, in a very submissive tone.. 
 
 " I said nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Ah, it was No. 5 then, and I mistook ; I crave your honour's 
 pardon." Hoping that the chord he had thus touched might vibrate, 
 he stooped down to arrange the turf, and give time for the response, 
 but none came. Mr. M'Cabe gave a faint sigh, but returned to the 
 charge. " "When there's the laste taste of south in the wind, there's 
 no making this chimney draw." 
 
 Not a word of notice acknowledged this remark. 
 
 " But it will do finely yet ; it's just the outside of the turf is a little 
 wet, and no wonder ; seven weeks of rain — glory be to Him that 
 sent it — has nearly desthroyed us." 
 
 Still Conyers vouchsafed no reply. 
 
 " And when it begins to rain here, it never laves off. It isn't like 
 in your honour's country. Tour honour is English ?" 
 
 A grunt — it might be assent, it sounded like malediction. 
 
 " 'Tis azy seen. When your honour came out of the boat, I said, 
 Shusy,' says I, ' he's English ; and there's a coat they couldu't make 
 in Ireland for a king's ransom.' " 
 
 "What conveyances leave this for Kilkenny?" asked Conyers, 
 sternly. 
 
 " Just none at all, not to mislead you," said M'Cabe, in a voice quite 
 devoid of its late whining intonation. 
 
 " Is there not a chaise or a car to be had ?" 
 
 " Sorrow one. Doctor Dill has a car, to bo sure, but not for 
 hire." 
 
 " Oh, Doctor Dill lives here. I forgot that., Go and tell him I 
 wish to see him." 
 
 The landlord withdrew in a dogged silence, but returned in about 
 ten. minutes, to say that the Doctor bad been sent for to the " Fisher- 
 man's Home," and Mr. Barrington was so ill it was not likely he would 
 be back that night. 
 
138 BABBiiraToir. 
 
 " So ill, did you say ?" cried Conyera. " What was the attack — 
 what did they call it?" 
 
 " 'Tis some kind of a'plexy, they said. He's a full man, and ad- 
 vanced in years, besides." 
 
 " Go and tell young Mr. Dill to come over here." 
 
 " He's just gone off with the cuppin' instruments. I saw him 
 steppin' into the boat." 
 
 " Let me have a messenger : I want a man to take a note up to 
 Miss Barrington, and fetch my writing-desk here." In his eager 
 anxiety to learn how Mr. Barrington was, Conyers hastily scratched 
 off a few lines ; but on reading them over, he tore them up : they 
 implied a degree of interest on his part which, considering the late 
 treatment extended to him, was scarcely dignified. He tried again : 
 the error was as marked on the other side. It was a cold and formal 
 inquiry. " And yet," said he, as he tore this in fragments, " one 
 thing is quite clear — ^this illness is owing to me ! But for m^ pre- 
 sence there, that old man had now been hale and hearty ; the impres- 
 sions, rightfully or wrongfully, which the sight of me and the an- 
 nouncement of my name produced are the cause of his malady. I 
 cannot deny it." With this revulsion of feeling, he wrote a short 
 but kindly-worded note to Miss Barrington, in which, with the very 
 faintest allusion to himself, he begged for a few lines to say how her 
 brother was. He would have added something about the sorrow he 
 experienced in requiting all her kindness by this calamitous return, 
 but he felt that if the case should be a serious one, all reference to 
 himself would bemisplaced and impertinent. 
 
 The messenger despatched, he sat down beside his fire, the only 
 light now in the room, which the shade of coming night had darkened. 
 He was sad and dispirited, and ill at ease with his own heart. Mr. 
 M'Cabe, indeed, appeared with a suggestion about candles, and a 
 shadowy hipt that if his guest speculated on dining at all, it was full 
 time to intimate it ; but Conyers dismissed him with a peremptory 
 command not to dare to enter the room again until he was summoned 
 to it. So odious to him was the place, the landlord, and all about 
 him, that he would have set out on foot had his ankle been only 
 strong enough to bear him. " What if he were to write to Stapylton 
 to come and fetch him away ? He never liked the man ; he liked 
 him less since the remark Miss Barrington had made upon him from 
 mere reading of his letter, but what was he to do ?" While he was 
 yet doubting what course to take, he heard the voices of some new 
 arrivals outside, and, strange enough, one seemed to be Stapylton's. 
 A minute or two after, the travellers had entered the room adjoining 
 
BABBiTraroN. 139 
 
 bis own, and from -whicli a very frail partition of lath and plaster 
 alone separated him. 
 
 " Well, Barney," said a harsh grating voice, addressing the land- 
 lord, " what have you got in the larder ? "We mean to dine with 
 you." 
 
 " To dine here, Major !" exclaimed M'Cabe. " "Well, well, wondhers 
 will never cease." And then hurriedly seeking to cover a speech not 
 very flattering to the Major's habits of hospitality — " sure, I've aloin 
 of pork, and there's two chickens and a trout fresh out of the water, 
 and there's a cheese ; it isn't mine, to he sure, but Father Cody'B, 
 but he'll not miss a slice out of it ; and barrin' you dined at the 
 ' Eisherman's Home,' you'd not get betther." 
 
 " That's where we were to have dined by right," said the Major, 
 crankUy — "myself and my friend here — but we're disappointed, and 
 so we stepped in here, to do the best we can." 
 
 " "Well, by all accounts there won't be many dinners up there for 
 some time." 
 
 ""Why so?" 
 
 " Ould Barrington was took with a fit this afternoon, and they say 
 he won't get over it." 
 
 " How was it ? — ^what brought it on ?" 
 
 " Here's the way I had it. Ould Peter was just come home from 
 ■Kilkenny, and had brought the Attorney- General with him to stay a 
 few days at the cottage, and what was the first thing he seen but a 
 man that come all the way from India with a writ out against him for 
 some of mad George Barrington's debts ; and he was so overcome by 
 the shock, that he fainted away, and never came rightly to himself 
 since." 
 
 " This is simply impossible," said a voice Conyers well knew to be 
 Stapylton's. 
 
 " Be that as it may, I had it from the man that came for the 
 Doctor, and, what's more, he was just outside the window, and could 
 hear ould Barrington cursin' and swearia' about the man that ruined 
 his son, and brought his poor boy to the grave ; but I'll go and look 
 after your honour's dinner, for I know more about that." 
 
 " I have a strange half-curiosity to know the correct version of 
 this story," said Stapylton, as the host left the room. " The Doctor 
 is a friend of yours, I think. "Would he step over here, and let us 
 hear the matter accurately ?" 
 
 " He's up at the cottage now, but I'll get him to come in here when 
 he returns." 
 
 If Conyers was shocked to h^ear how even this loose version of what 
 
140 BABEINGTOir. 
 
 had occurred served to heighten the anxiety his own fears created, he 
 was also angry with himself at having learned the matter as he did. 
 It was not in his nature to play the eavesdropper, and he had, in 
 reality, heard what fell between his neighbours almost ere he was 
 aware of it. To apprise them, therefore, of the vicinity of a stranger, 
 he coughed and sneezed, poked the fire noisily, and moved the chairs 
 about ; but though the disturbance served to prevent him from 
 hearing, it did not tend to impress any greater caution upon them, 
 for they talked away as before, and more than once above the din of 
 his own tumult he heard the name of Barrington, and even his own, 
 uttered. 
 
 Unable any longer to sufier the irritation of a position so painful, 
 he took his hat, and left the house. It was now night, and so dark 
 that he had to stand some minutes on the (Joor-sill ere he could 
 accustom his sight to the obscurity. By degrees, however, he was 
 enabled to guide his steps, and, passing through the little square, he 
 gained the bridge ; and here he resolved to walk backwards and for- 
 wards tiE such time as he hoped his neighbours might have concluded 
 their convivialities, and turned homeward. 
 
 A thin cold rain was falling, and the night was cheerless, and with- 
 out a star ; but his heart was heavy, and the dreariness without best 
 suited that within him. For more than an hour he continued his 
 lonely walk, tormented by all the miseries his active ingenuity could 
 muster. To have brought sorrow and mourning beneath the roof 
 where you have been sheltered with kindness is sad enough, but far 
 sadder is it to connect the calamity you have caused with one dearer 
 to you than yourseF, and whose innocence, while assured of, you 
 cannot vindicate. " My father never wronged this man, for the simple 
 reason that he has never been unjust to any one. It is a gross in- 
 justice to accuse him! If Colonel Barrington forfeited my father's 
 friendship, who could doubt where the fault lay ? But I will not 
 leave the matter questionable. I will write to my father, and ask 
 him to send me such a reply as may set the issue at rest for ever ; 
 and then I will come down here, and, with my father's letter in my 
 hand, say, ' The mention of my name was enough, once on a time, to 
 make you turn away from me on the very threshold of your own 
 
 door ' " "When he had got thus far in his intended appeal, his ear 
 
 was suddenly struck by the word " Conyers," uttered by one of two 
 men who had passed him the moment before, and now stood still in 
 one of the projections of the bridge to talk. He as hastily recognised 
 Doctor Dill as the speaker. He went on thus : " Of course it was 
 mere raving, but one must bear in mind that mempry very often is 
 
BAEEINGTOK. 141 
 
 tbe prompter of these wanderings; and it was strange how per- 
 sistently he held to the one theme, and continued to call out, ' It was 
 not fair. Sir ! It was not manly ! Tou know it yourself, Conyers ; 
 you cannot deny it !' " 
 
 "But you attach no importance to such wanderings, Doctor?" 
 asked one, whose deep-toned voice betrayed to be Stapylton. 
 
 "I do ; that is to the extent I have mentioned. They are inco- 
 herencies, but they are not without some foundation. This Conyers 
 may have had his share in that famous accusation against Colonel 
 Barrington — that well-known charge I told you of ; and if so, it is 
 easy to connect the name with these ravings." 
 
 " And the old man wiU die of this attack," said Stapylton, half 
 musingly. 
 
 " I hope not. He has great vigour of constitution ; and old as he 
 is, I think he will rub through it." 
 
 " Toung Conyers left for Kilkenny, then, immediately ?" asked he. 
 
 " No ; he came down here, to the village. He is now at tbe inn." 
 
 " At the inn, here ? I never knew that. I am sorry I was not 
 aware of it, Doctor ; but since it is so, I will ask of you not to speak 
 of having seen me here. He would naturally take it ill, as his brother 
 officer, that I did not make him out, while, as you see, I was totally 
 ignorant of his vicinity." 
 
 "I will say nothing on the subject. Captain," said the Doctor. 
 "And now one word of advice from you on a personal matter. This 
 young gentleman has offered to be of service to my son " 
 
 Conyers, hitherto spellbound while the interest attached to his 
 father, now turned hastily from the spot and walked away, his mind 
 not alone charged with a heavy care, but full of an eager anxiety as 
 to wherefore Stapylton should have felt so deeply interested in Bar- 
 rington' s iUness, and the causes that led to it — Stapylton, the most 
 selfish of men, and the very last in the world to busy himself in the 
 sorrows or misfortunes of a stranger. Again, too, why had he desired 
 the Doctor to preserve his presence there as a secret ? Conyers was 
 exactly in the frame of mind to exaggerate a suspicion, or make 
 a mere doubt a grave question. While he thus mused, Stapylton 
 and the Doctor passed him on their way towards the village, deep in 
 converse, and, to aU seeming, in closest confidence. 
 
 " Shall I follow him to the inn, and declare that I overheard a few 
 words on the bridge which give me a claim to explanation ? Shall I 
 say, ' Captain Stapylton, you spoke of my father, just now, sufficiently 
 aloud to be overheard by me as I passed, and in your tone there was 
 that which entitles me to question you ?' Then if he should say, 
 
142 BAEElN&TOir. 
 
 ' Go on ; what is it you ask for ?' Shall I not be sorely puzzled to 
 continue ? Perhaps, too, he might remind me that the mode in 
 ■which I obtained my information precludes even a reference to it. 
 He is one of those fellows not to throw away such an advantage, and 
 I must prepare myself for a quarrel. Oh ! if I only had Hunter by 
 me ! What would I not give for the brave Colonel's counsel at such 
 a moment as this ?" 
 
 Of this sort were his thoughts as he strolled up and down for hours, 
 wearing away the long "night watches," till a faint greyish tinge 
 above the horizon showed that morning was not very distant. The 
 whole' landscape was wrapped in that cold mysterious' tint in which 
 tower, and hill-top, and spire are scarce distinguishable from each 
 other, while out of the low-lying meadows already arose the blueisb 
 vapour that proclaims the coming day. The 'village itself, over- 
 shadowed by the mountain behind it, lay a black, unbroken mass. 
 Not a light twinkled from a window, save close to the river's bank, 
 where a faint gleam stole forth and "flickered on the water. 
 
 "Who has not felt the strange interest that attaches to a soUtaay 
 light seen thus in the tranquil depth of a silent night ? How readily 
 do we associate it with some incident of sorrow. The watcher beside 
 the sick bed rises to the mind, or the patient sufferer himself trying 
 to cheat the dull hours by a book, or perhaps some poor son of toil 
 arising to his daily round of labour, and seated at that solitM-y meal 
 which no kind word enlivens, no companionship beguiles.- And as I 
 write, in what corner of earth are not such scenes passing — such dark 
 shadows moving over the battle-field of life ? 
 
 In such a feeliag did Conyers watch this light as, leaving the high 
 road, he took a path that led along the river towards it. As he drew 
 nigher he saw that the light came from the open window of a room 
 which gave upon a little garden — a mere strip oT ground fenced off 
 from the pa'th by a low paling. "With a curiosity he could not 
 master, he stopped and looked in. At a large table, covered with 
 books and papers, and on which a skull also stood, a young man was 
 seated, hjs head leaning on his hand, apparently in deep thought, 
 while a girl, was slowly pacing the little chamber as she talked to him. 
 
 " It does not require," said she, in a firm voice, " any great effort 
 of memory to bear in mind that a nerve, an artery, and a vein always 
 go in company." 
 
 " Not for you, perhaps — not for you, Polly." 
 
 " Not for any one, I'm sure. Tour fine dragoon friend with the 
 sprained ankle might be brought to that amount of instruction by one 
 teUingofit." 
 
O', 
 
 ■tp/yz 
 
 —JMyUy a./' /Uj L-'^^M' r./'/. 
 
 ed. 
 
BAEEINGTON. ' 143 
 
 " Oh, he's no fool,- 1 promise you, Polly. Don't despise him he- 
 cause he has plenty of money and can lead a life of idleness." 
 
 " I neither despise nor esteem him, nor do I mean that he should 
 divert our minds from what we are at. Wow for the popliteal, space. 
 Can you describe it ? Do you know where it isj or anything about 
 itP" 
 
 " I do," said he, doggedly, as he pushed his long hair back from his 
 eyes and tried to think' — " I do, but I must haye timp.^ Toumustn't 
 huray me." 
 
 She made no reply, but continued her walk in silence. 
 
 " I know all about it, Polly, but I can't describe it. I caa't 
 describe anything ; but ask me a question about it." 
 
 " Where is it — ^where does it lie ?" 
 
 " Isn't it at the lower third of the humerus, where the flexors 
 divide ?" 
 
 " Tou are too bad — too stupid !" cried she, angrily. " I cannot 
 believe that anything short of a purpose^ a determination to be 
 ignorant, could make a person so unteachable. If we have gone over 
 this once, we have done so fifty times. It haunts me in my sleep 
 &om very iteration." 
 
 "I wish it would haunt me a little when I'm awake," said he* 
 sulkily. • I 
 
 " And when may that be, I'd like to know ? Do you fancy. Sir, 
 that your present state of intelligence is a very vigilant one ?" 
 
 " I know one thing. I hope there won't be the like of you on the 
 Court of Examiners, for I wouMti't bear the half of what..yow'f e said 
 to me from another." 
 
 " Eejection, will be harder to bear, Tom. To be seat 'back as 
 ignorant and incapable will be far heavier as a punishment than any 
 words of mine. "What are you laughing at, Sir ? Is it a matter of 
 mirth to you ?" ,; 
 
 " Look at the skull, Polly — ^look at the skull." And he pointed to 
 where he had stuck his short, black pipe, between the grinning teeth 
 of the skeleton. 
 
 She snatched it angrily away, and threw it out of the window, 
 saying, " Tou may be ignorant, and not be able to help it. I wUl 
 take care you shall not be irreverent, Sir." 
 
 "There's my short clay gone, anyhow," said Tom, submissively, 
 " and I think I'll go to bed." And he yawned drearily as he spoke. 
 
 " Not till you have done this, if we sit here till breakfast-time," 
 said she, resolutely, " There's the plate, and there's the reference. 
 Eead it till you know it !" 
 
144 BAEEINGXON. 
 
 " What a slave-driver you'd make, Polly," said he, ■with, a half- 
 bitter smile. 
 
 " What a slave I am !" said she, turning away her head. 
 
 " That's true," cried he, in a voice thick with emotion ; " and when 
 I'm thousands of miles away, I'll be longing to hear the bitterest 
 words you ever said to me rather than never see you any more." 
 
 "My poor brother!" said she, laying her hand softly on his rough 
 head, " I never doubted your heart, and I ought to be better tempered 
 with you, and I will. Come, now, Tom" — and she seated herself at 
 the table next him — "see, now, if I cannot make this easy to you." 
 And then the two heads were bent together over the table, and the 
 soft brown hair of the girl half mingled with the rough wool of the 
 graceless numbskull beside her. 
 
 " I will stand by him if it were only for Tier sake," said Conyera to 
 himself. And he stole slowly away and gained the inn. 
 
 So intent upon his purp'ose was he that he at once set about its 
 fulfilment. He began & long letter to his father, and, touching 
 slightly on the accident by which he made Doctor Dill's acquaint- 
 ance, professed to be deeply his debtor for kindness and attention. 
 With this prelude he introduced Tom. Hitherto his pen had glided 
 along flippantly enough. In that easy mixture of fact and fancy by 
 which he opened his case, no grave difiSculty presented itself, but 
 Tom was now to be presented, and the task was about as puzzling as 
 it would have been to have conducted him bodily into society. 
 
 " I was ungenerous enough to be prejudiced against this poor fellow 
 when I first met him," wrote he. " ISTeither his figure nor his manners 
 are in his favour, and in his very diffidence there is an apparent rude- 
 ness and forwardness which are not really in his nature. These, how- 
 ever, are not mistakes you, my dear father, wiU fall into. With your 
 own quickness you will see what sterling qualities exist beneath this 
 rugged- outside, and you will befriend him at first for my sake. Later 
 on, I trust he will open his own account in your heart. Bear in mind, 
 too, that it was all my scheme — the whole plan mine. It was I per- 
 suaded him to try his luck in India ; it w-as through me he made the 
 venture, and if the poor fellow fail, all the fault will fall back upon 
 me." Prom this he went into little details of Tom's circumstances, 
 and the narrow means by which he was surrounded, adding how humble 
 he was, and how ready to be satisfied with the most moderate liveli- 
 hood. " In that great wide world of the East, what scores of things 
 there must be for such a fellow to do ; and even should he not turn 
 out to be a Sydenham or a Harvey, he might administer justice, or 
 collect revenue, or assist in some other way the process of that system 
 
■ BAEBINaTOlf. 145 
 
 whieli \re call the British rule in India. In a word, get him some- 
 thing he may live by, and be able, in due time, to help those he has 
 left behind here, in a land whose ' Paddy-fields' are to the full as 
 pauperised as those of Bengal." 
 
 He had intended, having disposed of Tom Dill's ease, to have ad- 
 dressed some lines to his father about the Barringtons, sufficiently 
 vague to be easily answered if the subject were one distasteful or un- 
 pleasing to him ; but just as he reached the place to open this, he 
 was startled by the arrival of a jaunting-car at the inn-door, whose 
 driver stopped to take a drink. It was a chance conveyance, return- 
 ing to Kilkenny, and Conyers at once engaged it ; and, leaving an 
 order to send on the reply when it arrived from the cottage, he 
 wrote a hasty note to Tom Dill and departed. This note was simply 
 to say that he had already fulfilled his promise of interesting his father 
 in his behalf, and that whenever Tom had passed his examination, and 
 was in readiness for his voyage, he should come or write to him, and. 
 he would find him fully disposed to serve and befriend him. "Mean- 
 while," wrote he, " let me hear of you. I am really anxious to learn 
 how you acquit yourself at the ordeal, for which you have the cordial 
 good wishes of your friend, F. Conyers." 
 
 Oh, if the great men of our acquaintance — and we all of us, no- 
 matter how hermit-like we may live, have our " great men" — could 
 only know and feel what ineffable pleasure will sometimes be derived 
 from the chance expressions they employ towards us — words which, 
 little significant in themselves, perhaps, have some touch of good 
 fellowship or good feeling, now reviving a " bygone," now far-seeing a 
 future, tenderly thrilling through us by some little allusion to a trick 
 of our temperament, noted and observed by one in whose interest we 
 never till then knew we had a share — if, I say, they were but aware 
 of this, how delightful they might make themselves ! — what charming 
 friends! — and, it is but fair to own, what dangerous patrons! 
 
 I leave my reader to apply the reflection to the case before him, 
 and then follow me to the pleasant quarters of a well-maintained 
 country-house, full of guests and abounding in gaiety. 
 
146 BAEEiireTOW. 
 
 CHAPTEE XTIII. 
 
 Mt reader is already aware that I am telling of some forty years 
 ago, and therefore I have no apologies to make for habits and ways 
 •which our more polished age has pronounced barbarous. Ifow, at 
 Cobham, the men sat after dinner over their wine when the ladies had 
 withdrawn, and, I grieve to say, fulfilled this usage with a zest and 
 enjoyment that unequivocally declared it to be the best hour of the 
 whole twenty-four. 
 
 Friends could now get together, conversation could range over 
 personalities, egotisms have their day, and bygones be disinterred 
 without need of an explanation. Pew, indeed, who did not unbend 
 at such a moment, and relax in that genial atmosphere begotten of 
 closed curtains, and comfort, and good claret. I am not so certain 
 that we are wise in our utter abandonment of what must have often 
 conciliated a difference or reconciled a grudge. How many a lurking 
 discontent, too subtle for intervention, must have been dissipated in 
 the general burst of a common laugh or the racy enjoyment of a good 
 story ! Decidedly the decanter has often played peace-maker, though 
 popular prejudice inclines to give it a different mission. 
 
 On the occasion to which I would now invite my reader, the party 
 were seated — by means of that genial discovery, a horse-shoe-table — 
 around the fire at Cobham. It was a true country-house society of 
 neighbours who knew each other well, sprinkled with guests — strangers 
 to every one. There were all ages and all temperaments, from the 
 hardy old squire, whose mellow cheer was known at the fox-cover, to 
 the young heir fresh from Oxford and loud about Leicestershire; 
 gentlemen-farmers and sportsmen, and parsons and soldiers, blended 
 together with just enough of disparity of pursuit to season talk and 
 freshen experiences. 
 
 The conversation, which for a while was partly on sporting matters, 
 varied with Httle episodes of personal achievement, and those little 
 boastings which end in a bet, was suddenly interrupted by a hasty 
 call for Doctor Dill, who was wanted at the " Ksherman's Home.'' 
 
 " Can't you stay to finish this bottle. Dill ?" said 'the Admiral, 
 who had not heard for whom he had been sent. 
 
 " I fear not, Sir. It is a long row down to the cottage." 
 
BAEEINGTOir. 147 
 
 « 
 
 " So it's poor Barrington again! I'm sincerely sorry for it ! And 
 now, I'll not ask you to delay. By the way, take my boat. Elwes," 
 said lie to the servant, " tell the men to get the boat ready at once 
 for Doctor Dill, and come and say when it is so." 
 
 The Doctor's gratitude was profuse, though probably a dim vista 
 of the "tip" that might be expected from him detracted from the 
 fulness of the enjoyment. 
 
 " Find out if I could be of any use, Dill,", whispered the Admiral, 
 as the Doctor arose, " Your own tact will show if there be anything 
 I could do. Tou understand me ; I have the deepest regard for old 
 Barrington, and his sister too." 
 
 DiU promised to give his most delicate attention to the point, and 
 departed. 
 
 While this little incident was occurring, Stapylton, who sat at an 
 angle of the fireplace, was amusing two or three listeners by an 
 account of his intended dinner at the " Home," and the haughty 
 refusal of Miss Barrington to receive him. 
 
 " Tou must tell Sir Charles the story !" cried out Mr. Bushe. 
 " He'll soon recognise the old Major from your imitation of him.'' 
 
 " Hang the old villain ! he shot a dog-fox the other morning, and 
 he knows well how scarce they are getting in the country," said 
 another. 
 
 " I'U never forgive myself for letting him have a lease of that place," 
 said a third ; " he's a disgrace to the neighbourhood." 
 
 "Ton're not talking of Barrington, surely," called out Sir Charles, 
 
 " Of course not. I was speaking of M'Cormick. Bairington is 
 another stamp of man, and here's his good health !" 
 
 " He'll need all your best wishes. Jack," said the host, " for Doctor 
 Dill has just been called away to see him." 
 
 " To see old Peter ! "Why, I never knew him to have a day's 
 illness!" 
 
 " He's dangerously ill now," said the Admiral, gravely. " DiU tells 
 me that he came home from the Assizes hale and hearty, in high 
 spirits at some verdict in his favour, and brought back the Attorney- 
 General to spend a day or two with him ; but that, on arriving, he 
 found a young fellow whose father, or grandfather — for I haven't it 
 correctly — ^had been concerned in some way against G-eorge Bar- 
 rington, and that high words passed between old Peter and this 
 youth, who was turned out on the spot, while poor Barrington, over- 
 come by emotion, was struck dovm with a sort of paralysis. As I 
 have said, I- don't know the story accurately, for evers Dill himself 
 
 i2 
 
148 BAEMNGTON. 
 
 only picked it up from the servants at the cottage, neither Miss Bar- 
 rinfton nor Withering having told him one word on the subject." 
 
 " That is the very same story I heard at the village where we 
 dined," broke in Stapylton, "and M'Cormick added that he re- 
 membered the name. Conyers — the young man is called Conyers 
 — did occur in a certain famous accusation against Colonel Barring- 
 ton." 
 
 "Well, but," interposed Bushe, "isn't aU that an old story now ? 
 Isn't the whole thing a matter of twenty years ago ?" 
 
 " Not so much as that," said Sir Charles. " I remember reading 
 it all when I was in command of the Madagascar — I forget the exact 
 year, but I was at Corfu." 
 
 " At all events," said Bushe, " it's long enough past to be for- 
 gotten, or forgiven ; and old Peter was the very last man I could 
 ever have supposed likely to carry on an ancient grudge against any 
 one." 
 
 " Not where his son was concerned. Wherever George's name 
 entered, forgiveness of the man that wronged him was impossible," 
 said another. 
 
 " Tou are scarcely just to my old friend," interposed the Admiral. 
 " First of all, we have not ^the facts before us. Many of us here 
 have never seen, some have never heard of, the great Barrington 
 Inquiry, and of such as have, if their memories be not better than 
 mine, they can't discuss the matter with much profit." 
 
 " I followed the case when it occurred," chimed in the former 
 speaker, " but I own, with Sir Charles, that it has gone clean out of 
 my head since that time." 
 
 " You talk of injustice, Cobham, injustice to old Peter Barring- 
 ton," said an old man from the end of the table ; " but I would ask 
 are we quite just to poor George ? I knew him well. My son 
 served in the same regiment with him before he went out to India, 
 and no finer nor nobler hearted fellow than George BsCrrington ever 
 lived. Talk of him ruining his father by his extravagance ! Why 
 he'd have cut off his right hand rather than cause him one pang, one 
 moment of displeasure. Barrington ruined himself; that insane 
 passion for law has cost him far more than half what he was worth 
 in the world. Ask Withering, he'll tell you something about it. 
 "Why Withering's own fees in that case before ' the Lords' amount to 
 upwards of two thousand guineas," 
 
 " I won't dispute the question with you, Fowndes," said the Ad- 
 miral. " Scandal says you have a taste for a trial at bar yourself." 
 
BAEBIJTGTON. 149 
 
 The hit told, and called for a hearty laugh, in which Fowndes him- 
 self joined freely. 
 
 " I'm a burned child, however, and keep away from the fire," said 
 he, good-humouredly ; " but old .Peter seems rather to like being 
 singed. There he is again with his Privy Council case for next term, 
 and with, I suppose, as much chance of success as I should have in a 
 suit to recover a Greek estate of some of my Phoenician ances' 
 tors." 
 
 It was not a company to sympathise deeply with such a litigious 
 spirit. The hearty and vigorous tone of squiredom, young and old, could 
 not understand it as a passion or a pursuit, and they mainly agreed 
 that nothing but some strange perversion could have made the 
 generous nature of old Barrington so fond of law. Gradually the 
 younger members of the party slipped away to the drawing-room, 
 till, in the changes that ensued, Stapylton found himself next to Mr. 
 Eowndes. 
 
 " I'm glad to see, Captain," said the old Squire, " that modem 
 fashion of deserting the claret-jug has not invaded your mess. I own 
 I like a man who lingers over his wine." 
 
 " "We have no pretext for leaving it, remember that," said Sta- 
 pylton, smiling. 
 
 " Very true. The placens uxor is sadly out of place in a soldier's 
 life. Tour married officer is but a sorry comrade ; beside, how is a 
 fellow to be a hero to the enemy who is daily bullied by his wife ?" 
 
 " I think you said that you had served V interposed Stapylton. 
 
 " No, My son was in the army ; he is so still, but holds a Gover- 
 norship in the West Indies. He it was who knew this Barrington 
 that we were speaking of." 
 
 " Just so," said Stapylton, drawing his chair closer, so as to converse 
 more confidentially, 
 
 " Tou may imagine what very uneventful lives we country gentle- 
 men live," said the old Squire, " when we can continue to talk over 
 one memorable case for something like twenty years, just because one 
 of the parties to it was our neighbour." 
 
 "Tou appear to have taken a lively interest in it," said Stapylton, 
 who rightly conjectured it was a favourite theme with the old 
 Squire, 
 
 " Yes. Barrington and my son were friends ; they came down to 
 my house together to shoot ; and with all his eccentricities, and they 
 were many, I liked Mad George, as they called him." 
 
 " He was a good fellow, then p" 
 
X50 BAEEIITQTOir. 
 
 "A t?horoughly good fellow, but the shyest that ever lived; to 
 all outward seeming rough and careless, but sensitive as a woman all 
 the while. He would have walked up to a, cannon's mouth with a 
 ealm step, but an affecting story would bring tears to his eyes ; and 
 then,, to cover this weakness, which he was well ashamed of, he'd rush 
 into fifty follies and extravagancies,. As he said himself to me one 
 day, aUading to some feat of rash absurdity, ' I have been taking 
 another inch off the dog's tail' — he referred to the story of Alci- 
 biades, who docked his dog to take off public attention from his 
 heavier transgressions." 
 
 " There was no truth in these accusations against him ?" 
 
 " "Who knows ? George was a passionate fellow, and he'd have 
 made short work of the man that angered him. I myself never so 
 entirely acquitted him as many who loved him less. At all events, 
 he was hardly treated ; he was regularly hunted down. I imagine 
 he must have made many enemies, for witnesses sprung up against 
 him on all sides, and he was too proud a fellow to ask for one single 
 testimony in his favour ! If ever a man met death broken-hearted, 
 he did !" 
 
 A pause of several minutes occurred, after which the old squire 
 resumed : 
 
 " My son told me that after Barrington's death there was a strong 
 revulsion in his favour, and a great feeling that he had been hardly 
 dealt by. Some of the Supreme Council, it is said, too, were dis- 
 posed to behave generously towards his child, but old Peter, in an 
 evil hour, would hear of nothing short of restitution of aU the ter- 
 ritory, and a regular rehabilitation of George's memory besides ; in 
 fact, he made the most extravagant demands, and disgusted the two 
 or three who were kiadly and well disposed towards his cause. Had 
 they indeed — as he said — driven his son to desperation, he could 
 scarcely ask them to declare it to the world ; and yet nothing short 
 of this would satisfy him ! ' Come forth,' wrote he — I read the letter 
 myself; — ' come forth and confess that your evidence was forged and 
 your witnesses suborned ; that you wanted to annex the territory, 
 and the only road to your object was to impute treason to the most 
 loyal heart that ever served his king!' Imagine what chance of 
 favourable consideration remained to the man who penned such words 
 as these." 
 
 " And he prosecutes the case still ?" 
 
 " Ay, and will do to the day of his death. "Withering — who was 
 an old school-fellow of mine — has got me to try what I could do to 
 persuade him to come to some terms ; and, indeed, to do old Peter 
 
BAEEHfaroir. 151 
 
 justice, it is not the money part of the matter he is so obstinate about ; 
 it is the question of what he calls George's fair fame and honour ; and 
 one cannot exactly say to him, ' "Who on earth cares a brass button 
 whether George Barrington was a rebel or a true man ? "Whether he 
 deserved to die an independent Eajah of someplace with a hard name, 
 or a loyal subject of his Majesty George the Third?' I own I, one 
 day, did go so close to the wind, on that subject, that the old man 
 started up, and said, ' I hope I misapprehend you, Harry I'owndes. 
 I hope sincerely that I do so, for if not, I'll have a shot at you, as 
 sure as my name is Peter Barrington.' Of course I ' tried back' at 
 once, and assured him it -wfas a pure misconception of my meaning, 
 and that until the East India folk fairly acknowledged that they had 
 wronged his son, he could not, with honour, approach the question of 
 a compromise in the money matter." 
 
 " That day, it may be presumed, is very far oif," said Stapylton, 
 half languidly. 
 
 " "Well, "Withering opines not. He says that they are weary of the 
 whole case. They have had, perhaps, some misgivings as to the entire 
 justice of what they did. Perhaps they have learned something during 
 the course of the proceedings which may have influenced their judg- 
 ment ; and not impossible is it that they pity the old man fighting out 
 his life ; and perhaps, too, Barrington himself may have softened a 
 little, since he has begun to feel that his granddaughter — for George 
 left a child — had interests which his own indignation could not right- 
 fully sacrifice ; so that, amongst all these perhapses, who knows but 
 some happy issue may come at last." 
 
 " That Barrington race is not a very pliant one," said Stapylton,. 
 half dreamily ; and then, in some haste, added, " at least, such is the 
 character they give them here." 
 
 " Some truth there may be in that. Men of a strong temperament, 
 and with a large share of self-dependence, generally get credit from 
 the world for obstinacy, just because the road they see out of diffi- 
 culties is not the popular one. But even with all this, I'd not call 
 old Peter self-willed — at least, Withering tells me that from time to 
 time, as he has conveyed to him the opinions and experiences of old 
 Indian officers, some of whom had either met with or heard of 
 George, he has listened with much and even respectful attention. And 
 as all their counsels have gone against his own convictions; it is some- 
 thing to give them a patient hearing." 
 
 " He has thus permitted strangers to come and speak with him on 
 these topics ?" asked Stapylton, eagerly. 
 
 " No, no — ^not he. These men had called on Withering — met him 
 
152 BABErtfGTOlf. 
 
 perhaps, in society — heard of his interest in George Barrington's 
 «ase, and came good-naturedly to volunteer a word of counsel in 
 favour of an old comrade. Nothing more natural, I think." 
 
 " Nothing. I quite agree with you ; so much so, indeed, that having 
 served some years in India, and in close proximity, too, to one of the 
 native courts, I was going to ask you to present me to your friend, 
 Mr. Withering, aa one not altogether incapable of affording him Some 
 information." 
 
 " "With a heart and a half. I'll do it." 
 
 " I say, Harry," cried out the host, " if you and Captain Stapylton 
 will neither fill your glasses nor pass the wine, I think we had better 
 join the ladies." 
 
 And now there was a general move to the drawing-room, where 
 several evening guests had already assembled, making a somewhat 
 numerous company. Polly Dill was there, too — not the wearied- 
 looking, care-worn figure we last saw her, when her talk was of " dead 
 anatomies," but the lively, sparkling, bright-eyed Polly, who sang the 
 melodies to the accompaniment of him who could make every note 
 thrill with the sentiment his own genius had linked to it. I half wish 
 I had not a story to tell — that is, that I had not a certain road to take 
 — that I might wander at will through by-path and lane, and linger 
 on the memories thus by a chance awakened ! Ah, it was no small 
 triumph to lift out of obscure companionship and vulgar associations 
 the music of our land, and wed it to words immortal, to show us that 
 the pebble at our feet was a gem to be worn on the neck of beauty, 
 and to prove to us, besides, that our language could be as lyrical as 
 Anacreon's own ! 
 
 "I am enchanted with your singing," whispered Stapylton, in 
 Polly's ear ; " but I'd forego all the enjoyment not to see you so 
 .pleased with your companion. I begin to detest the little Poet." 
 
 " I'll tell him so," said she, half gravely ; " and he'll know well that 
 ■it is the coarse hate of the Saxon." 
 
 " I'm no Saxon !" said he, flushing and darkening at the same time. 
 And then, recovering his calm, he added : " There are no Saxons left 
 ■amongst us, nor any Celts for us to honour with our contempt ; but 
 come away from the piano, and don't let him fancy he has bound you 
 by a spell." 
 
 "But he has," said she, eagerly — "he has, and I don't care to 
 break it." 
 
 But the' little Poet, running his fingers lightly over the keys, 
 warbled out, in a half-plaintive whisper : 
 
BAEniNGTOIf. 
 
 153 
 
 " Oh, tell me, dear Polly, why is It thine eyes, 
 
 Through their hrightness, have something of sorrow? 
 I cannot suppose that the glow of such skies 
 Should ever mean gloom for the morrow; 
 
 Or must I believe that your heart is afar. 
 
 And you only make semblance to hear me, 
 While your thoughts are away to that splendid hussar. 
 And 'tis only your image is near me?" 
 
 " An unpublished melody, I fancy," said Stapylton, with a malicious 
 twinkle of his eye. 
 
 " Not even corrected as yet," said the Poet, with a glance at 
 Polly. 
 
 "What a triumph it was for a mere village beauty to be thus tilted 
 for by such gallant knights ; but Polly was practical as well as vain, 
 and a certain unmistakable something in Lady Cobham's eye told her 
 that two of the most valued guests of the house were not to be thus 
 withdrawn from circulation, and with this wise impression on her 
 mind, she slipped hastily away, on the pretext of something to say to 
 her father. And although it was a mere pretence on her part, there 
 was that in her look as they talked together that betokened their con- 
 versation to be serious. 
 
 " I tell you again," said he, in a sharp but low whisper, " she will 
 not suffer it. Tou used not to make mistakes of this kind formerly, 
 and I cannot conceive why you should do so now." 
 
 " But, dear papa," said she, with a strange half smile, " don't you 
 remember your own story of the gentleman who got tipsy because he 
 foresaw he would never be invited again." 
 
 But the Doctor was in no jesting mood, and would not accept of 
 the illustration. He spoke now even more angrily than before. 
 
 " Tou have only to see how much they make of him to know well 
 that he is out of our reach," said he, bitterly. 
 
 " A long shot. Sir Lucius ; there is such honour in a long shot," 
 said she, with infinite drollery; and then, with a sudden gravity, 
 added, " I have never forgotten the man you cured, just because your 
 hand shook, and you gave him a double dose of laudanum." 
 
 This was too much for his patience, and he turned away in disgust 
 at her frivolity. In doing so, however, he came in front of Lady 
 Cobham, who had come up to request Miss Dill to play a certain 
 Spanish dance for two young ladies of the company. 
 
 " Of course, your Ladyship — too much honour for her — she will be 
 charmed ; my little girl is overjoyed when she can contribute evea 
 thus humbly to the pleasure of your delightful house." 
 
154 BABBINGTON. 
 
 Never did a misdemeaniat take his " six weeks" with a more com- 
 plete consciousness of penalty than did Polly sit down to that piano. 
 She well understood it as a sentence, and, let me own, submitted well 
 and gracefully to her fate. Nor was it, after all, such a slight trial, 
 for the fandango was her own speciality ; she had herself brought the 
 dance and the music to Cobham. They who were about to dance it 
 were her own pupils, and not very proficient ones either. And with 
 all this she did her part well and loyally. Never had she played with 
 more spirit — never marked the time with a firmer precision — never 
 threw more tenderness into the graceful parts, nor more of triumphant 
 daring into the proud ones. Amid the shower of " Braves !" that 
 closed the performance — for none thought of the dancers — the little 
 Poet drew nigh and whispered, " How naughty !" 
 
 " Why so ?" asked she, innocently. 
 
 " What a blaze of light to throw over a sorry picture," said he, 
 dangling his eye-glass, and playing that part of middle-aged Cupid 
 he was so fond of assuming. 
 
 "Do you know. Sir," said Lady Cobham, coming hastily towards 
 him, "that I will not permit you to turn the. heads of my young 
 ladies ? Dr. Dill is already so afraid of your fascinations that he has 
 ordered his carriag^. Is it not so ?" she went on, apj)ealing to the 
 Doctor, with increased rapidity. " But you will certainly keep your 
 promise to us. We shall expect you on Thursday at dinner." 
 
 Overwhelmed with confusion, Dill answered — he knew not what — 
 about pleasure, and punctuality, and so forth ; and then turned away 
 to ring for that carriage he had not ordered before. 
 
 "And so you tell me Barrington is better?" said the Admiral, 
 taking him by the arm and leading him away. " The danger is over, 
 then?" 
 
 " I believe so ; his mind is calm, and he is only sufiering now from 
 debility. What with the Assizes, and a week'^ dissipation at Kil- 
 kenny, and this shock — for it was a shock — the whole thing was far 
 more of a mental, than a bodily ailment," 
 
 " Tou gave him my message ? Tou said how anxious I felt to 
 know if I could be of any use to him ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and he charged Mr. Withering to come and thank you, for 
 he is passing by Cobham to-morrow on his way to Kilkenny." 
 
 " Indeed ! Georgiana, don't forget that. Withering will call here 
 to-morrow ; try and keep hira to dine, at least, if we cannot secure 
 him for longer. He's one of those fellows I am always delighted to 
 meet. Where are you going, DiU ? Not taking your daughter away 
 at this hour, are you ?" 
 
BAEEINCTOIf. 155 
 
 The Doctor sighed, and muttered something about dissipations that 
 were only too fascinating, too engrossing. He did not exactly like to 
 say that his passports had been sent him, and the authorities duly in- 
 structed to give him " every aid and assistance possible." !Por a 
 moment, indeed, Polly looked as though she would make some ex- 
 planation of the matter ; but it was only a moment, and the slight 
 flush on her cheek gave way quickly, and she looked somewhat paler 
 than her wont. Meanwhile, the little Poet had fetched her shawl, 
 and led her away, humming, " Buona notte — buona sera !" as be went, 
 in that half-caressing, half-quizzing way he could assume so jauntily. 
 Stapylton walked behind with the Doctor, and whispered as he went, 
 " If not inconvenient, might I ask the favour of a few minutes with 
 you to-morrow ?" 
 
 DiU assured him he was devotedly his servant ; and having fixed 
 the interview for two o'clock, away they drove. The night was 
 calm and starlight, and they had long passed beyond the grounds of 
 Cobham, and were full two miles on their road before a word was 
 uttered by either. 
 
 " "What was it her Ladyship said about Thursday next, at dinner ?" 
 asked the Doctor, half-pettishly. 
 
 "Nothing to me, papa." 
 
 " If I remember, it was that we had accepted the invitation already, 
 and begging me not to forget it." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said she, dryly. 
 
 " Tou are usually more mindful about these matters," said he, 
 tartly, " and not so likely to forget promised festivities." 
 
 " They certainly were not promised to me" said she ; " nor if they 
 had been should I accept of them." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said he, angrily. 
 
 " Simply, papa, that it is a house I will not re-enter, that's all." 
 
 " Why, your head is turned, your brains are destroyed by flattery, 
 girl. Tou seem totally to forget that we go to these places merely 
 by courtesy — we are received only on suflerance — we are not their 
 equals." 
 
 " The more reason to treat us with deference, and not render our 
 position more painful than it need be." 
 
 " Polly and nonsense ! Deference, indeed ! How much deference 
 is due from eight thousand a year to a Dispensary Doctor, or his 
 daughter P I'^ have none of these absurd notions. If they made 
 any mistake towards you it was by over-attention — too much notice." 
 
 " That is very possible, papa j and it was not always very flattering, 
 for that reason." 
 
156 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " Why, what is your head full of ? Do you fancy you are one of 
 Lord Carrieklough's daughters, eh ?" 
 
 " No, papa ; for they are shockingly freckled, and very plain." 
 
 " Do you know your real station," cried he, more angrily, " and 
 that if, by the courtesy of society, my position secures acceptance 
 anywhere, it entails nothing — positively nothing — to those belonging 
 tome?" 
 
 " Such being the case, is it not wise of us not to want anything — 
 not to look for it — not to pine after it ? Tou shall see, papa, whether 
 I fret over my exclusion from Cobham." 
 
 The Doctor was not in a mood to approve of such philosophy, and 
 he drove on, only showing — by an extra cut of his whip — the tone 
 and temper that beset him. 
 
 " You are to have a visit from Captain Stapylton to-morrow, papa ?" 
 said she, in the manner of a half question. 
 
 "Who told you so?" said he, with a touch of eagerness La his 
 voice ; for suddenly it occurred to him if Polly knew of this appoint- 
 ment she herself might be interested in its object. 
 
 " He asked me what was the most likely time to find you at home, 
 and also if he might venture to hope he should be presented to 
 mamma." 
 
 That was, as the Doctor thought, a very significant speech ; it 
 might mean a great deal, a very great deal indeed ; and so he turned 
 it over and over in his mind for some time before he spoke again. 
 At last he said, 
 
 " I haven't a notion what he's coming about, Polly — have you ?" 
 
 " No, Sir ; except, perhaps, it be to consult you. He told me he 
 had sprained his arm, or his shoulder, the other day, when his horse 
 swerved." 
 
 " Oh no, it can't be that, Polly ; it can't be that." 
 
 " Why not the pleasure of a morning call, then ? He is an idle 
 man, and finds time heavy on his hands." 
 
 A short " humph" showed that this explanation was not more suc- 
 cessful than the former, and the Doctor, rather irritated with this 
 game of fence, for so he deemed it, said bluntly, 
 
 " Has he been showing you any marked attentions of late ? Have 
 you noticed anything peculiar in his manner towards you ?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever. Sir," said she, with a frank boldness. " He 
 has chatted and flirted with me, just as every one else presumes he 
 has the right to do with a girl in a station below their own ; but he 
 has never been more impertiuent in this way than any other young 
 man of fashion " 
 
BABEINGTON. 157 
 
 " But there have been" — he was sorely puzzled for the word he 
 wanted, and it was only as a resource, not out of choice, he said — 
 " attentions ?" 
 
 " Of course, papa, what many would call, in the cognate phrase, 
 marked attentious ; but girls, who go into the world as I do, no more 
 mistake what these mean than would you yourself, papa, if passingly 
 asked what was good for a sore-throat, fancy that the inquirer in- 
 tended to fee you." 
 
 " I see, Polly, I see," muttered he, as the illustration came home 
 to him. Still, after ruminating for some time, a change seemed to 
 come over his thoughts, for he said, 
 
 " But you might be wrong this time, PoUy ; it is by no means im- 
 possible that you might be wrong." 
 
 " My dear papa," said she, gravely, "when a man of his rank is 
 disposed to think seriously of a girl in mine, he does not begin by 
 flattery ; he rather takes the line of correction and warning, telling 
 her fifty little platitudes about trifles in manner, and so forth, by her 
 docile acceptance of which, he conceives a high notion of himself, 
 and a half liking for Tier. But I have no need to go into these 
 things ; enough if I assure you Captain Sfcapylton's visit has no con- 
 cern for me ; he either comes out of pure idleness, or he wants to 
 make use of you." 
 
 The last words opened a new channel to Dill's thoughts, and he 
 drove on in silent meditation over them. 
 
 CHAPTE'E XIX. 
 
 THE HODE OF LUNCHEON. 
 
 If there be a special agfeeability about all the meal-times of a 
 pleasant country-house, there is not one of them which, in the charm 
 of an easy, unconstrained gaiety, can rival the hour of luncheon. 
 At breakfast, one is too fresh ; at dinner, too formal ; but luncheon, 
 like an opening manhood, is full of its own bright projects. The 
 plans of the day have already reached a certain maturity, and fix- 
 tures have been made for riding parties, or phaeton drives, or 
 flirtations in the garden. The very strangers who looked coldly at 
 
158 BAEElWflTON. 
 
 eacli other over their tnorning papers harie shaken into a semi- 
 intimacy, and little traits of character' and temperament, which 
 would have been studiously shrouded in the more solemn festivals 
 of the day, are now displayed with a frank and fearless confidence. 
 The half-toiletfce and the tweed coat, mutton broth and "Balmorals," 
 seem infinitely more congenial to acquaintanceship than the full- 
 blown splendour of evening dress and the grander discipline of 
 dinner. 
 
 Irish social life permits of a practice of which I do not, while 
 recording, constitute myself the advocate or the apologist — a sort of 
 good-tempered banter called quizzing — a habit I scarcely believe 
 practicable in other lands; that is, I kaow of no country where it 
 could be carried on as harmlessly and as gracefully, where as much 
 wit could be expended innocuously' — ^as little good feeling jeopardied 
 in the display. The happiest hour of the day for such passages as 
 these was that of luncheon, and it was in the very clash and clatter 
 of the combat that a servant announeed the Attomey-G-eneral ! 
 
 What a damper did the name prove ! Short of a Bishop himself, 
 no announcement could have spread more terror' over the younger 
 members of the company, embodying, as it seemed to do, all that 
 could be inquisitorial, intolerant, and overbearing. Great, however, 
 was the astonishment to see, instead of the stern incarnation of 
 Crown prosecutions and arbitrary commitments, a tall, thin, slightly- 
 stooped man, dressed in a grey shooting-jacket, and with a hat plen- 
 tifully garnished with fishing-flies. He came lightly into the room, 
 and kissed the hand of his hostess with a mixture of cordiality and 
 old-fashioned gallantry that became him well. 
 
 " My old luck, Cobham !" said he, as he seated himself at table. 
 " I have fished the stream all the way from the Eed House to this, 
 and never so much as a rise to reward me." 
 
 " They knew you — they kaew 'you, "Withering," chirped out the 
 Poet, " and they took good care not to put in an appearance, with 
 the certainty of a ' detainer.' " 
 
 " Ah ! you here ! That decanter of. sherry screened you com- 
 pletely from my view," said Withering, whose sarcasm on his size 
 touched the very sorest of the other's susceptibilities. " And talk- 
 ing of recognisances, how comes it you are here, and a large party 
 at Lord Dunraney's all assembled to meet you ?" 
 
 The Poet, as not infrequent with him, had forgotten everything 
 of this prior engagement^ and was now overwhelmed with his forget- 
 fulness. The ladies, however, pressed eagerly around him with con- 
 solation so like caresses, that he was speedily himself again. 
 
baeehtgton. 159 
 
 " How natural a mistake after all," said the lawyer. " The old 
 song says : 
 
 Tell me where beauty, and wit, and wine '^ 
 Aie met, and I'll say where I'm asked to dine. 
 
 Ah ! Tommy, yours is the profession after all ; always sure of your 
 retainer, and never but one brief to sustain — ' T. M. versus the Heart 
 ofWoman.'" 
 
 " One is occasionally nonsuited, however," said the other, half 
 pettishly. " By the way, how was it you got that verdict for old 
 Barrington t'other day ? "Was it true that Plowden got hold oiyour 
 bag by mistake ?" 
 
 " Not only that, but he made a point for us none of us had dis- 
 covered." 
 
 " How historical the blunder : 
 
 The case is classical, as I and you know; 
 He came for Venus, but made love to Juno." 
 
 " If Peter Barrington gained his cause by it, I'm heartily rejoiced, 
 and I wish him health and years to enjoy it." The Admiral said this 
 *rith a cordial good will as he drank off his glass. 
 
 " He's all right again," said Withering. " I left him working 
 away with a hoe and a rake this morning, looking as hale and 
 hearty as he did a dozen years ago." 
 
 " A man must have really high deserts in whose good fortune so 
 many are well-wishers," said Stapylton ; and by the courteous tone 
 of the remark "Withering's attention was attracted, and he speedily 
 begged the Admiral to present him to his guest. They continued to 
 converse together as they arose from table, and with such' common 
 pleasure, that when Withering expressed a hope the acquaintance 
 might not end there, Stapylton replied by a request that he would 
 allow him to be his fellow-traveller to Kilkenny, whither he was 
 ; about to go on a regimental affair. The arrangement was quickly 
 made, to the satisfaction of each, and as they drove away, while many 
 bewailed the departure of such pleasant members of the party, the 
 little Poet simperiugly said, 
 
 " Shall I own that my heart is relieved of a care? — 
 Though you'll think the confession is petty— 
 I cannot but feel, as I look on the pair, « 
 
 It is ' Peebles' gone off with ' Dalgetty.' " 
 
 As for the fellow-travellers, they jogged along very pleasantly on 
 their way, as two consummate men of the world are sure to do when 
 
160 BAHBINGTON. 
 
 tljey meet. Por, what rreemasonry equals that of two shrewd 
 students of life ? How flippantly do they discuss each theme ! how 
 easily read each character, and unravel each motive that presents 
 itself! What the lawyer gained by the technical subtlety of his 
 profession, the soldier made up for by his wider experience of man- 
 kind. There were, besides, a variety of experiences to exchange. 
 Toga could tell of much that interested the " man of war," and he, in 
 turn, made himself extremely agreeable by his Eastern information, 
 not to say that he was able to give a correct version of- many Hin- 
 dostanee phrases and words which the old lawyer eagerly desired to 
 acquire. 
 
 " All you have been telling me has a strong interest for me, 
 Captain Stapylton," said he, as they drove into Kilkenny. " I 
 have a case which has engaged my attention for years, and is likely 
 to occupy what remains to me of life — a suit of which India is the 
 scene, and Orientals figure as some of the chief actors — so that I can 
 scarcely say how fortunate I feel this chance meeting with you." 
 
 " I shall deem myself greatly honoured if the acquaintance does not 
 end here." 
 
 " It shall not, if it depend upon me," said "Withering, cordially. 
 " Ton said something of a visit you were about to make to Dublin. 
 "Will you do me a great — a very great — ^favour, and make my 
 house your home while you stay ? This is my address, ' 18, Merrion- 
 square.' It is a bachelor's hall ; and you can come and go without 
 ceremony." 
 
 " The plan is too tempting to hesitate about. I accept your in- 
 vitation with all the frankness you have given it. Meanwhile, you 
 will be my guest here." 
 
 " That is impossible. I must start for Cork this evening." 
 
 And now they parted ; not like men who had been strangers a few 
 hours back, but like old acquaintances, only needing the occasioa 
 to feel as old friends. 
 
BAERISGTON. 161 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 AN IKTEHIOB AT THE DOOTOb's. 
 
 "When Captain Stapylton made his appointment to wait on Doctor 
 Dill, he was. not aware that the Attorney- General was expected at 
 Cobham. No sooner, however, had he learned that fact than he 
 changed his purpose, and intimated his intention of running up for a 
 day to Kilkenny, to hear what was going on in the regiment. Fo 
 regret for any disappointment he might be giving to the village 
 Doctor, no self-reproach for the breach of an engagement — all of his 
 own making — crossed his mind. It is, indeed, a theme for a moralist 
 to explore, the ease with which a certain superiority in station can 
 divest its possessor of all care for the sensibilities of those below him ; 
 and yet in the little household of the Doctor that promised visit was 
 the source of no small discomfort and trouble. The Doctor's study — 
 the sanctum in which the interview should be held — had to be dusted 
 and smartened up. Old boots, and overcoats, and smashed driving- 
 whips, and odd stirrup-leathers, and stable-lanterns, and garden imple- 
 ments, had all to be banished. The great table in front of the Doctor's 
 chair had also to be professionally littered with notes, and cards, 
 and periodicals, not forgetting an ingenious admixture of strange 
 instruments of torture, quaint screws, and inscrutable-looking scissors, 
 destined, doubtless, to make many a faint heart the fainter in their 
 dread presence. All these details had to be carried out in various 
 ways through the rest of the establishment — in the drawing-room, 
 wherein the great man was to be ushered — in the dining-room, where 
 he was to lunch. Upon Polly did the greater part of these cares 
 devolve ; not alone attending to the due disposal of chairs, and sofas, 
 and tables, but to the preparation of certain culinary delicacies, which 
 were to make the Captain forget the dainty luxuries of Cobham. 
 And, in truth, there is a marvellous esprit du corps in the way a 
 woman will fag and slave herself to make the humble household she 
 belongs to, look its best, even to the very guest she has least at heart, 
 for Polly did not like Stapylton. Flattered at first by his notice, she 
 was offended afterwards at the sort of conscious condescension of his 
 manner ; a something which seemed to say, I can be charming, posi- 
 tively fascinating, but don't imagine for a moment that there is 
 anything especial in it. I captivate — just as I fish, hunt, sketch, or 
 
 It 
 
162 BAKEIirGTOK. 
 
 shoot — to amuse myself. And with all this, how was it he was really 
 not a coxcomb ? Was it the grave dignity of his address, or the quiet 
 stateliness of his person, or was it a certain uniformity, a keeping, 
 that pervaded all ho said or did ? lam not quite sure whether all 
 three did not contribute to this end, and make him what the world 
 confessed — a most well-bred gentleman. 
 
 Polly was, in ber way, a shrewd observer, and she felt that Stapyl- 
 ton's manner towards her was that species of urbane condescension 
 with which a great master of a game deigns to play with a very 
 humble proficient. He moved about the board with an assumption 
 that said, I can checkmate you when I will ! Now this is hard 
 enough to bear when the pieces at stake are stained ivory, but it is 
 less endurable still when they are our emotions and our wishes. And 
 yet with all this before her, Polly ordered, and arranged, and super- 
 intended, and directed, with an energy that never tired, and an 
 activity that never relaxed. 
 
 As for Mrs. Dill, no similar incident in the life of Clarissa had pre- 
 pared her for the bustle and preparation she saw on every side, and 
 she was fairly perplexed between the thought of a seizure for rent and 
 a fire, casualties which, grave as they were, she felt she could meet,, 
 with Mr. Eichardson beside her. The Doctor himself was unusually, 
 fidgety and anxious. Perhaps he ascribed considerable importance 
 to this visit — perhaps he thought Polly had not been candid with 
 him, and that in reality she knew more of its object than she had 
 avowed ; and so he walked hurriedly from room to room, and out into 
 the garden, and across the road to the river's side, and once as far as 
 the bridge, consulting his watch, and calculating that as it now only 
 wanted eight minutes of two o'clock the arrival could scarcely be long 
 delayed. 
 
 It was on his return he entered the drawing-room and found Polly, 
 now plainly but becomingly dressed, seated at her work, with a seem- 
 ing quietude and repose about her, strangely at variance with her late 
 display of activity. " I've had a look down the Grraigue road," said 
 he, " but can see nothing. Tou are certain he said two o'clock." 
 
 " Quite certain, Sir." 
 
 "To be sure, he might come by the river; there's water enough 
 now for the Cobham barge." 
 
 She made no answer, though she half suspected some reply was 
 expected. 
 
 " And of course," continued the Doctor, " they'd have offered him. 
 the use of it. Tliey seem to make a great deal of him up there.'' 
 
BAEEIS&TOK. 163 
 
 "A great deal, indeed, Sir," said ste; but in a voice that was a 
 mere echo of his own. 
 
 " And I suspect they know why. I'm sure they know why. People 
 in their condition make no mistakes about each otlier ; and if he re- 
 ceives much attention, it is because it's his due." 
 
 No answer followed this speech, and he walked feverishly up and 
 down the room, holding his watch in his closed hand. " I liave a 
 notion you must have mistaken him. It was not two, he said." 
 
 "I'm positive it was two. Sir. But it can scarcely be much past 
 that hour now." 
 
 " It is seventeen minutes past two," said he, solemnly. And then, 
 as if some fresh thought had just occurred to him, asked, " Where'a 
 Tom ? I never saw him this morning." 
 
 " He's gone out to take a walk. Sir. The poor fellow is dead beat 
 by work, and had such a headache that I told him to go for a stroll 
 as far as the Eed House, or Snow's Mill." 
 
 " And I'll wager he did not want to be told twice. Anything for 
 idleness with Mm .'" 
 
 " Well, papa, he is really doing his very best now. He is not 
 naturally quick, and he has a bad memory, so that labour is no 
 common toil; but his heart is in it, and I never saw him really 
 anxious for success before." 
 
 " To go out to India, I suppose," said Dill, sneeringly, " that 
 notable project of the other good-for-nothing; for, except in the 
 matter of fortune, there's not much to choose between them. There's 
 the half-hour striking now I" 
 
 " The project has done this for him, at least," said she firmly — "it 
 has given him hope I" 
 
 " How I like to hear about hope," said he, with a peculiarly sar- 
 castic bitterness. " I never knew a fellow worth sixpence that had 
 that cant of 'hope' in his mouth ! How much hope had I when I 
 began the world ! How much have I now ?" 
 
 " Don't you hope Captain Stapylton may not have forgotten his 
 appointment, papa ?" said she, with a quick drollery which sparkled 
 in her eye, but brought no smile to her lips. 
 
 "Well, here he is at last," said Dill, as he heard the sharp click 
 made by the wicket of the little garden ; and he started up, and 
 rushed to the window. " May I never!" cried he, in horror, " if it 
 isn't M'Cormick ! Say we're out — that I'm at Grraigue — that I 
 won't be home till evening!" But while he was multiplying these 
 excuses, the old Major had caught sight of him, and was waving his 
 
 m2 
 
164 BAUEINGTOir. 
 
 hand in salutation from below. " It's too late — it's too late !" sighed 
 Dill, bitterly ; " he sees me now — there's no help for it !" "What bene- 
 volent and benedictory expressions were muttered below his breath, 
 it is not for this history to record, but so vexed and irritated was he, 
 that the Major had already entered the room ere he could compose 
 his features into even a faint show of welcome. 
 
 "I was down at the Dispensary," croaked out M'Cormick, "and 
 they told me you were not expected there to-day ; and so I said, 
 maybe he's ill, or maybe" — and here he looked shrewdly around 
 him — " maybe there's something going on up at the house." 
 
 " "What should there be going on, as you call it ?" responded Dill, 
 angrily, for he was now at home, in presence of the family, and could 
 not compound for that tone of servile acquiescence he employed on 
 foreign service. 
 
 " And, faix, I believe I was right ! Miss Polly isn't so smart this 
 morning for nothing, no more than the saving cover is off the sofa, 
 and the piece of gauze taken down from before the looking-glass, and 
 the Times newspaper away from the rug !" 
 
 " Are there any other domestic changes you'd like to remark upon, 
 Major M'Cormick ?" said Dill, pale with rage. 
 
 " Indeed, yes," rejoined the other ; " there's yourself, in the ele- 
 gant black coat that I never saw since Lord Kilraney's funeral, and 
 looking pretty much as lively and pleasant as you did at the cere- 
 mony." 
 
 " A gentleman has made an appointment with papa," broke ia 
 Polly, " and may be here at any moment." 
 
 " I know who it is," said M'Cormick, with a finger on the side of 
 his nose to imply intense cunning. " I know all about it !" 
 
 " "What do you know ? — what do you mean by all about it ?" said 
 Dill, with an eagerness he could not repress. 
 
 " Just as much as yourselves — there now ! Just as much as your- 
 selves !" said he, sententiously. 
 
 " But apparently, Ma,jor, you know far more," said Polly. 
 
 " Maybe I do, maybe I don't ; but I'll tell you one thing. Dill, for 
 your edification, and mind me if I'm not right : you're aU mistaken 
 about him, every one of ye !" 
 
 " "Whom are you talking of?" asked the Doctor, sternly. 
 
 " Just the very man you mean yourself, and no other ! Oh, you 
 needn't fuss and fume, I don't want to pry into your family secrets. 
 Ifot that they'll be such secrets to-morrow or next day — the whole 
 town will be talking of them — but as an old friend that could, maybe, 
 give a word of advice " 
 
BAEEINGTOir. IGS 
 
 " Advice about what ? Will you just tell me about what ?" cried 
 Dill, now bursting with anger. 
 
 " I've done now. ISTot another word passes my lips about it from 
 this minute. PoUow your own road, and see where it will lead ye !" 
 
 " Cannot you understand, Major M'Cormick, that we are totally 
 unable to guess what you allude to ? Ifeither papa nor I have the 
 very faintest clue to your meaning, and if you really desire to serve 
 us you will speak out plainly." 
 
 " Not another syllable, if I sat here for two years !" 
 
 The possibility of such an infliction seemed so terrible to poor 
 Polly, that she actually shuddered as she heard it. 
 
 " Isn't that your mother I see sitting up there, with all the fine 
 ribbons in her cap ?" whispered M'Cormick, as he pointed to a small 
 room which opened off an angle of the larger one. " That's ' the 
 boodoo,' isn't it f" said he, with a grin. This, I must inform my 
 reader, was the M'Cormick for " boudoir." " WeU, I'U go and pay 
 my respects to her." 
 
 So little interest did Mrs. Dill take in the stir and movement 
 around her, that the Major utterly failed in his endeavours to torture 
 her by all his covert allusions and ingeniously-drawn inferences. I^o 
 matter what hints he dropped or doubts he suggested, she knew 
 " Clarissa " would come well out of all her trials ; and beyond a 
 little unmeaning simper, and a muttered " To be sure," " No doubt 
 of it," and " Why not," M'Cormick could obtain nothing from her. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the outer room the Doctor continued to stride up 
 and down with impatience, while Polly sat quietly working on, not 
 the less anxious, perhaps, though her peaceful air betokened a mind 
 at rest. 
 
 " That must be a boat, papa," said she, without lifting her head, 
 " that has just come up to the landing-place. I heard the plash of 
 the oars, and now all is still again." 
 
 " You're right ; so it is !" cried he, as he stopped before the window. 
 " But how is this ! That's a lady I see yonder, and a gentleman 
 along with her. That's not Stapylton, surely !" 
 
 " He is scarcely so taU," said she, rising to look out, " but not very 
 unlike him. But the lady, papa — the lady is Miss Barrington." 
 
 Bad as M'Cormick's visit was, it was nothing to the possibility of 
 such an advent as this, and Dill's expressions of anger were now neither 
 measured nor muttered. 
 
 " This is to be a day of disasters. I see it well, and no help for it," 
 exclaimed he, passionately. " If there was one human being I'd hate 
 to come here this morning, it's that old woman ! She's never civil. 
 
166 BAEBINGTOJT. 
 
 She's not commonly decent in her manner towards me in her own 
 house, and what she'll be in mine is clean beyond me to guess. That's 
 herself ! There she goes ! Look at her remarking — I see, she's re- 
 marking on the weeds over the beds, and the smashed paling. She's 
 laughing, too! Oh, to be sure, it's fine laughing at people that's 
 poor ; and she might know something of that same herself. I know 
 who the man is now. That's the Colonel, who came to the ' Ksher- 
 man's Home' on the night of the accident." 
 
 " It would seem we are to hold a levee to-day," said PoUy, giving 
 a, very fleeting glance at herself in the glass. And now a knock came 
 to the door, and the man who acted gardener and car-driver and valet 
 to the Doctor, announced that Miss Barrington and Colonel Hunter 
 were below. 
 
 " Show them up," said Dill, with the peremptory voice of one 
 ordering a very usual event, and intentionally loud enough to be heard 
 below stairs. 
 
 If Polly's last parting with Miss Barrington gave little promise of 
 pleasure to their next meeting, the first look she caught of the old 
 lady on entering the room dispelled all uneasiness on that score. 
 Miss Dinah entered with a pleasing smile, and presented her friend, 
 Colonel Hunter, as one come to thauk the Doctor for much kindness 
 to his young subaltern. ""Whom, by the way," added he, "we 
 thought to find here. It is only since we landed that we learned he 
 had left the inn for Kilkenny." 
 
 While the Colonel continued to talk to the Doctor, Miss Dinah 
 had seated herself on the sofa, with Polly at her side. 
 
 " My visit this morning is to you," said she. " I have come to ask 
 your forgiveness. Don't interrupt me, child ; your forgiveness was 
 the very word I used. I was very'rude to you t'other morning, and 
 being all in the wrong — like most people in such circumstances — I was 
 very angry with the person who placed me so." 
 
 " But, my dear Madam," said Polly, " you had such good reason to 
 suppose you were in the right, that this amende on your part is far 
 too generous " 
 
 " It is not at all generous — it is simply just. I was sorely vexed 
 with you about that stupid wager, which you were very wrong to have 
 had any share in ; vexed with your father, vexed with your brother — 
 not that I believe his counsel would have been absolute wisdom — and 
 I was even vexed with my young friend Conyers, because he had not 
 the bad taste to be as angry with you as I was. When I was a young 
 lady," said she, bridling up, and looking at once haughty and defiant, 
 " no man would have dared to approach me with such a proposal as 
 
BAEBIIfaTON'. 167 
 
 complicity in a wager. But I'm told that my ideas are antiquated, and 
 the world has grown much wiser since that day." 
 
 " Nay, Madam," said Polly, " but there is another difference that 
 your politeness has prevented you from appreciating. I mean the dif- 
 ference in station between Miss Barrington and Polly Dill." 
 
 It was a well directed shot, and told powerfully, for Miss Barring- 
 ton's eyes became clouded, and she turned her head away, while she 
 pressed Polly's hand within her own with a cordial warmth. " Ah !" 
 said she, feelingly, " I hope there are many points of resemblance 
 between us. I have always tried to be a good sister. I know well 
 what you have been to your brother." 
 
 A very jolly burst of laughter from the inner room, where Hunter 
 had already penetrated, broke in upon them, and the merry tones of 
 his voice were heard saying, " Take my word for it, madam, nobody 
 could spare time now-a-days to make love in nine volumes. Life's 
 too short for it. Ask my old brother-officer here if he could endure 
 such a thirty years' war; or rather let me turn here for an opinion. 
 What does your daughter say on the subject ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay," croaked out M'Cormick. " Marry in haste " 
 
 " Or repent that you didn't. That's the true reading of the 
 adage." 
 
 " The Major would rather apply leisure to the marriage, and make 
 
 the repentance come " 
 
 " As soon as possible afterwards," said Miss Dinah, tartly. 
 " Paix, I'll do better still. I won't provoke the repentance at all." 
 " Oh, Major, is it thus you treat me ?" said Polly, affecting to wipe 
 her eyes. " Are my hopes to be dashed thus cruelly ?" 
 
 But the Doctor, who knew how savagely M'Cormick could resent 
 even the most harmless jesting, quickly interposed, with a question 
 whether Polly had thought of ordering luncheon ? 
 
 It is but fair to Doctor Dill to record the bland but careless way 
 be ordered some entertainment for his visitors. He did it like the 
 lord of a well-appointed household, who, when he said "serve," they 
 served. It was in the easy confidence of one whose knowledge told 
 him that the train was laid, and only waited for the match to ex- 
 plode it. 
 
 " May I have the honour, dear lady," said he, offering his arm to 
 Miss Barrington. 
 
 Now Miss Dinah had just observed that she had various small 
 matters to transact in the village, and was about to issue forth for 
 their performance ; but such is the force of a speciality, that she could 
 not tear herself away without a peep into the dining-room, and a 
 
168 BABEINGTON. 
 
 glance, at least, at arrangements that appeared so magically conjured 
 up. Nor was Dill insensible to tbe astonishment expressed in her face 
 as her eyes ranged over the table. 
 
 " If your daughter be your housekeeper, Doctor Dill," said she, in 
 a whisper, " I must give her my very heartiest approbation. These 
 are matters I can speak of with authority, and I pronounce her worthy 
 of high commendation." 
 
 " What admirable salmon cutlets," cried the Colonel. " "Why, 
 Doctor, these tell of a Prench cook." 
 
 " There she is beside you, the French cook !" said the Major, with a 
 malicious twinkle. 
 
 " Yes," said Polly, smiling, though with a slight flush on her face, 
 " if Major M'Cormick will be indiscreet enough to tell tales, let us 
 hope they will never be more damaging in their import." 
 
 " And do you say — do you mean to tell me, that this curry is your 
 handiwork ? Why, this is high art.", 
 
 " Oh, she's artful enough, if it's that ye're wanting," muttered the 
 Major. 
 
 Miss Barrington, having apparently satisfied the curiosity she felt 
 about the details of the Doctor's housekeeping, now took her leave ; 
 not, however, without Doctor Dili offering his arm, on one side, 
 while Polly, with polite observance, walked, on the other. 
 
 " Look at that now," whispered the Major. " They're as much 
 afraid of that old woman as if she were the Queen of Sheba ! And 
 all because she was once a fine lady living at Barrington Hall." 
 
 " Here's their health for it," said the Colonel, filling his glass — 
 " and in a bumper, too ! By the way,'' added he, looking around, 
 " does not Mrs. Dill lunch with us ?" 
 
 " Oh, she seldom comes to her meals ! She's a little touched 
 here." And he laid his finger on the centre of his forehead. " And, 
 indeed, no wonder if she is." The benevolent Major was about to 
 give some details of secret family history, when the Doctor and hia 
 daughter returned to the room. 
 
 The Colonel ate and talked untiringly. He was delighted with 
 everything, and charmed with himself for his good luck in chancing 
 upon such agreeable people. He liked the scenery, the village, the 
 beetroot salad, the bridge, the pickled oysters, the evergreen oaks 
 before the door. He was not astonished Conyers should linger on 
 such a spot ; and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask when he 
 had left the village, and how. 
 
 The T)octor could give no information on the point, and while he 
 was surmising one thing and guessing another, M'Cormick whispered 
 
BABEINGTOIf. 169 
 
 in the Colonel's ear, "Maybe it's a delicate point. How do you 
 
 know what went on with " And a significant nod towards Polly 
 
 finished the remark. 
 
 " I wish I heard what Major M'Cormick has just said," said Polly. 
 
 " And it is exactly what I cannot repeat to you." 
 
 " I suspected as much. So that my only request will be that you 
 never remember it." 
 
 " Isn't she sharp ! — sharp as a needle 1" chimed in the Major. 
 
 Checking, and not without some eflbrt, a smart reprimand on the 
 last speaker, the Colonel looked hastily at his watch, and arose from 
 table. 
 
 " Past three o'clock, and to be in Kilkenny by sis." 
 
 " Do you want a car ? There's one of Eice's men now in the vil- 
 lage. Shall I get him for you ?" 
 
 ""Would you really do me the' kindness?" "WhUe the Major 
 bustled off on his errand, the Colonel withdrew the Doctor inside 
 the recess of a window. " I had a word I wished to say to you in 
 private. Doctor Dill ; but it must really be in private — you under- 
 stand me ?" 
 
 " Strictly confidential. Colonel Hunter," said DiU, bowing. 
 
 " It is this : a young officer of mine. Lieutenant Conyers, haa 
 written to me a letter mentioning a plan he had conceived for the 
 future advancement of your son, a young gentleman for whom, it 
 would appear, he had formed a sudden but strong attachment. His 
 project was, as I understand it, to accredit him to his father with such 
 a letter as must secure the General's powerful influence in his behalf. 
 Just the sort of thing a warm-hearted young fellow would think of 
 doing for a friend he determined to serve, but exactly the kind of 
 proceeding that might have a very unfortunate ending. I can very 
 well imagine, from my own short experience here, that your son's 
 claims to notice and distinction may be the very highest ; I can 
 believe readily what very little extraneous aid he would require to 
 secure his success, but you and I are old men of the world, and are 
 bound to kok at things cautiously, and to ask, ' Is this scheme a 
 very safe one ?' ' Will General Conyers enter as heartily into it as 
 his son ?' ' WUl the young surgeon be as sure to captivate the old 
 soldier as the young one ?' In a word, would it be quite wise to set 
 a man's whole venture in life on such a cast, and is it the sort of risk 
 that, with your experience of the world, you would sanction ?" 
 
 It was evident, from the pause the Colonel left after these words, 
 that he expected Dill to say something ; but, with the sage reserve 
 of his order, the Doctor stood still, and never uttered a syllable. Let 
 
170 BAEEINGTOK. 
 
 US be just to his aeuteness, lie never did take to the project from the 
 first ; he thought ill of it, in every way, but yet he did not relinquish 
 the idea of making the surrender of it " conditional," and so he 
 slowly shook his head with an air of doubt, and smoothly rolled his 
 hands one over the other, as though to imply a moment of hesitation 
 and indecision. 
 
 " Tes, yes," muttered he, talking only to himself — " disappoint- 
 ment, to be sure ! — very great disappointment, too ! And his heart 
 80 set upon it, that's the hardship." 
 
 " Naturally enough," broke in Hunter, hastily. " Who wouldn't 
 be disappointed under such circumstances ? Better even that, how- 
 ever, than utter failure, later on." 
 
 The Doctoi* sighed, but over what precise calamity was not so 
 cleat, and Hunter continued : 
 
 " jSTow, as I have made this communication to you in strictest con- 
 fidence, and not in any concert with Conyers, I only ask you to 
 accept my view as a mere matter of opinion. I think you would be 
 wrong to suffer your son to engage in such a venture. That's all I 
 mean by my interference, and I have done." 
 
 Dill was, perhaps, scarcely prepared for the sudden summing up of 
 the Colonel, and looked strangely puzzled and embarrassed. 
 
 " Might I talk the matter over with my daughter Polly? She has 
 a good head for one so little versed in the world." 
 
 " By all means. It is exactly what I would have proposed. Or, 
 better stUl, shall I repeat what I have just told you ?" 
 
 "Do so," said the Doctor, "for I just remember Miss Barrington 
 will call here in a few moments for that medicine I have ordered for 
 her brother, and which is not yet made up." 
 
 " Give me five minutes of your time and attention, Miss Dill," said 
 Hunter, " on a point for which your father has referred me to your 
 counsel." 
 
 " To mine ?" 
 
 "Tes," said he, smiling at her astonishment. ""We want your 
 quick faculties to come to the aid of our slow ones. And here's the 
 case." And in a few sentences he put the matter before her, as he 
 had done to her father. While he thus talked, they had strolled out 
 into the garden, and walked slowly side by side down one of the 
 alleys. 
 
 " Poor Tom 1 — poor fellow !" was all that Polly said, as she listened. 
 But once or twice her handkerchief was raised to her eyes, and her 
 chest heaved heavily. 
 
BAEBINCHON. 17L 
 
 "I am heartily sorryfor bim — that is, if his heart be bent on it — 
 if he really should have built upon the scheme already." 
 
 " Of course he has, Sir. Tou don't suppose that in such lives as 
 
 ours these are common incidents ? If we chance upon a treasure, 
 
 or fancy that we have, once in a whole existence, it is great fortune." 
 
 " It was a brief, a very brief acquaintance — a few hours, I believe.^ 
 
 The "What was that ? Did you hear any one cough, there ?" 
 
 "]S"o, Sir; we are quite alone. There is no one in the garden 
 but ourselves." 
 
 " So that, as I was saying, the project could scarcely have taken a 
 very deep root, and — and — in fact, better the first annoyance, than a 
 mistake that should give its colour to a whole lifetime. I'm certain 
 I heard a step in that walk yonder." 
 " No, Sir ; we are all alone." 
 
 " I half wish I had never come on this same errand. I have done 
 aa ungracious thing, evidently very ill, and with the usual fate of 
 those who say disagreeable things. I am involved in the disgrace I 
 came to avert." 
 
 " But I accept your view." 
 
 " There ! I knew there was some one there !" said Hunter, spring- 
 ing across a bed and coming suddenly to the side of M'Cormick, who 
 was afiiecting to be making a nosegay. 
 
 "The car is ready at the door, Colonel," said he, in some con- 
 fusion. " Maybe you'd oblige me with a seat as far as Lyrath ?" 
 
 " Tes, yes ; of course. And how late it is," cried he, looking at 
 his watch. " Time does fly fast in these regions, no doubt of it." 
 
 "Tou see. Miss Polly, you have made the Colonel forget himself," 
 said M'Cormick, maliciously. 
 
 " Don't be severe on an error so often your own. Major M'Cormick," 
 said she, fiercely, and turned away into the house. 
 
 The Colonel, however, was speedily at her side, and in an earnest 
 voice said, " I could hate myself for the impression I am leaving 
 behind me here. I came with those excellent intentions which so 
 often make a man odious, and I am going away with those regrets 
 which foUow all failures ; but I mean to come back again one of these 
 days, and erase, if I can, the ill impression." 
 
 " One who has come out of his way to befriend those who had no 
 claim upon his kindness, can have no fear for the estimation he will 
 be held in ; for my part, I thank you heartily, even though I do not 
 exactly see the direct road out of this difficulty." 
 
 " Let me write to you. One letter — only one," said Hunter. 
 
172 BAEHINGTOir. 
 
 But M'Cormick had heard the request, and she flushed up with 
 anger at the malicious glee his face exhibited. 
 
 " Tou'U have to say my good-bys for me to your father, for I am 
 sorely pressed for time ; and, even as it is, shall be late for my ap- 
 pointment in. Kilkenny." And before Polly could do more than 
 exchange his cordial shake hands, he was gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DARK TIDINGS. 
 
 If I am not wholly without self-reproach when I bring my reader 
 into uncongenial company, and make him pass time with Major 
 M'Cormick he had far rather bestow upon a pleasanter companion, 
 I am sustained by the fact — unpalatable fact though it be — that the 
 highway of life is not always smooth, nor its banks flowery, and that, 
 as an old Derry woman once remarked to me, " It takes a' kind o' 
 folk to mak' a world." 
 
 Now, although Colonel Hunter did drive twelve weary miles of 
 road with the Major for a fellow-traveller — thanks to that unsocial 
 eonveniency called an Irish jaunting-car — they rode back to back, 
 and conversed but little. One might actually believe that unpopular 
 men grow to feel a sort of liking for their unpopularity, and become 
 at length delighted with the snubbings they meet with, as though an 
 evidence of the amount of that discomfort they can scatter over the 
 world at large; just, in fact, as a wasp or a scorpion might have a 
 sort of triumphant joy in the consciousness of its power for mischief, 
 and exult in the terror caused by its vicinity. 
 
 "Splendid road — one of the best I ever travelled on," said the 
 Colonel, after about ten miles, during which he smoked on without 
 a word. 
 
 " "Why wouldn't it be, when they can assess the county for it ? 
 They're on the Grand Jury, and high up, all about here," croaked out 
 the Major. 
 
 " It is a fine country, and abounds in handsome places." 
 
 "And well mortgaged, too, the most of them." 
 
 " You'd not see better farming than that in Norfolk, cleaner wlieat, 
 or neater drills ; in fact, one might imagine himself in England." 
 
BAREINGTOIT. 173 
 
 " So he miglit, for the matter of taxes. I don't see much dif- 
 ference." 
 
 " Why doa't you smoke ? Things look pleasanter through the 
 blue haze of a good Havannah," said Hunter, smiling. 
 
 " I don't want them to look pleasanter than they are," was the dry 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "Whether Hunter did, or did not, he scarcely liked his counsellor, 
 and, re-lighting a cigar, he turned his back once more on him. 
 
 " I'm one of those old-fashioned fellows," continued the Major, 
 leaning over towards his companion, " who would rather see things as 
 they are, not as they might be ; and when I remarked you a while 
 ago so pleased with the elegant luncheon and Miss Polly's talents for 
 housekeeping, I was laughing to myself over it all." 
 
 " How do you mean ? "What did you laugh at ?" said Hunter, 
 half fiercely. 
 
 " Just at the way you were taken in, that's all." 
 
 " Taken in ? — taken in ? A very strange expression for an hospitable 
 reception and a most agreeable visit." 
 
 " "Well, it's the very word for it, after all ; for as to the hospitable- 
 reception, it wasn't meant for us, but for that tall Captain — the 
 dark-complexioned fellow — Staples, I think they call him." 
 
 " Captain Stapylton ?" 
 
 " Tes, that's the man. He ordered Healey's car to take him over 
 here ; and I knew when the Dills sent over to Mrs. Brierley for a 
 loan of the two cut decanters and the silver cruet-stand, something 
 was up ; and so I strolled down, by way of to reconnoitre the pre- 
 mises, and see what old Dill was after." 
 
 ""Well, and then?" 
 
 " Just that I 'Saw it all — the elegant luncheon, and the two bottles 
 of wine, and the ginger cordials, all laid out for the man that never 
 came ; for it would seem he changed his mind about it, and went back 
 to head-quarters." 
 
 " Tou puzzle me more and more at every word. ■ "What change of 
 mind do you allude to ? "What purpose do you infer he had in coming 
 over here to-day ?" 
 
 The only answer M'Cormick vouchsafed to this was by closing one 
 eye and putting his finger significantly to the tip of his nose, while 
 he said, " Catch a weasel asleep !" 
 
 " I more than suspect," said Hunter, sternly, " that this half-pay 
 life works badly for a man's habits, and throws him upon very petty 
 and contemptible modes of getting through his time. "What possible 
 
174 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 tusinesB could it be of yours to inquire why Stapylton came, or did 
 not come here to-day, no more than for the reason of my visit ?" 
 
 " Maybe I could guess that too, if I was hard pushed," said M'Oor- 
 mick, whose tone showed no unusual irritation from the late rebuke. 
 " I was in the garden all the time, and heard everything." 
 
 " Listened to what I was saying to Miss Dill !" cried Hunter, 
 whose voice of indignation could not now be mistaken. 
 
 " Every word of it," replied the unabashed Major. " I heard all 
 you said about a short acquaintance — a few hours you called it — ^but 
 that your heart was bent upon it, all the same. And then you went 
 on about India ; what an elegant place it was, and the fine pay and 
 the great allowances. And ready enough she was to believe it all, 
 for I suppose she was sworn at Highgate, and woulda't take the 
 Captain if she could get the Colonel." 
 
 By this time, and not an instant earlier, it. flashed upon Hunter's 
 mind that M'Cormick imagined he had overheard a proposal of mar- 
 riage, and so amused was he by the blunder, that he totally drowned 
 his anger in a hearty burst of laughter. 
 
 " I hope that, as an old brother-officer, you'll be discreet, at all 
 events," said he, at last. " Tou have not come by the secret quite 
 legitimately, and I trust you will preserve it." 
 
 " My hearing is good, and my eyesight too, and I mean to use them 
 both, as long as they're spared to me." 
 
 "It was your tongue that I referred to," said Hunter, more 
 gravely. 
 
 " Ay, I know it was," said the Major, crankily. " My tongue will 
 take care of itself also." 
 
 " In order to make its task the easier, then," said Hunter, speaking 
 in a slow and serious voice, " let me tell you that your eavesdropping 
 has, for once at least, misled you. I made no proposal, such as you 
 suspected, to Miss DiU. Nor did she give me the slightest encourage- 
 ment to do so. The conversation you so unwarrantably and imper- 
 fectly overheard had a totally different object, and I am not at all 
 sorry you should not have guessed it. So much for the past. Now 
 one word for the future. Omit my name, and all that concerns me, 
 from the narrative with which you amuse your friends, or take my 
 word for it, you'll have to record more than you have any fancy 
 for. This is strictly between ourselves ; but if you have a desire to 
 impart it, bear in mind that I shall be at my quarters in Kilkenny till 
 Tuesday next." 
 
 "Tou may spend your life there for anything I care," said the 
 Major. " Stop, Billy ; pull up. I'll get down here." And shufflincr 
 
c^' 
 
 l._ -z^*'/ .:^^.v-^- /y-^/m/^jrc. 
 
BAEBINGTOlf. 175 
 
 off fhe car, be muttered a " Good-day" without turning his head^ 
 and bent his steps towards a narrow lane that led from the high 
 road. 
 
 " Is this the place they call Lyrath ?" asked the Colonel of the 
 driver. 
 
 " No, your honour. We're a good four miles from it yet." 
 
 The answer showed Hunter that his feEow-traveller had departed 
 in anger, and such was the generosity of his nature, he found it hard 
 not to overtake him and make his peace with him. 
 
 " After all," thought he, " he's a crusty old feUow, and has hugged 
 his ill-temper so long, it may be more congenial to him. now than a 
 pleasanter humour." And he turned his mind to other interests that 
 more closely touched him. Nor was he without cares — ^heavier ones, 
 too, than his happy nature had ever yet been called to deal with. 
 There are few more painful situations in life than to find our advance- 
 ment — the long-wished aud strived-fpr: promotion — achieved at the 
 cost of some dearly-loved, friend ; to know that our road to fortune 
 had led us across the fallen figure of an old comrade, and' that he who 
 would have been the first to bail our success is already bewailing his 
 own defeat. This was Hunter's lot at the present moment. He had 
 been sent for to hear of a marvellous piece of good fortune. His 
 name and character, well known in Inflia, had recommended him for 
 an office of high trust — the Political Eesident of a great native court ; 
 a position not alone of power and influence, but as certain to S.ecure, 
 and within a very few years, a considerable fortune. It was the- 
 Governor- General who, had, made choice, of him, and the Pripoe of 
 Wales, in the brief interview he accorded him, was ddighted with his 
 frank andsoldier-like manner, his natural cheerfulness and high spirit. 
 "We're not going to unfrock you; Hunter," said he, gaily, in dis- 
 missing him. " Xou shall have your military rank, and all the steps 
 of your promotion. We only make you a civilian till you have saved 
 some lacs of rupees, which is what I hear your predecessor has for- 
 gotten to do." , , , 
 
 It was some time before Hunter, overjoyed as he was, even be- 
 thought him of asking who that predecessor was. What was his 
 misery when he heard the name of Ormsby Conyers, his oldest, best- 
 friend ; the man at whose table he had sat for years, whose confidence 
 he had shared, whose heart was open to him to its last secret! " No," 
 said he, " this is impossible. Advancement at such a price has no 
 temptation for me. I will not accept it." He wrote his refusal at 
 onoe, not assigning any definite reasons, but declaring that, after 
 much thought and consideration, he had decided the post was one he 
 
176 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 could not accept of. The Secretary, in whose province the affairs of 
 India lay, sent for him, and, after much pressing and some ingenious 
 cross-questioning, got at his reasons. " These may be all reasonable 
 scruples on your part," said he, "but they will avail your friend 
 nothing. Conyers must go ; for his own interest and character's sake 
 he must come home and meet the charges made against him, and 
 which, from their very contradictions, we all hope to see him treat 
 triumphantly : some alleging that he has amassed untold wealth, 
 others that it is, as a ruined man, he has involved himself in the 
 intrigues of the native rulers. All who know him say, that at the 
 first whisper of a charge against him he will throw up his post and 
 come to England to meet his accusers. And now let me own to you, 
 that it is the friendship in which he held you lay one of the sug- 
 gestions for your choice. We all felt, that if a man ill-disposed or 
 ungenerously-minded to Conyers should go out to Agra, numerous 
 petty and vexatious accusations might be forthcoming; the little 
 local injuries and pressure, so sure to beget grudges, would all rise 
 up as charges, and enemies to the fallen man spring up in every 
 quarter. It is as a successor, then, you can best serve your friend." 
 I need not dwell on the force and ingenuity with which this view was 
 presented ; enough that I say it was successful, and Hunter returned 
 to Ireland to take leave of his regiment, and prepare for a speedy 
 departure to India. 
 
 Having heard, in a brief note from young Conyers, his intentions 
 respecting Tom Dill, Hunter had hastened off to prevent the possi- 
 bility of such a scheme being carried out. Not wishing, however, to 
 divulge the circumstances of his friend's fortune, he had in his inter- 
 view with the Doctor confined himself to arguments on the score of 
 prudence. His next charge was to break to Pred the tidings of his 
 father's troubles, and it was an office he shrunk from with a coward's 
 fear. With every mile he went his heart grew heavier. The more he 
 thought over the matter the more difficult it appeared. To treat the 
 case lightly, might savour of heartlessness aud levity ; to approach it 
 more seriously, might seem a needless severity. Perliaps, too, Conyers 
 might have written to his son ; he almost hoped he had, and that the 
 first news of disaster should not come from him. 
 
 That combination of high-heartedness and bashfulness, a blended 
 temerity and timidity — by fio means an uncommon temperament — 
 renders a man's position in the embarrassments of life one of down- 
 right suffering. There are operators who feel the knife more sensi- 
 tively than the patients. Pew know what torments such men conceal 
 under a manner of seeming slap-dash and carelessness. Hunter was 
 
BAEBINGTON. 177 
 
 of this order, and would, any day of his life, far rather have con- 
 fronted a real peril than met a contingency that demanded such an 
 address. It was, then, with a sense of relief he learned, on arrival at 
 the barracks, that Conyers had gone out for a walk, so that there was 
 a reprieve at least of a few hours of the penalty that overhung him. 
 
 The trumpet-call for the mess had just sounded as Conyers gained 
 the door of the Colonel's quarters, and Hunter taking Fred's arm, 
 they crossed the barrack-square together. 
 
 " I have a great deal to say to you, Conyers," said he, hurriedly ; 
 "part of it unpleasant — none of it, indeed, very gratifying " 
 
 " I know you are going to leave us, Sir," said Fred, who perceived 
 the more than common emotion of the other's manner. " And for 
 myself, I own I have no longer any desire to remain in the regiment; 
 I might go further, and say, no more zest for the service. It was 
 through your friendship for me I learned to curb many and many 
 promptings to resistance, and when you go " 
 
 " I am very sorry — very, very sorry to leave you all," said Hunter, 
 with a broken voice. " It is not every man that proudly can point to 
 seven-and-twenty years' service in a regiment without one incident to 
 break the hearty cordiality that bound us. "We had no bickerings, no 
 petty jealousies amongst us. If a man joined us who wanted par- 
 tisanship and a set, he soon found it better to exchange. I never ex- 
 pect again to lead the happy life I have had here, and I'd rather have 
 led our bold squadrons in the field than have been a General of Divi- 
 sion." "Who could have believed that he, whose eyes ran over as he 
 spoke these broken words, was, five minutes after, the gay and rattling 
 Colonel his officers always saw him, full of life, spirit, and animation, 
 jocularly alluding to his speedy departure, and gaily speculating on 
 the comparisons that would be formed between himself and his suc- 
 cessor? "I'm leaving him the horses in good condition," said he; 
 " and when Hargrave learns to give the word of command above a 
 whisper, and Eyreton can ride without a backboard, he'll scarcely 
 report you for inefficiency." It is fair to add, that the first-mentioned 
 officer had a voice like a bassoon, and the second was the beau-ideal 
 of dragoon horsemanship. 
 
 It would not have consisted with military etiquette to have asked 
 the Colonel the nature of his promotion, nor as to what new sphere 
 of service he was called. Even the old Major, his contemporary, dared 
 not have come directly to the question ; and while all were eager to 
 hear it, the utmost approach was by an insinuation or an innuendo.- 
 Hunter was known for no quality more remarkably than for his out- 
 spoken frankness, and some surprise was felt that in his returning 
 
 If 
 
178 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 thanks for his health being drank, not a word should escape him on 
 this point ; but the anxiety was not lessened by the last words he 
 spoke. " It may be, it is more than likely, I shall never see the 
 regiment again ; but the sight of a hussar jacket or a scarlet busby 
 will bring you all back to my memory, and you may rely on it that 
 whether around the mess-table or the bivouac fire my heart will be 
 with you." 
 
 Scarcely had the cheer that greeted the words subsided, when a 
 deep voice from the extreme end of the table said, 
 
 " If only a new comer in the regiment, Colonel Hunter, I am too 
 proud of my good fortune not to associate myself with the feelings of 
 my comrades, and, while partaking of their deep regrets, I feel it a 
 duty to contribute, if in my power, by whatever may lighten the grief 
 of our loss. Am I at liberty to do so ? Have I your free permission, 
 I mean ?" 
 
 "I am fairly puzzled by your question, Captain Stapylton. I have 
 not the very vaguest clue to your nteaning, but, of course, you have 
 my permission to mention whatever you deem proper." 
 
 " It is a toast I would propose. Sir." 
 
 " By all means. The thing is not very regular, perhaps, but we are 
 not exactly remarkable for regularity this evening. Kll, gentlemen, 
 for Captain Stapylton's toast !" 
 
 "Pew words will propose it," said Stapylton. "We have just 
 drank Colonel Hunter's health with all the enthusiasm that befits the 
 toast, but in doing so our tribute has been paid to the past ; of the 
 present and of the future we have taken no note whatever, and it is 
 to these I would now recal you. I say, therefore, bumpers to the 
 health, happiness, and success of Major-General Hunter, Political 
 Eesident and Minister at the Court of Agra !" 
 
 " ISTo, no !" cried ^oung Conyers, loudly, " this is a mistake. It is 
 my father — it is Lieutenant-General Conyers — who resides at Agra. 
 Am I not right. Sir!" cried he, turning to the Colonel. 
 
 But Hunter's face, pale as death even to the lips, and the agitation 
 with which he grasped Fred's hand, so overcame the youth, that with 
 a sudden cry he sprang from his seat, and rushed out of the room. 
 Hunter as quickly followed him ; and now all were grouped around 
 Stapylton, eagerly questioning and inquiring what his tidings might 
 mean. 
 
 " The old story, gentlemen — ^the old story, with which we are all 
 more or less familiar in this best of all possible worlds : Greneral 
 Hunter goes out in honour, and General Conyers comes home in — 
 ■well, under a cloud — of course one that he is sure and certain to dispel. 
 
BAHHINGTON. 
 
 179 
 
 I. conclude the Colonel would rather have had his advancement under 
 other circumstances, but in this game of leap-frog, that we call life, 
 we must occasionally jump over our friends as well as our enemies.' 
 
 " How and where did you get the news ?" 
 
 " It came to me from town. I heard it this morning, and of course 
 I imagined that the Colonel had told it to Conyers, whom it so inti- 
 mately concerned. I hope I may not have been indiscreet iu what I 
 meant as a compliment." 
 
 None cared to offer their consolings to one so fully capable of sup- 
 plying the commodity to himself, and the party broke up in twos or 
 threes, moodily seeking their own quarters, and brooding gloomily 
 over what they had just witnessed. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 LEAVING HOME. 
 
 I wiLii ask my reader now to turn for a brief space to the 
 "Fisherman's Home," which is a scene of somewhat unusual bustle. 
 The Barringtons are preparing for a journey, and old Peter's ward- 
 robe has been displayed for inspection along a hedge of sweetbriat 
 in the garden — an arrangement devised by the genius of Darby, who 
 passes up and down, with an expression of admiration on his face, the 
 siacerity of which could not be questioned. A more reflective mind 
 than his might have been carried away, at the sight, to thoughts of 
 the strange passages in the late history of Ireland, so curiously 
 typified in that motley display. There, was the bright green dress- 
 coat of Daly's club, recalling days of political excitement, and all the 
 plottings and cabals of a once famous opposition. There, was in some- 
 what faded splendour it must be owned, a court suit of the Duke 
 of Portland's day, when Irish gentlemen were as gorgeous as the 
 courtiers of Versailles. Here, came a grand colonel's imiform, when 
 Barrington commanded a regiment of Volunteers ; and yonder lay a 
 friar's frock and cowl, relics of those " attic nights" with the Monks 
 of the Screw, and recalling memories of Avonmore and Curran, and 
 Day and Parsons; and with them were mixed hunting-coats, and 
 shooting-jackets, and masonic robes, and " friendly brother" emblems, 
 and long-waisted garments, and swallow-tailed affectations of all 
 shades and tints— reminders of a time when Buck "Whalley was the 
 
 ir2 
 
180 BASEINGTOir. 
 
 eccentric, and Lord Llandaff the beau of Irish society. I am not cer- 
 tain that Monmouth-street would have endorsed Darby's sentiment 
 as he said, " There was clothes there for a king on his throne !" but 
 it was an honestly uttered speech, and came out of the fulness of an 
 admiring heart, and although in truth he was nothing less than an 
 historian, he was forcibly struck by the thought that Ireland must 
 have been a grand country to live in, in those old days, when men 
 went about their ordinary avocations in such splendour as he saw 
 there. 
 
 "Not was Peter Barrington himself an unmoved spectator of these 
 old remnants of the past. Old garments, like old letters, bring 
 oftentimes very forcible memories of -a long ago ; and as he turned 
 over the purple-stained flap of a waistcoat, he bethought him of a 
 night at Daly's, when, in returning thanks for his health, his shaking 
 hand had ;spilled that identical glass of Burgundy ; and in the dun- 
 coloured tinge of a hunting-coat he remembered the day he had 
 plunged into the Nore at Corrig O'Neal, himself and the huntsman, 
 alone of all the field, to follow the dogs ! 
 
 " Take them away. Darby, take them away ; they only set me a 
 thinking about the pleasantcompanions 'of my early life. It was in 
 that suit there I moved the amendment in .'82, when Henry Grattan 
 crossed over and said, ' Barrington will lead us here, as he does in 
 the hunting-field.' Do you see that peach-coloured waistcoat ? It 
 was Lady Caher embroidered every stich of it, with her own hands, 
 for me." 
 
 " Them's elegant black satin breeches," said Darby, whose eyes of 
 covetousness were actually rooted on the object of his desire. 
 
 " I never wore them," said Barrington, with a sigh. " I got them 
 for a duel with Mat Fortescue, but Sir Toby Blake shot him that 
 morning. Poor Mat !" 
 
 " And I suppose you'll never wear them now. You couldn't bear 
 the sight then," said Darby, insinuatingly. 
 
 " Most likely not," said Barrington, as he turned away with a 
 heavy sigh. Darby sighed also, but not precisely in the same spirit. 
 
 Let me passingly remark that the total unsuitability to his con- 
 dition of any object seems rather to enhance its virtue in the eyes of 
 a lower Irishman, and a hat or a coat which he could not, by any 
 possibility, wear in public, might still be to him things to covet and 
 desire. 
 
 " "What is the meaning of all this rag fair ?" cried Miss Barring- 
 ton, as she suddenly came in front of the exposed wardrobe. " Tou 
 
.>ji^ 
 
 ^^yMaj/7:-l'^-^'/{a-^LyM^^^^^^^^ 
 
BAEETNGTOir. 181 
 
 are not surely making any selections from these tawdry absurdities, 
 brother, for your journey ?" 
 
 " Well, indeed," said Barrington, with a droU twinkle of his eye, 
 " it was a point that Darby and I were discussing as you came up. 
 Darby opines that to make a suitable impression upon the Continent, 
 I must not despise the assistance of dress, and he inclines much toi 
 that Corbeau coat with the cherry-coloured lining." 
 
 " If Darby's an ass, brother, I don't imagine it is a good reason to 
 consult him," said she, angrily. " Pjit all that trash where you found 
 it. Lay out your master's black clothes and the grey shooting-coat, 
 see that his strong boots are in good repair, and get a serviceable lock 
 on that valise." 
 
 It was little short of magic the spell of these few and distinctly- 
 uttered words seemed to work on Darby, who at once descended from 
 a realm of speculation and scheming to the common-place world of 
 duty and obedience. 
 
 " I really wonder how you let yourself be imposed on, brother, by 
 the assumed simplicity of that shrewd fellow." 
 
 " I like it, Dinah. I positively like it," said he, with a smile. " I 
 watch him playing his game with a pleasure almost as great as his 
 own, and as I know that the stakes are small, I'm never vexed at his 
 winning." 
 
 " But you seem to forget the encouragement this impunity sug- 
 gests." 
 
 " Perhaps it does, Dinah ; and very likely his little rogueries are 
 as much triumphs to him as are all the great political intrigues the 
 glories of some grand statesman." 
 
 "Which means that you rather like to be cheated," said she, 
 scoffingly. 
 
 " When the loss is a mere trifle, I don't always think it ill laid 
 out." 
 
 " And I," said she, resolutely, " so far from participating in your 
 sentiment, feel it to be an insult and an outrage. There is a sense of 
 inferiority attached to the position of a dupe that would drive me to 
 any reprisals." 
 
 " I always said it ; I always said it," cried he, laughing. " The 
 women of our family monopolised all the combativeness." 
 
 Miss Harrington's eyes sparkled, and her cheek glowed, and she 
 looked like one stung to the point of a very angry rejoinder, when by 
 an effort she controlled her passion, and taking a letter from her 
 pocket, she opened it, and said, " This is from Withering. He has 
 
182 SABEINGTOir. 
 
 managed to obtain all tiie information we need for our journey. We 
 are to sail for Ostend by the regular packet, two of which go every 
 week from Dover. Prom thence there are stages, or canal boats, to 
 Bruges and Brussels, cheap and commodious, he eays. He gives us 
 the names of two hotels, one of which— ^the " Lamb," at Brussels — 
 he recommends highly ; and the Pension of a certain Madame 
 Ochteroogen, at Namur, will, he opines, suit us better than an inn. 
 In fact, this letter is a little road book, with the expenses marked 
 down, and we can quietly count the cost of our venture before we 
 make it." 
 
 " I'd rather not, Dinah. The very thought of a limit is torture to 
 me. Give me bread aild water every day, if you like, but don't rob 
 me of the notion that some fine day I'm to be regaled with beef and 
 pudding." 
 
 " I don't wonder that we have come to beggary," said she, pas- 
 sionately. " I don't know what fortune and what wealth could com- 
 pensate for a temperament like yours." 
 
 " Tou may be right, Dinah. It may go far to make a man squander 
 "his substance, but take my word for it, it will help him to bear up 
 under the loss." 
 
 If Barrington could have seen the gleam of affection that filled his 
 sister's eyes, he would have felt what love her heart bore him, but 
 he had stooped down to take a caterpillar off a flower, and did not 
 mark it. 
 
 " Withering has seen young Conyers," she continued, as her eyes 
 ran over the letter. " He called upon him." Barrington made no 
 rejoinder, though she waited for one. " The poor lad was in great 
 affliction ; some distressing news from India — of what kind Wither- 
 ing could not guess — had just reached him, and he appeared over- 
 whelmed by it." 
 
 " He is very young for sorrow," said Barrington, feelingly. 
 
 " Just what Withering said." And she read out, " ' When I told 
 him that I had come to make an amende for the reception he had met 
 with at the cottage, he stopped me at once, and said, " Great griefs 
 are the cure of small ones, and you find me under a very heavy afflic- 
 tion. Tell Miss Barrington that I have no other memories of the 
 ' Ksherman's Home' than of all her kindness towards me." ' " 
 
 "Poor boy!" said Barrington, with emotion. "And how did 
 Withering leave him ?" 
 
 " Still sad and suffering. Struggling, too. Withering thought, 
 between a proud attempt to conceal liis grief, and an ardent impulse 
 to tell all about it. ' Had you been there,' he writes, ' you'd have had 
 
BAEEISGTOK. 183 
 
 the -whole story, but I saw that he couldn't stoop to open his heart to 
 a man.' " 
 
 " Write to him, Dinah. "Write and ask him down here for a couple 
 of days." 
 
 " Tou forget that we are to leave this tlie day after to-morrovr, 
 brother." 
 
 "So I did. I forgot it completely. Well, what if he were to 
 come for one day ? What if you were to say, ' Come over and wish us 
 good-by?'" 
 
 "It is so like a man and a man's selfishness never to consider 
 a domestic difficulty," said she, tartly. " So long as a house has a 
 roof over it, you fancy it may be available for hospitalities. You never 
 take into account the carpets that are taken up and the beds that are 
 taken down, the plate-cheat that is packed, and the cellar that is 
 walled up. Tou forget, in a word, that to make that life you find 
 so very easy, some one else must pass an existence full of cares and 
 duties." 
 
 " There's not a doubt of it, Dinah. There's truth and reason in 
 everj"- word you've said." 
 
 " I will write to him if you like, and say that we mean to be at 
 home here by an early day in October, and that if he is disposed to 
 see how our woods look in autumn, we will be well pleased to have 
 him for our guest." ^ 
 
 "Nothing could be better. Do so, Dinah. I owe the young 
 fellow a reparation, and I shall not have an easy conscience tiU I 
 make it." 
 
 " Ah, brother Peter, if your moneyed debts had only given you 
 one-half the torment of your moral ones, what a rich man you might 
 have been to-day !" 
 
 Long after his sister had gone away and left him, Peter Barring- 
 ton continued to muse over this speech. He felt it, felt it keenly too, 
 but in no bitterness of spirit. 
 
 Like most men of a lax and easy temper, he could mete out to him- 
 self the same merciful measure he accorded to others, and be as for- 
 giving to his own faults as to theirs. " I suppose Dinah is right, 
 though," said he to himself. " I never did know that sensitive irri- 
 tability under debt which ensures solvency. And whenever a man 
 can laugh at a dun, he is pretty sure to be on the high road to bank- 
 ruptcy ! Well, well, it js somewhat late to try and reform, but I'll 
 do my best !" And, thus comforted, he set about tying up fallen rose- 
 trees and removing noxious insects with all his usual zeal. 
 
 " I half wish the place did not look in such beauty, just as I must 
 
184 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 leave it for. a while. I don't think that japonica ever had as many 
 flowers before ; and what a season for tulips ! Not to speak of the 
 fruit. There are peaches enough to stock a market. I wonder what 
 Dinah means to do with them ? She'll be sorely grieved to make 
 them over as perquisites to Darby, and I know she'll never consent 
 to having them sold. No, that is the one concession she cannot stoop 
 to. Oh, here she comes ! "What a grand year for the wall fruit, 
 Dinah !" cried he, aloud. 
 
 " The apricots have all failed, and fully one-half of the peaches are 
 wormeaten," said she, dryly. 
 
 Peter sighed, as he thought, how she does dispel an allusion, what 
 a terrible realist is this same sister ! " Still, my dear Dinah, one-half 
 of such a crop is a goodly yield." 
 
 '.' Out with it, Peter Barrington. Out with the question that is 
 burning for utterance. "What's to be done with them ? I have thought 
 of that already. I have told Polly Dill to preserve a quantity for 
 us, and to take as much more as she pleases for her own use, and 
 make presents to her friends of the remainder. She is to be mistress 
 here while we are away, and has promised to come up two or three 
 times a week, and see after everything, for I neither desire to have the 
 flower-roots sold, nor the pigeons eaten before our return." 
 
 " That is an admirable arrangement, sister. I don't know a better 
 girl than Polly !" 
 
 " She is better than I gave her credit for," said Miss Barrington, 
 who was not fully pleased at any praise not bestowed by herself. 
 A man's estimate of a young woman's goodness is not so certain of 
 finding acceptance, from her own sex ! " And as for that girl, the 
 wonder is that with a fool for a mother, and a crafty old knave for a 
 father, she really should possess one good trait or one amiable 
 ■ quality." Barrington muttered what sounded like concurrence, and 
 she went on : " And it is for this reason I have taken an interest in 
 her, and hope, by occupying] her mind with useful cares and filling 
 her hours with commendable duties, she will estrange herself from 
 that going about to fine houses, and frequenting society where she is 
 exposed to innumerable humiliations, and worse." 
 " "Worse, Dinah ! — what could be worse ?" 
 
 "Temptations are worse, Peter Barrington, even when not yielded 
 to ;. for, like a noxious climate, which, though it fails to kill, it is cer- 
 tain to injure the constitution during a lifetime. Take my word for 
 it, she'll not be the better wife to the Curate for the memory of all 
 the fine speeches she once heard from the Captain. Very old and 
 ascetic notions I am quite aware, Peter ; but please to bear in mind 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 185 
 
 all the trouble we take that the roots of a favourite tree should not 
 strike into a sour soil, and bethink you how very indifferent we are 
 as to the daily associates of our children !" 
 
 "There you are right, Dinah — there you are right — at least as 
 regards girls." 
 
 "And the rule applies fully as much to boys. All those manly 
 accomplishments and out-of-door habits you lay such store by, could 
 be acquired without the intimacy of the groom or the friendship 
 of the gamekeeper. What are you muttering there about old maid's 
 children ? Say it out, Sir, and defend it, if you have the courage !" 
 
 But either that he had not said it, or failed in the requisite bold- 
 ness to maintain it, he blundered out a very confused assurance of 
 agreement on every point, 
 
 A woman is seldom merciful in argument ; the consciousness that 
 she owes victory to her violence far more than to her logic, prompts 
 persistence in the course she has followed so successfully, and so was 
 it that Miss Dinah contrived to gallop over the battle-field long after 
 the enemy was routed ! But Barrington was not in a mood to be 
 vexed ; the thought of the journey filled liim with so many pleasant 
 anticipations, the brightest of all being the sight of poor George's 
 child ! Not that this thought had not its dark side, in contrition for 
 the long, long years he had left her unnoticed and neglected. Of 
 course, he had his own excuses and apologies for all this ; he could 
 refer to his overwhelming embarrassments, and the heavy cares that 
 surrounded him ; but then she — that poor friendless girl, that orphan 
 — could have known nothing of these things, and what opinion might 
 she not have formed of those relatives who had so coldly and heart- 
 lessly abandoned her ! Barrington took down the miniature painted 
 when she was a mere infant, and scanned it well, as though to divine 
 what nature might possess her ! There was little for speculation 
 there — perhaps even less for hope ! The eyes were large and lustrous, 
 it is true, but the brow was heavy, and the mouth, even in infancy, 
 had something that seemed like firmness and decision — strangely at 
 variance with the lips of childhood. 
 
 Now, old Barrington's heart was deeply set on that lawsuit — that 
 great cause against the Indian Grovemment — that had formed the 
 grand campaign of his life. It was his first waking thought of a 
 morning, his last at night. All his faculties were engaged in revolv- 
 ing the various points of evidence, and imagining how this and that 
 missing link might be supplied ; and yet, with all these objects of 
 desire before him, he would have given them up, each and all, to be 
 sure of one thing — that his granddaughter might be handsome ! It 
 
186 BAEEIITGTOK. 
 
 ■was not that he did not value far above the graces of person a number 
 of other gifts ; he would not, for an instant, have hesitated, had he 
 to choose between mere beauty and a good disposition. If he linew 
 anything of himself, it was his thorough appreciation of a kindly 
 nature — a temper to bear well — and a spirit to soar nobly ; but, some- 
 how, he imagined these were gifts she was likely enough to possess. 
 Cteorge's child would resemble him : she would have his light-hearted- 
 ness and his happy nature, but would she be handsome ? It is, trust 
 me, no superficial view of life that attaches a great price to personal 
 attractions, and Barrington was one to give these their full value. 
 Had she been brought up from childhood under his roof, he had pro- 
 bably long since ceased to think of such a point ; he would have 
 attached himself to her by the ties of that daily domesticity which 
 grow into a nature. The hundred little cares and offices that would 
 have fallen to her lot to meet, would have served as links to bind their 
 hearts, but she was coming to them a perfect stranger, and he wished 
 .ardently that his first impression should be all in her favour. 
 
 Now, while such were Barrington's reveries, his sister took a diffe- 
 rent turn. She had already pictured to herself the dark-orbed, heavy- 
 browed child, expanded into a sallow-complexioned, heavy-featured 
 girl, ungainly and ungraceful, her figure neglected, her very feet 
 spoiled by the uncouth shoes of the convent, her great red hands un- 
 trained to all occupation save the coarse cares of that half-menial 
 existence. " As my brother would say," muttered she, " a most un- 
 promising filly, if it were not for the breeding." 
 
 Both brother and sister, however, kept their impressions to them- 
 selves, and of all the subjects discussed between them not one word 
 betrayed what each forecasted about Josephine. I am half sorry it 
 is no part of my task to follow them on their road, and yet I feel I 
 could not impart to my reader the almost boy-like enjoyment old 
 Peter felt at eyery stage of the journey. He had made the grand 
 tour of Europe more than half a century before, and he was in 
 ecstasy to find so much that was unchanged around him. There 
 were the long-eared caps, and the monstrous earrings, and the 
 sabots, and the heavUy-tasseled team-horses, and the chiming church 
 bells, and the old-world equipages, and the strangely undersized 
 soldiers — all just as he saw them last ! And every one was so polite 
 and ceremonious, and so idle and so unoccupied, and the theatres 
 were so large and the newspapers so small, and the current coin so 
 defaced, and the order of the meats at dinner so inscrutable, and 
 every one seeming contented just because he had nothing to do. 
 
 "Isn't it all that I have told you, Dinah dear? Don't you per- 
 
BAEEIN&TOir. 18Y 
 
 ceive how accurate my picture has been ? And is it not very charm- 
 ing and enjoyable ?" 
 
 " They are the greatest cheats I ever met in my life, brother 
 Peter ; and when I think that every grin that greets us is a matter 
 of five francs, it mars considerably the pleasure I derive from the 
 hilarity." 
 
 It was in this spirit they journeyed till they arrived at Brussels. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXin. 
 
 THE colonel's COUNSELS. 
 
 "WnBif Conyers had learned from Colonel Hunter all that he knew 
 of his father's involvment, it went no further than this, that the 
 Lieutenant- General had eitlier resigned or been deprived of his civil 
 appointments, and Hunter was called upon to replace him. "With all 
 his habit of hasty and impetuous action, there was no injustice in 
 Fred's nature, and he frankly recognised that, however painful to him 
 personally, Hunter could not refuse to accede to what the Prince had 
 distinctly pressed him to accept. 
 
 Young Conyers had heard over and over again the astoniBhment 
 expressed by old Indian officials how his father's treatment of the 
 Company's .orders had been so long endured. Some prescriptive 
 immunity seemed to attach to him, or some great patronage to protect 
 him, for he appeared to do exactly as he pleased, and the despotic 
 sway of his rule was known far and near. With the changes in the 
 constitution of the Board, some members might have succeeded less 
 disposed to recognise the General's former services, or endure so 
 tolerantly his present encroachments, and Fred well could estimate 
 the resistance his father would oppose to the very mildest remon- 
 strance, and how indignantly he would reject whatever came in the 
 shape of a command. Great as was the blow to the young man, it 
 was not heavier in anything than the doubt and uncertainty about it, 
 and he waited with a restless impatience for his father's letter, 
 which should explain it all. Nor was his position less painful from 
 the estrangement in which he lived, and the little intercourse he main- 
 tained with his brother-officers. When Hunter left, he knew that he 
 'had not one he could call friend amongst them, and Hunter was to 
 
188 BABEINGTON. 
 
 go in a very few days, and of even these he could scarcely spare him 
 more than a few chance moments ! 
 
 It was in one of these flitting visits that Hunter bethought him of 
 young Dill, of whom, it is only truth to confess, young Conyers had 
 forgotten everything. " I took time by the forelock, Fred, about that 
 affair," said he, " and I trust I have freed you from all embarrassment 
 about it." 
 
 " As how. Sir ?" asked Conyers, half in pique. 
 
 " When I missed you at the ' Pisherman's Home,' I set off to pay 
 the Doctor a visit, and a very charming visit it turned out ; a better 
 pigeon-pie I never ate, nor a prettier girl than the maker of it would 
 I ask to meet with. "We became great friends, talked of everything, 
 from love at first sight to bone spavins, and found that we agreed to 
 a miracle. I don't think I ever saw a girl before, who suited me so 
 perfectly in all her notions. She gave me a hint about what they call 
 ' mouth-lameness' our Vet would give his eye for. "Well, to come back 
 to her brother — a dull dog, I take it, though I have not seen him — I 
 said, ' Don't let him go to India, they've lots of clever fellows out 
 there ; pack him off to Australia ; send him to New Zealand.' And 
 when she interrupted me, ' But young Mr. Conyers insisted — he would 
 have it so ; his father is to make Tom's fortune, and to send him 
 back as rich as a Begum,' I said, ' He has fallen in love with you. Miss 
 Polly, that's the fact, and lost his head altogether ; and I don't wonder 
 at it, for here am I, close upon forty-eight — I might have said forty- 
 nine, but no matter — close upon forty-eight, and I'm in the same 
 book !' Tes, if it was the sister, vice the brother, who wanted to 
 make a fortune in India, I almost think I could say, ' Come and 
 share mine !' " 
 
 " But I don't exactly understand. Am I to believe that they wish 
 Tom to be off — to refuse my offer — and that the rejection comes from 
 them ?" 
 
 " No, not exactly. I said it was a bad spec, that you had taken a 
 far too sanguine view of the whole thing, and that as I was an 
 old soldier, and knew more of the world — that is to say, had met a 
 great many more hard rubs and disappointments — my advice was, not 
 to risk it. ' Young Conyers,' said I, ' will do all that he has promised 
 to the letter. Ton may rely upon every word that he has ever uttered. 
 But bear in mind that he's only a mortal man ; he's not one of those 
 heathen gods who used to make fellows invincible in a battle, or 
 smuggle them off in a cloud, out of the way of demons, or duns, or 
 whatever difSculties beset them. He might die, his father might die, 
 any of us might die.' Tes, by Jove ! there's nothing so uncertain as 
 
BAEEINGTON. 189 
 
 life, except the Horse Guards. ' And putting one thing with another, 
 Miss PoUy,' said I, ' tell him to stay where he is' — open a shop at 
 home, or go to one of the colonies — Heligoland, for instance, a 
 charming spot for the hathing season." 
 
 "And she, what did she say ?" 
 
 " May 1 be cashiered if I remember ! I never do remember very 
 clearly what any one says. "Where I am much interested on my own 
 side, I have no time for the other fellow's arguments. But I know if 
 she wasn't convinced she ought to have been. I put the thing beyond 
 a question, and I made her cry," 
 
 " Made her cry !" 
 
 " Not cry — that is, she did not blubber ; but she looked glassy 
 • about the lids, and turned away her' head. But to be sure we were 
 parting — a rather soft bit of parting, too — and I said something about 
 my conning back with a wooden leg, and she said, ' No ! have it of cork, 
 they make them so cleverly now.' And I was going to say something 
 more, when a confounded old half-pay Major came up and interrupted 
 us, and — and, in fact, there it rests." 
 
 " I'm not at all easy in mind as to this aifair. I mean, I don't like 
 how I stand in it." 
 
 " But you stand out of it — out of it altogether ! Can't you ima- 
 gine that your father may have quite enough cares of his own to 
 occupy him without needing the embarrassment of looking after this 
 bumpkin, who, for aught you know, might repay very badly all the 
 interest taken in him ? If it had been the girl — ^if it had been 
 Polly " 
 
 " I own frankly," said Conyers, tartly, " it did not occur to me to 
 make such an oifer to her!" 
 
 " Paith ! then, Master IVed, I was deuced near doing it — so near, 
 that when I came away I scarcely knew whether I had or had not 
 done so." 
 
 " "Well, Sir, there is only an hour's drive on a good road required 
 to repair the omission." 
 
 " That's true, Fred — that's true ; but have you never, by an acci- 
 dent, chanced to come up with a stunning fence — a regular rasper — 
 that you took in a fly a few days before with the dogs, and as you 
 looked at the place, have you not said, ' "What on earth persuaded me 
 to ride at that ?' " 
 
 " Which means, Sir, that your cold-blooded reflections are against 
 the project ?" 
 
 " Not exactly that, either," said he, in a sort of confusion ; "but 
 when a man speculates on doing something for which the first step 
 
190 BABEIN&TOK. 
 
 must be an explanation to this fellow, a balf-apology to that — ^with a 
 •whimpering kind of entreaty not to be judged hastily — not to be con- 
 demned nnheard — not to be set down as an old fool who couldn't 
 stand the fire of a pair of bright eyes,— I say, when it comes to this, 
 he ought to feel that his best safeguard is his own misgiving '." 
 
 " If I do not agree with you, Sir, it is because I incline to follow 
 my own lead, and care very little for what the world says of it." 
 
 " Don't believe a word of that, Pred ; it's all brag — all nonsense ! 
 The very effrontery with which you fancy you are braving public 
 opinion is only Dutch courage. "What each of us in his heart thinks 
 of himself is only the reflex of the world's estimate of him — at least, 
 what he imagines it to be. Now, for my own part, I'd rather ride up 
 to a battery in full fire than I'd sit down and write to my old aunt 
 Dorothy Hunter a formal letter announcing my approaching mar- 
 riage, telling her that the lady of my choice was twenty or there- 
 abouts, not to add that her family name was Dill! Believe me, 
 Ered, that if you want the concentrated essence of public opinion, 
 . you have only to do something which shall irritate and astonish the 
 half-do2^en people with whom you live in intimacy. "Won't they 
 remind you about the mortgages on your lands and the grey in your 
 whiskers, that last loan you raised from Solomon Hymans, and that 
 front tooth you got replaced by Cartwright, though it was the week 
 before they told you you were a miracle of order and good manage- 
 ment, and actually looking younger than you did five years ago ! 
 Tou're not minding me, Fred — not following me ; you're thinking 
 of your protege, Tom Dill, and what he'll think and say of your 
 desertion of him." 
 
 " Tou have hit it. Sir. It was exactly what I was asking myself." 
 " "Well, if nothing better offers^ tell him to get himself in readiness, 
 and come out with me. I cannot make him a Eajah nor even a 
 Zemindar, but I'll stick him into a regimental surgeoncy, add leave 
 him to fashion out his own future. He must look sharp, however, and 
 lose no time. The Ganges is getting ready in all haste, and wUl be 
 round at Portsmouth by the 8th, and we expect to sail on the 12th 
 or 13th at furthest." 
 
 " I'll write to him to-day. I'll write this moment." 
 " Add a word of remembrance on my part to the sister, and teU 
 bumpkin to supply himself with no end of letters, recommendatory 
 and laudatory, to muzzle our Medical Board at Calcutta, and lots of 
 light clothing, and all the torturing instruments he'll need, and a 
 large stock of good humour, for he'll be chaffed unmercifully aU the 
 voyage." And, with these comprehensive directions, the Colonel 
 
BAMKIiraTON. 191 
 
 concluded his counsels, and bustled away to look after his own per- 
 sonal interests. 
 
 Fred Conyers was not over-pleased with the task assigned him. 
 The part he liked to fill in life, and, indeed, that which he had usually 
 performed, was the Benefactor and the Patron, and it was but an un- 
 gracious office for him to have cut the wings and disfigure the 
 plumage of his generosity. He made two, three, four attempts at 
 conveying his intentions, but with none was he satisfied ; so he 
 ended by simply saying, " I have something of importance to tell 
 you, and which, not being altogether pleasant, it will be better to say 
 than to write ; so I have to beg you will come up here at once, and 
 see me." Scarcely was this letter sealed and addressed than he be- 
 thought him of the awkwardness of presenting Tom to his brother-ofS- 
 cers, or the still greater indecorum of not presenting him. " How shall 
 I ask him to the mess, with the certainty of all the impertinences he 
 will be exposed to ? — and what pretext have I for not offering him 
 the ordinary attention shown to every stranger ?" He was, in fact, 
 wincing under that public opinion he had only a few moments before 
 declared he could afford to despise. " No," said he, " I have no right 
 to expose poor Tom to this. I'll drive over myself to the village, 
 and if any advice or counsel be needed, he will be amongst those who 
 can aid him." 
 
 He ordered his servant to harness his handsome roan, a thorough- 
 bred of surpassing style and action, to the dog-cart — not over-sorry 
 to astonish his friend Tom by the splendour of a turn-out that had 
 won the suffrages of Tattersall's — and prepared for his mission to 
 Inistioge. 
 
 "Was it with the same intention of " astonishing" Tom Dill that 
 Conyers bestowed such unusual attention upon his dress ? At his 
 first visit to the " Fisherman's Home" he had worn the homely 
 shooting-jacket and felt hat, which, however comfortable and conven- 
 tional, do not always redound to the advantage of the wearer, or, if 
 they do, it is by something, perhaps, in the contrast presented to 
 his ordinary appearance, and the impression ingeniously insinuated 
 that he is one so unmistakably a gentleman, no travesty of costume 
 can efface the stamp. 
 
 It was in this garb Polly had seen him, and if Polly Dill had been 
 a Duchess it was in some such garb she would have been accustomed 
 to see her brother or her cousin some six out of every seven mornings 
 of the week ; but Polly was not a Duchess ; she was the daughter of 
 a village doctor, and might, not impossibly, have acquired a very 
 erroneous estimate of his real pretensions from having beheld him 
 
192 BAEEINGTOlf. 
 
 thus attired. It was therefore entirely by a consideration for her 
 ignorance of the world and its ways that he determined to enlighten 
 her. 
 
 At the time of which I am writing, the dress of the British army- 
 was a favourite study with that Prince whose taste, however ques- 
 tionable, never exposed him to censure on grounds of over-simplicity 
 and plainness. As the Colonel of the regiment Conyers belonged 
 to, he had bestowed upon his own especial corps an unusual degree 
 of splendour in equipment, and amongst other extravagances had 
 given them an almost boundless liberty of combining different details 
 of dress. Availing himself of this privilege, our young Lieutenant 
 invented a costume which, however unmilitary and irregular, was 
 not deficient in becomingness. Under „ a plain blue jacket very 
 sparingly braided he wore the rich scarlet waistcoat, all slashed with 
 gold, they had introduced at their mess. A simple foraging-cap and 
 overalls, seamed with a thin gold line, made up a dress that might 
 have passed for the easy costume of the barrack-yard, while in 
 reality it was eminently suited to set off the wearer. 
 
 Ajn I to confess that he looked at himself in the' glass with very 
 considerable satisfaction, and muttered, as he turned away, " Yes, 
 Miss Polly, this is in better style than that Quakerish drab livery 
 you saw me last in, and I have little doubt that you'll think so ! " 
 
 " Is this our best harness, Holt" ? 
 
 " Tes, Sir." 
 
 "All right!" 
 
BAEEIirGTOir. 193 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 CONYEBS HAKES A HOBNING CALL. 
 
 "When Conyers, to the astonishment and •wonder of an admiring 
 village public, drove his seventeen-hand-high roan into the market 
 square of Inistioge, he learned that all of the Doctor's famUjf-were 
 from home except Mrs. Dill. Indeed, he saw the respectable lady 
 at a window with a hook in her hand, from which not all the noise 
 and clatter of his arrival for one moment diverted her. Though not 
 especially anxious to attract her attention, he was half piqued at her 
 show of indifference. A dog-cart by Adams, and a thorough-bred 
 like Boanerges, were, after all, worth a glance at. Little did he 
 know what a competitor he had in. that much-thumbed old volume, 
 whose quaintly-told miseries were to her as her own sorrows. Could 
 he have assembled underneath that window all the glories of a Derby 
 Day, Mr. Eichardson's " Clarissa" would have beaten the field. While 
 he occupied himself in dexterously tapping the flies from his horse 
 with the fine extremity of his whip, and thus necessitating that 
 amount of impatience which made the spirited animal stamp and 
 champ his bit, the old lady read on undisturbed. 
 
 " Ask at what hour the Doctor will be at home. Holt," cried he, 
 peevishly. 
 
 " Not till to-morrow, Sir ; he has gone to Castle Durrow." 
 
 " And Miss Dill, is she not in the house ?" 
 
 " No, Sir ; she has gone down to the ' fisherman's Home' to look 
 after the garden — the family have left that place this morning." 
 
 After a few minutes' reflection, Conyers ordered his servant to put 
 up the horse at the inn, and wait for him there ; and then engaging a 
 " cot," he set out for the " fisherman's Home." " After having come 
 so far it would be absurd to go back without doing something in thfs 
 business," thought he. " Polly, besides, is the brains carrier of these 
 people. The matter would be referred to her, and why should I not 
 go at once, and directly address her myself? "With her womanly 
 tact, too, she will see that for any reserve in my manner there must 
 be a corresponding reason, and she'll not press me with awkward 
 questions or painful inquiries, as the underbred brother might do. It 
 
 o 
 
194 BAEBINflTOJr. 
 
 will be enough when I intimate to her that my plan is not so prac- 
 ticable as when I first projected it." He reassured himself with a 
 variety of reasonings of this stamp, which had the double effect of 
 convincing his own mind and elevating Miss Polly in his estimation. 
 There is a very subtle self-flattery in believing that the true order of 
 person to deal with us — to understand and appreciate us — is one 
 possessed of considerable ability united with the very finest sen- 
 sibility. Thus dreaming and " mooning" he reached the " Fisher- 
 man's Home." The air of desertion struck him even as he landed : 
 and is there not some secret magic in the vicinity of life, of living 
 people, which gives the Soul to the dwelling-place ? Have we to more 
 than cross the threshold of the forsaken house to feel its desertion ! — 
 to know that our echoing step will track us along stair and corridor, 
 arid that through the thin streaks of light between the shutters 
 phantoms of the absent will flit or hover, while the dimly-descried 
 objects of the room will bring memories of bright mornings and of 
 happy eves ? It is strange to measure the sadness of thisefiect upon 
 us when caused even by the aspect of houses which we frequented 
 not as friends but mere visitors ; just as the sight of death thrills us, 
 even though we had not loved the departed in his lifetime. But so it 
 is : there is unutterable bitterness attached to the past, and there is 
 no such sorrow as over the bygone ! 
 
 All about the little cottage was silent and desolate ; even the shrill 
 peacock, so wont to announce the coming stranger with his cry, sat 
 voiceless and brooding on a branch ; and except the dull flow of the 
 river not a sound was heard. After tapping lightly at the door 
 and peering through the partially-closed shutters, Conyers turned 
 towards the garden at the back, passing as he went his favourite -seat 
 under the great sycamore-tree. It was not a widely separated "long 
 ago" since he had sat there, and yet how different had life become to 
 him in the interval ! With what a protective air he had talked to 
 poor Tom on that spot — how princely were the promises of his 
 patronage, yet not exaggerated beyond his conscious power of per- 
 formance ! He hurried on, and came to the little wicket of th 
 garden; it was open, and he passed in. A spade in some fresh- 
 turned earth showed where some one had recently been at work, but 
 still, as he went, he could find none. Alley after alley did he traverse, 
 but to no purpose ; and at last, in his ramblings, he came to a little 
 copse which separated the main garden from a small flower-plat^ 
 known as Miss Dinah's, and on which the windows of her own little 
 sitting-room opened. He had but seen this spot from the windows, 
 and never entered it-; indeed, it was a sort of sacred enclosure, within 
 
BAEEINOTOJr. 105 
 
 wliich the profane step of man was not often ■permitted to intrude. 
 Nor was Conyers without a sting of self-reproach as he now passed 
 in. He had not gone many steps when the reason of the seclusion 
 seemed revealed to him. It was a small obelisk of white marble 
 under a large willow- tree, bearing for inscription on its side, " To the 
 Memory of Gleorge Barrington, the True-hearted, the Truthful, and 
 the Brave, killed on the 19th February, 18 — , at Agra, in the East 
 Indies." 
 
 How strange that he should be standing there beside the tomb of 
 his father's dearest friend, his more than brother ! That George who 
 shared his joys and perils, the comrade of his heart ! No two men 
 had ever lived in closer bonds of affection, and yet somehow of all 
 that love he had never heard his father speak, nor of the terrible 
 fate that befel his friend had one syllable escaped him. " Who 
 knows if friendships ever survive early manhood ?" 'said Pred, bit- 
 terly, as he sat himgplf down at the base of the monument ; " and 
 yet might not this same Greorge Barrington, had he lived, been of 
 priceless value to my father now ? Is it not some such manly affec- 
 tion, such generous devotion as his, that he may stand in need of ?" 
 Thus thinking, his imagination led him over the wide sea to that far 
 distant land of his childhood, and scenes of vast arid plains and far- 
 away mountains, and wild ghauts, and barren-looking nuUahs, inter- 
 sected with yellow, sluggish streams, on whose muddy shores the 
 alligator basked, rose before him, contrasted with the gorgeous splen-" 
 dours of retinue and the glittering host of gQld-adorne|l followers. 
 It was in a vision of grand but dreary despotism, power abnoat 
 limitless, but without one ray of enjoyment, that he lost himself and 
 let the hours glide by. At length, as though dreamily, he thought 
 he was listening to some faint but delicious music ; sounds seemed 
 to come floating towards him through the leaves, as if meant to steep 
 him in a continued languor, and imparted a strange half fear that he 
 was under a spell. With an effort he aroused himself and sprang to 
 his legs, and now he could plainly perceive that the sounds came 
 through an open window, where a low but exquisitely sweet voice 
 was singing to the accompaniment of a piano. The melody was sad 
 and plaintive, the very words came dropping slowly, like the drops of 
 a distilled grief, and they sank into his heart with a feeling of actual 
 poignaJicy, for they were as though steeped in sorrow. When of a 
 sudden the singer ceased, the hands ran boldly, almost wildly, over 
 the keys ; one, two, three great massive chords were struck, and 
 then, in a strain joyous as the skylark, the clear voice carolled forth 
 witL'^ 
 
 o2 
 
19G BABEINGTON. 
 
 " But why ehonld we mourn for the grief of the morrow? 
 Who knows in what frame it may find us? 
 Meeker, perhaps, to hend under our sorrow, 
 Or more holdly to fling it behind us." 
 
 And then, with a loud bang, the piano was closed, and Polly Dill, 
 swinging her garden-hat by its ribbon, bounded forth into the walk, 
 calling for her terrier, Scratch, to follow. 
 
 " Mr. Conyers here !" cried she, in astonishment. " What miracle 
 could have led you to this spot ?" 
 
 " To meet you." 
 
 " To meet pie !" 
 
 " With no other object. I came from Kilkenny this morning ex- 
 pressly to see you, and learning at your house that you had come on 
 here, I followed. Tou still look astonished — incredulous——" 
 
 " Oh no ; not incredulous, but very much astonished. I am, it is 
 true, sufficiently accustomed to find myself in request in my own 
 narrow home circle, but that any one out of it should come three 
 yards — not to say three miles — to speak to me, is, I own, very new 
 and very strange." 
 
 " Is not this profession of humility a little — a very little — bit of 
 exaggeration. Miss DUl ?" 
 
 " Is not the remark you have made on it a little — a very little — bit 
 of a liberty, Mr. Conyers ?" 
 
 So little was he prepared for this retort that he flushed up to his 
 forehead, and for an instant was unable to recover himself ; mean- 
 while, she was busy in rescuing Scratch from a long bramble that had 
 most uncomfortably associated itself with his tail, in gratitude for 
 which service the beast jumped up on her with aU. the uncouth 
 activity of his race. 
 
 " He, at least. Miss Dill, can take liberties unrebuked," said 
 Conyers, with irritation. 
 
 " We are very old friends. Sir, and understand each other's hu- 
 mours, not to say that Scratch knows well he'd be tied up if he were 
 to transgress." 
 
 Conyers smiled ; an almost irresistible desire to utter a smartness 
 crossed his mind, and he found it all but impossible to resist saying 
 something about accepting the bonds if he could but accomplish the 
 transgression ; but he bethought in time how unequal the war of 
 banter would be between them, and it was with a quiet gravity he 
 began : " I came to speak to you about Tom " 
 
 " Why, is that not all off? Colonel Hunter represented the matter 
 so forcibly to my father, put all the difficulties so clearly before him. 
 
BAEEIIfGTOK. 19! 
 
 that I actually wrote to my brotber, wbo bad started for Dublin, 
 begging him on no account to hasten the day of his examination, 
 but to come home and devote himself carefully to the task of prepa- 
 ration." 
 
 " It is true, the Colonel never regarded the project as I did, and 
 saw obstacles to its success which never occurred to me; with all 
 that, however, he never convinced me I was wrong." 
 
 " Perhaps not always an easy thing to do," said she, dryly. 
 " Indeed ! Tou seem to have formed a strong opinion on the score 
 of my firmness." 
 
 "I was expecting you to say obstinacy," said she, laughing", " and 
 was half prepared with a most abject retractation. At all events, I was 
 aware that you did not give way." 
 " And is the quality such a bad one ?" 
 
 " Just as a wind may be said to be a good or a bad one ; due west, 
 for instance, would be very unfavourable if you were bound to New 
 York." 
 
 It was the second time he had angled for a compliment, and failed, 
 and he walked along at her side, fretful and discontented. " I begin to 
 suspect," said he, at last, " that the Colonel was far more eager to 
 make himself agreeable here than to give fair play to my reasons." 
 
 " He was delightful, if you mean tliat ; he possesses the inestimable 
 boon of good spirits, which is the next thing to a good heart." 
 " Tou don't like depressed people, then ? " 
 
 " I won't say I dislike, but I dread them. The dear friends who go 
 about with such histories of misfortune and gloorriy reflections on 
 every one's conduct always give me the idea of a person who should 
 carry with him a watering-pot to sprinkle his friends in this Irish 
 climate, where it rains ten months out of the twelve. There is a deal 
 to like in life — a deal to enjoy, as well as a deal to see and to do ; and 
 the spirit which we bring to it is even of more moment than the inci- 
 dents that befal us." . 
 
 " That was the burthen of your song a while ago," said he, smiling ; 
 " could I persuade you to sing it again ?" 
 
 " "What are you dreaming of, Mr. Conyers ? Is not this meeting 
 here — this strolling about a garden with a young gentleman— a Hussar! 
 compromising enough, not to ask me to sit down at a piano and sing 
 for him ? Indeed, the only relief my conscience gives me for the 
 imprudence of this interview is the seeing how miserable it makes 
 
 i/OU." 
 
 " Miserable ! — makes me miserable !" 
 
 " "Well, embarrassed— uncomfortable — ^ill at ease ; I don't care for 
 
1'9S BAEEINaTON. 
 
 the word. Xou came here to aay a variety of things, and you don't like 
 to say them. * Tou are balked in certain very kind intentions towards 
 TiSj and yom don't know how very little of even intended good nature 
 has hefallen us in life to make us deeply your debtor for the mere 
 project. "Why, your very notice of poor Tom has done more to raise 
 him in his own esteem and disgust him 'with low associates than aU 
 the wise arguments of all his family. There, now, if you have not 
 done us all the good you meant, be satisfied with what you really 
 have done." 
 
 " This is very far short of what I intended." 
 
 " Of course it is ; but do not dwell upon that. I have a great stock 
 of very fine intentions too, but I shall not be in the least discouraged 
 if I find them take wing and leave me." 
 
 " What would you do, then ?" 
 
 "Eaise another brood. They tell us that if one seed of every 
 million of acorns should grow to be a tree, all Europe would be a 
 dense forest within a century. Take heart, therefore, about scattered 
 projects ; fully their share of them come to maturity. Oh dear ! 
 what a dreary sigh you gave ! Don't you imagine yourself very 
 unhappy ?" 
 
 " If I did, I'd scarcely come to you for sympathy, certainly," said 
 he, with a half-bitter smile. 
 
 " Tou are quite right there ; not but that I could really condole 
 with some of what I opine are your great afflictions : for instance, I 
 could bestow very honest grief on that splint that your charger has 
 just thrown out on his back tendon ; I could even cry over the 
 threatened blindness of that splendid steeple-chaser ; but I'd not fret 
 about the way your pelisse was braided, nor because your new phaeton 
 made so much noise with the axles." 
 
 "By the way," said Gonyers, "I have such a horse to show you! 
 he is in the village. Might I drive him up here ? "Would you allow 
 me to take you back ?" 
 
 " Not on any account. Sir ! I have grave misgivings about talking 
 to you so long here, and I am mainly reconciled by remembering how 
 disagreeable I have proved myself." 
 
 " How I wish I had your gOod spirits ! " 
 
 " Why don't you rather wish for my fortunate lot in life — so secure 
 from casualties ; so surrounded with life's comforts ; so certain to 
 attach to it consideration and respect ? Take my word for it, Mr. 
 Conyers, your own position is not utterly wretched ; it is rather a 
 nice thing to be a Lieutenant of Hussars, with good health, a good 
 fortune, and a fair promise of muatachios. There, now, enough of im- 
 
BABEIIfGIOS. 190 
 
 pertinence for one day. I have a deal to do, and you'll not help me 
 to do it. I have a whole tulip-bed to transplant, and several trees ta 
 remove, and a newwalk to plan through the beech shrubbery, not to 
 speak of a change of domicile for the pigs^ — if such creatures can, be 
 spoken of in your presence. Only think, three o'clock, and that 
 vreary Darby not got back from his dinner ! Has it ever occurred 
 to you to wonder at the interminable time people can. devote to a meal 
 of potatoes?" 
 
 " I cannot say that I have thought upon the matter." 
 " Pray do so, then ; divide the matter, as a German would, into all 
 its ' Bearbeitungen,' and consider it ethnologically, esculently, and 
 sesthetieally, and you'll be surprised how puzzled you'll be ! Mean- 
 while, would you do me a favour ? — I mean a great favour." 
 " Of course I will;, only say what it is." 
 " "Well ; but I'm about to ask more than you suspect." 
 " I do not retract. I am ready." 
 
 " "What I want, then, is that you should wheel that barrovyful of 
 mould as far as the melon-bed. I'd have, done it myself if you had 
 not been here." 
 
 With a seriousness which cost him no small effort to maintain, 
 Conyers addressed himself at. once to the task ; and she walked along 
 at his side, with a rake over her shoulder, talking with the same cool 
 unconcern she would have bestowed on Darby. 
 
 " I have often told Miss Barrington," said she, " that our rock 
 melons were finer than hers, because we used a peculiar composite 
 earth, into which ash bark and soot entered — what you are wheeling 
 now, in fact, however hurtful it may be to your feelings. There ! 
 upset it exactly on that spot ; and now let me see if you are equally 
 handy with a spade." 
 
 " I should like to know what my wages are to be after aU this," 
 said he, as he spread the mould over the bed. 
 " We give boys about eightpence a day." 
 " Boys ! what-do you mean by boys ?" 
 
 " Everything that is not married is boy in Ireland ; so don't be 
 angry, or I'U send you off. Pick up those stones, and throw these 
 dock-weeds to one side." 
 
 " You'll send me a melon, at least, of my own raising, won't you ? " 
 " I won't promise ; Heaven knows where you'll be — where I'll be,, 
 by that time ! Would you like to pledge yourself to anything on the 
 day the ripe fruit shall glow between those pale leaves ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I might," said he, stealing a half tender glance towards 
 her. 
 
200 BABBINGTON. 
 
 " Well, I would not," said sbe, looking him full and steadfastly in 
 the face. 
 
 " Then that means you never cared very much for any one ?" 
 
 " If I remember aright, you were engaged as a gardener, not as 
 father confessor. JN'o w, you are really not very expert at the former ; 
 but you'll make sad work of the latter." 
 
 " Tou have not a very exalted notion of my tact. Miss Dill." 
 
 " I don't know — I'm not sure ; I suspect you have at least what 
 the French call ' good dispositions.' Tou took to your wheelbarrow 
 very nicely, and you tried to dig — as little like a gentleman as need 
 be." 
 
 " "Well, if this does not bate Banagher, my name isn't Darby ! " 
 exclaimed a rough voice, and a hearty laugh followed his words. 
 " By my conscience. Miss Polly, it's only yerself could do it ; and it's 
 truth they say of you, you'd get fun out of an archdaycon !" 
 
 Conyers flung away his spade, and shook the mould from his boots 
 in irritation. 
 
 " Come, don't be cross," said she, slipping her arm within his, and 
 leading him away ; don't spoil a very pleasant little adventure by ill 
 humour. If these melons come to good, they shall be called after 
 you. You know that a Duke of Montraartre gave his name to a goose- 
 berry : so be good, and, like bim, you shall be immortal." 
 
 " I shoiild like very much to know one thing," said he, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " And what may it be ?" 
 
 " I'd like to know — are you ever serious ?" 
 
 " Not what you would call serious, perhaps ; but I'm very much in 
 earnest, if that will do. That delightful Saxon habit of treating all 
 trifles with solemnity I have no taste for. I'm aware it constitutes 
 that great idol of English veneration, Eespectability ; but we have 
 not got that sort of thing here. Perha'ps the climate is too moist 
 for it." 
 
 " I'm not a bit surprised that the Colonel fell in love with you," 
 blurted he out with a frank abruptness. 
 
 " And did he — oh reaUy did he ?" 
 
 " Is the news so very agreeable, then ?" 
 
 " Of course it is. I'd give anything for such a conquest. There's 
 no glory in capturing one of those calf elephants who walk into the 
 snare out of pure stupidity ; but to catch an old experienced creature 
 who has been hunted scores of times, and knows every scheme and 
 artifice, every bait and every pitfal, there is a real triumph in that." 
 
 " Do I represent one of the calf elephants, then ?" 
 

 
BAEEINGTOlf. 201 
 
 " I cannot think so. I have seen no evidence of your capture — 
 not to add, nor any presumption of my own — to engage in such a pur- 
 suit. My dear Mr. Conyers," said she, seriously, "you have shown 
 BO much real kindness to the brother, you would not, I am certain, 
 detract from it by one word which could offend the sister. We have 
 been the best of friends up to this ; let us part so." 
 
 The sudden assumption of gravity in this speech seemed to dis- 
 concert him so much that he made no answer, but strolled along at 
 her side, thoughtful and silent. 
 
 " "What are you thinking of?" said she, at last. 
 
 " I was just thinking," said he, " that by the time I have reached 
 my quarters and begin to con over what I have accomplished by this 
 same visit of mine, I'll be not a little puzzled to say what it is." 
 
 " Perhaps I can help you. Krst of all, tell me what was your 
 object in coming." 
 
 " Chiefly to talk about Tom." 
 
 " Well, we have done so. We have discussed the matter, and are 
 fully agreed it is better he should not go to India, but stay at home 
 here and foUow his profession like his father." 
 
 " But have I said nothing about Hunter's offer ?" 
 
 "Not a word; what is it?" 
 
 " How stupid of me ; what could I have been thinking of all this 
 time ?" 
 
 " Heaven knows ; but what was the offer you allude to ?" 
 
 " It was this ; that if Tom would make haste and get his diploma 
 or his license, or whatever it is, at once, and collect all sorts of testi- 
 monials as to his abilities and what not, that he'd take him out with 
 him and get him an assistant-surgeoncy in a regiment, and in time, 
 perhaps, a staff-appointment." 
 
 " I'm not very certain that Tom could obtain his diploma at once. 
 I'm quite sure he couldn't get auy of those certificates you speak 
 of. Krst of all, because he does not possess these same abilities you 
 mention, nor if he did, is there any to vouch for them. We are very 
 humble people, Mr. Conyers, with a village for our world, and we 
 contemplate a far-away country — India, for instance — pretty much as 
 we should do Mars or the Pole-star." 
 
 " As to that, Bengal is more come-at-able than the Great Bear," 
 said he, laughing. 
 
 " For you, perhaps, not for us. There is nothing more common in 
 people's mouths than go to New Zealand or Swan Eiver, or some far- 
 away island in the Pacific, and make your fortune ! just as if every 
 new and barbarous land was a sort of Aladdin's cave, where each might 
 
202 BAEBiiraTON. 
 
 fill Lisi pockets with gems and come out rick for life. But reflect a 
 little. Erst, there: is an outfit ; next, there is a voyage ; thirdly, there 
 is need of a certain subsistence in the new country before plans can 
 be matured to render it profitable. After all these come a host of 
 requirements' — of courage, and energy, and patience, and ingenuity, 
 and personal strength, and endurance, not to speak of the constitu- 
 tion of a horse, and some have said, the heartlessness of an ogre. 
 My counsel to Tom would be, get the 'Arabian Nights' out ot 
 your head, forget the great Caliph Conyers and all his promises, 
 stay where you are and be a village apothecary." 
 
 These words were uttered in a very quiet and matter-of-fact way, 
 but they wounded Conyers more than the accents of passion. He 
 was angry at the cold realistic turn of a mind so devoid of aU 
 heroism ; he was annoyed at the half-implied superiority a keener 
 view of life than his own seemed to assert ; and he was vexed at being 
 treated as a weU-meaning, but very inconsiderate and inexperienced 
 young gentleman. 
 
 "Am I to take this as a refusal," said he, stiffly; "am I to tell 
 Colonel Hunter that yourbrother does not accept his offer ?" 
 
 " If it depended on me — yes ; but it does not. I'll write to-night 
 and tell Tom the generous project that awaits him — he shall decide 
 for himself." 
 
 " I know Hunter wiU. be annoyed ; he'll think it was through some 
 bungling mismanagement of mine his plan has failed ; he'll be certain 
 to say, If it was I myself had spoken to her " 
 
 " Well, there's no harm in letting him think so," said she, laughing. 
 " Tell him I think him charming, that I hope he'll have a delightful 
 voyage and a most prosperous career after it, that I intend to read 
 the Indian column in the newspapers from this day out, and will 
 a,lways picture him to my mind as seated in the grandest of howdahs 
 on the very tallest of elephants, humming ' Eule Britannia' up thei 
 slopes of the Himalaya, and, as the ' penny-a-liners' say, extending 
 the blessings of the English rule in India." She gave her hand to 
 Hm, made a little salutation — half bow, half curtsey — and saying 
 " Gopd-by,'' turned back into the shrubbery and left him. 
 
 He hesitated — almost turned to follow her; waited a second or 
 two more, and then with an impatient toss of his head, walked briskly 
 to the river-side and jumped into his boat. It was a sulky face that 
 he wore, and a sulky spirit was at work within him. There is no 
 greater discontent than that of him who cannot define the chagrin 
 that consumes him. In reality, he was angry with himself, but he 
 tuimed the whole- force of his displeasure upon her. 
 
EjLEEISGTOir. 
 
 20^ 
 
 " I suppose ste ia clever. I'm no judge of that sort of thing, but 
 for my own part I'i rather see her more womanly, more delicate. 
 She has not a bit of heart, that's c[uite clear; nor, with all her affecta- 
 tions, does she pretend it." These were hia first meditations, and 
 after them he life a cigar and smoked it. The weed was a good one : 
 the evening was beautifully calm and soft, and the river scenery 
 looked its very best. He tried, to think of' a dozen things : he 
 imagined, for instance, what a picturesque thing a boat-race would 
 be in such a spot ; he fancied he saw a swift gig sweep round the 
 point and head up the stream ; he caught sight of a little open in the 
 trees with a background of dark rock, and he thought what a place 
 for a cottage. But whether it was the " match" or the " chilet" that; 
 occupied him, Polly Dill was a figure in the picture ; and he muttered: 
 unconsciously, " How pretty she is, what a deal of expression those 
 grey-blue eyes possess. She's as active as a fawn, and to the full as 
 graceful. Fancy her an Earl's daughter ; give her station and all the 
 advantages station would bring with it — what a girl it would be ! 
 Not that she'd ever have a heart ; I'm certain of that.. She's as 
 
 worldly — as worldly as " The exact similitude did not occur ; 
 
 but he flung the end of his cigar into the river instead,, and sat 
 brooding mournfully for the rest of the way. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 DUBLIN KETISITED. 
 
 The first stage of the Barringtons' journey was Dublin. They 
 alighted at Beynolds's Hotel, in Old Dominick-street, the once fa- 
 vourite resort of country celebrities. The house,, it is true, was there; 
 but Eeynolds had long left for a land where there is but one summons 
 and one reckoning ; even the old waiter. Poster, whom people. believed 
 immortal, was gone ; and save some cumbrous old pieces of furniture — 
 barbarous relics of bad taste in mahog£|,ny — nothing recalled the pas.t. 
 The bar, where once on a time the " Beaux" and " Bloods" had ga^ 
 tUered to exchange the smart things of the House or the hunting-field, 
 was now a dingy little receptacle for umbrellas and over-coats, with a 
 rickety case crammed full of unacknowledged and unclaimed letters, 
 announcements of cattle fairs, and bills of houses to let. Decay and 
 neglect were on everything, and. the grim little, waiter who ushered, 
 
204 BAEEINGTOIT. 
 
 them up-stairs seemed as much astonished at their coming, as were 
 they themselves with all they saw. It was not for some time, nor 
 without searching inquiry, that Miss Dinah discovered that the tide 
 of popular favour had long since retired from this quarter, and left it 
 a mere barren strand, wreck-strewn and deserted. The house where 
 formerly the great squire held his revels, h'ad now fallen to be the 
 resort of the traveller by canal-boat, the cattle salesman, or the priest. 
 While she by an ingenious cross-examination was eliciting these 
 details, Barrington had taken a walk through the city to revisit old 
 scenes and revive old memories. One needs not to be as old as Peter 
 Barrington to have gone through this process and experienced all its 
 pain. Unquestionably, every city of Europe has made within such a 
 period as five-and-thirty or forty years immense strides of improve- 
 ment. "Wider and finer streets, more commodious thoroughfares, 
 better bridges, lighter areas, more brilliant shops, strike one on every 
 hand; while the more permanent monuments of architecture are 
 more cleanly, more orderly, and more cared for than of old. "We see 
 these things with astonishment and admiration at first, and then there 
 comes a pang of painful regret — not for the old dark alley and the 
 crooked street, or the tumbling arch of long ago — but for the time 
 when they were there, for the time when they entered into our daily 
 life, when with them were associated friends long lost sight of, and 
 scenes dimly fading away from memory. It is for our youth, for the 
 glorious spring and elasticity of our once high-hearted spirit, of our 
 lives so free of care, of our days un darkened by a serious sorrow, — it 
 is for these we mourn, and to our eyes at such moments the spacious 
 street is but a desert, and the splendid monument hut a whitened 
 sepulchre ! 
 
 " I don't think I ever had a sadder walk in my life, Dinah," said 
 Peter Barrington, with a weary sigh. " Till I got into the courts of 
 the College, I never chanced upon a spot that looked as I had left it. 
 There, indeed, was the quaint old square as of old, and the great bell 
 — bless it for its kind voice! — was ringing out a solemn call to 
 something, that shook the window-frames, and made the very air 
 tremulous ; and a pale-faced student or two hurried past, and those 
 centurions in the helmets — ancient porters or Senior Pellows— I for- 
 get which — stood in a little knot to stare at me. That indeed was 
 like old times, Dinah, and my heart grew very full with the memory. 
 After that I strolled dovfn to the Pour Courts. I knew you'd laugh, 
 Dinah. I knew well you'd say, ' "Was there nothing going on in the 
 King's Bench or the Common Pleas ?' Well, there was only a 
 revenue case, my dear, but it was interesting, very interesting ; 
 
BAEETK&TOIT. 205 
 
 and there was my old friend Harry Bushe sitting as the Judge. He 
 saw me, and sent round the tipstaff to have me come up and sit on 
 the bench with him, and we had many a pleasant remembrance of old 
 times — as the cross-examination went on — between us, and I pro- 
 mised to dine with him on Saturday." 
 
 " And on Saturday we will dine at Antwerp, brother, if I know 
 anything of myself." 
 
 " Sure enough, sister, I forgot all about it. "Well, well, where 
 could my head have been ?" 
 
 " Pretty much where you have worn it of late years, Peter Bar- 
 rington. And what of "Withering ? Did you see see him ?" 
 
 " No, Dinah, he was attending a Privy Council ; but I got his 
 address, and I mean to go over to see him after dinner." 
 
 " Please to bear in mind that you are not to form any engagements, 
 Peter — we leave this to-morrow evening by the packet — if it was 
 the Viceroy himself that wanted your company." 
 
 " Of course, dear, I never thought of such a thing. It was only 
 when Harry said, ' You'll be glad to meet Casey and Burrowes, and a 
 few others of the old set,' I clean forgot everything of the present, and 
 only lived in the long-past time, when life really was a very jolly 
 thing." 
 
 " How did you find your friend looking ?" 
 
 " Old, Dinah, very old ! That vile wig has, perhaps, something to say 
 to it ; and being a judge, too, gives a sternness to the mouth and a 
 haughty imperiousness to the brow. It spoils Harry ; utterly spoils 
 that laughing blue eye, and that fine rich humour that used to play 
 about his lips." 
 
 " "Which did, you ought to say — which did, some forty years ago. 
 "What are you laughing at, Peter ? "What is it amuses you so 
 highly?" 
 
 " It was a charge of O' Grady's, that Harry told me — a charge to 
 one of those petty juries that, he says, never wiU go right, do what 
 you may. The case was a young student of Trinity, tried for a theft, 
 and whose defence was only by witnesses to character, and 0' Grady 
 said, ' Gentlemen of the jury, the issue before you is easy enough. 
 This is a young gentleman of pleasing manners and the very best 
 connexions, who stole a pair of silk stockings, and you will find ac- 
 cordingly.' And what d'ye think, Dinah? They acquitted him, just 
 out of compliment to the Bench." 
 
 " I declare, brother Peter, such a story inspires any other senti- 
 ment than mirth to me." 
 
 " I laughed at it till my sides ached," said he, wiping his eyes. " I 
 
206 BABEiireTOiT. 
 
 took a peep into the ChaneeryCoarfcand saw O'Coanell, ■wbo has 
 plenty of business, tkey tell me. He was in some altercation witb the 
 Court. Lord Manners was scowling at him, as if he hated him. I 
 hear thsct no day passes without some angry passage between them." 
 
 " And is it of these jangling, quarrelsome, irritable, and insolent 
 men your ideal of agreeable society is made up, brother Peter ?" 
 
 " Not a doubt of it, Dinah. All these displays are briefed to them. 
 They cannot help investing in their client's cause the fervour of their 
 natures, simply because they are human; but they know how to leave 
 all the acrimony of the contest in the wig-box, when they undress 
 and come back to their homes — tbe most genial, hearty, and frank 
 fellows in all the world. If human nature were all bad, sister, he 
 who saw it closest would be, I own, most like to catch its corrup- 
 tion, but it is not so, far from it. Every day and every hour reveals 
 something to make a man right proud of his fellow-men." 
 
 Miss Barrington curtly recalled her brother from these speculations 
 to the practical details of their journey, reminding him of much that 
 he had to consult Withering upon, and many questions of importance 
 to put to him. Thoroughly impressed with the perils of a journey 
 abroad, she conjured up a vast array of imaginary difELculties, and 
 demanded special instructions how ieach of them was to be met. Had 
 poor Peter been — what he certainly was not — a most accompEshed 
 casuist, he might have been puzzled by the ingenious complexity of 
 some of those embarrassments. As it was, like a man in a labyrinth, 
 too much bewildered to attempt escape, he sat down in a dogged 
 insensibility, and actually heard nothing. 
 
 " Are you minding me, Peter ?" asked she, fretfully, at last; "are 
 you paying attention to what I am saying ?" 
 
 " Of course I am, Dinah dear; I'm listening with all ears." 
 
 " "What was it, then, that I last remarked ? What was the subject 
 to which I asked your attention ?" 
 
 Thus suddenly called on, poor Peter started and rubbed his fore- 
 head. Vague shadows of -passport people, and custom-house folk, and 
 waiters, and money-changers, and brigands ; insolent postilions, 
 importunate beggars, cheating innkeepers, and insinuating swindlers 
 ■were passing through his head, with innumerable incidents of the 
 road; and, trying to catch .a clue at random, he said, " It was to ask 
 the Envoy, her Majesty's Minister at Brussels, about a washerwoman 
 who would not tear off my shirt buttons — eh, Dinah ? wasn't that 
 it?" 
 
 "Tou are insupportable, Peter Barrington," said she, rising in 
 anger. " I believe that insensibility like this is not to be paralleled !" 
 and she left the room ia wrath. 
 
BAEHITS'GTOM'. 207 
 
 Peter looked at his watch, and was glad to see it was past eigKt 
 o'clock, and about the hour he meant for his visit to Withering. He 
 set out accordingly, not, indeed, quite satisfied with the way he had 
 lately acquitted himself, but consoled by thinking that' Dinah rarely 
 went back of a morning on the dereliction of the evening before, so 
 that they should meet good friends as ever at the breakfast-table. 
 Withering was at home, but a most discreet-looking biltler intimated 
 that he had dined that day tete-a-tete with a gentleman, and had left 
 orders not to be disturbed on any pretext. " Could you not, at least, 
 send in my name ?" said Barrington ; " I am a very old friend of youx 
 master's, whom he would regret not having seen." A little persuasion, 
 aided by an argument that butlers usually succumb to, sucoeeded,,and 
 before Peter believed that his card could have reached its destination,, 
 his friend was warmly shaking him by both hands, as he hurried him 
 into the dinner-room. 
 
 " Tou don't know what an opportune visit you have made me, Bar- 
 rington," said he; "but first, to present you to my friend, Captain 
 Stapylton — or Major — which is it ?" 
 
 " Captain. This day week, the Gazette, perhaps, may call me Major." 
 
 " Always a pleasure to me to meet a Soldier, sir," said Barrington-; 
 " and I own to the weakness of saying, all the greater when a Dragoon. 
 My own boy was a cavalry man." 
 
 " It was exactly of him we were talking," said Withering ; " my 
 friend here has had a long experience of India, and has frankly told 
 me much I was totally igJiorant of. Prom one thing to another we 
 rambled on till we came to discuss our great suit with the Company, 
 and Captain Stapylton assures me that we have never taken the right 
 road in the case." 
 
 "Nay, I could hardly have had such presumption; I merely 
 remarked, that without knowing India and its habits, you could 
 scarcely be prepared to encounter the sort of testimony that would 
 be opposed to you, or to benefit by what might tend greatly in your 
 favour." 
 
 "Just so — continue," said Withering, who looked as though he 
 had got an admirable witness on the table. 
 
 " I'm astonished to hear from the Attoraiey-General," resumed 
 Stapylton, " that in a case of such magnitude as this you have never 
 thought of sending out an efficient agent to India to coUeet evidence, 
 sift testimony, and make personal inquiry as to the degree of credit 
 to be accorded to many of the witnesses. This inquisitorial process 
 is the very first step in every Oriental suit ; you start at once, in 
 fact, by sapping all the enemy^s works — countermining him every- 
 where." 
 
208 BAEMlTGXOTr. 
 
 " Listen, Barrington — listen to this ; it is all new to us." 
 
 " Everything being done by documentary evidence, there is a wide 
 field for all the subtlety of the linguist ; and Hindostanee has com- 
 plexities enough to gratify the most inordinate appetite for quibble. 
 A learned scholar — a Moonshee of erudition — is, therefore, the very- 
 first requisite, great care being taken to ascertain that he is not in the 
 pay of the enemy." 
 
 "What rascals!" muttered Barrington. 
 
 " Very deep — very astute dogs, certainly, but perhaps not much 
 more unprincipled than some fellows nearer home," continued the 
 Captain, sipping his wine ; " the great peculiarity of this class is, that 
 while employing them in the most palpably knavish manner, and 
 obtaining from them services bought at every sacrifice of honour, they 
 expect all the deference due to tlie most unblemished integrity." 
 
 " I'd see them — I won't say where — first !" broke out Barrington ; 
 " and I'd see my lawsuit after them, if oply to be won by their inter- 
 vention." . 
 
 "Eemember, Sir," said Stapylton, calmly, "that such are the 
 weapons employed against you. That great Company does not, nor 
 can it, afford to despise such auxiliaries. The Bast has its customs, 
 and the natures of men are not light things to be smoothed down by 
 conventionalities. Were you, for instance, to measure a testimony at 
 Calcutta by the standard of Westminster Hall, you would probably do 
 a great and grievous injustice." 
 
 " Just so," said Withering ; " you are quite right there, and I have 
 frequently found myself posed by evidence that I felt must be assail- 
 able. Go on, and tell my friend what you were mentioning to me 
 before he came in." 
 
 " I am reluctant, Sir," said Stapylton, modestly, " to obtrude upon 
 you, in a matter of such grand importance as this, the mere gossip of 
 a mess-table, but, as allusion has been made to it, I can scarcely 
 refrain. It was when serving in another Presidency, an officer of ours, 
 who had been long in Bengal, one night entered upon the question of 
 Colonel Barrington's claims. He quoted the words of an uncle — I 
 think he said his uncle — who was a member of the Supreme Council, 
 and said, ' Barrington ought to have known we never could have con- 
 ceded this right of sovereignty, but he ought also to have known 
 that we would rather have given him ten lacs of rupees than have it 
 litigated.' " 
 
 " Have you that gentleman's name ?" asked Barrington, eagerly. 
 
 " I have ; but the poor fellow is no more — he was of that fatal 
 expedition to Belooohistan eight years ago." 
 
BAEEINGTON. 
 
 209 
 
 " Toil know our case, then, and what we claim ?" asked Bar- 
 rington. 
 
 " Just as every man who has served in India knows it — popularly 
 — vaguely. I know that Colonel Barrington was, as the adopted son 
 of a Eajah, invested with supreme power, and only needed the ratifi- 
 cation of Great Britain to establish a sovereignty ; and I have heard" 
 — he laid stress on the word " heard"—" that if it had not been for 
 some allegation of plotting against the Company's Government he 
 really might ultimately have obtained that sanction." 
 
 " Just what I have said over and over again !" burst in Barrington. 
 " It was the worst of treachery that ruined my poor boy." 
 
 " I have heard that also," said Stapylton, and with a degree of 
 feeling and sympathy that made the old man's heart yearn towards 
 him. 
 
 " How I wish you had known him," said he, as he drew his 
 hand over his eyes. " And do you know, Sir," said he, warming, 
 " that if I still follow up this suit, devoting to it the little that is left 
 to me of life or fortune, that I do so less for any hope of gain than 
 to place my poor boy before the world with his lionour and fame un- 
 stained." 
 
 " My old friend does himself no more than justice there !" cried 
 Withering. 
 
 "A noble object — imay you have all success in it!" said Stapylton. 
 He paused, and then, in a tone of deeper feeliiig, added, "It will, 
 perhaps, seem a great liberty, the favour I'm about to ask ; but re- 
 member that, as a brother soldier with your son, I have some slight 
 claim to approach you. Will you allow me to offer you such know- 
 ledge as I possess of India, to aid your snit ? Will you associate me, 
 in fact, with your cause ? No higher one could there be than the vin- 
 dication of a brave man's honour." 
 
 " I thank you with all my heart and soul !" cried the old maB„ 
 grasping his hand. " In my own name, and in that of my poor dear- 
 granddaughter, I thank you." 
 
 " Oh, then. Colonel Barrington has left a daughter ? I was not; 
 aware of that," said Stapylton, with a certain coldness. 
 
 " And a daughter who knows no more of this suit than of our- 
 present discussion of it," said Withering. 
 
 In the frankness of a nature never happier than when indulging 
 its own candour, Barrington told how it was to see and fetch 
 back with him that same granddaughter he had left a spot he had 
 not quitted for years. " She's coming back to a very humble home, 
 it is true ; but if you, Sir," said he, addressing Stapylton, " will not 
 
210 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 despise such Ipwly fare as a cottage can afford you, and would con- 
 descend to come and see us, you shall have the welcome that is due to 
 one who wishes well to my boy's memory." 
 
 "And if you do," broke in "Withering, "you'll see the prettiest 
 «ottage and the first hostess in Europe ; and here's to her health— r 
 Miss Dinah Barrington !" 
 
 " I'm not going to refuse that toast, though I have just passed the 
 decanter," said Peter. " Here's to the best of sisters !" 
 
 " Miss Barrington !" said Stapylton, with a courteous bow, and he 
 drained his glass to the bottom. 
 
 " And that reminds me I promised to be back to tea with her," 
 said Barrington; and renewing with all warmth his invitation to 
 Stapylton, and cordially taking leave of his old friend, he left the 
 house and hastened to his hotel. 
 
 " What a delightful evening I have passed, Dinah," said he, cheer- 
 fully, as he entered. 
 
 "Which means, that the Attorney- Greneral gave you a grand 
 review and sham-fight of all the legal achievements of the term ; but, 
 bear in mind, brother, there is no professional slang so odious to me 
 as, the lawyer's, and I positively hate a joke which cost six-and- 
 eightpence, or even three-and-fourpence." 
 
 " Nothing of this kind was there at all, Dinah ! Withering had a 
 friend with him, a very distinguished soldier, who had seen much 
 Indian service, and entered with a most cordial warmth into poor 
 George's case. He knew it — as aU in India knows it, by report — and 
 frankly told us where our chief difBculties lay, and the important 
 things we were neglecting." 
 
 " How generous ! of a perfect stranger, too !" said she, with a 
 scarcely detectable tone of scorn. 
 
 " Not — so to say — an utter stranger, for George was known to him 
 by reputation and character." 
 
 " And who is, I suppose I am to say, your friend, Peter ?" 
 
 " Captain or Major Stapylton, of the Eegent's Hussars." 
 
 " Oh ! I know him — or rather, I know of him." 
 
 " What and how, Dinah ? I am very curious to hear this." 
 
 " Simply, that while young Conyers was at the cottage he showed 
 me a letter from that gentleman, asking him, in the Admiral's name, 
 to Cobham, and containing, at the same time, a running criticism on 
 the house and its guests far more flippant than creditable." 
 
 " Men do these things every day, Dinah, and there is no harm 
 in it." 
 
 " That all depends upon whom the man is. The volatile gaiety of 
 
BAEEiircnoir. 211 
 
 a high-spirited nature, eager for effect and fond of a sensation, will 
 lead to many an indiscretion; but very different from this is the 
 well-weighed sarcasm of a more serious mind, who not only shots his 
 gun home, but takes time to sight ere he fires it. I hear that Cap- 
 tain Stapylton is a grand, cold, thoughtful man, of five or six-and- 
 thirty. Is that so f " 
 
 " Perhaps he may be. He's a splendid fellow to look at, and aU the 
 soldier. But you shall see for yourself, and I warrant you'll not 
 harbour a prejudice against him." 
 
 " Which means, you have asked him on a visit, brother Peter ?" 
 
 " Scarcely fair to call it on a visit, Dinah," blundered he out, in 
 confusion ; ■ " but I have said with what pleasure we should see him 
 under our roof when we returned." 
 
 " I solemnly declare my belief, that if you went to a cattle-show 
 you'd invite every one you met there, from the squire to the pig- 
 jobber, never thinking the while that nothing is so valueless as indis- 
 criminate hospitality, even if it were not costly, Nobody thanks you 
 — no one is grateful for it." 
 
 " And who wants them to be grateful, Dinah ? The pleasure is in 
 the giving, not in leceiving. Tou see your friends with their 
 holiday faces on, when they sit round the table. The slowest and 
 dreariest of them tries to look cheery ; and the stupid dog who has 
 never a jest in him has at least a ready laugh for the wit of his neigh- 
 bour.'' 
 
 " Does it not spoil some of your zest for this pleasantry to think 
 how it is paid for, brother ?" 
 
 " It might, perhaps, if I were to think of it ; but, thank Heaven ! 
 it's about one of the last things would come into my head. My dear 
 sister, there's no use in always treating human nature as if it was 
 sick, for, if you do, it wiU end by being hypochondriac I" 
 
 " I protest, brother Peter, I don't know where you meet all the 
 good and excellent people you rave about, and I feel it very churlish 
 of you that you never present any of them to me .'" And so saying, 
 she gathered her knitting materials hastily together, and reminding 
 him that it was past eleven o'clock, she uttered a hurried good-night, 
 and departed. 
 
 p2 
 
212 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A VEKY SAD GOOD-BT. 
 
 CoNYEES sat alone in his barrack-room, Tery sad and dispirited. 
 Hunter had left that same morning, and the young soldier felt utterly 
 friendless. He had obtained some weeks' leave of absence, and already 
 two days of the leave had gone over, and he had not energy to set 
 out if he had even a thought as to the whither. A variety of plans 
 passed vaguely through his head. He would go down to Portsmouth 
 and see Hunter off; or he would nestle down in the little village of 
 Inistioge and dream away the days in quiet forgetfulness ; or he 
 would go over to Paris, which he had never seen, and try whether the 
 gay dissipations of that brilliant city might not distract and amuse 
 him. The mail from India had arrived and brought no letter from 
 his father, and this, too, rendered him irritable and unhappy. Not 
 that his father was a good correspondent ; he wrote but rarely, and 
 always like one who snatched a hurried moment to catch a post. 
 Still, if this were a case of emergency, any great or critical event in 
 his life, he was sure his father would have informed him ; and thus 
 was it that he sat balancing doubt against doubt, and setting pro- 
 bability against probability, till his very head grew addled with the 
 labour of speculation. 
 
 It was already late ; all the usual sounds of barrack life had sub- 
 sided, and although on the opposite side of the square the brilliant 
 lights of the mess-room windows showed where the convivial spirits 
 of the regiment were assembled, all around was silent and still. Sud- 
 denly, there came a dull heavy knock to the door, quickly followed 
 by two or three others. 
 
 Not caring to admit a visitor, whom, of course, he surmised would 
 be some young brother-officer full of the plans and projects of the 
 mess, he made no reply to the summons, nor gave any token of his 
 presence. The sounds, however, were redoubled, and with an energy 
 that seemed to vouch for perseverance ; and Conyers, partly in anger, 
 and partly in curiosity, went to the door and opened it. It was not 
 till after a minute or two that he was able to recognise the figure 
 before him. It was Tom Dill, but without a hat or neckcloth, his 
 hair dishevelled, his face colourless, and his clothes torn, while from a 
 recent wound in one hand the blood flowed fast, and dropped on the 
 
BAEEINGTON. 213 
 
 floor. The -wliole air and appearance of the young fellow so re- 
 sembled drunkenness, that Conyera turned a stem stare upon hitn 
 as he stood in the centre of the room, and in a voice of severity said, 
 " By what presumption, Sir, do you dare to present yourself in this 
 state before me ?" 
 
 " Tou think I'm drunk. Sir, but I am not," said he, with a falter- 
 ing accent and a look of almost imploring misery. ■ 
 
 " What is the meaning of this state, then ? What disgraceful row 
 have you been in f" 
 
 " None, Sir. I have cut my hand with the glass on the barrack- 
 wall, and torn my trousers too ; but it's no matter, I'll not want them 
 long." 
 
 " What do you mean by all this ? Explain yourself." 
 " May I sit down. Sir, for I feel very weak ;" but before the per- 
 mission could be granted, his kness tottered, and he fell in a faint on 
 the floor. Conyers knelt down beside him, bathed his temples with 
 water, and as soon as signs of animation returned, took him up in his 
 arms and laid him at full length on a sofa. 
 
 In the vacant, meaningless glance of the poor fellow as he looked 
 first around him, Conyera could mark how he was struggling to find 
 out where he was. 
 
 " Tou are with me, Tom — with your friend Conyers," said he, hold- 
 ing the cold clammy hand between his own. 
 
 " Thank you. Sir. It is very good of you. I do not deserve it," 
 said he, in a faint whisper. 
 
 " My poor boy, you mustn't say that ; I am your friend. I told you 
 already I would be so." 
 
 " But you'll not be my friend when I tell you — when I tell you — 
 all ;" and as the last word dropped, he covered his face with both his 
 hands, and burst into a heavy passion of tears. 
 
 " Come, come, Tom, this is not manly ; bear up bravely, bear up 
 with courage, man. You used to say you had plenty of pluck if it 
 were to be tried." 
 
 " So I thought I had. Sir, but it has all left me ;" and he sobbed 
 as if his heart was breaking. " But I believe I could bear anything 
 but this," said he, in a voice shaken by convulsive throes. " It is . 
 the disgrace — that's what unmans me." 
 
 " Take a glass of wine, collect yourself, and tell me aU about it." 
 " No, Sir. No wine, thank you ; give me a glass of water. There, . 
 I am better now ; my brain is not so hot. You are very good to me, 
 Mr. Conyers, but it's the last time I'll ever ask it — ^the very last 
 time, Sir ; but I'll remember it all my life." 
 
214 EABEIIT&TOir. 
 
 " If you gire' way in ttis fashion, Torn, I'll not think you the 
 stout-hearted fellow I once did." 
 
 " 1^0, Sir, nor am I. 111 never be the same again. I feel it here. 
 I feel as if something gave, something broke." And he laid his 
 hand over his heart and sighed heavily. 
 
 ""Well, take your own time about it, Tom, and let me bear if I 
 cannot be of use to you."' 
 
 "No, Sir, not now. Neither you nor any one else can help me 
 now. It's all over, Mr. Conyers — ^it's all finished." 
 " "What is over — what is finished ?" 
 
 " And so, as I thought it wouldn't do for one like me to be seen 
 speaking to you before people, I stole away and climbed over the 
 barrack-wall. I cut my hand on the glass, too, but it's nothing. 
 And here I am, and here's the money you gave me ; I have no need 
 of it now." And as he laid some cmmpled bank-notes on the table, 
 his overcharged heart again betrayed him, and h© burst into tears. 
 " Tes, Sir, that's what you gave me for the College^ but I was re- 
 jected." 
 
 " Eejected, Tom I How was that ? Be calm, my poor feUow, and 
 tell me all about it quietly." 
 
 " I'll try. Sir, I will, indeed ; and I'll tell you nothing but the 
 truth, that you may depend upon." He took a great drink of water, 
 and went on. " If there was one man I was afraid of in the world, 
 it was Surgeon Asken, of Mercer's Hospital. I used to be a dresser 
 there, and he was always angry with me, exposing me before the other 
 students, and ridiculing me, so that if anything was done badly in 
 the wards, he'd say, ' This is some of Master DiU's work, isn't it ?' 
 "Well, Sir, would you believe it, on the morning I went up for my 
 examination Doctor Coles takes ill, and Surgeon Asken is called on 
 to replace him. I didn't know it till I was sent for to go in, and my 
 head went round, and I couldn't see, and a cold sweat came over me, 
 and I was so confused, that when I got into the room I went and sat 
 down beside the examiners, and never knew what they were laughing 
 at. 
 
 " ' I have no doubt, Mr. Dill, you'll occupy one of these places at 
 some future day,' says Doctor "Willes, ' but for the present your seat 
 is yonder.' I don't remember much more after that, till Mr. Porter 
 said, ' Don't be so nervous, Mr. Dill ; collect yourself; I am persuaded 
 you know what I am asking you, if you will not be flurried.' And 
 aE I could say was, ' God bless you for that speech, no matter how it 
 goes with me ;' and they all laughed out. 
 
BAEEIlfGTON. 213 
 
 " It was Asken's turn now, and he Wegan. ' Tou are destined for 
 the navy, I understand, Sir ?' 
 
 " ' No, Sir ; for the army,' said I. 
 
 " ' Erom what we have seen to-day, you'll prove an ornament to 
 either service. Meanwhile, Sir, it will be satisfactory to the court to 
 have your opinion on gun-shot wounds. Describe to us the case of 
 a man labouring under the worst form of concussion of the brain, and 
 by what indications you would distinguish it from fracture of the 
 base of the skuU, and what circumstances might occur to render 
 the distinction more difficult, and what impossible ?' That was hia 
 question, and if I was to live a hundred years I'll never forget a word, 
 in it — it's written on my heart, I believe, for life. 
 
 " ' G-o on. Sir,' said he, ' the court is waiting for you.' 
 " ' Take the case of concussion first,' said Dr. "WiUes. 
 " ' I hope I may be permitted to conduct my own examination in 
 my own manner,' said Asken. 
 
 " That finished me, and I gave a groan that set them all laughing 
 again. 
 
 " ' "Well, Sir, I'm waiting,' said Asken. ' Tou can have no difficulty 
 to describe concussion, if you only give us your present sensations.' 
 " ' That's as true as if you swore it,' said I. ' I'm just as if I had 
 a fall on the crown of my head. There's a haze over my eyes, and a 
 ringing of bells in my ears, and a feeling as if my brain was too big.' 
 " ' Take my word for it, Mr. Dill,' said he, sneeringly, ' the latter 
 is a purely deceptive sensation ; the fault lies in the opposite direc- 
 tion. Let us, however, take something more simple ;' and with that 
 he described a splinter wound of the scalp, with the whole integu- 
 ments torn in fragments, and gunpowder and sticks and sand all 
 mixed up with the flap that hung down over the patient's face. 
 ' Now,' said he, after ten minutes' detail of this — ' now,' said he, 
 ' when you found the man in this case, you'd take out your scalpel, 
 perhaps, and neatly cut away all these bruised and torn integu- 
 ments ?' 
 
 " ' I would. Sir,' cried I, eagerly. 
 
 " ' I knew it,' said he, with a cry of triumph — ' I knew it. I've no 
 more to ask you. Tou may retire.' 
 
 " I got up to leave the room, but a sudden flash went through me, 
 and I said out boldly, 
 
 , " ' Am I passed ? Tell me at once. Put me out of pain, for, I can't 
 bear any more !' 
 " ' If you'll retire for a few minutes,' said the Presideat ■■ 
 
216 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " ' My heart will break, Sir,' said I, ' if I'm to be in suspense any- 
 more. Tell be the worst at once.' 
 
 " And I suppose they did tell me, for I knew no more till I found 
 myself in the housekeeper's room, with wet cloths on my head, and 
 the money you see there in the palm of my hand. That told every- 
 thing. Many were very kind to me, telling how it happened to this 
 and to that man, the first time ! and that Asken was thought very 
 unfair, and so on ; but I just washed my face with cold water, and 
 put on my hat and went away home, that is, to where I lodged, and I 
 wrote toPollyjust this one line: 'Eejected; I'm not coming back.' And 
 then I shut the shutters and went to bed in my clothes as I was, and 
 I slept sixteen hours without ever waking. When I awoke I was aU 
 right. I couldn't remember everything that happened for some 
 time, but I knew it all at last, and so I went off straight to the 
 Ebyal Barracks and listed." 
 
 "Enlisted?— enlisted?" 
 
 " Tes, Sir, in the Porty-ninth Eegiment of Foot, now in India, and 
 sending off drafts from Cork to join them on Tuesday. It was out 
 of the dep6t at the bridge I made my escape to-night to come and 
 see you once more, and to give you this with my hearty blessing, 
 for you were the only one ever stood to me in the world — ^the only 
 one that let me think for a moment I could be a gentleman !" 
 
 " Come, come, this is all wrong, and hasty, and passionate, Tom. 
 Tou have no right to repay your family in this sort ; this is not the 
 way to treat that fine-hearted girl, who has done so much for you ; 
 this is but an outbreak of angry selfishness." 
 
 " These are hard words, Sir, very hard words, and I wish you had 
 not said them." 
 
 " Hard or not, you deserve them ; and it is their justice that 
 wounds you." 
 
 " I won't say that it is not, Sir. But it .isn't justice I'm asking 
 for, but forgiveness. Just one word out of your mouth to say, ' I'm 
 sorry for you, Tom ;' or, ' I wish you well.' " 
 
 " So I do, my poor fellow, with all my heart," cried Conyers, 
 grasping his hand and pressing it cordially, " and I'U get you out of 
 this scrape, cost what it may." 
 
 " If you mean. Sir, that I'm to get my discharge, it's better to tell 
 the truth at once. I wouldn't take it. No, Sir, I'll stand by what 
 I've done. I see I never could be a doctor, and I have my doubts, 
 too, if I ever could bo a gentleman ; but there's something tells me I 
 could be a soldier, and I'll try." 
 
BABEINGTOIf. 
 
 217 
 
 Conyers turned from him with an impatient gesture, and walked 
 the room in moody silence. 
 
 " I know well enough, Sir," continued Tom, "what every one will 
 say ; perhaps you yourself are thinking it this very minute : ' It's all 
 out of his love of low company he's gone and done this ; he's more at 
 home with those poor ignorant boys there than he would be with 
 men of education and good manners.' Perhaps it's true, perhaps it 
 isn't ! But there's one thing certain, which is, that I'll never try 
 again to be anything that I feel is clean above me, and I'll not ask 
 the world to give me credit for what I have not the least preten- 
 sion to." 
 
 " Have you reflected," said Conyers, slowly, " that if you reject my 
 assistance now, it will be too late to ask for it a few weeks, or even a 
 few days hence ?" 
 
 " I have thought of all that, Sir. I'll never trouble you about 
 myself again." 
 
 " My dear Tom," said Conyers, as he laid his arm on the other's 
 shoulder, "just think for one moment of all the misery this stepwiU 
 cause your sister — that kind, true-hearted sister, who has behaved so 
 nobly by you." 
 
 " I have thought of that, too,- Sir; and in my heart I believe, 
 though she'll fret herself at first greatly, it will all turn out best in 
 the end. What could I ever be but a disgrace to her? "Who'd 
 ever think the same of Polly after seeing me ? Don't I bring her 
 down in spite of herself; and isn't it a hard trial for her to be a lady 
 when I'm in the same room with her ? No, Sir ; I'll not go back ; 
 and though I haven't much hope in me, I feel I'm doing right." 
 
 "I know well," said Conyers, pettishly, "that your sister will 
 throw the whole blame on me. She'll say, naturally enough. You 
 could have obtained his discharge — i/ou should have insisted on his 
 leaving." 
 
 " That's what you could not. Sir," said Tom, sturdily. " It's a 
 poor heart hasn't some pride in it ; and I would not go back and 
 meet my father, after my disgrace, if it was to cost me my right hand^ 
 so don't say another word about it. Good-by, Sir, and my blessing 
 go with you wherever you are. I'U never forget how you stood 
 to me." 
 
 " That money there is yours. Dill," said Conyers, half haughtily. 
 " Tou may refuse my advice and reject my counsel, but I scarcely 
 suppose you'll ask me to take back what I once have given." 
 
 Tom tried to speak, but he faltered and moved from one foot to 
 
218 BAEEIirGTOlSr. 
 
 tlie other, in an embarrassed and hesitating way. He wanted to say 
 how the sum originally intended for one object eould not honestly be 
 claim-ed foranother ; he wanted to say, also, that he had no longer the 
 need of so much money, and that the only obligation he liked to 
 submit to was gratitude for the past ; but a consciousness that in 
 attempting to say these things some unhappy word, some ill-advised 
 or ungracious expression might escape him, stopped him, and he was 
 silent, 
 
 " Tou do not wish we should part coldly, Tom ?" 
 
 " ISTo, Sir — oh no !" cried he, eagerly. 
 
 " Then let not that paltry gift stand in the way of our esteem. 
 Now, another thing. Will you write to me ? "Will you tell me how 
 the world fares with you, and honestly declare whether the step you 
 have taken to-day brings with it regret or satisfaction?" 
 
 " I'm not over-much of a letterrwriter," said he, falteringly, " but 
 I'll try. I must be going, Mr. Conyers," said he, after a moment's- 
 silence ; "I must get back before I'm missed." 
 
 " Ifot as you came, Tom, however. I'U pass you out of the bar- 
 rack-gate." 
 
 As they walked along side by side neither spoke tiU. they came 
 close to the gate, then Conyers halted and said : " Can you think of 
 nothing I can do for you, or is there nothing you would leave to my 
 charge after you have gone ?" 
 
 " No, Sir, nothing." He paused, and then, as if with a struggle, 
 said, "Except you'd write one line to my sister Polly, to teU her that 
 I went away in good heart, that I didn't give in one bit, and that if 
 
 it wasn't for thinking that maybe I'd never see her again " 
 
 He faltered, his voice grew thick, he tried to cough down the rising 
 emotion, but the feeling overcame him, and ' he burst out into tears. 
 Ashamed at the weakness he was endeavouring to deny, he sprang 
 through the gate and disappeared. 
 
 Conyers slowly returned to his quarters, very thoughtful and 
 very sad. 
 
BAEEryaxoir. 219 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 THE CONVENT ON THE MEC3E. 
 
 "While poor Tom Dill, just entering upon life, went forth in gloom 
 and disappointment to his first venture, old Peter Barrington, broken 
 by years and many a sorrow, set out on his journey with a high heart 
 and a spirit well disposed to see everything in its best light, and be 
 pleased with all around him. Much of this is, doubtless, matter of 
 temperament; but I suspect, too, that all of us have more in our 
 power in this way than we practise. Barrington had possibly lesa 
 merit than his neighbours, for nature had given him one of those 
 happy dispositions upon which the passing vexations of life produce 
 scarcely any other effect than a stimulus to humour, or a tendency t» 
 make them matter of amusing memory. 
 
 He had lived,, besides, so long estranged from the world, that life 
 had for him aU the interest of a drama, and he could no more have 
 felt angry with the obtrusive waiter or the roguish landlord than he 
 would with their fictitious representatives on the stage. They wer&j 
 in his eyes, parts admirably played, and no more ; he watched them 
 with a sense of humorous curiosity, and laughed heartily at successes 
 of which he was himself the victim. Miss Barrington was no disciple 
 of this school ; rogues to her were simply rogues, and no histrionic 
 sympathies dulled the vexation they gave her. The world, out of 
 which she had lived so long, had, to her thinking, far from improved 
 in the mean while. People were less deferential, less courteous than 
 of old. There was an indecent haste and bustle about everything, 
 and a selfish disregard of one's neighbour was the marked feature of 
 all travel. "WhUe her brother repaid himself for many an inconve- 
 nience by thinking over some strange caprice, or some curious incon- 
 sistency in human nature — texts for amusing afterthought — ^she only 
 winced under the infliction, and chafed at every instance of cheating 
 or impertinence that befel them. 
 
 The wonderful things she saw, the splendid galleries rich in art,. 
 the gorgeous palaces, the grand old cathedrals, were all marred to her 
 by the presence of the loquacious lacquey whose glib tongue had: to 
 be retained at the salary of the " vicar of our parish," and who 
 never descanted on a aalat's tibi^. withaui; costing the price .of a^ 
 
220 BAEEiiraTON. 
 
 dinner; so tbat old Peter at last said to himself, "I believe my 
 sister Dinah wouldn't enjoy the Garden of Eden if Adam had to go 
 about and show her its beauties." 
 
 The first moment of real enjoyment of her tour was on that morn- 
 ing when they left Namur to drive to the -Convent of Bramaigne, 
 about three miles off, on the bank of the Mouse. A lovelier day 
 never shone upon a lovelier scene. The river, on one side guarded 
 by lofty cliffs, was on the other bounded by a succession of rich, 
 meadows, dotted with picturesque homesteads half hidden in trees. 
 Little patches of cultivation, laboured to the perfection of a garden, 
 varied the scene, and beautiful cattle lay lazily under the giant trees, 
 solemn voluptuaries of the peaceful happiness of their lot. 
 
 Hitherto Miss Dinah had stoutly denied that anything they had 
 seen could compare with their own " vale and winding river," but now 
 she frankly owned that the stream was wider, the cliffs higher, the 
 trees taller and better grown, while the variety of tint in the foliage 
 far exceeded aU she had any notion of; but above all these were the 
 evidences of abundance, the irresistible charm that gives the poetry 
 to peasant life ; and the picturesque cottage, the costume, the weU- 
 stored granary, bespeak the condition with which we associate our 
 ideas of rural happiness. The giant oxen as they marched proudly 
 to their toU, the gaily caparisoned pony who jiagled his bells as he 
 trotted by, the peasant girls as they sat at their lace cushions before 
 the door, the rosy urchins who gambolled in the deep grass, all told 
 of plenty — that blessing which to man is as the sunlight to a land- 
 scape, making the fertile spots more beautiful, and giving even to rug- 
 gedness an aspect of stern grandeur. 
 
 " Oh, brother Peter, that we could see something like this at home," 
 cried she. " See that girl yonder watering the flowers in her little 
 garden — how prettily that old vine is trained over the balcony — mark 
 the scarlet tassels in the snow-white team — are not these signs of an 
 existence not linked to daily drudgery ? I wish our people could be 
 like these." 
 
 " Here we are, Dinah ; there is the convent !" cried Barrington, as 
 a tall massive roof appeared over the tree-tops, and the little carriage 
 now turned from the high road into a shady avenue of tall elms. 
 " What a grand old place it is ; some great seignorial chateau once 
 on a time." 
 
 As they drew nigh, nothing bespoke the cloister. The massive old 
 building, broken by many a projection and varied by many a gable, 
 stood, like the mansion of some rich proprietor, in a vast wooded 
 lawn. The windows lay open, the terrace was covered with orange and 
 
BAEEINGWON. 
 
 221 
 
 lemon-trees and flowering plants, amid which seats were scattered ; 
 and in the rooms within, the furniture indicated habits of comfort and 
 even of luxury. "With all this, no living thing was to be seen, and 
 when Barrington got down and entered the hall he neither found a 
 servant nor any means to summon one. 
 
 " You'll have to move that little slide you see in the door there," 
 said the driver of the carriage, " and some one wiU come to you." 
 
 He did so, and after waiting a few moments, a somewhat ruddy, 
 cheerful face, surmounted by a sort of widow's cap, appeared, and 
 asked his business. 
 
 " They are at dinner, but if you will enter the drawing-room she 
 will come to you presently." 
 
 They waited for some time ; to them it seemed very long, for they 
 never spoke, but sat there in silent thoughtfulness, their hearts very 
 full, for there was much in that expectancy, and all the visions of 
 many a wakeful night or dreary day might now receive their shock or 
 their support. Their patience was to be further tested, for, when the 
 door opened,' there entered a grim-looking little woman in a nun's 
 costume, who, without previous salutation, announced herself as 
 Sister Lydia. "Whether the opportunity for expansiveness was rare, 
 or that her especial gift was fluency, never did a little old woman 
 hold forth more volubly. As though anticipating aU the worldly ob- 
 jections to a conventual existence, or' rather seeming to suppose that 
 every possible thing had been actually said on that ground, she 
 assumed the defence the very moment she sat down. Nothing short 
 of long practice with this argument could have stored her mind with 
 all her instances, her quotations, and her references. Nor could any- 
 thing short of a firm conviction have made her so courageously in- 
 difierent to the feelings she was outraging, for she never scrupled to 
 arraign the two strangers before her for ignorance, apathy, worldli- 
 ness, sordid and poor ambitions, and, last of all, a levity unbecoming 
 their time of life. 
 
 " I'm not quite sure that I understand her aright," whispered 
 Peter, whose familiarity with French was not what it had once been, 
 " but if I do, Diuah, she's giving us a rare lesson." 
 
 " She's the most insolent old woman I ever met in my life," said 
 his sister, whose violent use of her fan seemed either likely to pro- 
 voke or to prevent a fit of apoplexy. 
 
 " It is usual," resumed Sister Lydia, " to give persons who are 
 about to - exercise the awful responsibility now devolving upon you 
 the opportunity of well weighing and reflecting over the arguments I 
 have somewhat faintly shadowed forth." 
 
'222 BABEIIfGTOlf. 
 
 '" Oil !" not faintly giohnedL Barrington. 
 
 But she minded nothing the interruption, and went on : 
 
 " Aad for this purpose a little tract hag been compoaed, entitled, 
 ' A "Word to the Worldling.' This, with your paMiisBion, I wiU place 
 in your liands. Tou will there find at more length than I could 
 'bestow -But I fear I impose upon this lady's patience ?" 
 
 " It has left me long since, madam," said Miss Dinah, as she 
 actually gasped for breath. 
 
 In the grim half smile of the old nun might be seen the triumphant 
 consciousness that placed her above the " mundane," but she did not 
 resent the speech, simply saying that, as it was the hour of recreation, 
 perhaps she would like to see her young ward in the garden with her 
 companions. 
 
 " By all means. "We thank you heartily for the offer," cried Bar- 
 rington, rising hastily. 
 
 With another smile, still more meaningly a reproof, Sister iLydia 
 reminded him that the profane foot of a man had never transgressed 
 the sacred precincts of the convent garden, and that he anust remain 
 where he was. ' 
 
 "For Heaven's sake! Dinah, 'don't keep me a prisoner here a 
 moment longer than you can help it," cried he, " or I'll not answer 
 for my good behaviour." 
 
 As Barrington paced up and down the room vrith impatient steps, 
 he could not escape the self-accusation that aU his present anxiety 
 was scarcely compatible with the long, long years of neglect and ob- 
 livion he had suffered to glide over. The years in which he had never 
 heard of Josephine — never asked for her — ^was a charge there was no 
 rebutting. Of course he could fall back upon all that special plead- 
 •ing ingenuity and self-love will supply about his own misfortunes, 
 the crushing embarrassments that befel him, and such like. But 
 it was no use, it was desertion, call it how he would, and poor as he 
 was he had never been without a roof to shelter her, tind if it had 
 not been for false pridie he would have offered her that refuge long 
 ago. He was actually startled as he thought over all this. Tour 
 generous people who forgive injuries with little effort, who bear no 
 malice nor cherish amy resentment, would be angels — downright 
 "angels — -if we did not find that they are just as indulgent, just as 
 merciful to themselves as to the world at large. They become per- 
 fect adepts in apologies, and with one oast of the net draw in a whole 
 shoal of attenuating circumstances. To be sure, there will now and 
 then break in upon them a startling suspicion that aU. is not right, 
 and that conscience has been "cooking" the account, and when such 
 a moment does come it is a very painful one. 
 
EAEEIlfGTOir. 223 
 
 ■" Egad]" muttered he to himself, " we have been very heartless all 
 this time, there's no denying it ; and if poor George's girl be a dis- 
 ciple of that grim old woman with the rosary and the wrinkles it is 
 nobody's fault but our own." He looked at his wateh ; Dinah had 
 been gone more than half an hour. What a time to keep him in. sus- 
 pense. Of course there were formalities — the Sister Lydia described 
 innumerable.ones — ^gaol delivery was nothing to it, but surely five-and- 
 thirty minutes would suffice to sign a score of documents. The 
 place was becoming hateful to him. The grand old park, with its 
 aged oaks, seemed sad as a graveyard, and the great silent house, 
 where not a footfall sounded, appeared a tomb. " Poor child ! what 
 a dreary spot you have spent your brightest years in — what a shadow 
 to throw over the whole of a lifetime !" 
 
 He had just arrived at that point wherein his granddaughter arose 
 before his mind a pale, careworn, sorrow-struck girl, crushed beneath 
 the dreary monotony of a joyless life, and seeming only to move in a 
 sort of dreamy melancholy, when the door opened, and Miss Bar- 
 rington entered with her arm around a young girl tall as herself, and 
 from whose commanding figure even the ungainly dress she wore 
 could not take away the dignity. 
 
 " This is Jpsephine, Peter," said Miss Dinah, and though Barring- 
 ton rushed forward to clasp her in his arms, she merely crossed hers 
 demurely on her breast and curtseyed deeply. 
 
 " It is your grandpapa, Josephine," said Miss Dinah ; half tartly. 
 
 The young girl opened her large, full, lustrous eyes, and stared 
 steadfastly at him, and then, with infinite grace, she took his hand 
 and kissed it. 
 
 " My own dear child," cried the old man, throwing his arms around 
 her, " it is not homage, it is your love we want." 
 
 " Take care, Peter, take care," whispered his sister ; " she is very 
 timid and very strange." 
 
 " Tou speak English,|I hope, dear ?" said the old man. 
 
 " Tes, Sir, I like it best," said she. And there was the very faintest 
 possible foreign accent in the words. 
 
 " Isn't that George's own voicO) Dinah ? Don't you think you 
 heard himself there ?" 
 
 " The voice is certainly like him," said Miss Dinah, with a marked 
 emphasis. 
 
 " And so are — no, not her eyes, but her brow, Dinah. Tes, dar- 
 ling, you have his own frank look, and I feel sure you have his own 
 generous nature." 
 
 " They say I'm like my mother's picture," said she, unfastening a 
 locket she wore from its chain and handing it. And both Peter and 
 
224 BAEEINGTOlf. 
 
 his sister gazed eagerly at the miniature. It was of a very dark but 
 handsome woman in a rich turban, and who, though profusely orna- 
 mented with costly gems, did, in reality, present a resemblance to the 
 cloistered figure before them. 
 
 " Am I like her ?" asked the girl, with a shade more of earnestness 
 in her voice. 
 
 " Tou are, darling ; but like your father, too, and every word you 
 utter brings back his memory ; and see, Dinah, if that isn't George's 
 old trick — to lay one hand in the palm of the other." 
 
 As if corrected, the young girl dropped her arms to her sides and 
 stood like a statue. 
 
 " Be like him in everything, dearest child," said the old man, " if 
 . you would have my heart all your own." 
 
 " I must be what I am," said she, solemnly. 
 
 " Just so, Josephine ; well said, my good girl. Be natural," said 
 Miss Dinah, kissing her, " and our love will never fail you." 
 
 There was the faintest little smile of acknowledgment to this 
 speech, but faint as it was it dimpled her cheek, and seemed to have 
 left a pleasant expression on her face, for old Peter gazed on her- with 
 increased delight as he said, " That was Greorge's own smile ; just the 
 way he used to look, half grave, half merry. Oh, how you bring him 
 back to me !" 
 
 " Tou see, my dear child, that you are one of us ; let us hope you 
 will share in the happiness this gives us." 
 
 The girl listened attentively to Miss Dinah's words, and after a 
 pause of apparent thought over them, said, " I will hope so." 
 
 " May we leave this, Dinah ? Are we free to get away ?" whispered 
 Barrington to his sister, for an unaccountable oppression seemed to 
 weigh on him, both from the place and its belongings. 
 
 " Yes ; Josephine has only one good-by to say : her trunks are 
 already on the carriage, and there is nothing more to detain us." 
 
 " Gro and say that farewell, dear child," said he affectionately; 
 " and be speedy, for there are longing hearts here to wish for your 
 return." 
 
 With a grave and quiet mien she walked away, and as she gained 
 the door turned round and made a deep, respectful curtsey — a move- 
 ment BO ceremonious that the old man involuntarily replied to it by 
 a bow as deep and reverential. 
 
JJAEEINGTOlf. 
 
 225 
 
 CPIAPTEE XXYIII. 
 geokge's dacghtee. 
 
 I SUPPOSE, nay, I am certain, that the raemory of our happiest 
 iDotnents ought ever to be of the very faintest and weakest, since, 
 could we recal them in all their fulness and freshness, the recollec- 
 tion would only serve to deepen the gloom of age, and embitter all 
 its daily trials. Nor is it, altogether, a question of memory ! It is in, 
 the very essence of happiness to be indescribable. "Who could impart 
 in words the simple pleasure he has felt as he lay day-dreaming in 
 the deep grass, lulled by the humming insect, or the splash of falling 
 water, with teeming fancy peopling the space around, and blending 
 the possible with the actual ? The more exquisite the sense of enjoy- 
 ment, the more will it defy delineation. And so, when we come to 
 describe the happiness of others, do we find our words weak, and our 
 attempt mere failure. 
 
 It is in this diEBculty that I now find myself. I would tell, if I 
 could, how enjoyably the Barringtons sauntered about through the 
 old villages on the Ehine and up the Moselle, less travelling than 
 strolling along in purposeless indolence, resting here and halting 
 there, always interested, always pleased. It was strange into what 
 perfect harmony these three natures — unlike as they were — blendedj 
 
 Old Peter's sympathies went with all things human, and he loved 
 to watch the village life and catch what he could of its ways and in- 
 stincts. His sister, to whom the love of scenery was a passion, never 
 wearied of the picturesque land they travelled ; and as for Josephine, 
 she was no longer the demure pensionnaire of the convent — thoughtful 
 and reserved, even to secresy — but a happy child, revelling in a thou- 
 sand senses of enjoyment, and actually exulting in the beauty of 
 all she saw around her. "What depression must come of captivity, 
 when even its faintest image, the cloister, could have weighed down 
 a heart like hers ! Such was Barrington's thought as he beheld her 
 at play with the peasant children, weaving garlands for a village fete, 
 or joyously joining the chorus of a peasant song. There was, besides 
 something singularly touchiag in the half-consciousness of her free- 
 dom, when recalled for an instant to the past by the tinkling bell of 
 a church. She would seem to stop in her play, and bethink her how 
 
226 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 and why she was there, and then, with a cry of joy, bound away after 
 her companions in wild delight. 
 
 " Dearest aunt," said she, one day, as they sat on a rocky ledge 
 over the little river that traverses the Lahn-ech, " shall I always 
 find the same enjoyment in life that I feel now, for it seems to me 
 this is a measure of happiness that could not endure f" 
 
 " Some share of this is owing to contrast, Pifine. Tour convent 
 life had not too many pleasures." 
 
 " It was, or rather it seems to me now, as I look back, a long and 
 weary dream; but, at the same time, it appears more real than this ; 
 for do what I may, I cannot imagine this to be the world of misery 
 and sorrow I have heard so much of ! Can any one fancy a scene 
 more beautiful than this before us ? Where is the perfame more 
 exquisite than these violets I now crush in my hand ? The peasants, 
 as they salute us, look happy and contented. Is it, then, only in 
 great cities that men make each other miserable ?" 
 
 Dinah shook her head, but did not speak. 
 
 " I am so glad grandpapa does not live in a city. Aunt, I am 
 never wearied of hearing you talk of that dear cottage beside the 
 river ; and through all my present delight, I feel a sense of impa^ 
 tienee to be there, to be at ' home.' " 
 
 " So that yon will not hold us to our pledge to bring you back to 
 Bramaigne, Pifine," said Miss Dinah, smiling. 
 
 " Oh no, no ! Not if you will let me live with you. Never !" 
 
 " But you have been happy up to this, IHfine ? Tou have said over 
 and over again that your convent life was dear to you, and aU its 
 ways pleasant." 
 
 " It is just the same change to me to live as I now do, as in my 
 heart I feel changed after reading out one of those delightful stories 
 to grandpapa — Eob Boy, for instance. It all tells of a world so 
 much more bright and beautiful than I knew of, that it seems as 
 though new senses were given to me. It is so strange and so capti- 
 vating, too, to hear of generous impulses, noble devotion — of faith 
 that never swerved, and love that never faltered." 
 
 " In novels, child ; these were in novels." 
 
 " True, aunt ; but they had found no place there had they been 
 incredible ; at least, it is clear that he who tells the tale would have 
 us believe it to be true." 
 
 Miss Dinah had not been a convert to her brother's notions as 
 to Fiflne's readings ; and she was now more disposed to doubt than 
 ever. To overthrow of a sudden, as though by a great shock, all the 
 stern realism of a cloister existence, and supply its place with ficti- 
 
-^ 
 
 or 
 
 Ce 
 
 
 
 ,, 
 
 r' 
 
 C:^ 
 
 --^ 
 
 -tH . 
 
 
 ■~-<r~~S- 
 
 ^ J^^^^^^^g^ / 
 
BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 227 
 
 tious incidents and people, seemed raah and perilous ; but old Peter 
 only thought of giving a full liberty to the imprisoned spirit — 
 striking off chain and fetter, and setting the captive free— free in 
 all the glorious liberty of a young imagination. 
 
 " "Well, here comes grandpapa," said Miss Dinah, " and, if I don't 
 mistake, with a book in his hand for one of your morning readings." 
 
 Josephine ran eagerly to meet him, and fondly drawing her arm 
 within his own, ca,me back at. his side. • ■, , , 
 
 " The third volume, Pifine, the third volume," said he, holding the 
 book aloft. " Only think,, child, what fates, are. enclosedr within a 
 third volume! What a deal of happiness or long-living misery are 
 here included !" , , . . ,, 
 
 She struggled to take the book from his hand, but he evaded her 
 grasp, and placed it in his pocket, saying, 
 
 " Not till evening, Kfine, I am bent on a long ramble up the Glen 
 this morning, and yop. shall teU me all about the sisterhood, and: sing- 
 me one of those little Latin canticles I'm so fond of." 
 
 " Meanwhile, I'll g(J and finish my letter to Polly Dill. . I told 
 her, Peter,- that by Thursday next, or Friday, she might expect us." 
 
 " I hope so, with all my heart ; for, beautiful as aU. this is, it wants 
 the greatest charm — it's not home ! Then I want, besides, to see 
 Kfine full of household cares." . 
 
 " Feeding the chickens instead of chasing the butterflies, Pifine^ 
 Totting up the house-biUs, in lieu of sighing over ' "Waverley.' " 
 
 " And, if I know Pifine, she will be able to do one without relin- 
 quishing the otherj" said Peter, gravely. " Our daily life is aU the 
 more beautiful when it has its landscape reliefs of light.and shadow." 
 
 " I think I' could, too," cried Pifine, eagerly. " I feel as though! 
 could work in the fields and be happy, just in the conscious sense of 
 doing what it was good to' do, and what others would praise me for," 
 
 " There's a paymaster will never failyou in such hire," said Miss 
 Dinah, pointing to her brother ; and then, turning away, she walked 
 back to the little inn. As she drew nigh, the landlord came to teU 
 her that a young gentleman, on seeing her name in the list of 
 strangers, had made many inquiries after her, and begged he might 
 be informed of her return. On learning that he was in the garden, 
 she went thither at once. 
 
 " I felt it Was you. I knew who had been asking for me, Mr. 
 Conyers," said she, advancing towards Pred with her hand out. "But 
 what strange chance could have led you here ?" 
 
 " Tou have just said it. Miss Barrington ; a chance — a mere chance. 
 I had got a short leave from my regiment, and came abroad to 
 
 q3 
 
228 BAKEINQTON. 
 
 wander about with no very definite object ; but, growing impatient 
 of the wearisome hordes of our countrymen on the Ehine, I turned 
 aside yesterday from that great high road and reached this spot, 
 whose greatest charm — shall I own it ? — was a fancied resemblance 
 to a scene I loved far better." 
 
 " Tou are right. It was only this morning my brother said it was 
 so like our own cottage." 
 
 "And he is here also?" said the young man, with a half-con- 
 straint. 
 
 " Yes, and very eager to see you, and ask your forgiveness for his 
 ungracious manner to you — not that I saw it, or understand what it 
 could mean — but he says that he has a pardon to crave at your 
 hands." 
 
 So confused was Conyers for an instant, that he made no answer, 
 and when he did speak, it was falteringly and with embarrassment. 
 
 " I never could have anticipated meeting you here. It is more 
 good fortune than I ever looked for." 
 
 " "We came over to the Continent to fetch away my grand-niece, 
 the daughter of that Colonel Barrington you have heard so much of" 
 
 "And is she " He stopped, and grew scarlet with confusion: 
 
 but she broke in, laughingly, 
 
 " No, not black, only dark-complexioned ; in fact, a brunette, and 
 no more." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean — I surely could not have said " 
 
 " No matter what you meant or said. Tour unuttered question 
 was one that kept occurring to my brother and myself every morning 
 as we journeyed here, though neither of us had the courage to speak 
 it. But our wonders are over; she is a dear good girl, and we love 
 her better every day we see her. But now a little about yourself. 
 "Why do I find you so low and depressed ?" 
 
 " I have had much to fret me. Miss Barrington. Some were things 
 that could give but passing unhappiness ; others were of graver 
 import." 
 
 " Tell me so much as you may of them, and I will try to help you 
 to bear up against them." 
 
 " I will tell you all— everything !" cried he. " It is the very mo- 
 ment I have been longing for, when I could pour out all my cares 
 before you, and ask. What shall I do ?" 
 
 Miss Barrington silently drew her arm within his, and they strolled 
 along the shady alley without a word. 
 
 " I must begin with my great grief — it absorbs all the rest," said 
 he, suddenly. "My father is coming home; ho has lost or thrown 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 229 
 
 up, I can't tell which, his high employment. I have heard both, 
 versions of the story ; and his own few words, in the only letter he 
 has written me, do not confirm either. His tone is indignant ; but 
 far more is it sad and depressed — he, who never wrote a line but in 
 the joyousness of his high-hearted nature — who met each accident of 
 life with an undaunted spirit, and spurned the very thought of being 
 cast down by fortune. See what he says here." And he took a 
 much-crumpled letter from his pocket, and folded down a part of it. 
 " Eead that : ' The time for men of my stamp is gone by in India. 
 We are as much bygones as the old flint musket, or the matchlock. 
 Soldiers of a different temperament are the fashion now ; and the 
 sooner we are pensioned or die off the better. For my own part, I 
 am sick of it. I have lost my liver and have not made my fortune, 
 and like men who have missed their opportunities, I come away too 
 discontented with myself to think well of any one. They fancied 
 that by coldness and neglect they might get rid of me, as they did 
 once before of a far worthier and better fellow ; but though I never 
 had the courage that he had, they shall not break my heart.' Does it 
 strike you to whom he alludes there?" asked Conyers, suddenly; 
 " for each time that I read the words, I am more disposed to believe 
 that they refer to Colonel Barrington." 
 
 " I am sure of it !" cried she. " It is the testimony of a sorrow- 
 stricken heart to an old friend's memory ; but I hear my brother's 
 voice ; let me go and tell him you are here." But Barrington was 
 already coming towards them. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Conyers !" cried he. " If you knew how I have longed 
 for this moment ! I believe you are the only man in the world I 
 ever iU treated on my own threshold ; but the very thought of it 
 gave me a fit of illness, and now the best thing I know on my re- 
 covery is, that I am here to ask your pardon." 
 
 " I have really nothing to forgive. I met under your roof with a 
 kindness that never befel me before ; nor do I know the spot on 
 earth where I could look for the like to-morrow." 
 
 " Come back to it, then, and see if the charm should not be there 
 still." 
 
 " Where's Josephine, brother ?" asked Miss Barrington, who, 
 seeing the young man's agitation, wished to change the theme. 
 
 " She's gone to put some ferns in water; but here she comes,, 
 now." 
 
 Bounding wildly along, like a child in joyous freedom, Josephine 
 came towards them, and, suddenly halting at sight of a stranger, she 
 stopped and curtseyed deeply, while Conyers, half ashamed at his own 
 
230 DAEEINGTOir. 
 
 unhappy blunder about ber, bluslied deeply as he saluted her. 
 Indeed, tbeir meeting ■was more like that of two awkward timid 
 children than of two young persons of their age ; and they eyed each 
 other -with the distrust schoolboys and girls exchange on a first 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " Brother, I have something to tell you," said Miss Barrington, 
 who was eager to communicate the news she had just heard of 
 G-eneral Conyers ; and while she drew liim to one side the young 
 people stUl stood there, each seeming to expect the other would 
 make some advance towards acquaintanceship. Conyers tried to say 
 some common-place — some one of the fifty things that would have 
 occurred so naturally in presence of a young lady to whom he 
 had been just presented ; but he could think of none, or else those 
 that he thought of seemed inappropriate. How talk, for instance, of 
 the ■world and its pleasures to one who had been estranged from it ! 
 While he thus struggled and contended with himself, she suddenly 
 started as if with a flash of memory, and said, "How forgetful!" 
 
 " Forgetful !— and of what ?" asked he. 
 
 " I have left the book I was reading to grandpapa on the rock 
 where we were sitting. I must go and fetch it." 
 
 " May I go with you?" asked he, half timidly. 
 
 "Tes, ifyouHke." 
 
 " And your book — what ■was it ?" 
 
 " Oh, a charming book — such a delightful story ! So many people 
 one would have loved to know ! — such scenes one would have loved to 
 visit ! — incidents, too, that keep the heart in intense anxiety, that you 
 wonder how he who imagined them could have sustained the thrilling 
 interest, and held his own heart so long in terrible suspense!" 
 
 " And the name of this wonderful book is " 
 
 "'Waverley.'" 
 
 " I have read it," said he, coldly. 
 
 " And have you not longed to be a soldier ? Has not your heart 
 bounded with eagerness for a life of adventure and peril ?" 
 
 " I am a soldier," said he, quietly. 
 
 " Indeed !" replied she, slowly, while her steadfast glance scanned 
 him calmly and deliberately. 
 
 " Tou find it hard to recognise as a soldier one dressed as I am, 
 and probably wonder ho-w such a life as this consorts with enterprise 
 and danger. Is not that what is passing in your mind ?" 
 
 " Mayhap," said she, in a low voice. 
 
 " It is all because the world has changed a good deal since Waver- 
 ley 's time." 
 
BABEIXGTOir. 231 
 
 " How sorry I am to hear it ! " 
 
 " Nay, for your sake it is all the better. Toung ladies have a 
 pleasanter existence now than they had sixty years since. They 
 lived then lives of household drudgery, or utter weariness." 
 " And what have they now ?" asked she, eagerly. 
 ""What have they not! All that ean embellish life is around 
 them ; they are taught in a hundred ways to employ the faculties 
 which give to existence its highest charm. They draw, sing, dance, 
 ride, dress becomingly, read what may give to their conversation an 
 added elegance, and make their presence felt as an added lustre." 
 
 " How unlike all this was our convent life !" said she, slowly. 
 " The beads in my rosary were not more alike than the days that 
 followed each other, and but for the change of season I should have 
 thought life a dreary sleep. Oh, if you but knew what a charm 
 there is iu the changeful year to one who lives in any bondage !" 
 
 " And yet I remember to have heard how you hoped you might 
 not be taken away from that convent life, and be compelled to enter 
 the world," said he, with a malicious twinkle of the eye. 
 
 " True ; and had I lived there still I had not asked for other. But 
 how came it you should have heard of me ? I never heard of you J" 
 " That is easily told. I was your aunt's guest at the time she 
 resolved to come abroad to see you and fetch you home. I used to 
 hear aU her plans about you, so that at last — I blush to own — I 
 talked of Josephine as though she were my sister." 
 
 " How strangely cold you were, then, when we met !" said she, 
 quietly. . " Was it that you found me so unlike what you ex- 
 pected ?" 
 
 " Unlike, indeed !" 
 
 " Tell me how — tell me, I pray you, what you had pictured me ?" 
 " It was not mere fancy I drew from. There was a miniature of 
 you as a child at the cottage, and I have looked at it till I could 
 recal every line of it." « 
 
 " Go on !" cried she, as he hesitated. 
 
 " The child's face was very serious — actually grave for childhood — 
 and had something almost stern in its expression; and yet I see 
 nothing of this in yours." 
 
 " So that, like grandpapa," said she, laughing, " you were disap- 
 pointed in not finding me a young tiger from Bengal ; but be patient, 
 and remember how long it is since I left the jungle." 
 
 Sportively as the words were uttered, her eyes flashed and her 
 cheek coloured, and Conyers saw for the first time how she resembled 
 her portrait in infancy. 
 
232 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 " Tes," added ste, as though answering what was passing in his 
 mind, " you are thinking just like the sisters, ' "What years and years it 
 would take to discipline one of such a race !' I have heard that given 
 as the reason for numberless inflictions. And now, all of a sudden, 
 comes grandpapa to say, ' We love you so because you are one of us.' 
 Can you understand this ?" 
 
 " I think I can — that is, I think I can understand why," he was 
 going to add, " why they should love you ;" but he stopped, ashamed 
 of his own eagerness. 
 
 She waited a moment for him to continue, and then, herself blush- 
 ing, as though she had guessed his embarrassment, she turned away. 
 
 " And this book that we have been forgetting — let us go and search 
 for it," said she, walking on rapidly in front of him, but he was 
 speedily at her side again. 
 
 " Look there, brother Peter — look there !" said Miss Dinah, as she 
 pointed after them, " and see how well fitted we are to be guardians 
 to a young lady !" 
 
 " I see no harm in it, Dinah — I protest, I see no harm in it." 
 
 " Possibly not, brother Peter, and it may only be a part of your 
 system for making her — as you phrase it — feel a holy horror of the 
 convent." 
 
 " Well," said he, meditatively, " he seems a fine, frank-hearted 
 young fellow, and in this world she is about to enter, her first experi- 
 ences might easily be worse." 
 
 " I vow and declare," cried she, warmly, " I believe it is your slip- 
 shod philosophy that makes me as severe as a holy inquisitor !" 
 
 " Every evil calls forth its own correction, Dinah," said he, laughing. 
 " If there were no fools to skate on the Serpentine, there had been no 
 Humane Society." 
 
 " One might grow tired of the task of resuscitating, Peter Barring- 
 ton," said she, hardly. 
 
 " Not yoii, not you, Dinah — at least, if I was the drowned man," 
 said he, drawing her affectionately to his side ; " and as for those 
 young creatures yonder, it's like gathering dog-roses, and they'll stop 
 when they have pricked their fingers." 
 
 " I'll go and look after the nosegay myself," said she, turning 
 hastily away, and following them. 
 
 A real liking for Conyers, and a sincere interest in liim, were the 
 great correctives to the part of Dragon which Miss Diaah declared 
 she foresaw to be her future lot in life. For years and years had she 
 believed that the cares of a household and the rule of servants were 
 the last trials of human patience. The larder, the dairy, aud the 
 
BAEEINGTON. 233 
 
 garden were each of them departments with special opportunities for 
 deception and embezzlement, and it seemed to her that new discove- 
 ries in roguery kept pace with the inventions of science ; but she was 
 energetic and active, and kept herself at what the Prench would call 
 " the level of the situation ;" and neither the cook, nor the dairymaid, 
 nor Darby, could be vain -glorious over their battles with her. And now, 
 all of a sudden, a new part was assigned her, with new duties, functions, 
 and requirements ; and she was called on to exercise qualities which 
 had lain long dormant and in disuse, and renew a knowledge she had 
 not employed for many a year. And what a strange blending of 
 pleasure and pain must have come of that memory of long ago ! Old 
 conquests revived, old rivalries, and jealousies, and triumphs — glorious 
 little glimpses of brilliant delight, and some dark hours, too, of dis- 
 appointment — almost despair ! 
 
 " Once a bishop, always a bishop," says the canon ; but might we 
 not with almost as much truth say, " Once a beauty, always a beauty ?" 
 — not in lineament and feature, in downy cheek or silky tresses, but in 
 the heartfelt consciousness of a once sovereign power, in that sense 
 of having been able to exact a homage and enforce a tribute. And 
 as we see in the deposed monarch how the dignity of kingcraft clings 
 to him, how through all he does and says there runs a vein of royal 
 graciousness as from one the fount of honour, so it is with Beauty. 
 There lives through all its wreck the splendid memory of a despotism 
 the most absolute, the most fascinating of all ! 
 
 "I am so glad that young Conyers has no plans, Dinah," said 
 Barrington; "he says he will join us if we permit him." 
 
 " Humph !" said Miss Barrington, as she went on with her knitting, 
 
 " I see nothing against it, sister." 
 
 " Of course not, Peter," said she, snappishly; "it would surprise 
 me much if you did." 
 
 " Do you, Dinah ?" asked he, with a true simplicity of voice and 
 look. 
 
 " I see great danger in it, if that be what you mean. And what 
 answer did you make him, Peter?" 
 
 " The same answer that I make to every one — I would consult my 
 sister Dinah. ' Le Eoi s'avisera ' meant, I take it, that he'd be led 
 by a wiser head than his own." < 
 
 " He was wise when he knew it," said she, sententiously, and con- 
 tinued her work. 
 
 And from that day forth they aU journeyed together, and one of 
 them was very happy, and some were far more than happy; and 
 Aunt Dinah was anxious, even beyond her wont. 
 
234 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 THE BAUBLE. 
 
 Day after day, week after week rolled on, a.iid they still rambled 
 about among the picturesque old villages on the Moselle, almost 
 losing themselves in quaint unvisited spots, whose very names were 
 new to them. To Barrington and his sister this picture of a pri- 
 mitive peasant life, with its own types of costume and custom, had 
 an indescribable charm. Though debarred, from his ignorance of 
 their dialect, of anything like intercourse with the people, he followed 
 them in all their ways with intense interest, and he would pass hours 
 in the market-place, or stroll through the fields watching the strange 
 culture, and wondering at the very implements of their labour. And 
 the young people all this while ? They were never separate. They 
 read, and walked, and sat together from dawn to dark. They called 
 each other Fifine and Freddy. Sometimes she sang, and he was there 
 to listen ; sometimes he drew, and she was as sure to be leaning over 
 him in silent wonder at his skill, but with all this there was no love- 
 making between them — that is, no vows were uttered, no pledges 
 asked for. Confidences, indeed, they interchanged, and without end. 
 She told the story of her friendless infancy, and the long dreary years 
 of convent life passed in a dull routine that had almost barred the 
 heart against a wish for change ; and he gave her the story of his 
 more splendid, existence, charming her imagination with a picture of 
 that glorious Eastern life, which seemed to possess an instinctive 
 captivation for her. And at last he told her, but as a great secret 
 never to be revealed, how his father and her ovpn had been the dearest, 
 closest friends ; that for years and years they had lived together like 
 brothers, till separated by the accidents of life. Ser father went 
 away to a long distant station, and his remained to hold a high mili- 
 tary charge, from which he was now relieved and on his way back to 
 Europe. " What happiness for you, Ereddy," cried she, as her eyes 
 ran over, "to see him come home in honour. "What had I given 
 that such a fate were mine." 
 
 Eor an instant he accepted her words in all their flattery, but the 
 hypocrisy was brief; her over-full heart was bursting for sympathy, 
 and he was eager to declare that his sorrows were scarcely less than 
 
BABEiirGTOir. 235 
 
 her own. " No, Kfine," said he, " my father is coming back to de- 
 mand Batisfaction of a Government that has wronged him, and treated 
 him with the worst ingratitude. In that Indian life men of station 
 wield an almost boundless power, but if they are irresponsible as to 
 the means, they are tested by the results, and whenever an adverse 
 issue succeeds they fall irrevocably. What my father may have 
 done, or have left undone, I know not. I have not the vaguest clue 
 to his present difficulty, but, with his high spirit and his proud heart, 
 that he would resent the very shadow of a reproof, I can answer 
 for, and so I believe, what many tell me, that it is a mere question of 
 personal feeling — some small matter in which the Council have not 
 shown him the deference he felt his due, but which his haughty nature 
 would not forego." 
 
 Now these confidences were not love-making, nor anything ap- 
 proaching to it, and yet Josephine felt a strange half-pride in think- 
 ing that she had been told a secret which Conyers had never revealed 
 to any other ; that to her he had poured forth the darkest sorrow of 
 his heart, and actually confided to her the terrors that beset him, for 
 he owned that his father was rash and headstrong, and if he deemed 
 himself wronged would be reckless in his attempt at justification. 
 
 "Ton do not come of a very patient' stock, then," said she, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Not very, rifine.'' 
 
 " Nor I," said she, as her eyes flashed brightly. " My poor Ayah, 
 who died when I was but five years old, used to tell me such tales of 
 my father's proud spirit, and the lofty way he bore himself, so that I 
 often fancy I have seen him and heard him speak. Ton have heard 
 he was a Bajah ?" asked she, with a touch of pride. 
 
 The youth coloured deeply as he muttered an assent, for he knew 
 that she was ignorant of the details of her father's fate, and he dreaded 
 any discussion of her story. 
 
 "And these Eajahs," resumed she, "are really great Princes, with 
 power of life and death, vast retinnaes, and splendid armies. To my 
 mind, they present a more gorgeous picture than a small European 
 sovereignty with some vast Protectorate looming over it. Ajid now 
 it is my uncle," said she, suddenly, " who rules there." 
 
 " I have heard that your own claims, Fifine, are in litigation," said 
 he, with a faint smile. 
 
 " Not as to the sovereignty," said she, with a grave look, half re- 
 bukeful of his levity. " The suit grandpapa prosecutes in my be- 
 half is for my mother's jewels and her fortune : a woman cannot 
 reign in the Tannanoohr." 
 
236 BABEINGTON. 
 
 There was a haughty defiance in her voice as she spoke, that 
 seemed to say, " This is a theme I will not suffer to be treated lightly 
 — ^beware how you transgress here." 
 
 "And yet it is a dignity would become you well," said he, 
 seriously. 
 
 " It is one I "would glory to possess," sa,id she, as proudly. 
 
 " Would you give me a high post, Pifine, if you were on the throne ? 
 — would you make me Commander-in-Chief of your army ?" 
 
 " More likely that I would banish you from the realm," said she, 
 with a haughty laugh ; " at least, until you learned to treat the head 
 of the state more respectfully." 
 
 " Have I ever been wanting in a proper deference ?" said he, bow- 
 ing, with a mock humility. 
 
 " If you had been, Sir, it is not, now, that you had first heard of it," 
 said she, with a proud look ; and for a few seconds it seemed as though 
 their jesting was to have a serious ending. She was, however, the 
 earliest to make terms, and in a tone of hearty kindliness said, 
 " Don't be angry, Freddy, and I'll tell you a secret. If that theme 
 te touched on, I lose my head : whether it be in the blood that 
 circles in my veins, or in some early teachings that imbued my child- 
 hood, or long dreaming over what can never be, I cannot tell, but 
 it is enough to speak of these things, and at "once my imagination 
 becomes exalted and my reason is routed." 
 
 " I have no doubt your Ayah was to blame for this ; she must have 
 filled your head with ambitions, and hopes of a grand hereafter. Even 
 I, myself, have some experiences of this sort, for as my father held a 
 high post and was surrounded with great state and pomp, I grew at 
 a very early age to believe myself a mighty personage, and gave my 
 orders with despotic insolence, and suffered none to gainsay me." 
 
 " How silly !" said she, with a supercilious toss of her head that 
 made Conyers flush up ; and once again was peace endangered 
 tetween them. 
 
 " Tou mean, that what was only a fair and reasonable assumption 
 in yoii, was an absurd pretension in me. Miss Barrington ; is it not 
 so ?" asked he, in a voice tremulous with passion. 
 
 " I mean, that we must both have been very naughty children, and 
 the less we remember of that childhood, the better for us. Are we 
 friends, Treddy ?" and she held out her hand. 
 
 " Tes, if you wish it," said he, taking her hand half coldly in his 
 own. 
 
 " Not that way, Sir, It is J who have condescended ; not you" 
 
'-^i^^y/^: i^y.)}:^:^^ 
 
 ■a/ 
 
 
 '(^■/If'' 
 
BABIlIN&TOir. 2S7 
 
 "As you please, !Fifine — will this do; and kneeling with well-as- 
 sumed reverence, he lifted her hand to his lips." 
 
 " If my opinion were to he asked, Mr. Conyers, I would say it 
 would not do at all," said Miss Dinah, coming suddenly up, her 
 cheeks crimson, and her eyes flashing. 
 
 " It was a little comedy we were acting, Aunt Dinah," said the 
 girl, calmly. 
 
 " I beg, then, that the piece may not he repeated," said she, stiffly. 
 
 " Considering how ill Freddy played his part, aunt, he will scarcely 
 regret its withdrawal." - ■ 
 
 Conyers, however, could not. get over his confusion, and looked 
 perfectly miserable for.ve'ry shame. 
 
 " My brother has just had a letter which will call us homeward, 
 Mr. Conyers," said Miss Dinah, turning to him, and now using a 
 tonedevoid of all irritation. '' Mr. Withering has obtained some in- 
 formation which may turn out- of great consequence in our suit, and 
 he wishes to consult with my brother upon it." 
 
 " I hope— I sincerely hope^-you do not think " he began, in 
 
 a low voice. 
 
 " I do not think anything to your disadvantage, and I hope I never 
 may," replied she, in a whisper low as his own; "but bear in mind,- 
 Josephine is no fiiiishedv coquette like Polly DiU, nor .must she be the 
 mark of little gallantries, however harmless. Josephine, grandpapa 
 has some news for you ; go to him." 
 
 " Poor Preddy," whispered the girl in the youth!s ear as she passed, 
 " what a lecture you are in for." 
 
 " Tou mustn't be angry withme if I play Duenna a little harshly, 
 Mr. Conyers," said Miss Dinah ; " and I am far more angry with my- 
 self than you can be. I never concurred with' my brother that ro- 
 mance-readings and a young Dragoon for a companion, were the most 
 suitable educational means for a young lady fresh from a convent, 
 and I have only myself to blame for permitting it." 
 
 Poor Conyers was so overwhelmed that he could say nothing, for 
 though he might, and with a safe conscience, have answered a direct 
 charge, yet against a general allegation he was powerless. He could 
 not say that he was the best possible companion for a young lady, 
 though he felt, honestly felt, that he was not a bad one. He had 
 never trifled with her feelings, nor sought to influence her in his 
 favour. Of all flirtation, such as he would have adventured with 
 Polly DiU, for instance, he was guiltless. . He respected her youth 
 and ignorance of life too deeply to take advantage of either. He 
 
238 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 thought, perhaps, how ungenerous it would have been for a man of 
 the world like himself to entrap the affections of a young, artless 
 creature, almost a child in her innocence. He was rather fond of 
 imagining himself " a man of the world," old soldier, and what not — a 
 delusion which somehow very rarely befals any but very young men, 
 and of which the experience of life from thirty to forty is the sove- 
 reign remedy. And so overwhelmed and confused and addled was 
 he with a variety of sensations, he heard very little of what Miss 
 Dinah said to him, though that worthy lady talked very fluently and 
 very well, concluding at last with words which awoke Con3-ers from 
 his half trance with a sort of shock. " It is for these reasons, my 
 dear Mr. Conyers — reasons whose force and nature you will not dis- 
 pute — that I am forced to do what, were the occasion less important, 
 would be a most ungenerous task. I mean, I am forced to relinquish 
 all the pleasure that I had promised ourselves from seeing you our 
 guest at the cottage. If you but knew the pain I feel to speak these 
 words " 
 
 " There is no occasion to say more, Madam," said he ; for un- 
 fortunately so unprepared was he for the announcement, its chief 
 effect was to wound his pride. " It is the second time within a few 
 months destiny has stopped my step on your threshold. It only re- 
 mains for me to submit to my fate, and not adventure upon an 
 enterprise above my means." 
 
 "Tou are offended with me, and yet you ought not," said she, 
 sorrowfully ; " you ought to feel that I am consulting your interests 
 fully as much as ours." 
 
 " I own. Madam," said he, coldly, " I am unable to take the view 
 you have placed before me." 
 
 " Must I speak ont, then ? — must I declare my meaning in all its 
 matter-of-fact harshness, and say that your family and your friends 
 would have little scruple in estimating the discretion which en- 
 couraged your intimacy with my niece — the son of the distinguished 
 and highly favoured General Conyers with the daughter of the 
 ruined George Barrington ? These are hard words to say, but I have 
 said them." 
 
 " It is to my father you are unjust now. Miss Barrington." 
 
 " Ko, Mr. Conyers ; there is no injustice in believing that a father 
 loves his son with a love so large that it cannot exclude even world- 
 liness. There is no injustice in believing that a proud and successful 
 man would desire to see his son successful too ; and we all know 
 what we call success. I see you are very angry with me. Tou 
 think me very worldly and very small-minded ; perhaps, too, you 
 would like to say that all the perils I talk of are of my own in- 
 
BAEBINGTON. 239 
 
 Tenting ; that Fifine and you could be the best of friends, and never 
 think of more than friendship ; and that I might spare my anxieties, 
 and not fret for sorrows that have no existence ; — and to all this I 
 would answer, I'll not risk the chance. No, Mr. Conyers, I'll be no 
 party to a game where the stakes are so unequal. What might give 
 you a month's sorrow might cost her the misery of a life-long." 
 
 " I have no choice left me. I will go — I will go to-night, Miss 
 Barrington." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be better," said she, gravely, and walked slowly 
 away. 
 
 I will not tell the reader what harsh and cruel things Conyers said 
 of every one and everything, nor how severely he railed at the world 
 and its ways. Lord Byron had taught the youth of that age a very 
 hearty and wholesome contempt for all manner of conventionalities, 
 into which category a vast number of excellent customs were in- 
 cluded, and Conyers could spout " Manfred" by heart, and imagine 
 himself, on very small provocation, almost as great a man-hater ; and 
 so he set off on a long walk into the forest, determined not to appear 
 at dinner, and equally determined to be the cause of much inquiry, 
 and, if possible, of some uneasiness. "I wonder what that old 
 maid"— ^alas for his gallantry, it was so he called her — '• what she 
 
 would say if her harsh, ungenerous words had driven me to " 
 
 what he did not precisely define, though it was doubtless associated 
 with snow peaks and avalanches, eternal solitudes and demoniac 
 possessions. It might, indeed, have been some solace to him had he 
 known how miserable and anxious old Peter became at his absence, 
 and how incessantly he questioned every one about him. 
 
 " I hope that no mishap has befallen that boy, Dinah ; he was 
 always punctual. I never knew him stray away in this fashion 
 before." 
 
 " It would be rather a severe durance, brother Peter, if a young 
 gentleman' could not prolong his evening walk without permis- 
 sion." 
 
 " "What says Pifine ? I suspect she agrees with me." 
 
 " If that means that he ought to be here, grandpapa, I do." 
 
 " I must read over Withering's letter again, brother," said Miss 
 Dinah, by way of changing the subject. " He writes, you say, from 
 the Home ?" 
 
 " Tes ; he was obliged to go down there to search for some papera 
 he wanted, and he took Stapylton with him ; and he says they bad 
 two capital days at the partridges. They bagged— egad! I think ib 
 was eight or ten brace before two o'clock, the Captain or Majbr, 
 I forget which, being a first-rate shot." 
 
240 BAEBIirGTOK. 
 
 " What does he say of the place — how is it looking ?" 
 
 "In perfect beauty. Tour deputy, Polly, -would seem to have 
 fulfilled her part admirably. The garden iu prime order — and that 
 little spot next your own sitting-room, he says, is positively a better 
 flower-show than one he paid a shilling to see in Dublin. Polly her- 
 self, too, comes in for a very warm share of his admiration." 
 
 " How did he see her, and where ?" 
 
 " At the Home. She was there the evening they arrived, and 
 "Withering insisted on her presiding at the tea-table for them." 
 
 " It did not require very extraordinary entreaty, I will make bold 
 to say, Peter." 
 
 " He does not mention that ; he only speaks of her good looks, and 
 what he calls her very pretty manners. In a situation not devoid of 
 a certain awkwardness, he says she displayed the most perfect tact ; 
 and although doing the honours of the house, she, with some very 
 nice ingenuity, insinuated that she was herself but a visitor." 
 
 " She could scarce have forgotten herself so far as to think any- 
 thing else, Peter," said Miss Dinah, bridling up. " I suspect her 
 very pretty manners were successfully exercised. That old gentle- 
 man is exactly of the age to be fascinated by her." 
 
 " "What ! "Withering, Dinah — do you mean "Withering ?" cried he, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I do, brother ; and I say that he is quite capable of making her 
 the offer of his hand. Tou may laugh, Peter Barrington, but my 
 observation of young ladies has been closer and finer than yours." 
 And the glance she gave at Josephine seemed to say that her gun 
 had been double shotted. 
 
 " But your remark, sister Dinah, rather addresses itself to old 
 gentlemen than to young ladies." 
 
 " "Who are much the more easily read of the two," said she, tartly. 
 " But really, Peter, I will own that I am more deeply concerned to 
 know what Mr. "Withering has to say of our lawsuit than about Polly 
 Dill's attractions." 
 
 " He speaks very hopefully — very hopefully indeed. In turning 
 over George's papers some Hindoo documents have come to light, 
 which Stapylton has translated, and it appears that there is a certain 
 Moonshee, called Jokeeram, who was, or is, in the service of Meer 
 Eustum, whose testimony would avail us much. Stapylton inclines 
 to think he could trace this man for us. His own relations are prin- 
 cipally in Madras, but he says that he could manage to institute in- 
 quiries in Bengal." 
 
 " "What is our claim to this gentleman's interest for us, Peter?" 
 
BAEEIlfGTOISr. 241 
 
 " Mere kindness on his part ; he never knew George, except from 
 hearsay. Indeed, they could not have been contemporaries. Sta- 
 pylton is not, I should say, above five-and- thirty." 
 
 " The search after this creature with the horrid name will be, of 
 course, costly, brother Peter. It means, I take it, sending some one 
 out to India ; that is to say, sending one fool after another. Are you 
 prepared for this expense ?" 
 
 " Withering opines it would be money well spent. What he says 
 is this : The Company will not willingly risk another inquiry before 
 Parliament, and if we show fight and a firm resolve to give the case 
 publicity, they will probably propose terms. This Moonshee had 
 been in their service, but was dismissed, and his appearance as a 
 witness on our side would occasion great uneasiness." 
 
 " Tou are going to play a game of brag, then, brother Peter, well 
 aware that the stronger purse is with your antagonist ?" 
 
 " Not exactly, Dinah ; not exactly. We are strengthening our 
 position so far that we may say, ' Tou see our order of battle, would 
 it not be as well to make peace ?' Listen to what Withering says." 
 And Peter opened a letter of several sheets, and sought out the 
 place he wanted. " Here it is, Dinah. ' Prom one of these Hindoo 
 papers we leam that £am Shamsoolah Sing was not at the Meer'a 
 residence during the feast of the Ehamadan, and could not possibly 
 have signed the document to which his name and seal are appended. 
 Jokeeram, who was himself the Moonshee interpreter in Luckerabad,. 
 writes to his friend Cossien Aga, and says ' " 
 
 " Brother Peter, this is like the Arabian Nights in all but the 
 entertainment to me, and the jumble of these abominable names only 
 drives me mad. If you flatter yourself that you can understand one 
 particle of the matter, it must be that age has sharpened your facultiesj, 
 that's aU." 
 
 " I'm not quite sure of that, Dinah," said he, laughing. " I'm. 
 half disposed to believe that years are not more merciful to our 
 brains than to our ankles ; but I'll go and take a stroll in the shady 
 alleys under the linden-trees, and who knows how bright it wili 
 make me !" 
 
 " Am I to go with you, grandpapa ?" said the young girl, rising. 
 
 " No, Fifine ; I have something to say to you here," said Miss 
 Dinah ; and there was a significance in the tone that was anything 
 but reassuring. 
 
242 BABBINaiOlf. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 UNDER THE LINDEN. 
 
 That aliady alley uiader the lindea-trees was a very favourite walk 
 with Feter Barriogton. It was a nice cool lane, with a brawling little 
 rivulet close beside it, with here and there a dark silent pool for the 
 dragon-fly to skim over and see his bronzed wings reflected in the still 
 water ; and there was a rustic bench or two, where Peter used to ait 
 and fancy he was meditating, while, in reality, he was only watching 
 a speckled lizard in. the grass, or listening to the meUow blackbird 
 over his head. I have had occasion once before to remark on the 
 resources of the man of imi^ination, but I really suspect that for the 
 true luxury of idleness there is nothing like the temperament devoid 
 of faacy. There is a grand breadth about those quiet peaceful minds 
 over which no shadows flit, and which can find sufficieut occupation 
 through the senses, and never have to go "within" for their resources. 
 These men can sit the livelong day and watch the tide break over a 
 rock, or see the sparrow teach her young to fly, or gaze on the bee as 
 he dives into the deep cup of the fbsglove, and actually meed no more 
 to fiU the hours. Tor them there is no memory with its dark by- 
 gones; there is no looming future with its possible misfortunes; 
 there is simply a half-sleepy present, with soft sounds and sweet 
 odours through it — a balmy kmd of stupor, from which the awaking 
 comes without a shock. 
 
 "When Barrington reached his favourite seat, and lighted his cigar 
 —it is painting the lily for such men to smoke-r^e intended to have 
 thought over the details of "Withering's letter, which were both 
 ctirious aud interesting ; he intended to couEdder attentively certain 
 points which, as "Withering said, " he must master before he could 
 adopt a final resolve ;" but they were knotty points, made knottier, 
 toe, by hard Hindoo words for things unknown, and names totally 
 unpronounceable. He used to think that he understood " George's 
 claim " pretty well ; he had fancied it was a clear and very intelligible 
 case, that half a dozen honest men might have come to a decision on 
 in an hour's time ; but now he began to have a glimmering perception 
 that George must have been egregiously duped and basely betrayed, 
 and that the Company were not altogether unreasonable in assuming 
 
BAEEorGTOisr. 243 
 
 their distrust of him. Wow, aU these considerations comiDg down 
 upon him at once, were overwhelming, and they almost stunned him. 
 Even his late attempt tO' enlighten his sister Dinah on a matter he so 
 imperfectly understood now recoiled upon him, aaid added to his own 
 mystiiication. 
 
 " Well, well," muttered he, at last, " I hope Tom sees his way 
 through it " — Tom was "Withering — " and if Ae does there's no need 
 of my bothering my head about it. What use would there be in. 
 lawyers if they hadn't got faculties sharper than other folic ? and as 
 to ' making up my mind,' my mind is made up already, that I want 
 to win the cause if he'll only shew me how." Erom these musings 
 he wars dra-wn off by watching a large pike — the largest pike, .he 
 thought, he had ever seen — which would from time to. time dart out 
 from beneath a bank, and, after lying motionless in the middle of 
 the pool for a minnte or so, would,, with one whisk of its tail, skim 
 back again to its hiding-place. " That fellow has instincts of it^ 
 own to warn him," thought he ; " he knows he wasn't safe out there. 
 He sees some peril that I cannot see ; and that ought to be the way 
 with Tom, for, after all, the lawyers are just pikes, neither more nor 
 less." At this instant a man leaped across the streanai, and hurriedly 
 passed into the copse. "What! Mr. Conyers — Conyers, is that 
 you?" cried Barrington, and the young man turned and came towards 
 him. " I am glad to see you all safe and sound again," said Peter ; 
 " we waited dinner half an hour for you, and have pasaed all the time 
 since in conjecturing what might have befallen you." 
 
 " Didn't Mi«s Barrington say-^did not Miss Barrington know — ' — " 
 he stopped in deep confusion, and could not finish his speeeh^ 
 
 " My sister knew nothing— at least, she did not tell me any reason 
 for your absence." 
 
 "]S"o,not for my absence," began he once more in the same embar- 
 rassment; " but as I had explained to her that L was obliged to leave 
 this suddenly^ — ^to staEt..this evening " 
 
 " To start this evening ! and whither ,?" 
 
 "I cannot teU ; I don't kaow — that ia, I have no plans." 
 
 " My dear boy," said: the old man, affectionately, as he laid his hamd 
 on the other's arm, " if you don't know where you are going, take my 
 word for it there is no such great necessity to go." 
 
 "Yes, but there is," replied he, quickly ; "at least, Miss Barring- 
 ton thinks so, and at the time we spoke together she made me believe 
 she was in the right." 
 
 "And are you of the same opinion now?" asked Prter, with a 
 humorous drollery in his eye. 
 
 b2 
 
244 BABfilNGTOir. 
 
 " I am — tbat is, I was a few moments back, I mean, that whenever 
 I recal the words she spoke to me, I feel their full conviction." 
 
 " Come, now, sit down here beside me ; it can scarcely be anything 
 I may not be a party to. Just let me hear the case like a judge in 
 chamber " — and he smiled at an illustration that recalled his favourite 
 passion. " I won't pretend to say my sister has not a wiser head — 
 as I well know she has a far better heart — than myself, but now and 
 then she lets a prejudice, or a caprice, or even a mere apprehension, 
 run away with her, and it's just possible it is some whim of this kind 
 is now uppermost." 
 
 Conyers only shook his head dissentingly, and said nothing. 
 
 " May be I guess it — I suspect that I guess it," said Peter, with a 
 sly drollery about his mouth. " My sister has a notion that a young 
 man and a young woman ought no more to be in propinquity than 
 saltpetre and charcoal. She has been giving me a lecture on my 
 blindness, and asking if I can't see "this, that, and the other; but, 
 besides being the least observant of mankind, I'm 6ne of the most 
 hopeful as regards whatever I wish to be. Now we have all of us 
 gone on so pleasantly together, with such a thorough good under- 
 standing — such loyalty, as the French would call it — that I can't, 
 for the life of me, detect any ground for mistrust or dread. Haven't 
 I hit the blot, Conyers — eh ?" cried he, as the young fellow grew 
 redder and redder, till his face became crimson. 
 
 " I assured Miss Barrington," began he, in a faltering, broken voice, 
 " that I set too much store on the generous confidence you extended 
 to me to abuse it; that, received as I was, like one of your own blood 
 and kindred, I never could forget the frank trustfulness with which 
 you discussed everything before me, and made me, so to say, ' One of 
 you.' The moment, however, that my intimacy suggested a sense of 
 constraint, I felt the whole charm of my privilege would have departed, 
 and it is for this reason I am going!" The last word was closed with 
 a deep sigh, and he turned away his head as he concluded. 
 
 " And for this reason you shall not go one step," said Peter, slapping 
 him cordially on the shoulder. " I verily believe that women think 
 the world was made for nothing but love-making, just as the crack 
 engineer believed rivers were intended by Providence to feed navi- 
 gable canals ; but you and I know a little better, not to say that a 
 young fellow with the stamp gentleman indelibly marked on his fore- 
 head would not think of making a young girl fresh from a convent — 
 a mere child in the ways of life — the mark of his attentions. Am I 
 not right?" 
 " I hope and believe you are !" 
 
BAEEIlfGTON. 245 
 
 " Stay where you are, then ; be happy, and help us to feel so ; and 
 the only pledge I ask is, that whenever you suspect Dinah to be a 
 shrewder observer and a truer prophet than her brother — you under- 
 stand me — you'll just come and say, 'Peter Barrington, I'm off; 
 good-by !' " 
 
 " There's ray hand on it," said he, grasping the old man's with 
 warmth. "There's only one point — I have told Miss Barrington 
 that I would start this evening." 
 
 " She'll scarcely hold you very closely to your pledge." 
 " But, as I understand. her, you are going back to Ireland ?" 
 " And you are coming along with us. Isn't that a very simple 
 arrangement ?" 
 " I know it would be a very pleasant one." 
 
 " It shall be, if it depend upon me. I want to make you a fisher- 
 man, too. When I was a young man, it was my passion to make 
 •every one a good horseman. If I liked a fellow, and found out 
 that he couldn't ride to hounds, it gave me a shock little short of 
 hearing that there was a blot on his character, so associated in my 
 mind had become personal dash and prowess in the field with every 
 bold and manly characteristic. As I grew older, and the rod 
 •usurped the place of the hunting-whip, I grew to fancy that your 
 angler would be the truest type of a companion ; and if you but 
 knew," added he, as a glassy fulness dulled his eyes, "what a flat- 
 tery it is to an old feUow when a young one will make a comrade 
 of him — what a smack of bygone days it brings up, and what 
 sunshine it lets in on the heart, take my word for it, you young 
 fellows are never so vain of an old companion as we are of a young 
 one ! "What are you so thoughtful about ?" 
 
 "I was thinking how I was to make this explanation to Miss 
 Barrington." 
 
 " Tou need not make it at all ; leave the whole case in my hands. 
 My sister knows that I owe you an ' amende,' and a heavy one. Let 
 this go towards a part payment of it. But here she comes in search 
 of me. Step away Quietly, and when we meet at the tea-table all will 
 have been settled." 
 
 Conyers had but time to make his escape, when Miss Barrington 
 came up. 
 
 " I thought I should find you mooning down here, Peter," said she, 
 sharply. " Wbenever there is anything to be done or decided on, a 
 ■Barrington is always watching a fly on a fish-pond." 
 
 " N'ot the women of the family, Dinah — not the women. But what 
 great emergency is before us now ?" 
 
246 BABErtrGTOIf. 
 
 " No great emergency, as you phrase it, at all, but what to men 
 like yourself is frequently just as trying — an occasion that requires a 
 little tact. I hare discoyered — what I long anticipated has come 
 to paBS — Conyers and Kfine are on very* close terms of intimacy, 
 ■which might soon become attachment. I have charged him with it, 
 and he has not altogether denied it. On the whole he has behaved 
 ■well, and he goes away to night." 
 
 " I have just seen him, Dinah. I got at his secret, not without a 
 little dexterity on my part, and learned what had passed between you. 
 We talked the thing over very calmly together, and the upshot is — 
 he's not going." 
 
 " Not going ! not going ! after the solemn assurance he gave 
 me!" 
 
 " But of which I absolved him, sister Dinah ; or, rather, which I 
 made him retract." 
 
 " Peter Barriagton, stop !" cried she, holding her hands to her 
 temples. " 1 want a little time to recover myself. I must have time, 
 or I'll not answer for my senses. Just reply to one question. I'll 
 ask you, have you taken an oath — are you under a vow to be the 
 ruin of your family ?" 
 
 "I don't think I have, Dinah. I'm doing everything for the 
 ■best." 
 
 " If there's a phrase in the language condemns the person that 
 uses it, it's ' Doing everything for the best.' What does it mean but 
 a blind, uninquiring, inconsiderate act, the work of a poor brain and 
 sickly conscience ? Don't talk to me. Sir, of doing for the best, but do 
 the best, the very best, according to the lights that guide you. Ton 
 know well, perfectly well, that Kfine has no fortune, and ilh&t this 
 ■young man belongs to a very rich and a very ambitious family, and 
 that to encourage what might lead to attachment between them 
 Tvould be to store up a cruel wrong and a great disappointment." 
 
 " My dear Dinah, you speak like a book, but I don't agree with 
 you." 
 
 " Tou don't. Will you please to state why ?" 
 
 " In the first place, Dinah, forgive me for saying it, but we men do 
 not take i/our view of these cases. We neither think that love is as 
 catching or as dangerous as the small-pox. We imagine that two 
 young people can associate together every day and yet never contract 
 a lien that might break their hearts to dissolve." 
 
 " Talking polities together, perhaps ; or the state of the Three per 
 Cents. P" 
 
 " Not exactly that, but talking of fifty other things that interest 
 
EABETNGTOir. 247 
 
 their time of life and tempers. Have tbey nab songs, drawings, 
 flowers, landscapes, and books, with all their thousand incidents, to 
 discuss ? Just remember what that writer who calls himself ' Author- 
 of "Waverley' — ^wfaat he alone has given us of people to talk over just 
 as if we knew them." 
 
 " Brother Peter, I have no patience with you. You enumerate 
 one by one all the ingredients, and you disparage the total. Tou 
 tell of the flom', and the plums, and the suet, and the candied lemon, 
 but you cry out against the pudding ! Don't you see that the vexy 
 themes you leave for them all conduce to what you ignore, and that 
 your music, and painting, and romance-reading, only lead to love- 
 making ? Don't you see this, er are you in reality — I didn't want to 
 say it, but you have made me — are you an old fool ?" 
 
 "I hope not, Dinah; but I'm not so sure you don't think me 
 one." 
 
 " It's nothing to the purpose whether I do or not," said she; " the 
 'question is, have you asked this young man to come back with us to 
 Ireland ?" 
 
 " I have, and he is coming." 
 
 " I could have sworn to it," said she, with a sudden energy ; " and 
 if there was anything more stupid, you'd have done it also." And 
 with this speech, more remarkable for its vigour than its politeness, 
 she turned away and left him. 
 
 Ere I close the chapter and the subject, let me glance, and only 
 glance, at the room where Conyers is now standing beside Josephine. 
 She is drawing, not very attentively or carefully, perhaps, and he is 
 .bending over her and relating, as it seems, something that has 
 occurred to him, and has come to the end with the words, " And 
 though I was to have gone this evening, it turns out that now I am 
 to stay and accompany you to Ireland." 
 
 "Don't sigh so painfully over it, however," said she, gravely, "for 
 when you come to mention how distressing it ia I'm sure they'll let 
 you off." 
 
 " Pifine," said he, reproachfully, " is this fair ? is this generous ?" 
 " I don't know whether it be unfair, I don't want it to be 
 generous," said she, boldly. 
 
 " In point of fact, then, you only wish for me here to quarrel wdtl^ 
 is that the truth ?" 
 
 " I think it better fun disagreeing with you than always saying 
 how accurate you are, and how wise, and how well-judging. That 
 -atmosphere of eternal agreement chokes me ; I feel as if I wereauiSb- 
 cating." 
 
248 BABBINGTOW. 
 
 " It's not a very happy temperament ; it's not a disposition to 
 boast of." 
 
 " Tou never did hear me boast of it ; but I have heard you very 
 vain-glorious about your easy temper and your facile nature, which 
 •were simply indolence. Now, I have had more than enough of that 
 in the convent, and I long for a little activity." 
 
 " Even if it were hazardous ?" 
 
 " Even if it were hazardous," echoed she. " But here comes Aunt 
 Dinah, ■with a face as stern as one of the sisters, and an eye that re- 
 minds me of penance and bread and water, so help me to put up my 
 drawings, and say nothing of what we were talking." 
 
 " My brother has just told me, Mr. Conyers," said she, in a whisper, 
 " a piece of news which it only depends upon you to make a most 
 agreeable arrangement." 
 
 " I trust that you may count upon me, Madam," said he, in the 
 same tone, and bowed low as he spoke. 
 
 " Then come with me and let us talk it over," said she, as she 
 took his arm and led him away. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 FIFINE AND POLLY. 
 
 Theee are a few days in our autumnal season — very few and rare ! 
 — when we draw the curtain against the glare of the sun at breakfast, 
 and yet, in the evening, are glad to gather around the cheerful glow 
 of the fire. These are days of varied skies, with fleecy clouds lying 
 low beneath a broad expanse of blue, with massive shadows on the 
 mountains, and here and there over the landscape tips of sunlight 
 that make the meanest objects pictures ; and, with all these, abreezy 
 wind that scatters the yellow leaves and shakes the tree-tops, while 
 it curls the current of the bright river into mimic waves. The 
 sportsman will tell you that on such days the birds are somewhat 
 wild, and the angler will vow that no fish will rise to the fly, nor is it 
 a scent-lying day for the harriers ; and yet, with all this, there is a 
 spring and elasticity in the air that impart themselves to the tem- 
 perament, so that the active grow energetic, and even the indolent 
 feel no touch of lassitude. 
 
 It was on the morning of such a day that Barrington, with his sister 
 and granddaughter, drew nigh the Home. Conyers had parted with 
 
BAEEIlfGTOir. 249 
 
 tbem at Dublin, where his regiipent was now stationed, but was to 
 follow in a day or two. All the descriptions — descriptions which had 
 taken the shape of warnings — which they had given Josephine of the 
 cottage could not prevent her asking at each turn of the road if that 
 large house yonder, if that sombre tower over the trees, if that mas- 
 sive gate-lodge were not theirs ? "I know this is it, grandpapa," 
 said she, clapping her hands with delight as they came opposite a low 
 wall within which lay the spacious lawn of Cobham Park, a portion of 
 the house itself being just visible through the trees ; " don't tell me, 
 aunt," cried she, "but let me guess it." 
 
 " It is the seat of Sir Charles Cobham, child, one of the richest 
 baronets in the kingdom.." 
 
 " There it is at last — there it is !" cried she, straining out of the 
 carriage to see the handsome portico of a very large building, to 
 which a straight avenue of oaks led up from the high road. " My 
 heart tells me, aunt, that this is ours !" 
 
 " It was once on a time, Kfine," said the old man, with a 
 quivering voice, and a glassy film over his eyes ; " it was once ; but 
 it is so no longer." 
 
 " Barrington Hall has long ceased to belong to us," said Miss 
 Dinah ; " and after all the pains I have taken in description, I 
 cannot see how you could possibly confound it with our little 
 cottage." 
 
 The young girl sat back without a word, and whether from disap- 
 pointment or the rebuke, looked forth no more. 
 
 " "We are drawing very near, now, Fiflne," said the old man, after 
 a long silence, which lasted fully two miles of the way. " Where you 
 see the tall larches yonder — not there — Slower down, at the bend of 
 the stream ; those are our trees. I declare, Dinah, I fancy they have 
 grown since we saw them last." 
 
 " I have no doubt you do, Peter ; nor that you will find the cottage 
 far more commodious and comfortable than you remembered it." 
 
 " Ah, they've repaired that stile, I see," cried he ; " and very well 
 they've done it, without cutting away the ivy. Here we are, darling ; 
 here we are !" and he grasped the young girl's hands in one of his, 
 while he drew the other across his eyes. 
 
 " They're not very attentive, I must say, brother Peter, or they 
 would not leave us standing, with our own gate locked against us." 
 
 " I see Darby running as fast as he can. Here he comes !" 
 
 " Oh, by the powers, ye'r welcome home, your honour's reverence, 
 and the mistresses!" cried Darby, as he fumbled at the lock, and 
 then failing in all his eiforts— ^not very wonderful, seeing that he had 
 
250 BABBINQTOB'. 
 
 taken a wrong key — lie seized a huge stone, and smashing the pad- 
 lock at a-blow, threw wide the gate t» admit them. 
 
 " Tou are initiated at once into our Irish ways, iFifine," said Miss 
 Barrington. " All that yon will see here is in the same style. Let 
 ■that be repaired this evening, Sir, and at your own cost," whispered 
 she to Darby, into whose hand at the same moment Peter was 
 pressing a crown piece. 
 
 " 'Tis the light of my eyes to see your honours home again ! 'Tis 
 like rain to the new potatoes what I feel in my heart, and looking so 
 fresh and well, too ! And the young lady, she isn't — — " 
 
 From what dread anticipation Darby's sudden halt saved him the 
 expression is not for me to say, but that Feten; Sarrington guessed 
 it is probable, foi; he lay back in the carriage and shook with 
 laughitec. 
 
 ■" Drive on. Sir," said Miss Dinah- to the postilion, "and pull up 
 at the stone cross." 
 
 " Tou can drive to the door now. Ma'am," said Darby, " the whole 
 way ; Miss PoUy had the road made wbUe you were away." 
 
 ""What a clever girl! "Who could have thought it?" said Bar- 
 rington^ 
 
 " I opine that we might hwe been conamlted as to the change. On 
 a matter as important as this, Fet^*, L think our voices might have 
 been asked." 
 
 " And how well she has done it, too !" muttered he, half aloud; 
 " never touched one of those' copper beeches, and given us a peep of 
 the bright river through the meadows." 
 
 As the- earri^e roUed briskly along, Darl^, who trotted alongside, 
 kept up a current nara-ative of the changes effected during their 
 absence. 
 
 " The ould pigeon-house is tuck down, and an iligant new one put 
 np in the island ; and the calves' paddoCk is thrown into the flower- 
 garden, and there's a beautiful flight of steps down to the river, 
 paved with white stones— sorrow one isn't white as snow." 
 
 " It is a mercy we had not a sign over the door, brother Peter," 
 whispered Miss Dinah, " or this young lady's zeal would have had it 
 emblazoned like a shield in heraldry." 
 
 " Oh, how lovely, how beautiful, how exquisite !" eried Josephine, 
 as they came suddenly round the angle of a copse and directly in 
 front of the cottage. 
 
 !N'or was the praise exaggerated. It was all that she had said. 
 Over a light treUis-work, carried along under the thatch, the roses and 
 jessamine blended with the clematis and the paseioiirflower, forming 
 
BABEHrSTON. 251 
 
 a deep eave of flowers, dtoap'mg in heavy festoons across the spaces 
 between the ■windows, and meeting the geraniums which grew below. 
 Through the open sashes the rooms might be seen, looiking more like 
 beauidtful bowers than the cbambers of a dwelling-house. And overall, 
 in sombre grandeur, bent the great ilex-trees, throwing their grand 
 and tranquil shade over the cottage and the little grass-plot and even 
 the river itself, as it swept smoothly by. There was in the stillness 
 of that perfumed air, loaded with the sweet-briar and the rose, a 
 something of calm and tranqiuUity ; while in the isolatiooi of the spot 
 there was a sense of seonrity that seemed to fill up the measure of the 
 young girl's hopes, and made her exclaim with rapture, "Oh, this 
 indeed is beautiful !" 
 
 " Tes, my darling ■Fifine !" said the old man, as he pressed her to 
 his heart ; " your home, your own home ! I told y«wi, my dear child, 
 it was not a great castle, no fine ch&teau, like those on the Meuse 
 fliffid the Sambre, but a lowly cottage, with a thatched roof and a 
 ■rustic porch." 
 
 " In all this ardour' for deeoraition and smartness," broke in Miss 
 Dinah, " it would not surprise me to find tba^ the peacock's tail had 
 been picked out in fresh colours and varnished." 
 
 " JPaix! your honour is not far wrong," interpoBed ' Darby, who 
 had an Irish tendency to side with the majority. " She made us 
 curry and wash ould Sheela, the ass, as if she was a race-horse." 
 
 " I hope poor "Wowsky escaped," said Barrington, laughing. 
 
 " That's what he didn't ! He has to be scrubbed with soap and 
 water every morning, and his hair divided all the way down his 
 back, like a (Dhrisbian's, and his tail Iboks like a bunch of switch 
 
 " That's the reason he' hasn't come out to meet me; the poor 
 fellow is like his betters — he's not quite sure that his altered condi- 
 tion improves him." 
 
 " Ycfa have at least one satisfaction, brother iPeter," said Miss 
 Dinah, sharply ; " you find Darby just as dirty and uncared for as 
 you left him." 
 
 " By my conscience, there's a another of us isn't much changed 
 since we met last," muttered Darby ; but in a voice only audible to 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, what a sweet cottage ! "What a pretty summer-house !" cried 
 Josephine, as the carriage swept round the eopse, and darew short up 
 at the door. 
 
 " This summer-house is yoor home, Pifine," said Miss Baxrington, 
 tartly. 
 
252 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 " Home ! home ! Do you mean that we live here — live here 
 always, aunt ?" 
 
 " Most distinctly I do," said she, descending and addressing her- 
 self to other cares. " Where's Jane ? Tate these trunks round by 
 the back door. Carry this box to the green-room — to Miss Jose- 
 phine's room," said she, with a stronger stress on the words. 
 
 " "Well, darling, it is a very humble, it is a very lowly," said Bar- 
 rington, " but let us see if we cannot make it a very happy home ;" 
 but as he turned to embrace her she was gone. 
 
 " I told you so, brother Peter — I told you bo, more than once ; but 
 of course you have your usual answer, ' We must do the best we 
 can !' which simply means, doing worse than we need do." 
 
 Barrington was in no mood for a discussion ; he was too. happy to 
 be once more at home to be ruffled by any provocation his sister 
 could give him. Wherever he turned, some old familiar object met 
 his eye and seemed to greet him, and he bustled in and out from his 
 little study to the garden, and then to the stable, where he patted old 
 Eoger ; and across to the cow-house, where Maggie knew him, and 
 bent her great lazy eyes softly on him ; and then down to the river- 
 side, where, in gilt letters, " Josephine" shone on the trim row-boat he 
 had last seen half rotten on the bank ; for Polly had been there too, 
 with her thoughtful good nature, forgetting nothing which might 
 glad them on their coming. 
 
 Meanwhile, Josephine had reached her chamber, and locking the 
 door, sat down and leaned her head on the table. Though no tears 
 fell from her eyes, her bosom heaved and fell heavily, and more than 
 one deep sigh escaped her. Was it disappointment that had so over- 
 come her ? Had she fancied something grander and more preten- 
 tious than this lonely cottage ? Was it that Aunt Dinah's welcome 
 was wanting in affection ? What revulsion could it be that so sud- 
 denly overwhelmed her ? Who can teU these things, who can explain 
 how it is that, without any definite picture of an expected joy, ima- 
 gination will so work upon us that reality will bring nothing but a 
 blank ? It is not that the object is less attractive than is hoped for, 
 it is simply that a dark shadow has passed over our own hearts — the 
 sense of enjoyment had been dulled, and we are sad without a reason. 
 If we underrate the sorrows of our youth — and this is essentially one 
 of them — it is because our mature age leaves us nothing of that 
 temperament on which such afflictions preyed. 
 
 Josephine, without knowing why, without even a reason, wished 
 herself back in the convent. There, if there was a life of sombre 
 monotony and quietude, there was at least companionship — she had 
 
BAEBlNQTOir. 253 
 
 associates of her own age. They had pursuits in common, shared the 
 
 same hopes, and wishes, and fears ; but here, but here Just as 
 
 her thoughts had carried her so far, a tap — a very gentle tap — came to 
 the door. Josephine heard it, but made no answer. It was repeated 
 a little louder, and then a low pleasing voice she had never heard 
 before, said, "May I come in?" 
 
 " No," said Josephine—" yes — ^that is — who are you ?" 
 
 " Polly DUl," was the answer ; and Josephine arose and luilocked 
 the door. 
 
 " Miss Barrington told me I might take this liberty," said Polly, 
 with a faint smile. " She said, ' Go, and make acquaintance for 
 yourself, I never play master of the ceremonies.' " 
 
 " And you are Polly — the Polly DUI I have heard so much of?" 
 said Josephine, regarding her steadily and fixedly. 
 
 " How stranded your friends must have been for a topic when 
 they talked of me," said Polly, laughing. 
 
 " It is quite true you have beautiful teeth — I never saw such beau- 
 tiful teeth," said Josephine to herself, while she stUi gazed earnestly 
 at her. 
 
 "And you," said Polly, "are so like what I had pictured you — 
 what I hoped you would be. I find it hard to believe I see you for 
 the first time." 
 
 " So, then, yow did not think the Eajah's daughter should be a 
 Moor ?" said Josephine, half haughtily. " It is very sad to see 
 what disappointments I had caused." Neither the saucy toss 
 of the head, nor the tone that accompanied these words, were lost 
 upon Polly, who began to feel at once that she understood the 
 speaker. 
 
 " And your brother," coutiuued Josephine, " is the famous Tom 
 Dill I have heard such stories about?" 
 
 " Poor Tom, he is anything rather than famous." 
 
 " "Well, he is remarkable ; he is odd, original, or whatever you 
 would call it. Pred told me he never met any one like him." 
 
 " Tom might say as much of Mr. Conyers, for ia truth no one ever 
 showed him such kindness." 
 
 " Tred told me nothing of that ; but perhaps," added she, with a 
 flashing eye, " you were more in his confidence than I was." 
 
 " I knew very little of Mr. Conyers; I believe I could count on 
 the fingers of one hand every time I met him." 
 
 " How strange that you should have made so deep an impression, 
 Miss DiU !" 
 
 " I am flattered to hear it ; but more surprised than flattered." 
 
254 BABEIW&TON. 
 
 " But I doa't wonder at it in. the least," said JosepMne, boldly. 
 
 " Ton are very bandaome,. you are very graceful, and then " she 
 
 heaitated and grew confused, and stammered, and at last said, " and' 
 then there is that about you which seems to say, ' I have only to wish,, 
 and I can do it.' " 
 
 " I have no such gift, I assure you," said Polly,, with a half sad 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, I know you are very clever ; I have heard how accomplished 
 you were, how beautifully you rode, how charmingly you sang. I 
 wish he had not told me of it all — for if — for if " 
 
 "If what? say on!" 
 
 " If you were not so superior to me, I feel that I could love you," 
 and then with a bound she threw her arms around Polly's neck, and 
 clasped her affectionately to her bosom. 
 
 Sympathy, like a &8hionable physician, is wonderfully successful 
 where there is little the matter.. In the great ills of life, when the 
 real afflictions come down to crush, to wound, or to stun us, we are 
 comparatively removed frcwn even the kindest of our comfo>rters. 
 Great sorrows are very selfish things. In the lighter maladies, howi 
 ever, in the smaller cassualties of fortune, sympathy is a great remedy, 
 and we are certain to find that, however various our temperaments, 
 it has a sort of specific for each. Now Josephine Barringtom had 
 not any great cares upon her heart ; if the balance were to be struck 
 between them, Polly Dill could have numbered ten, ay twenity, fenp 
 her one, but she thought hers was a ease for mudi commiseration, 
 and she liked commiseration, for there are moral hypochondrias as 
 well as physical ones. And so she told Polly how she had -neither 
 fatlier nor mother, nor any other belongings than " dear old grandpapa, 
 and austere Aunt Binah ;" that she had been brought up in a convent, 
 never knowing one of the pleasures of youth, or her mind being per- 
 mitted to stray beyond the dreary routine of prayer and penance. Of 
 music she knew nothing but the solemn chants of the organ, and 
 even flowers were to her eyes but the festal decorations of the high 
 altar ; and, lastly,, she vaguely balanced between going back to the 
 dismal existence of the cloister, or entering upon the troubled sea of 
 life, so full of perils to one unpractised and unskilled as she was. 
 Now Polly was a very pretty comforter through these afflictions; 
 her own home experiences wei-e not all rose-coloured, but the 
 physician who whispers lioneyed eonsolations to the patient, has 
 often the pamful consciousness of a deeper malady within than that 
 for which he ministers. Polly knew something of a life of struggle 
 and small fortune, with its daily incident of debt and dun. She 
 knew what it was to see money mix itself with every phase of ex- 
 
BABEIN&TOlf. 255 
 
 istence, tlirowing its damper over joy, arresting tlie hand of benevo- 
 lence, even denying to the sick-bed the little comforts that help to 
 cheat misery. She knew how penury can eat its canker into thei 
 heart till all things take the colour of thrift, and life becomes at last 
 the terrible struggle of a swimmer atorm-tossed and weary ; and yet, 
 with all this experience in her heart, she could whisper cheerful coun- 
 sels to Josephine, and tell her that the world bad a great many pleaaani) 
 paths through it, though one was occasionally footsore before reach- 
 ing them ; and in this way they talked till they grew very fond of 
 each other, and Josephine was ready to confess that the sorrow 
 nearest to her heart was parting with her. "But must you go, 
 dearest Polly — must you really go ?" 
 
 " I must indeed," said she, laughing; "for if I did not, two Ettle 
 sisters of mine would go supperless to bed, not to speak of a small 
 boy who is waiting for me with a Laitin grammar before him ; and the 
 cook must get her orders for to-morrow ; and papa must have his tea ; 
 and this short, stumpy little key that you see here unlocks the oat- 
 bin, without which an honest old pony would share in the family 
 fast ! so that, all things considered, my absence would be far from 
 advisable." 
 
 " And when shall we meet again, Polly ?" 
 
 " Not to-morrow, dear ; for to-morrow is our fair at Inistioge, and 
 I have yarn to buy, and some lambs to seU." 
 
 " And could you sell lambs, Polly ?" said Josephine, with an ex- 
 pression of blank disappointment in her face. 
 
 Polly smiled, but not without a certain sadness, as she said, " There 
 are some sentimentalities which, to one in my condition, would just 
 be as unsuitable as Brussels lace or diamonds. They are born of 
 luxury and indolence, and pertain to those whose existence is assured 
 to them ; and my own opinion is, they are a poor privilege. At all 
 events," added she, rapidly, "they are not for me, and I do not 
 wish for them." 
 
 " The day after to-morrow, then, you will come here — ^promise me 
 that." 
 
 " It will be late, then, towards evening, for I have made an en- 
 gagement to put a young horse in harness — a three-year-old, and a 
 sprightly one, they tell me — so that I may look on the morning as 
 filled. I see, my dear child, how shocked you are with all these un- 
 ladylike cares and duties ; but poor Tom and I used to weld our lives 
 together, and while I took my share of boat-building one day, he 
 helped me in the dairy the daj' after ; but now that he is gone, our 
 double functions devolve upon me." 
 
 " How happy you must be !" 
 
256 BABBUfGTOH'. 
 
 " I think I am ; at least, I have no time to spare for unhappi-. 
 ness." 
 
 " If I could but change with you, Polly !" 
 
 " Change what, my dear child ?" 
 
 " Condition, fortune, belongings — everything." 
 
 " Take my word for it, you are just as well as you are ; but I sup- 
 pose it's very natural for one to fancy he could carry another's burden 
 easier than his own, for it was only a few moments back I thought 
 how I should like to be you." 
 
 "To be me — to be me !" 
 
 " Of course I was wrong, dearest. It was only a passing, fleeting 
 thought, and I now see how absurd I was to wish to be very beautiful, 
 dearly loved, and affectionately cared for, with a beautiful home to 
 live in, and every hour free to be happy. Oh, what a sigh, dearest, 
 what a sigh ! but I assure you I have my calamities too ; the mice 
 have got at the seeds in my ouion-bed, and I don't expect to see one 
 come up." 
 
 If Josephine's first impulse was to feel angry, her next was to 
 laugh out, which she did heartily ; and passing her arm fondly round 
 Polly's waist, she said, "I'll get used to your raillery, Polly, and 
 not feel sore at it ; but remember, too, it's a spirit I never knew 
 before." 
 
 " How good and generous, then, to bear it so well," said Polly, 
 affectionately; "your friend Mr. Conyers did not show the same 
 patience." 
 
 "Tou tried him, then ?" said Josephine, with a half eager glance. 
 
 " Of course ; I talked to him as I do to every one. But there goes 
 your dinner-bell.' ' Checking herself on a reflection over the pretension 
 of this summons of three people to a family meal in a cottage, Polly 
 tied on her bonnet and said " Good-by." 
 
BAKEINGTOir. 
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 AT HOME AGAIK. 
 
 The Barringtons had not been quite a fortnight settled in their 
 home, when a note came from Conyers, lamenting, in most feeling 
 terms, that he could not pay them his promised visit. If the epistle 
 was not very long, it was a grumble from beginning to end. " No- 
 body would know," wrote he, " it was the same regiment poor Colonel 
 Hunter commanded. Our Major is now in command — the same 
 Stapylton you have heard me speak of; and if we never looked on 
 him too favourably, we now especially detest him. His first step was 
 to tell us we were disorderly, ill dressed, and ill disciplined ; but we 
 were even less prepared to hear that we could not ride. The result 
 of all this is, we have gone to school again — even old captains, who 
 have served with distinction in the field, have been consigned to the 
 riding-house ; and we poor subs are treated as if we were the last 
 refuse of all the regiments of the army, sent here to be reformed and 
 corrected. "We have incessant drills, parades, and inspections, and, 
 worse again, all leave is stopped. If I was not in the best of temper 
 with the service before, you may judge how I feel towards it now. 
 In fact, if it were not that I expect my father back in England by the 
 middle of May, I'd send in my papers and leave at once. How I fall 
 back now in memory to the happy days of my ramble with you, and 
 wonder if I ever shall see the like again. And how I hate myself for not 
 having felt at the time how immeasurably delightful they were ! Trust 
 me never to repeat the mistake if I have the opportunity given me. 
 I asked this morning for three days — only three — to run down and 
 see you once more before we leave — for we are ordered to Hounslow 
 — and I was refused. But this was not all : not content with rejecting 
 my request, he added what he called an expression of astonishment 
 that an officer so deficient in his duties should care to absent himself 
 from regimental discipline." 
 
 " Poor boy ! — this is, indeed, too bad," said Miss Dinah, as she had 
 read thus far ; " only think, Peter, how this young fellow, spoiled and 
 petted as he was as a child — denied nothing, pampered as though he 
 were a Prince — should now find himself the mark of so insulting 
 a tyranny. Are you listening to me, Peter Barrington ?" 
 
 3 
 
258 BiBEIS'GTOir. 
 
 " Eh — what ? No, thank you, Dinah ; I have made an excellent 
 breakfast," said Barrington, hurriedly, and again addressed himself 
 to the letter he was reading. " That's what I call a Trump, Dinah — 
 a regular Trump." 
 
 " Who is the especial favourite that has called for the very choice 
 eulogy P' said she, bridling up. 
 
 " Gone into the thing, too, with heart and soul — a noble fellow !" 
 continued Barrington. 
 
 ' " Pray enlighten us as to the name that calls forth such enthu- 
 siasm." 
 
 " Stapylton, my dear Dinah — Major Stapylton. In all my life I 
 do not remember one instance to parallel with this generous and 
 disinterested conduct. Listen to what "Withering says — not a man 
 given to take up rash impressions in favour of a stranger. Listen to 
 this : ' Stapylton has been very active' — written to friends, both at 
 Calcutta and Agra, and shown, besides, an amount of acuteness in 
 pursuit of what is really important, that satisfies me a right good 
 common lawyer has been lost by his being a soldier.' And here, 
 again, he recurs to him ; it is with reference to certain docioments -. 
 'S. persists in believing that with proper diligence these may be 
 recovered ; he says that it is a common practice with the Moonshees 
 to retain papers, in the hope of their being one day deemed of value ; 
 and he is fully persuaded that they have not been destroyed. There 
 is that about the man's manner of examining a question — his patience, 
 his instinctive seizure of what is of momeiit, and his invariable rejec- 
 tion of whatever is immaterial ; and, lastly, his thorough appreciation 
 of the character of that evidence which would have most weight with 
 the India Board, which dispose me to regard him as an invaluable ally 
 to our cause.' " 
 
 "Do me the favour to regard this picture of your friend now," said 
 Miss Barrington, as she handed the letter from Conyers across the 
 table. 
 
 Barrington read it over attentively. " And what does this prove, 
 my dear sister ?" said he. " This is the sort of stereotyped complaint 
 of every young fellow who has been refused a leave. I have no doubt 
 Hunter was too easy-tempered to have been strict in discipline, and 
 the chances are these young dogs had everything their own way till 
 Stapylton came amongst them. I find it hard to believe that any 
 man likes unpopularity." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Peter Barrington ; but he may like tyranny more 
 than he hates unpopularity ; and, for my own part, this man is odious 
 to me." 
 
babeiitgtOn'. 259 
 
 ■ " Don't say-so, Dinah — don't say so, I entteat of you, for he will be 
 our guest here this very day." 
 ■ " Our guest ! — why, is not the regimelife under brdetS to leave ?" 
 " So it is ; but "Withering says it would be a great matter if w6 
 could have a sort of consultation together before the Major leaves 
 Ireland/ There are innumerable little details which he sees ought to 
 be discussed between us ; and so he has persuaded him to give us a 
 day — perhaps two days — no small boon, Dinah, from one so fuUj 
 occupied as he is.'' 
 
 " I wish he would not make the sacrifice, Peter." 
 
 " My dear sister, are we so befriended by Fortune that we caQ 
 afford to reject the kindness of our fellows ?" 
 
 " I'm no believer in chance friendships, Peter Barrington ; neither 
 you nor I are such interesting orphans as to inspire sympathy at first' 
 sight." 
 
 Josephine could not help a laugh at Miss Dinah's illustration, and 
 old Barrington himself heartily joined in the merriment, not sorry 
 the while to' draw the discussion into a less stern field. " Come,, 
 come, Dinah," said he, gaily, " let us put out a few bottles of that 
 old Madeira in the sun ; and if Darby can find us a salmon-tront,. 
 we'll do our best to entertain our visitors." 
 
 " It never occurred to me to doubt the probability of their enjoying 
 themselves, Peter ; my anxieties were quite on another score." 
 
 " Now, Pifine," continued Barrington, " we shall see if Polly Dill 
 has really made you the perfect housekeeper she boasted. The next 
 day or two will put your talents to the test." 
 
 " Oh, if we could only have Polly herself here !" 
 
 " What for ? — on what pretext. Miss Barrington,'* said Dinah, 
 haughtily. " I have not^ so far as I am aware, been accounted very 
 ignorant of honsehold cares." 
 
 " "Withering declares that your equal is not in Europe, Dinah." 
 
 " Mr. Withering's suffrage can always be bought by a mock-turtle 
 soup and a glass of Eoman punch after it." 
 
 " How he likes it — how he relishes it ! He says that he comes 
 back to the rest of the dinner with the freshness of a man at an 
 assize case." 
 
 " So like him !" said Dinah, scornfully ; " he has never an illustra- 
 tion that is not taken from the Pour Courts. I remember one 
 day, when asking for the bill of fare, he said, ' Will you kindly let, 
 me look at the cause list.' Prepare yourself, Josephine, for an 
 avalanche of law anecdotes and Old Bailey stories, for I assure you 
 you win hear nothing for the next three days but drolleries that 
 
 S2 
 
260 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 have been engrossed on parchment and paid stamp duty to the 
 Crown." 
 
 Barrington gave a smile, as though in protest against the speech, 
 and left the room. In truth, he was very anxious to be alone, and 
 to think over, at his leisure, a short passage in his letter which he 
 had not summoned courage to read aloud. It was "Withering's 
 opinion that to institute the inquiries in India a considerable sum of 
 money would be required, and he had left it for Barrington's consi- 
 deration whether it were wiser to risk the great peril of this further 
 involvement, or once more to try what chance there might be of a 
 compromise. Who knows what success might have attended the 
 suggestion if the old lawyer had but employed any other word! 
 Compromise, however, sounded to his ears like an unworthy con- 
 cession — a surrender of George's honour. Compromise might mean 
 moiiey for his granddaughter, and shame to her father's memory. 
 Not, indeed, that "Withering was, as a man, one to counsel such a 
 course, but Withering was a lawyer, and in the same spirit that he 
 would have taken a verdict for half his claim if he saw an adverse 
 feeling in the jury-box, so he would bow to circumstances that were 
 stronger than him, and accept the best he could, if he might not 
 have all that he ought. But could Barrington take this view ? He 
 thought not. His conviction was that the main question to establish 
 was the fair fame and honour of his son ; his guide was, how George 
 himself would have acted — would have felt — in the same contingency; 
 and he muttered, " He'd have been a hardy fellow who would have 
 hinted at compromise to him." 
 
 The next point was how the means for the coming campaign were 
 to be provided. He had already raised a small sum by way of mort- 
 gage on the Home, and nothing remained but to see what further ad- 
 vance could be made on the same security. When Barrington was a 
 great estated gentleman with a vast fortune at his command, it cost 
 him wonderfully little thought to contract a loan-, or even to sell a 
 farm. A costly election, a few weeks of unusual splendour, an 
 unfortunate night at play, had made such sacrifices nothing very 
 unusual, and he would give his orders on this score as unconcernedly 
 as he would bid his servant replenish his glass at table. Indeed, he 
 had no more fear of exhausting his fortune than he felt as to out- 
 drinking his cellar. There was enough there, as he often said, for 
 those who should come after him. And now, what a change ! He 
 stood actually appalled at the thought of a mortgage for less than a 
 thousand pounds. But so is it ; the cockboat may be more to a man 
 than was once the three-decker. The cottage was his all now ; that 
 
BAEEINGTON. 
 
 261 
 
 lost, and they were houseless. "Was it not a bold thing to risk 
 everything on one more throw ? There was the point over which he 
 now pondered as he walked slowly along in the little shady alley be- 
 tween the laurel hedges. He had no friend nearer his heart than 
 Withering, no one to whom l\e could unbosom himself so frankly and 
 so freely, and yet this was a case on which he could not ask his 
 counsel. All his life long he had strenuously avoided suflfering a 
 question of the kind to intervene between them. Of his means, his 
 resources, his straits, or his demands, "Withering knew positively 
 nothing. It was with Barrington a point of delicacy to maintain 
 this reserve towards one who was always his lawyer, and often his 
 guest. The very circumstance of his turning innkeeper was regarded 
 by "Withering as savouring far more of caprice than necessity, and 
 Barrington took care to strengthen this impression. 
 
 If, then, Withering's good sense and worldly knowledge would 
 have been invaluable aids to him in this conjunction, he saw lie could 
 not have them. The same delicacy which debarred him heretofore 
 would still interpose against his appeal to that authority. And then 
 he thought how he who had once troops of friends to whom he 
 could address himself for counsel? There is nothing more true, 
 indeed, than the oft-uttered scoff on the hoUowness of those friend- 
 ships which attach to the days of prosperous fortune, and the world 
 is very prone to point to the utter loneliness of him who has been 
 shipwrecked by Fate ; but let us be just in our severity, and let us 
 own that a man's belongings, his associates, his, what common par- 
 lance calls, friends, are the mere accidents of his station, and they no 
 more accompany him in his fall than do the luxuries he has forfeited. 
 From the level from which he has lapsed they have not descended. 
 They are, there, living to-day as they lived yesterday. If their sym- 
 pathy is not with him, it is because neither are they themselves, 
 they cross each other no more. Such friendships are like the con- 
 tracts made with a crew for a particular voyage — they end with the 
 cruise. No man ever understood this better than Barrington — no 
 man ever bore the world less of ill will for its part towards himself. 
 If now and then a sense of sadness would cloud him at some mark of 
 passing forgetfulness, he would not own to the gloomy feeling ; while 
 to any show of recognition, to any sign of a grateful remembrance of 
 the past, he would grow boastful to very vanity. " Look there, 
 Dinah," he would say, " what a noble-hearted fellow that is. I 
 scarcely was more than commonly civdl to him formerly, and you saw 
 how courteous he was in making a place for us, how heartily he hoped 
 I was in good health." 
 
262 " BAEIlIlfGTOM". 
 
 " m send over to Dill and have a talk witli him," TFas Barring- 
 ton's last resolve, as he turned the subject over and over ia his 
 "mind. " Dill's a shrewd fellow, and I'm not sure that he has not laid 
 %y a little money ; he might feel no objection to a good investment for 
 it, with such security.'^ And he looked around as he spoke on the 
 iarees, some of which he planted, every one of which he knew, and 
 sighed heavily. " He'll scarce love the spot more than I did," mut- 
 tered he, and walked along with his head down. After awhile he 
 took out Withering's letter from his pocket and re-read it. Somehow, 
 it were hard to say why, it did not read so promisingly as at first. 
 The difficulties to be encountered were very stubborn ones, so much 
 so that he very palpably hinted how much better some amicable set- 
 tlement would be than an open contest wherein legal subtlety and 
 craft should be evoked. There was so much of that matter always 
 taken for granted, to be proved — to be demonstrated true on evidence, 
 that it actually looked appalling. " Of the searches and inquiries in- 
 stituted in India," wrote Withering, " I can speak but vaguely, but 
 I own the very distance magnifies 'them immensely to my eyes." 
 "Tom is growing old, not a doubt of it," muttered Barrington; 
 " these were not the sort of obstacles that could have terrified him 
 once on a time. He'd have said, ' If there's evidence, we'll have it ; 
 if there's a document, we'll find it.' It's India, the far-away land, 
 that has frightened him. These lawyers, like certain sportsmen, lose 
 their nerve if you take them out of their own country. It's the new 
 style of fences they can't face. Well, thanks to Him who gave it, I 
 have my stout heart still, and I'll go on." 
 
 " Going on" was, however, not the easy task it first seemed, nor 
 was the pleasantest part of it the necessity of keeping the secret from 
 his sister. Miss Dinah had from the first discouraged the whole 
 suit. The adversary was too powerful, the odds against them were 
 too great ; the India Board bad only to protract and prolong the case, 
 and they must be beaten from sheer exhaustion. How, then, should 
 he reconcile her to mortgaging the last remnant of all their fortune 
 for "one more throw on the table ?" " No chance of persuading a 
 woman that this would be wise," said he. And he thought, when he 
 had laid the prejudice of sex as the ground of error, he had com- 
 pleted his argument. 
 
 " Groing on" had its fine generous side about it, also, that cheered 
 and elevated him. It was for George he was doing it, and that dear 
 girl whose every trait recalled her father ; for let those explain it who 
 can, she, who had never seen, nor even heard of her father, since her 
 infancy, inherited all his peculiar ways and habits, and every trick of 
 
BAEBINGTON. '2G^ 
 
 -bis manner. Let me own that tteae, even more than any qualities of 
 ^sterling worth, endeared her to her grasndfather ; and just as he had 
 often declared no rank or position that could befal George would 
 have beeji above his deserts, so he averred that if Josephine were 
 to be the greatest heiress in England to-morrow, she would be a 
 grace and an ornament to the station. If Aunt Dinah would occa- 
 sionally attempt to curb this spirit, or even limit its extravagance, hie 
 invariable answer was, " It may be all as you say, sister, but for the 
 life of me I cannot think my swans to be geese." 
 
 As he thus mused and meditated, he heard the wicket of the garden 
 open and shut, and shortly afterwards a half shambling, shuffling 
 ■step on the gravel. Before he had time to speculate on whose it 
 should be, he saw Major M'Cormick limping laboriously towards 
 him. 
 
 " How is this. Major ?" cried he ; " has the change of weather dis- 
 agreed with your rheumatism ?" 
 
 " It's the wound ; it's always worse in the fall of the year," croaked 
 the other. " I'd have been up to see you before but for the pains, and 
 that old fool Dili — a greater fool myself for trusting him — made me 
 put on a blister down what he calls the course of the nerve, and I 
 never knew torture till I tried it." 
 
 " My sister Dinah has, I verily believe, the most sovereign remedy 
 for these pains." 
 
 " Is it the green draught ? Oh, don't I know it," burst out the 
 Major. " Tou might hear my shouts the day I took it down at 
 > Inistioge. There wasn't a bit of skin left on my lips, and w hen I 
 wiped the perspiration off my head my hair came off too. Aquafortis 
 is like egg-flip compared to tbat blessed draught; and I remember 
 well how I crawled to my writing-desk and wrote, ' Have me opened,' 
 for I knew I was poisoned." 
 
 " Did you tell my sister of your sufferings ?" 
 
 " To be sure I did, and she only smiled and said that I took it when 
 I was fasting, or when I was full, I forget which ; and that I ought 
 to have taken a brisk walk, and I only able to creep ; and only one 
 spoonful at a time, and it was the whole bottle I swallowed. In 
 fact, she owned afterwards that nothing but the strength of a horse 
 could have saved me." 
 
 Peter found it very hard to maintain a decent gravity at the play 
 of the Major's features, which, during the narrative, recalled every 
 -dire experience of his medicine. 
 
 " Well, come into the house, and we'U give you something better," 
 said Barrington, at last. 
 
264 BAEBIlirttTON. 
 
 '" I think I saw your grauddaugMer at the window as I came by — 
 a good-looking young woman, and not so dark as I suspected she'd 
 be." 
 
 " There's not a handsomer girl in Ireland ; and as to skin, she's not 
 as brown as her father." 
 
 " It wouldn't be easy to be that ; he was about three shades deeper 
 than a Portuguese." 
 
 " G-eorge Barrington was confessedly the finest-looking fellow in the 
 King's army, and as English-looking a gentleman as any man in it." 
 
 The tone of this speech was so palpably that of one who would not 
 stand the very shadow of a rejoinder, that the Major held his peace, 
 and shuffled along without a word. The thought, however, of ad- 
 ministering a rebuke to any one within the precincts of his home was 
 so repugnant- to Barrington's nature, that he had scarcely uttered the 
 words than he was eager to repair them, and with a most embarrassed 
 humility he stammered out something about their recent tour abroad, 
 and all the enjoyment it had given them. 
 
 "Maybe so," rejoined the other, dryly; "but I never saw any 
 pleasure in spending money you could keep." 
 
 " My dear Major, that is precisely the very money that does pro- 
 cure pleasure." 
 
 " Wasn't that a post-chaise I saw through the trees ? There it is 
 again ; it's making straight for the Home," said M'Cormick, pointing 
 with his stick. 
 
 " Tes," said Peter ; " I was expecting a couple of friends to pass 
 a day or so with me here. Will you excuse me if I hurry forward to 
 welcome them ?" 
 
 " Don't make a stranger of me ; I'll saunter along at my leisure," 
 said the Major, as Barrington walked briskly on towards the cottage 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 A SHALL DINNER-PARTY. 
 
 WiTHEEiNO and Stapylton had arrived fully two hours earlier than 
 they were expected, and Miss Dinah was too deeply engaged in the 
 household cares that were to do them honour to receive them. Jo- 
 sephine, too, was not less busily occupied, for her conventual educa- 
 tion had made her wonderfully skilful in all sorts of confectionary, 
 
BAEBINGTON. 
 
 2G5 
 
 and she was mistress of devices in spun sugar and preserved fruits, 
 ■which rose in Aunt Dinah's eyes to the dignity of high art. Bar- 
 rington, however, was there to meet them, and with a cordial 
 ■welcome which no man could express more gracefully. The luncheon 
 hour passed pleasantly over, for all were in good humour and good 
 spirits. Withering's holiday always found him ready to enjoy it, and 
 when could old Peter feel so happy as when he had a guest beneath 
 his, roof who thoroughly appreciated the cottage, and entered into 
 the full charm of its lovely scenery! Such was Stapylton — ^he 
 blended a fair liking for the picturesque with a natural instinct for 
 comfort and homeliness, and he saw in this spot what precisely em- 
 braced both elements. It was very beautiful — but, better still, it was 
 very lovable. " It was so rare" — so at least he told Barrington — 
 " to find a cottage wherein internal comfort had not been sacrificed 
 to some requirement of outward show. There was only one way of 
 doing this," said he, as Barrington led him through the little flower- 
 garden, giving glimpses of the rooms within as they passed — " only 
 one way, Mr. Barrington ; a man must have consummate taste, and a 
 strong credit at his banker's." 
 
 Barrington's cheek grew a thought redder, and he smiled that 
 faint sad smile which now and then will break from one who feels 
 that he could rebut what he has just heard, if it were but right or 
 fitting he should do so. Of course, amongst really distressing sensa- 
 tions this has no place, but yet there is a peculiar pain in being com- 
 plimented by your friend on the well-to-do condition of your fortune 
 when your conscience is full of the long watching hours of the night, 
 or worse still, the first awaking thought of difficulties to which you 
 open your eyes of a morning. It is not often, nor are there many to 
 whom you can say, " I cannot tell the day or the hour when all this 
 shall pass away from me ; my head is racked with care, and my heart 
 heavy with anxiety." How jarring to be told of all the things you 
 ought to do. Ton who could so well afibrd it ! And how trying to 
 have to take shelter from your necessity under the shadow of a seem- 
 ing stinginess, and to bear every reflection on your supposed thrift 
 rather than own to your poverty ! 
 
 If Withering had been with them as they strolled, this, perhaps, 
 might have been avoided ; he had all a lawyer's technical skiU to 
 change a topic — but "Withering had gone to take his accustomed 
 mid-day nap, the greatest of all the luxuries his times of idleness be- 
 stowed upon him. 
 
 Now, although Sfcapylton's alludings — and they were no more — to 
 Barrington's gifts of fortune were such as perfectly consisted with 
 
266 BAEBINGTOK. 
 
 good taste and good breeding, Barringtbn felt them all painfully, and 
 probably nothing restrained him from an open disclaimer of their 
 fitness save the thought that from a host such an arowal would sound 
 nngraeefuUy- " It is my duty now," reasoned he, " to make my guest 
 feel that all the attentions he receives exaet no sacrifice, and that the 
 pleasure his presence affords is unalloyed by a single embMrassment. 
 If he must hear of my difficulties, let it be when he is not beneath 
 my roof." And so he let Stapylton talk away about the blessings of 
 tranquU affluence, andthe happiness of him whose only care was to find 
 time for the enjoyments that were secured to him. He let him quote 
 Pope, and Whai'ton, and Edmund Burke, and smiled the blandest con- 
 currence with what was irritating him almost to fever. 
 
 " This is "Withering's favourite spot," said Peter, as they gained 
 the shade of a huge ilex-tree, from which two distinct reaches of the 
 river were visible. 
 
 "And it shall be mine, too," said Stapylton, throwing himself 
 down in the deep grass ; " and as I know yon have scores of thingp 
 which claim your attention, let me release you, while I add a cigar 
 — the only possible enhancement — to the delight of this glorious 
 nook." 
 
 " "Well, it shall be as you wish. "We dine at six. I'U go and look 
 after a fish for our entertainment;" and Barrington turned away 
 into the copse, not sorry to release his heart by a heavy sigh, and to 
 feel he was alone with his cares. 
 
 Let us turn for a moment to M'Cormiek, who continued to saunter 
 slowly about the garden, in the expectation of Barrington's return. 
 "Wearied at length with waiting, and resolved that his patience 
 should not go entirely unrequited, he turned into a little shady walk 
 on which the windows of the kitchen opened. Stationing himself 
 there, in a position to see without being seen, he took w^hat he called 
 an observation of all within. The sight was interesting, even if he 
 did not bring to it the appreciation of a painter. There, upon a 
 spacious kitchen table, lay a lordly sirloin, richly and variously 
 coloured, fianked by a pair of plump guinea-hens and a fresh salmon 
 of fully twenty pounds' weight. Luscious fruit and vegetables wer^ 
 heaped and mingled in a wild profusion, and the speckled plumage of 
 game was half hidden under the massive bunches of great hot-house 
 grapes. It is doubtful if Sneyders himself could have looked upon 
 the display with a higher sense of enjoyment. It is, indeed, a ques- 
 tion between the relative merits of two senses, and the issue lies be- 
 tween the eye and the palate. 
 
 "Wisely reasoning that such preparations were not made for 
 

 ;^ .£4..../^^^,/^/^ 
 
BAEEIlfGTOlf. 267 
 
 common guests, M'Cormick ran over in his mind all the possible 
 and impossible names he could think of, ending at last with the con* 
 viction it was sonie " Nob" he must have met abroad, and whom in a 
 moment of his expansive hospitality he had invited to visit him. 
 " Isn't it like them !" muttered he. " It would be long before they'd 
 think of such an entertainment to an old neighbour like myself; but 
 here they are spending — who knows how much ? — for somebody that 
 to-morrow or next day won't remember their names, or may be, per- 
 haps, laugh when they think of the funny old woman they saw — ^the 
 ' Fright' with the yellow shawl and the orange bonnet. Oh, the 
 world, the world !" 
 
 It is not for me to speculate on what sort of thing the world had 
 been, if the Major himself had been entrusted with the control and 
 fashion of it ; but I have my doabts that we are just as well off as we 
 are. " Well, though they haven't the manners to say, ' M'Cormick, 
 will you stop and dine?' they haven't done with me yet; not a bit !" 
 And with this resolve be entered the cottage, and fonnd his way 
 to the drawing-room. It was unoccupied, so he sat himself down in 
 a comfortable arm-chair, to await events and their issue. There were 
 books and journals and newspapers about, but the Major was not a 
 reader, and so he sat musing and meditating, while the time went 
 by. Just as the clock struck five, Miss Dinah, whose various cares 
 of housewifery had given her a very busy day, was about to have 
 a look at the drawing-room before she went to dress, and being fully 
 > aware that one of her guests was asleep, and the other full stretched 
 beside the river, she felt she could go ber " rounds" without fear of 
 being observed. Now, whatever had been the peculiar functions she 
 was lately engaged in, they had exacted from her certain changes in 
 costume more picturesque than flattering.' In the first place, the 
 ■sleeves of her dress were rolled up above the elbows, displaying arms 
 more remarkable for bone than beauty. A similar curtailment of her 
 petticoats exhibited feet and ankles- which — not to be ungallant — 
 might be called massive rather than elegant ; and lastly, her two long 
 curls of auburn hair — curls which, in the splendour of her fiiU 
 toilette, were supposed to be no mean aids to her captivating powers 
 — were now tastefully festooned and fastened to the back of her 
 head, pretty much as a pair of hawsers are occasionally disposed on 
 the bow of -a merchantman! Thus costumed, she had advanced into 
 the middle of the room before she saw the Major. 
 
 " A pleasure quite unexpected, Sir, is this," said she, with a 
 vigorous effort to shake out what sailors would call her "lower 
 courses." " I was not aware that you were here." 
 
268 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " Indeed, then, I came in myself, just like old times. I said this 
 morning, if it's fine to-day, I'll just go over to the ' Pisherman's 
 Home.' " 
 
 " ' The Home, Sir,' it you please. We retain so much of the former 
 name." But just as she uttered the correction, a chance look at the 
 glass conveyed the condition of her head-gear — a startling fact which 
 made her cheeks perfectly crimson. " I lay stress upon the change 
 of name, Sir," continued she, " as intimating that we are no longer 
 inn-keepers, and expect something, at least, of the deference rendered 
 to those who call their house their own." 
 
 " To be sure, and why not ?" croaked out the Major, with a 
 malicious grin. " And I forgot all about it, little thinking, indeed, 
 to surprise you in ' dishabille,' as they call it." 
 
 " You surprise wse. Sir, every time we meet," said she, with flashing 
 eyes. " And you make me feel surprised with myself for my en- 
 durance !" And so saying, she retired towards the door, covering her 
 retreat as she went by every object of furniture that presented itself, 
 and, like a skilful general, defending her rear by every artifice of the 
 ground. Thus did she exit, and with a bang of the door — as eloquent 
 as any speech — close the coUpquy. 
 
 " Faix ! and the Swiss costume doesn't become you at all !" said 
 the Major, as he sat back in his chair, and cackled over the scene. 
 
 As Miss Barrington, boiling with passion, passed her brother's 
 door, she stopped to knock. 
 
 " Peter !" cried she. " Peter Barrington, I say !" The words were, 
 however, not well out, when she heard' a step ascending the stair. 
 She could not risk another discovery like the last j so, opening the 
 door, she said, " That hateful M'Cormick is below. Peter, take care 
 that on no account " 
 
 There was no time to finish, and she had barely an instant to gain 
 her own room, when Stapylton reached the corridor. 
 
 Peter Barrington had, however, heard enough to inform him of his 
 sister's high behest. Indeed, he was as quick at interpreting brief 
 messages as people have grown in these latter days of telegraphic 
 communication. Oracular utterings had been more than once in his 
 life his only instructors, and he now knew that he had been peremp- 
 torily ordered not to ask the Major to dinner. 
 
 There are, doubtless, people in this world — I almost fancy I have 
 met one or two such myself — who would not have felt peculiar diffi- 
 culty in obeying this command ; who would have gone down to the 
 drawing-room and talked coolly to the visitor, discussing common- 
 places, easily and carelessly, noting the while how at every pause of 
 
BAEEINGTON. 269 
 
 the conversation each was dwelling on the self-aame point, and yet, 
 with a quiet abstinence, never touching it, till with a sigh, that was 
 half a malediction, the uninvited would rise to take leave. Barring- 
 ton was not of this number. The man who sat under his roof 
 was sacred. He could have no faults ; and to such a pitch had this 
 punctilio carried him, that had an actual enemy gained the inside of 
 his threshold, he would have spared nothing to treat him with honour 
 and respect. 
 
 " Well, well," muttered he, as he slowly descended the stairs, " it 
 wiU be the first time in my life I ever did it, and I don't know how 
 to go about it now." 
 
 "When a frank and generous man is about to do something he is 
 ashamed of, how readily will a crafty and less scrupulous observer de- 
 tect it. M'Cormick read Barrington's secret before he was a minute in 
 the room. It was in vain Peter affected an off-hand easy manner, in- 
 cidentally dropping a hint that the Attorney- General and another 
 friend had just arrived — a visit, a mere business visit it was — to be 
 passed with law papers and parchments. " Poor fun when the par- 
 tridges were in the stubble, but there was no help for it. Who 
 knew, however,if he could not induce them to give him an extra day, 
 and if I can, Major, you must promise to come over and meet them. 
 Xou'll be charmed with "Withering, he has such a fund of agree- 
 ability. One of the old school, but not the less delightful to you and 
 me. Come, now, give me your word — for — shall we say Saturday ? 
 — Tes, Saturday !" 
 
 " I've nothing to say against it," grumbled out M'Cormick, whose 
 assent was given, as attorneys say, without prejudice to any other 
 claim. 
 
 " You shall hear from me in the morning, then," said Peter. " I'll 
 send you a line to say what success I have had with my friends." 
 
 " Any time in the day will do," said the Major, unconcernedly ; 
 for, in truth, the future never had in his estimation the same interest 
 as the present. As for the birds in the bush, he simply did not 
 believe in them at all. 
 
 " No, no," said Barrington, hurriedly. " Tou shall hear from me 
 early, for I am anxious you should meet "Withering and his compac 
 nion, too — a brother-soldier." 
 
 " Who may he be ?" asked M'Cormick. 
 
 " That's my secret, Major — that's my secret," said Peter, with a 
 forced laugh, for it now wanted but ten minutes to six ; " but you 
 shall know all on Saturday." 
 
 Had he said on the day of judgment, the assurance would have 
 
270 BAEEINQTOir. 
 
 been as palatable to M'Cormiek. Talking to Mm of Saturday on a 
 Monday was asking him to speculate on tbe infinite. Meanwhile' 
 he sat on, as only they sit who understand the deep and high 
 mystery of that process. Oh, if you who have your fortunes to 
 make in life, without any assignable mode for so doing, without a 
 craft, a calling, oc a trade,, knew what success there was to be 
 achieved merely by sitting — by simply being "there," eternally 
 " there" — a. warning, an example, an illustration, a what you will, of 
 boredom or infliction ; but still " there." The butt of this man, the 
 terpor of that — baited, feared, trembled at — but yet recognised as a 
 thing that must be, an institution that was, and is, and shall be, when 
 we are all dead and buried. 
 
 Long and dreary may be the days of the sitter, but the hour of hia 
 reward will come at last. There will come the time when some one 
 —-any one — will be wanted to pair off with some other bore, to listen 
 to his stories and make up his whiat-table ; and then he will be. 
 "there." I knew a man who merely by sitting on patiently for 
 years was at last chosen to be sent as a Minister and special Envoy to 
 a "foreign Court just to get rid of him. And for the women sitters — 
 the well-dressed and prettily-got-up simperers, who have sat their 
 husbands into^Commissionerships, Colonial Secretaryships, and such- 
 like — are they not written of in the Book of Beauty ? 
 
 ■" Here's M'Cormiek, Dinah," said Barrington, with a voice shaking 
 with agitation and anxiety, " whom I want tO' pledge himself to us 
 for Saturday next. Will you add your persuasions to mine, and see 
 what can be done ?" 
 
 • " Don't you think you can depend upon me ?" cackled out the 
 Major. 
 
 " I am certain of it, Sir ; I feeljyour word like your bond on such 
 a matter," said|Miss^Dinak " My grand-niece. Miss Josephine Bar- 
 rington," said she, presenting that young lady, who curtseyed formally 
 to the unprepossessing stranger. 
 
 " I'm proud of the honour. Ma'am," said M'Coi-mick, with a deep' 
 bow, and resumed his seat ; to rise again, however, as Withering 
 entered the room and was introduced to him. 
 
 " This is intolerable, Peter," whispered Miss Barrington, while the 
 lawyer and, the Major were talking together. " Tou are certain you 
 have not asked him ?" 
 
 " On mjr honour, Dinah ! on my honour !" 
 
 " I hope I am not late ?" cried Stapylton, entering ; then, turning 
 hastily to Barrington, said, " Pray present me to your niece." 
 
 "This i^ my sister,. Major^Stapylton ; this is my; grand-daughter ;'" 
 
BASEIirGTOIf, 271 
 
 and the ladies curtseyed, each with a degree of satisfaction whieli the 
 reader shall be left to assign them. 
 
 After a few words of common-place civility, uttered, however, with 
 a courtesy and tact which, won their way for the speaker, Stapylton 
 recognised and shook hands with M'Cormict. 
 
 " Tou know my neighbour, then J" said Barrington, in some sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " I am charmed to say, I do ; he owes me the denouement of a most 
 amusing story, which was suddenly broken off when we last parted, 
 but which I shall certainly claim after dinner." 
 
 " He has been kind enough to engage himself to us for Saturday," 
 began Dinah. But M'Cormick, who saw the moment critical, 
 stepped in : 
 
 " Tou shall hear every word of it before you sleep.. It's all 
 about "Walcheren, though they think Waterloo more the fashion 
 now." 
 
 " Just as this young lady might fancy Major Stapylton a more 
 interesting event than one of us^" said Withering, laughing. " But 
 what's become of your boasted punctuality, Barrington ? A quarter 
 past— are you waiting for any one ?" 
 
 " Are we, Dinah ?" asked Barrington, with a look of sheepishness. 
 
 " Not that I am aware of, Peter. There is no one to come;" and 
 she laid such an emphasis on the word as made the significance pal- 
 pable. 
 
 To Barrington it was painful as well as palpable ; so painful, Indeed, 
 that he hurriedly rang the bell, saying, in a sharp voice, " Of course, 
 we are all here— -there are six of us. Dinner, Darby t" 
 
 The Major had won, but he was too crafty to show any triumph at 
 his victory, and he did not dare even to look towards where Miss 
 Barrington stood,! lest he should chance to catch her eye. Dinner 
 was at length announced. Withering gave his arm to Miss Bar- 
 rington, Stapylton took charge of Josephine, and old Peter, plea- 
 santly drawing his arm within M'Cormick's, said, " I hope you've got 
 a good appetite. Major, for I have a rare fish for you to-day, and 
 your favourite sauce,, too — smelt, not lobster." 
 
 Poor Barrington ! it was a trying moment for him that short walk 
 into the dinner-room, and he felt very grateful to M'Cormick that he 
 said nothing peevish or sarcastic to him on the way. Many a dinner 
 begins in awkwardness, but warms as it proceeds into a pleasant 
 geniality. Such was the case here. Amongst those, besides, who 
 have not the ties of old friendship between them, or have not as yet 
 warmed into that genial good-fellowship which is, so to say, its foster- 
 
272 BABElNGTOlf. 
 
 brother, a character of the M'Cormick class is not so damaging an 
 element as might be imagined, and at times there is a positive advan- 
 tage in having one of whose merits, by a tacit understanding, all are 
 quite agreed. Withering and Stapylton both read the man at once, and 
 drew out his salient points — his parsimony, his malice, and his pry- 
 ing curiosity — in various ways, but so neatly and so advisedly as to 
 make him fancy he was the attacking party, and very successful, too, 
 in his assaults upon the enemy. Even Barrington, in the honest 
 simplicity of his nature, was taken in, and more than once tbought that 
 the old Major was too severe upon the others, and sat in wondering 
 admiration of their self-command and good temper. "No deception 
 of this sort prevailed with Miss Barrington, who enjoyed to the 
 fullest extent the subtle raillery with which they induced him to 
 betray every meanness of his nature, and yet never suffered the dis- 
 closure to soar above the region of the ludicrous. 
 
 " Tou have been rather hard upon them, Major," said BarringtoUj 
 as they strolled about on the green sward after dinner, to enjoy 
 their coffee and a cigar. " Don't you think you have been a shade 
 too severe ?" 
 
 " It will do them good. They wanted to turn me out like a 
 bagged fox, and show the ladies some sport ; but I taught them a 
 thing or two." 
 
 " No, no, M'Cormick, you wrong them there ; they had no such 
 intentions, believe me." 
 
 " I know that ^ou didn't see it," said he, with emphasis, " but 
 your sister did, and liked it well besides ; ay, and the young one joined 
 in the fun. And, after all, I don't see that they got much by the 
 victory, for Withering was not pleased at my little hit about the days 
 ' when he used to be a Whig and spout liberal politics ; and the other 
 liked just as little my remark about the fellows in the Company's 
 service, and how nobody knew who they were or where they came 
 from. He was in the Madras array himself, but I pretended not to 
 know it ; but I found his name written on the leaf of an old book he 
 gave me, and the regiment he was in : and did you see how he looked 
 when I touched on it ? But here he comes now." 
 
 " Make your peace with him, M'Cormick, make your peace !" said 
 Barrington, as he moved away, not sorry, as he went, to mark the easy 
 familiarity with which Stapylton drew his arm within the other's, and 
 walked along at his side. 
 
 " Wasn't that a wonderful dinner we had to-day, from a man that 
 hasn't a cross in his pocket ?" croaked out M'Cormick to Stapylton- 
 
 " Is it possible ?" 
 
BAKEINGTON. 273 
 
 " Sherry and Madeira after your soup, then, Sauterne — a thing I 
 don't care for any more than the oyster patties it came with — cham- 
 pagne next, and in tumblers, too ! Do you ever see it better done at 
 your mess ? Or •where did you ever taste a finer glass of claret ?" 
 
 " It was all admirable." 
 
 " There was only one thing forgotten — not that it signifies to i<s." 
 
 " And what might that be ?" 
 
 " It wasn't paid for ! No, nor will it ever be !" 
 
 " Tou amaze me, Major. My impression was that our friend here 
 was, without being rich, in very comfortable circumstances ; able to 
 live handsomely, while he carried on a somewhat costly suit." 
 
 " That's the greatest folly of all," broke out M'Cormick; "and 
 it's to get money for that now that he's going to mortgage this place 
 here — ay, the very ground under our feet!" And this he said^with 
 a sort of tremulous indignation, as though the atrocity bore especially 
 hard upon them. " Kinshela, the attorney from Kilkenny, was up 
 with me about it yesterday. ' It's an elegant investment. Major,' 
 says he, ' and you're very likely to get the place into your hands for 
 all the chance old Peter has of paying off the charge. His heart is in 
 that suit, and he'll not stop as* long as he has a guinea to go on 
 with it.' " 
 
 " "Well, and what answer did you give him ?" 
 
 " I said, ' I'd think of it ; I'd turn it over in my mind ;' for there's 
 various ways of looking at it." 
 
 " I fancy I apprehend one of them," said Stapylton, with a half- 
 jocular glance at his companion. " Tou have been reflecting over 
 another investment, eh ? Am I not right ? I remarked you at dinner. 
 I saw how the young brunette had struck you, and I said to myself, 
 ' She has made a conquest already !' " 
 
 " Not a bit of it; nothing of the kind," said M'Cormick, awkwardly. 
 " I'm too 'cute to be caught that way." 
 
 " Tes, but remember it might be a very good catch. I don't speak 
 of the suit, because I agree with you, the chances in that direction 
 are very small indeed, and I cannot understand the hopeful feeling 
 with which he prosecutes it ; but she is a fine, handsome girl; very 
 attractive in manner, and equal to any station." 
 
 " And what's the good of all that to me ? Wouldn't it be better 
 if she could make a peas-pudding, like Polly DiU, or know how tO' 
 fatten a turkey, or salt down a side of bacon ?" 
 
 " I don't think so — ^I declare, I don't think so," said Stapylton, as 
 he lighted a fresh cigar. " These are household cares, and to be 
 bought with money, and not expensively either. What a man like 
 
274 BABEINGTON. 
 
 you or I wants is one who should give a sort of tone — ^impart a degree 
 of elegance to his daily life. "We old bachelors grow into self-indul- 
 gence — which is only another name for harbarism. With a mistaken, 
 idea- of comfort, we neigleet scores of little observances which consti- 
 tute the small currency of civilisation, and without which all inter- 
 course is unpleasing and ungraceful." 
 
 " I'm not quite sure that I understand you aright ; but there's 
 one thing I know, I'd think twice of it before I'd ask that young 
 woman to be Mrs. M'Cormick. And besides," added he, with a sly 
 side-look, " if it's so good a thing, why doii't you think of it for 
 yourself?'* 
 
 " I need not tell an old soldier like yau that full-pay and a 
 wife are incompatible. Every wise man's experience shows it, and 
 when a fellow goes to the bishop for a license, he should send in his 
 papers to the Horse Gruards. liTow, I'm too poor to give up my 
 career. I have not, like you, a charming cottage on a river's bank, 
 and a swelling lawn dotted over with my own sheep before my door. 
 I cannot put off the harness." 
 
 " "Who talks of putting off the harness ?" cried Withering, gaily, 
 as he joined them. " "Who ever di^eamed of doing anything so iU- 
 judging and so mistaken ? "Why, if it were only to hide the spots 
 where the coUar has galled you, you ought to wear the trappings to 
 the last. No man ever knew how to idle, who hadn't passed aU his 
 life at it ! Some go so far as to say, that for real success a man's 
 father and grandfather should have been idlers before him. But have 
 you seen Barrington ? He has been looking for you all over the 
 grounds." 
 
 " No," said Stapylton ; " my old brother-officer and myself got 
 into pipeclay and barrack tali, and strolled away down here uncon- 
 sciously." 
 
 " Well, we'd better not be late for tea," broke in the Major, " or 
 we'll hear of it from Miss Dinah!" And there was something so 
 comic in the seriousness of his tone, that they laughed heartily as 
 they turned towards the house. 
 
BABEIlfGTOlir. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 A MOTE IN ADVANC] 
 
 How pleasantly did the next day break oa the " Home !" Polly 
 Dill arrived in the best of possible spirits. A few lines from Tom 
 had just reached them. They were written at sea; but the poor 
 fellow's notions of latitude and longitude were so confused, that it 
 was not easy to say from whence. They were cheery, however. He 
 was in good health, his comrades were kind-hearted creatures, and 
 evidently recognised in him one of a station above their own. He 
 said that he could have been appointed hospital sergeant if he liked, 
 but that whatever reminded him of his old calling was so distasteful, 
 that he preferred remaining as he was, the rather as he was given to 
 believe he should soon be a corporal. " Not that I mean to stop 
 there, Polly ; and now that I haven't got to study for it, I feel a. 
 courage as to the future I never knew before. Give my love to Mr. 
 Conyers, and say that I'm never tired of thinking over the last night 
 I saw him, and of all his good nature to me, and that I hope I'll see 
 his father, some day or other, to thank him. I suppose father doesn't 
 miss me ? I'm sure mother doesn't ; and it's only yourself, Polly, will 
 ever feel a heavy heart for the poor castaway ! But cheer up ! for as 
 sure as my name is Tom, I'll not bring discredit on you, and you'lL 
 not be ashamed to take my arm down the main street when we 
 meet. I must close now, for the boat is going. 
 
 " P.S. I dreamed last night you rode Sid Davis's brown mare over 
 the Millrace at G-raigue, "Wouldn't it be strange if it came true ? 
 I wish I could know it." 
 
 " May I show this to my friend here, Polly ?" said Barrington, 
 pointing to "Withering. " It's a letter he'd like to read ;" and as she 
 nodded assent, he handed it across the breakfast-table. 
 
 " What is your brother's regiment. Miss Dill ?" said Stapylton, 
 who had just caught a stray word or two of what passed. 
 
 " The Porty-ninth." 
 
 " The Porty-ninth," said he, repeating the words once or twice. 
 
 t2 
 
2^6 BABEINOTOIf. 
 
 " Let me see — don't I know some Forty-nintli men ? To be sure I, 
 do. There's Eepton and Hare. Tour brother will be delighted with. 
 Hare." 
 
 " My brother is in the ranks, Major Stapylton," said she, flushing 
 a deep scarlet ; and Barrington quickly interposed, 
 
 " It was the wild frolic of a young man to escape a profession he 
 had no mind for." 
 
 " But in foreign armies every one does it," broke in Stapylton, 
 hurriedly. " No matter what a man's rank may be, he must carry 
 the musket ; and I own I like the practice ; if for nothing else, for 
 that fine spirit of ' camaraderie' which it engenders." 
 
 Kfine's eyes sparkled with pleasure at what she deemed the well- 
 bred readiness of this speech, while Polly became deadly pale, and 
 seemed with diflSculty to repress the repartee that rose to her mind< 
 Not so Miss Dinah, who promptly said, " No foreign customs can 
 palliate a breach of our habits. We are English, and we don't desire ta 
 be I'renchmen or Germans.'-' 
 
 " Might we not occasionally borrow from our neighbours with ad- 
 vtotage ?" asked Stapylton, blandly. 
 
 " I agree with Miss Barrington," said Withering — ■" I agree with 
 Miss Barrington, whose very prejudices are always right. An army 
 formed by a eonsc^ption which exempts no man is on a totally 
 different footing from one derived from voluntary enlistment." 
 
 " A practice that some say should be reserved for marriage," said 
 Barrington, whose happy tact it was to relieve a discussion by a 
 ready joke. 
 
 They arose from table soon after ; Polly to accompany Miss Bar- 
 rington over the garden and the shrubberies and show all that had 
 been done in their absence, and all that she yet intended to do, if ap- 
 proved of; Withering adjourned to Barrington's study to pore over 
 parchments ; and Stapylton, after vainly seeking to find Josephine in 
 the drawing-room, the flower-garden, or the lawn, betook himself 
 with a book, the flrst he could find on the table, to the river's side, and 
 lay down, less to read than to meditate and reflect. 
 
 A breezy morning of a fine day in early autumn, with slow sailing 
 clouds above and a flickering sunlight on the grass below, beside a 
 rippling river, whose banks are glowing with blue and purple heath- 
 bells, — all these and a Waverley novel were not enough to distract 
 Stapylton ffom the cares that pressed upon his mind ; for so it is, 
 look where we may on those whom Fortune would seem to have made 
 her especial favourites, and we shall find some unsatisfied ambition, 
 
BAEEINGTOir. 277 
 
 some craving wish doomed to disappointment, some hope deferred till 
 the heart that held it has ceased to care for its accomplishment. To 
 the world's eyes, here was a man eminently fortnnate ; already high 
 up in the service, with health, vigour, and good loqks, a reputation 
 established for personal gallantry in the field, and an amount of 
 capacity that had already won for him more than one distinction, 
 and yet all these, great and solid advantages as they are, were not 
 sufficient to give the ease of mind we call happiness. 
 
 He had debts, some of them heavy debts, but these sat lightly on 
 him. He was one of those men creditors never crush, some secret 
 consciousness seeming to whisper that however ill the world may go 
 with them for a while, in the long run they must triumph ; and thus 
 Mr. Hiram Davis, to whom he owed thousands, would have cashed 
 him another bill to-morrow, all on the faith of that future which 
 JStapylton talked about with the careless confidence of a mind as- 
 sured. 
 
 He had enemies, too — powerful and determined enemies — who op- 
 posed his advancement for many a year, and were still adverse to him, 
 but, like the creditors, they felt he was not a man to be crushed, and 
 so he and his ill wishers smiled blandly when they met, exchanged the 
 most cordial greetings, and even imparted little confidences of their 
 several fortunes with all that well-bred duplicitjtwhich so simulates 
 friendship. 
 
 He had been crossed — no, not in love, but in his ambition to marry 
 one greatly above him in station ; but her subsequent marriage had 
 been so unfortunate, that he felt in part recompensed for the slight 
 she passed upon him ; so tha.t, taking it all and all, Fate had never 
 been cruel to him without a compensation. 
 
 There are men who feel their whole existence to be a hand-to-hand 
 struggle with the world, who regard the world as an adversary to be 
 worsted, and all whose efibrts are devoted to reach that point upon 
 which they can turn round and say, " Tou see that I have won the 
 game. I was unknown, and I am famous ; I was poor, and I am 
 rich ; I was passed over and ignored, and now the very highest are 
 proud to recognise me !" Stapylton Was one of these. All the egotism 
 of his nature took this form, and it was far more in a spirit against 
 his fellows than in any indulgence of himself he fought and struggled 
 with Fortune. Entrusted by Withering with much of the secret 
 history of Barrington's claim against the India Company, he had 
 learned considerably more through inquiries instituted by himself^ 
 and at length arrived at the conclusion that if old Barrington could 
 
278 BAHEisaToir. 
 
 be persTiacled to limit his demands within moderate bounds, and not 
 insist Hpon the details of that personal reparation which he assumed 
 so essential to his son's honour, a very ample recompense would not 
 be refused hino. It was to induce Barrington to tak© this course 
 Stapylton had consented to come down with "Withering — so at least 
 he said, and so "Withering believed. Old lawyer that hfe was, with a 
 hundred instincts of distrust about him, he had conceived a reallikiog 
 for Stapylton, and a great confidence in his judgment. " We shall 
 have to divide our labours here. Major," said he, as they travelled 
 along together ; " I will leave the ladies to your care, Barrington shall 
 be mine." A very brief acquaintance with Miss Dinah satisfied 
 Stapylton that she was one to require nice treatment, and what he 
 called "a very light hand." The two or three little baits he had 
 thrown out took nothing ; the stray bits of sentimentality, or chance 
 scraps of high-toned principle be had addressed to her, had failed. 
 It was only when he had with some sharpness hit off some small 
 meanness in M'Cormick's nature that she had even vouchsafed him 
 so much as a half smile of approval, and he saw that even then she 
 watched him closely. 
 
 " No," said he, half aloud to himself, " that old woman is not one 
 easily to be dealt with ; and the. younger one, too, would have a will 
 of her own if she had but the way to use it. If Polly had been in her 
 place-7-the clever, quick-witted Polly — she would have gone with me 
 in my plans, associated herself in all my projects, and assured their 
 success. Oh for a good eolkague just to keep the boat's head straight 
 when one is weary of rowing !" 
 
 " Would I do ?" said a low voice near. And, on looking up, he saw 
 Josephine standing over him, with an arch smile on her face as though 
 she had surprised him in a confession. 
 
 " How long have you been there?" asked he, hurriedly. 
 
 " A few seconds." 
 
 " And what have you heard me say F" 
 
 "That you wanted a colleague, or a companion of some sort, and 
 as I was the only useless person here, I offered myself." 
 
 " In good faith ?" 
 
 " In good faith ! — why not ? I am more likely to gain by the as- 
 sociation than you are ; at least, if you can only be as pleasant of a 
 morning as you were yesterday at dinner." 
 
 " I'll try," said he, springing to his feet ; " and as a success in these 
 efforts is mainly owing to the amount of zeal that animates them, I 
 am hopeful." 
 
 " Which means a ilattery at the outset," said she, smiling. 
 
^PU-!^ c-' <ZO'. 
 
BAEEINGTOir. 279 
 
 " Only as much as your friend Mr. "Witbering would throw out 
 to dispose the court in his favour ; and now, which way shall we 
 walk ? Are you to be the guide, or I ?" 
 
 " Tou, by aU means, since you know nothing of the locality." 
 " Agreed. "Well, here is my plan. We cross the river in this boat, 
 and take that path yonder that leads up by the wdterfaU. I know, 
 from the dark shadow of the mountain, that there is a deep glen, very 
 wild, very romantic, and very solemn, through which I mean to con- 
 duct you." 
 " AU this means a very long eicursion, does it not ?" 
 "Tou have just told me that you were free from all engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " Tes ; but not from all control. I must ask Aunt Dinah's leave- 
 before I set out on this notable expedition." 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind. It would be to make a caprice seem a 
 plan. Let us go where you will — here, along the river's side ; any- 
 where, so that we may affect to think that we are free agents, and 
 not merely good children sent out for a walk." 
 
 "What a rebel against authority you are, for one so despotic 
 yourself." 
 
 " I despotic ! "Who ever called me so ?" 
 " Tour officers say as much." 
 
 " I know from what quarter that came," said he ; and his bronzed 
 face grew a shade deeper. " That dilettante soldier, young Conyers, 
 has given me this character; but I'd rather talk of you than myself. 
 Tell me all about your life. Is it as delightful as everything around 
 would bespeak it ? Are these trees and flowers, this sunny bank, this 
 perfumed sward, true emblems of the existence they embellish, or is 
 Paradise only a cheat ?" 
 
 " I don't think so. I think Paradise is very like what it looks, 
 not but I own that the garden is pleasanter with guests in it than 
 when only Adam and Eve were there. Mr. Withering is charming, 
 and you can be very agreeable." 
 
 " I would I knew how to be so," said he, seriously, "just at this 
 moment, for I am going away from Ireland, and I am very desirous 
 of leaving a good impression behind me." 
 
 " What could it signify to you how you were thought of in this 
 lonely spot ?" 
 
 " More than you suspect — more than you would, perhaps, credit," 
 said he, feelingly. 
 
 There was a little pause, during which they walked along side by 
 side. 
 
80 BAKEIN GKrON. 
 
 " "What are you thinking of ?" said she, at last. 
 
 " I was thinking of a strange thing-^it was this : About a week 
 ago there was no effort I was not making to obtain the command of 
 my regiment. I wanted to be Lieutenant-Colonel, and so bent was I 
 on gaining my object, that if giving away three or four years of that 
 life that I may hope for would have done it, I'd have closed the bar- 
 gain.; and now the ambition is gone, and I am speculating whether 
 I'll not take the cottage of your friend Major M'Cormick — he 
 offered it to me last night — and become your neighbour. What say 
 you to the project ?" 
 
 " Por us the exchange would be all a gain." 
 
 " I want your opinion — your own," said he, with a voice reduced 
 to a mere whisper. 
 
 " I'd like it of all things ; although, if I were your sister or your 
 daughter, I'd not counsel it." 
 
 " And why not, if you were my sister ?" said he, vrith a certain 
 constraint in his manner. 
 
 " I'd say it was inglorious to change from the noble activity of a 
 Soldier's life to come and dream away existence here." 
 
 " But what if I have done enough for this same thing men call 
 fame ? I have had my share of campaigning, and as the world looks 
 there is wondrous little prospect of any renewal of it. These peace 
 achievements suit your friend Conyers better than me." 
 
 " I think you are not just to him. If I read him aright, he is burn- 
 ing for an occasion to distinguish himself." 
 
 A cold shrug of the shoulders was his only acknowledgment of 
 this speech, and again a silence fell between them. 
 
 '* I would rather talk of you, if you would let me," said he, with 
 much significance of voice and manner. " Say, would you like to 
 have me for your neighbour ?" 
 
 •' It would be a pleasant exchange for Major M'Cormick," said she, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I want you to be serious now. What I am asking you interests 
 me too deeply to jest over." 
 
 "Pirst of all, is the project a serious one ?" 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Next, why ask advice from one as inexperienced as I am ?" 
 
 " Because it is not counsel I ask — it is something more. Don't 
 look surprised, and, above all, don't look angry, but listen to me. 
 What I have said now, and what more I would say, might more pro- 
 perly have been uttered when we had known each other longer ; but 
 
BAEEINGTOir. 281 
 
 there are emergencies in life •which give no time for alow approaches, 
 and there are men, too, that they suit not. Imagine such now before 
 you — I mean, both the moment and the man. Imagine one who has 
 gone through a great deal in life, seen, heard, and felfc much, and yet 
 never till now, never till this very morning, understood what it was 
 to know one whose least word or passing look was more to him than 
 ambition, higher than all the rewards of glory." 
 
 " We never met till yesterday," said she, calmly. 
 
 " True ; and if we part to-morrow it will be for ever. I feel too 
 painfully," added he, with more eagerness, " how I compromise all 
 that I value by an avowal abrupt and rash as this is ; but I have 
 had no choice. I have been offered the command of a native force in 
 India, and must give my answer at once. "With hope — the very 
 faintest, so that it be hope — I will refuse. Eemember, I want no 
 pledge, no promise ; all I entreat is that you will regard me as one 
 who seeks to win your favour. Let time do the rest." 
 
 " I do not think I ought to do this — I do not know if you should 
 ask it." 
 
 " May I speak to your grandfather — may I tell him what I have 
 told you — ^may I say, ' It is with Josephine's permission ' " 
 
 " I am called Miss Barrington, Sir, by all but those of my own 
 family." 
 
 " Forgive me, I entreat you," said he, with a deep humility in his 
 tone. " I had never so far forgotten myself if calm reason had not 
 deserted me. I will not transgress again." 
 
 " This is the shortest way back to the cottage," said she, turning 
 into a narrow path in the wood. 
 
 ", It does not lead to my hope," said he, despondingly ; and no 
 more was uttered between them for some paces. 
 
 " Do not walk so very fast, Miss Barrington," said he, in a tone 
 which trembled slightly. " In the few minutes — the seconds you 
 could accord me — I might build the whole fortune of my life. I have 
 already endangered my hopes by rashness ; let me own that it is the 
 fault I have struggled against in vain. This scar" — and he showed 
 the deep mark of a sabre-wound on the temple — " was the price of one 
 of my offendings ; but it was light in suffering to what I am now 
 enduring." 
 
 " Can we not talk of what wdll exact no such sacrifice ?" said she, 
 calmly. 
 
 " Not now, not now!" said he, with emotion; "if you pass that 
 porch without giving me an answer, life has no longer a tie for me. 
 
282 • BAEEiKeTOir. 
 
 Tou know that I ask for no pledge, no promise, merely time — no more 
 than time — a few more of those moments of ■which you now would, 
 seem eager to deny me. Linger an instant here, I beseech you, and 
 remember, that what to you may be a caprice, may to me be a 
 destiny." 
 
 " I will not hear more of this," said ahe, halfangrily. " If it were 
 not -for my own foolish trustfulness you never wiould have dared ta 
 address such words to one whom you met yesterday for the first 
 time." 
 
 " It is true,, your generous frankness, the nature they told me you 
 inherited, gives me boldness, but it might teach you to have some 
 pity for a disposition akin to it. One word — only one word more." 
 
 " Not one, Sir ! The lesson my frankness has taught me is, never 
 to incur this peril again." 
 
 " Do you part from me in anger ?" 
 
 " Not with you ; but I wiU not answer for myself if you press me 
 further." 
 
 " Even this much is better than despair," said he, mournfully ; and 
 she passed into the cottage, while he stood in the porch and bowed 
 respectfully as she went by. " Better than I looked for ; better than 
 I could have hoped," muttered he to himself, as he strolled away 
 and disappeared in the wood. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXKV. 
 
 A CABINET COUNCIL. 
 
 " "What do you think of it, Dinah ?" said Barriagton, as they aai 
 in conclave the next morning in her own sitting-room. 
 
 She laid down a letter she had just inished reading on the table,, 
 carefully folding it, like one trying to gain time before she spoke : 
 " He's a clever man, and writes well, Peter ; there can be no secanA 
 opinion upon that." 
 
 " But his proposal, Dinah — his proposal ?" 
 
 " Pleases me less the more I think of it. There is great disparity 
 of age — a wide discrepancy in character. A. certain gravity of 
 
BABBTNGION. 283 
 
 demeanour woTild not l^e undesirable, perhaps, ia a husband for 
 Josephine, who has her moments of capricious fancy, but, if I mis- 
 take not, this man's nature is stem and unbending." 
 
 " There will be time enough to consider all that, Dinah. It is, in 
 fact, to weigh well the chances of his fitness to secure her happiness 
 that he pleads ; he asks permission to make himself known to her, 
 rather than to make his court." 
 
 " I used to fancy that they meant the same thing — I know that 
 they did in my day, Peter," said she, bridling ; " but to come to the 
 plain question before us. So far as I understand him, his position 
 is this : ' If I satisfy you that my rank and fortune are satisfactory 
 to you, have I your permission to come back here as your grand- 
 daughter's suitor ?'" 
 
 " Not precisely, Dinah — not exactly this. Here are his words : ' I 
 am well aware that I am much older than Miss Barrington, and it is 
 simply to ascertaia from herself if, in that disparity of years, there 
 exists that disparity of tastes and temper which would indispose her 
 to regard me as one to whom she would entrust her happiness. I 
 hope to do this without any offence to her delicacy, though not 
 without peril to my own self-love. Have I your leave for this 
 experiment ?' " 
 
 " Who is hfi ? "WLo are his friends, connexions, belongings ? 
 What is his station independently of his military rank, and what 
 are his means ? Can you answer these questions ?" 
 
 " Not one of them. I never found myself till to-day in a position 
 to inquire after them." 
 
 " Let us begin, then, by that investigation, Peter. There is no such 
 test of a man as to make him talk of himself. With you alone the 
 matter, perhaps, would not present much difficulty to him, but I 
 intend that Mr. Withering's name and my own shaU. be on the com- 
 mittee ; and, take my word for it, we shaU sift the evidence care- 
 fully." 
 
 " Bear in nund, sister Dinah, that this gentleman is, first of all, 
 oiu" guest." 
 
 " The first of aU that I mean to bear iu mind is, that he desires to 
 be your grandson." 
 
 " Of course — of course. I would only observe on the reserve that 
 should be maintained towards one who honours us with his pre- 
 sence." 
 
 " Peter Barrington, the Arabs, from whom you seem to borrow 
 your notions on hospitality, seldom scruple about cutting a guest's 
 
284 BABniNGTON. 
 
 Lead off when lie passes the threshold ; therefore I would advise you 
 to adopt habits that may be more suited to the land we live in." 
 
 " All I know is," said Barrington, rising and pacing the room, 
 " that I could no more put a gentleman under my roof to the question 
 as to his father and mother and his fortune, than I could rifle his 
 writing-desk and read his letters." 
 
 " Brother Peter, the weakness of your disposition has cost you one 
 of the finest estates in your country, and if it could be restored to 
 you to-morrow, the same imbecility would forfeit it again. I will, 
 however, take the matter into my own hands." 
 
 " With "Withering, I suppose, to assist you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I am perfectly competent to make any inquiry I 
 deem requisite without a legal adviser. Perhaps, were I to be so 
 accompanifed. Major Stapylton would suppose that he, too, should 
 appear with his lawyer." 
 
 Barrington smiled faintly at the dry jest, but said nothing. 
 
 " I see," resumed she, " that you are very much afraid about my 
 want of tact and delicacy in this investigation. It is a somewhat 
 common belief amongst men that in all matters of business women 
 err on the score of hardness and persistence. I have listened to 
 some edifying homilies from your friend Withering on female incre- 
 dulity and so forth — reproaches that will cease to apply when men 
 shall condescend to treat us as creatures accessible to reason, and not 
 as mere dupes. See who is knocking at the door, Peter," added she, 
 sharply. " I declare it recals the old days of our inn-keeping, and 
 Darby asking for the bill of the lame gentleman in No. 4 !" 
 
 " Upon my life, they were pleasant days too," said Barrington, but 
 in a tone so low as to be unheard by his sister. 
 
 " May I come in ?" said Withering, as he opened the door a few 
 •inches, and peeped inside. " I want to show you a note I have just 
 had from Kinshela, in Kilkenny." 
 
 "Tea, yes; come in," said Miss Barrington. "I only wish you 
 had arrived a little earlier. What is your note about ?" 
 
 " It's very short and very purpose-like. The first of it is all about 
 Brazier's costs, which it seems the taxing-officer thinks fair and 
 reasonable — all excepting that charge for the additional affidavits. 
 But here is what I want to show you. ' Major M'Cormick, of 
 M'Cormick's Grove, has just been here; and although I am not 
 entitled to say as much officially on his part, I entertain no doubt 
 whatever but that he is ready to advance the money we require. 
 I spoke of fifteen hundred, but said twelve might possibly be taken, 
 
BAEEINGTON. 285 
 
 and twelve would be, I imagine, bis limit, since be beld to this amount 
 in all our conversation afterwards. He appears to be a man of strange 
 and eccentric habits, and these will probably be deemed a suflScient 
 excuse for the singular turn our interview took towards its conclu- 
 sion. I was speaking of Mr. Barrington's wish for the insertion in 
 the deed of a definite period for redemption, and he stopped me hastily 
 with, " "What if we could strike out another arrangement ? What if 
 he was to make a settlement of the place on his granddaughter ? I am 
 not too old to marry, and I'd give him the money at five per cent." I 
 have been careful to give you the very expressions he employed, and 
 of which I made a note when he left the office ; for although fuUy 
 aware how improper it would be in me to submit this proposal to Mr. 
 Barrington, I have felt it my duty to put you in possession of all that 
 has passed between us.' " \ 
 
 " How can you laugh, Peter Barrington ? — ^how is it possible you 
 can laugh at such an insult — such an outrage as this ? Go on, Sir," 
 said she, turning to Withering ; "let us hear it to the end, for nothing 
 worse can remain behind." 
 
 " There is no more ; at least, there is not anything worth hearing. 
 Kinshela winds up with many apologies, and hopes that I will only 
 use his communication for my own guidance, and not permit it in any 
 case to prejudice him in your estimation." As he spoke, he crumpled 
 up the note in his hand in some confusion. 
 
 " Who thinks of Mr. Kinshela, or wants to think of him, in the 
 matter?" said she, angrily. " I wish, however, I were a man for a 
 couple of hours, to show Major M'Cormick the estimate I take of the 
 honour he intends us." 
 
 ■ " After all, Dinah, it is not that he holds us more cheaply, but 
 rates himself higher." 
 
 " Just so," broke in Withering ; " and I know, for my own part, I 
 have never been able to shake off the flattery of being chosen by the 
 most nefarious rascal to defend him on his trial. Every man is a great 
 creature in his own eyes." 
 
 "Well, Sir, be proud of your client," said she, trembling with 
 anger. 
 
 " No, no — ^he's no client of mine, nor is this a cause I would plead 
 for him. I read you Kinshela's note, because I thought you were 
 building too confidently on M'Cormick's readiness to advance this 
 money." 
 
 " I understood what that readiness meant, though my brother did 
 not. M'Cormick looked forward to the day — and not a very distant 
 
286^ BAEBIWGTOir. 
 
 day did he deem it — when he should step into possession of this place^. 
 and settle down here as its owner." 
 
 Barrington's face grew pale, amd a gkssy film spread over Ms eyes, 
 as his sister's words sunk into his heart. " I declare, Dinah," said 
 ke, falfceringjly, " that never did strike me before." 
 
 " ' It never rains but it pours,' says the Irish adage," resumed 
 she. " My brother and I were just discussing another proposal of 
 the same kind when you knocked. Head that letter. It is from a 
 more adroit courtier than the othflr, and ait least he doesn't preface 
 his intentions with a bargain." And she handed Sfcapylfcon's letter 
 to Withering. 
 
 " Ah !" said the lawyer, " this is another guess sort of man, and a 
 very different sort of piroposal." 
 
 " I suspected that he was a favourite of yours," said Miss Dinah, 
 significantly. 
 
 " Well, I own to it. He is one of those men who hawe a great at- 
 traction for me — men who come out of the conflict of life and its 
 interests without any exaggerated notions of human perfectability or 
 the opposite, who recognise plenty of good and no small share of 
 bad in the world, but, on the whole, are satisfied that, saving ill 
 health, very few of our calamities are not of our own pro- 
 viding." 
 
 " All of which is perfectly compatible with an odious egotism, Sir," 
 said she, warmly ; " but I feel proud to say such characters find few 
 admirers amongst women." 
 
 " From which I opine that he- is not fortunate enough to number 
 Miss Dinah Barrington among his supporters ?" 
 
 " Ton are right there. Sir. The prejudice I had against him before 
 we met has been strengthened since I have seen him»" 
 
 " It is candid of you, however, to call it a prejudice," said he, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Be it so, Mr. Withering ; but prejudice is only another word 
 for an instinct." 
 
 " I'm afraid if we get into ethics we'll forget all about the pro- 
 posal," said Barrington. 
 
 " What a sarcasm !" cried Withering, "that if we talk of morals 
 we shall ignore matrimony." 
 
 " I like the man, and I like his letter," said Barrington. 
 
 " I distrust both one and the other," said Miss Dinah. 
 
 " I almost fancy I could hold a brief on either side," interposed 
 Withering. 
 
BAEEIU-STOir. 287 
 
 " Of course jou could, Sir ; and if the choice were open to you, it 
 ■would be the defence of the guilty." 
 
 " My dear Misa Barrington," said Withering, calmly, " when a 
 great legal authority once said that he only needed three lines of any 
 man's writiBg ' to hang him,' it ought to make us very lenient in our 
 construction of a letter. Now, so far as I can see in this one before 
 us, he neither asks nor protests too mucL He begs simply for time, 
 he entreats leave to draw a biU on your afiections, and he promises 
 to meet it." 
 
 " No, Sir, he wishes to draw aft sight, though he has never shown 
 us the letter of credit." 
 
 " I vow to Heaven it is hopeless to expect anything practical 
 when you two stand up together for a sparring-match," cried Bar- 
 rington. 
 
 " Be practical, then, brother Peter, and ask this gentleman to give 
 you a quarter of an hour in your study. Pind out who he is ; I don't 
 expect you to learn what he is, but what he has. With Ms fortune we 
 shall get the clue to himself." 
 
 " Tes," chimed in Withering, " aU that is very business-like and 
 reasonable." 
 
 " And it pledges ni to nothing," added she. " We take .soundings, 
 but we don't promise to anchor." 
 
 " If you go off again with your figures of speech, Dinah, there is 
 an end of me, fori have one of those unhappy memories that retain the 
 illustration and forget what it typified. Besides this, here is a man 
 who, out of pure good nature and a respect for poor George's memory, 
 has been doing us most important services, written letters innume- 
 rable, and taken the most active measures for our benefit. What sort 
 of a figure shall I present if I bring him to book about his rental and. 
 the state of his bank account ?" 
 
 " With the exercise of a little tact, Barrington — a little manage- 
 ment " 
 
 " Ask a man with a club-foot to walk gingerly ! I have no more 
 notion of getting at anything by address than I have of tying the 
 femoral artery." 
 
 " The more blunt the better, Peter Barrington. Tou may tumble 
 into the truth though you'd never pick your way into it. Mean- 
 while, leave me to deal with Major M'Cormick." 
 
 " Tou'U do it courteously, Dinah ; you'll^bear in mind that he is 
 a neighbour of some twenty years' standing ?" said Barrington, in a 
 voice of anxiety. 
 
288 BAEBINGTOir. 
 
 " m do it in a manner, that shall satisfy my conscience and Ids 
 presumption." 
 
 She seated herself at the table as she said this, and dashed off a 
 few hasty lines. Indeed, so hurried was the action, that it looked far 
 more like one of those instances of correspondence we see on the stage, 
 than an event of real life, 
 
 " "Will that do ?" said she, showing the lines to "Withering. 
 
 The old lawyer read them over to himself, a faint twitching of the 
 mouth being the only sign his face presented of any emotion. " I 
 should say, admirably — nothing better." 
 
 " May I see it, Dinah ?" asked Peter. 
 
 "Tou shall hear it, brother," said she, taking the paper and 
 reading : 
 
 " ' Miss Barrington informs Mr. Kinshela that, if he does not at 
 once retract his epistle of this morning's date, she wiU. place it in the 
 hands of her legal adviser, and proceed against it as a threatening 
 letter.' " 
 
 " Oh, sister, you wUl not send this ?" 
 
 " As sure as my name is Dinah Barrington." 
 
BAEEnrGTOX. 289 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 
 AN EXPRESS. 
 
 In the times before telegraphs — and it is of such I am writing — a 
 hurried express was a far more stirring event than in these our days 
 of incessant oracles. "While, therefore, Barrington and his sister and 
 "Withering sat in deep consultation on Josephine's fate and future, a 
 hasty summons arrived from Dublin, requiring the instantaneous 
 departure of Stapylton, whose regiment was urgently needed in the 
 north of England, at that time agitated by those disturbances called 
 the Bread Eiots. They were very formidable troubles, and vfhen we 
 look back upon them now, with the light which the great events of 
 later years on the Continent afford us, seem more terrible still. It 
 was the fashion, however, then, to treat them lightly, and talk of 
 them contemptuously ; and as Stapylton was eating a hasty luncheon 
 before departure, he sneered at the rabble, and scoffed at the insolent 
 pretension of their demands. Neither Barrington nor "Withering 
 sympathised with the spirit of revolt, and yet each felt shoclced 
 at the tone of haughty contempt Stapylton assumed towards the 
 people. " Tou'U see," cried he, rising, " how a couple of brisk 
 charges from our fellows will do more to bring these rascals to reason 
 than all the fine pledges of your Parliament folk ; and I promise you, 
 for my own part, if I chance upon one of their leaders, I mean to lay 
 my mark on him." 
 
 " I fear. Sir, it is your instinctive dislike to the plebeian that 
 moves you here," said Miss Dinah. " Ton will not entertain the 
 question whether these people may not have some wrongs to com- 
 plain of." 
 
 " Perhaps so, Madam," said he ; and his swarthy face grew darker 
 as he spoke. " I suppose this is a case where the blood of a gentle- 
 man boils indignantly at the challenge of the ' canaille.' " 
 
 " I will not have a French word applied to our own people. Sir " 
 said she, angrily. 
 
 ""Well said," chimed in "Withering. "It is wonderful how a 
 phrase can seem to carry an argument along with it." 
 
 And old Peter smiled, and nodded his concurrence with this 
 speech. 
 
 " "What a sad minority do I stand in," said Stapylton, with an 
 
 V 
 
290 BABEUTGIOIir. 
 
 effort to smile very far from successful. " Will not Miss Josephine 
 Barrington have generosity enough to aid the weaker side ?" 
 
 " Not if it be the worse cause," interposed Dinah. " My niece 
 needs not to be told she must be just before she is generous." 
 
 " Then it is to your own generosity I will appeal," said Stapylton, 
 turning to her ; " and I will ask you to ascribe some at least of my 
 bitterness to the sorrow I feel at being thus summoned away. Be- 
 lieve me it is no light matter to leave this place and its company." 
 
 " But only for a season, and a very brief season, too, I trust," said 
 Barrington. " You are going away in our debt, remember." 
 
 " It is a loser's privilege, all the world over, to withdraw when he 
 has lost enough," said Stapylton, with a sad smile towards Miss 
 Dinah ; and though the speech was made ia the hope it might elicit 
 a contradiction, none came, and a very awkward silence ensued, 
 
 " Tou will reach Dublin to-night, I suppose ?" said Withering, to 
 relieve the painful pause in the conversation. 
 
 " It will be late — after midnight, perhaps." 
 
 " And embark the next morning ?" 
 
 " Two of our squadrons have sailed already ; the others wUl, of 
 course, follow to-morrow." 
 
 " And young Conyers," broke in Miss Dinah — " he will, I sup- 
 pose, accompany this — what shall I call it — this raid ?" 
 
 " Xes, Madam. Am I to convey to him your compliments upon 
 iis first opportunity to flesh his maiden sword ?" 
 
 " You are to do nothing of the kind, Sir ; but tell him from me 
 not to forget that the angry passions of a starving multitude are not 
 to be confounded with the vindictive hate of our natural enemies." 
 
 " Natural enemies, my dear Miss Barrington ! I hope you cannot 
 mean that there exists anything so monstrous in humanity as a 
 natural enemy ?" 
 
 " I do. Sir ; and I mean aU those whose jealousy of us ripens into 
 hatred, and who would spill their hearts' blood to see us humbled. 
 When there exists a people like this, and who at every fresh outbreak 
 of a war with us have carried into the new contest all the bitter ani- 
 mosities of long-past stcuggles as debts to be liquidated, I call these 
 natural enemies ; and, if you prefer a shorter word for it, I call them 
 iFrenchmen." 
 
 " Dinah, Dinah !" 
 
 " Peter, Peter ! don't interrupt me. Major Stapylton has thought 
 to tax me with a blunder, but I accept it as a boast !" 
 
 " Madam, I am proud to be vanquished by you," said Stapylton, 
 bowing low. 
 
BAKEIHSTOIf. 291 
 
 "And I traat, Sir," said she, continuing her speechf and as if 
 heedless of his interruption, " that no similarity of name will make 
 you behave at Peterloo — if that be the name — aa though you were at 
 Waterloo." 
 
 " TJpon my life !" cried he, with a sauey laugh, " I don't know how 
 I am to win your good opinion, except it be by tearing off my epau- 
 lettes, and putting myself at the head of the mob." 
 
 " Tou know very little of my sister. Major Stapylton," said Bar^ 
 rington, " or you would scarcely have selected that mode of culti- 
 vating her favour." 
 
 " There is a popular belief that ladies always side with the winning 
 cause," said Stapylton, affecting a light and easy manner ; " so I must 
 do my best to be successful. May I hope I carry your good wishes 
 away with me ?" said he, in a lower tone, to Josephine. 
 
 " I hope that nobody will hurt you and you hurt nobody," said she, 
 laughingly. 
 
 " And this, I take it, is about as much sympathy as ever attends 
 3/ man on such a campaign. Mr. Barrington, will you grant me two 
 minutes of conversation in your own room?" And, with a bow of 
 acquiescence, Barrington led the way to his study. 
 
 " I ought to have anticipated your request. Major Stapylton," said 
 Barrington, when they found themselves alone. " I owe you a reply 
 to your letter, but the simple fact is, I do not know what answer to 
 give it, for while most sensible of the honour you intend us, I feel 
 still there is much to be explained on both sides. "We know scarcely 
 anything of each other, and though I am conscious of the generosity 
 which prompts a man with yowr prospects and myow position to ally 
 himself with persons in ours, yet I owe it to myself to say, it hangs 
 upon a contingency to restore us to wealth and station. Even a 
 portion of what I claim from the East India Company would make 
 my granddaughter one of the richest heiresses in England." 
 
 Stapylton gave a cold, a very cold smile, in reply to this speech. 
 It might mean that he was incredulous or indifferent, or it might 
 imply that the issue was one which need not have been introduced 
 into the case at all. Whatever its signification, Barrington felt hurt 
 by it, and hastily said, 
 
 " Not that I have any need to trouble you with these details ; it is 
 rather my province to ask for information regarding yowF circum- 
 stances than to enter upon a discussion of ours." 
 
 " I am quite ready to give you the very fullest and clearest — I mean 
 to yourself personally, or to your sister — for except where the lawyer 
 intervenes of necessity and ' de droit,' I own that I resent hia pre- 
 
 tj2 
 
292 EAEEINGTOlf. 
 
 sence as an iasult. I suppose few of us are devoid of certain family 
 circumstances whicli it would be more agreeable to deal with in con- 
 fidence ; and though, perhaps, I am as fortunate as most men in this 
 respect, there are one or two small matters on which I would ask 
 your attention. These, however, are neither important nor pressing. 
 My first care is to know — and I hope I am not peremptory in asking 
 it— have I your consent to the proposition contained in my letter ; 
 am I at liberty to address Miss Barrington ?" 
 
 Barrington flushed deeply and fidgeted ; he arose and sat down 
 again. AU his excitement only aggravated by the well-bred com- 
 posure of the other, who seemed utterly unconscious of the uneasi- 
 ness he was causing. 
 
 " Don't you think, Major, that this is a case for a little time to 
 reflect — that in a matter so momentous as this, a few days at least 
 are requisite for consideration ? "We ought to ascertain something 
 at least of my granddaughter's own sentiments — I mean, of course, in 
 a general way. It might be, too, that a day or two might give us some 
 better insight into her future prospects." 
 
 " Pardon my interrupting you ; but, on the last point, I am 
 perfectly indifferent. Miss Barrington with half a province for her 
 dower, would be no more in my eyes than Miss Barrington as she sat 
 at breakfast this morning. Nor is there anything of high-flown 
 sentiment in this declaration, as my means are sufiS.ciently ample for 
 all that I want or care." 
 
 " There, at least, is one difficulty disposed of. Tou are an eldest 
 son?" said he, and he blushed at his own boldness in making the 
 inquiry. 
 
 " I am an only son." 
 
 " Easier again," said Barrington, trying to laugh off the awkward 
 moment, " No cutting down one's old timber to pay off the provi- 
 sions for younger brothers." 
 
 " In my case there is no need of this." 
 
 " And your father. Is he still living. Major Stapylton ?" 
 
 " My father has been dead for some years." 
 
 Barrington fidgeted again, fumbled with his watch-chain and his 
 eye-glass, and would have given more than he could afford for any 
 casualty that should cut short the interview. He wanted to say, 
 " What is the amount of your fortune ? What is it ? Where is it ? 
 Are you Wiltshire or Staffordshire ? Who are your uncles and aunts, 
 and your good friends that you pray for, and where do you pray for 
 them ?" A thousand questions of this sort arose in his mind, one 
 only more prying and impertinent than another. He knew he ought 
 
BAEEIKGTOir. 293 
 
 to ask them ; he knew Dinah would have asked them. Ay, and 
 would have the answers to them as plain and palpable as the repUea 
 to a life assurance circular ; but he couldn't do it. No ; not if his 
 life depended on it. He had already gone further in his transgression 
 of good manners than it ever occurred to him before to do, and he 
 felt something between a holy inquisitor and a spy of the police. 
 
 Stapylton looked at his watch, and gave a slight start. 
 
 " Later than you thought, eh f " cried Peter, overjoyed at the diver- 
 sion. 
 
 Stapylton smiled a cold assent, and put up his watch without a 
 word. He saw aU the confusion and embarrassment of the other, and 
 made no effort to relieve him. At last, but not until after a con- 
 siderable pause, he said, 
 
 . " I believe, Mr. Barrington — I hope, at least — I have satisfactorily 
 answered the questions which, with every right on your part, you have 
 deemed proper to put to me. I cannot but feel how painful the task 
 has been to you, and I regret it the more, since probably it has set a 
 limit to inquiries which you are perfectly justified in making, but 
 which closer relations between us may make a matter far less formid- 
 able one of these days." 
 
 " Tes, yes — just so ; of course," said Barrington, hurriedly assent- 
 ing to he knew not what. 
 
 " And I trust I take my leave of you with the understanding that 
 when we meet again, it shall be as in the commencement of these 
 pleasanter relations. I own to you I am the more eager on this 
 point, that I perceive your sister, Miss Barrington, scarcely regards 
 me very favourably, and I stand the more in need of your alliance." 
 
 " I don't think it possible, Major Stapylton," said Barrington, 
 boldly, " that my sister and I could have two opinions upon anything 
 or anybody." 
 
 " Then I only ask that she may partake of yours on this occasion," 
 said Stapylton, bowing. " But I must start ; as it is, I shall be very 
 late in Dublin. "Will you present my most respectful adieus to the 
 ladies, and say also a good-by for me to Mr. Withering ?" 
 
 " Tou'U come in for a moment to the drawing-room, won't you ?" 
 cried Barrington. 
 
 " I think not. I opine it would be better not. There would be a 
 certain awkwardness about it — that is, until you have informed Miss 
 Dinah Barrington of the extent to which you have accorded me your 
 confidence, and how completely I have opened every detail of my 
 circumstances. I believe it would be in better taste not to present 
 myself, TeU "Withering that if he writes, Manchester wiU find me. 
 
294i BABEnfGIOIf. 
 
 I don't suspect he need give himself any more trouble about esta- 
 blisbing tbe proofs of marriage. They will scarcely contest that 
 point. The great question will and must be, to ascertain if the Com- 
 pany will cease to oppose the claim on being fully convinced that the 
 letter to the Meer Busherat was a forgery, and that no menace ever 
 came from Colonel Barrington's hand as to the consequences of oppos- 
 ing his rule. Get them to admit this — let the issue rest upon this — 
 and it will narrow the whole suit within manageable limits." 
 
 " Would you not say this much to him. before you go ? It would 
 come with so much more force and clearness from yourself." 
 
 " I have done so till I was wearied. Like a true lawyer, he insists 
 trpon proving each step as he goes, and will not condescend to a 
 hypothetical conclusion, though I have told him over and over again 
 we want a settlement, not a victory. G-ood-by, good-by ! If I once 
 launch out into the cause, I cannot tear myself away again." 
 
 " Has your guest gone, Peter ?" said Miss Dinah, as her brother 
 re-entered the drawkig-room. 
 
 " Tes ; it was a hurried departure, and he had no great heart for 
 it, either. By the way. Withering, while it is fresh in my head, let 
 me tell you the message he has sent you." 
 
 " Was there none for me, Peter ?" said she, seoffingly. 
 
 " Ay, but there was, Dinah | He left with me, I know not how 
 many polite and charming things to say for him." 
 
 " And am I alone forgotten in tbis wide dispensation of favours ?" 
 asked Josephine, smiling. 
 
 " Of course not, dear," chimed in Miss Dinah. " Tour grandpapa 
 has been charged with them all. Tou could not expect a gentleman 
 so naturally timid and bashful as our late guest to utter them by his 
 own lips." 
 
 " I see," said Withering, laughing, "that you have not forgiven 
 the haughty aristocrat for his insolent estimate of the people !" 
 
 " He an aristocrat ! Such bitter words as his never fell from any 
 man who had a grandfather !" 
 
 " Wrong, for once, Dinah," broke in Barrington. " I can answer 
 for it that you are unjust to him.'' 
 
 " We shall see," said she. " Come, Josephine, I have a whole 
 morning's work before me in the flower-garden, and I want your help. 
 Don't forget, Peter, that Major M'Cormick's butler, or boatman, or 
 bailiff, whichever he be, has been up here with a present of seakale 
 this morning. Give him something as you pass the kitchen; and 
 you, Mr. Withering, whose trade it is to read and unravel mysteries, 
 explain if you can the meaning of this unwonted generosity." 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 295 
 
 " I suppose we can all gueaa it," said lie, laughing. " It's a 
 custom tliat begins in the East and goes round the whole world till 
 it reaches the vast prairie in the Ear West." 
 
 " And what can that custom be, Aunt Dinah ?" asked Josephine, 
 innocently. 
 
 " It is an ancient rite Mr. Withering speaks of, child, pertaining 
 to the days when men offered sacrifices. Come along ; I'm going 1" 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXTII. 
 
 CEOSS-EXA.MINIKGS. 
 
 "While Barrington and his lawyer sat in conclave over the detaUa 
 of the great suit, Stapylton hurried along his road with aU the speed 
 he could summon. The way, which for some miles led along the 
 river-side, brought into view M'Oormick's cottage and the Major him- 
 self, as he stood listlessly at his door. 
 
 Halting his carriage for a moment, Stapylton jumped out and drew 
 nigh the little quickset hedge whicli flanked the road. 
 
 " "What can I do for you in the neighbourhood of Manchester, 
 Major ? "We are just ordered off there to ride down the Eadicals." 
 
 " I wigh it was nearer home you were going to do it," said he, 
 crankily. " Look here" — and he pointed to some fresh turnfed earth 
 — " they were stealing my turnips last night." 
 
 " It would appear that these fellows in the north are growing dan- 
 gerous," said Stapylton. 
 
 " 'Tis little matter to us," said M'Cormicfc, sulkily. " I'd care 
 more about a blight in the potatoes than for aU. the politics in 
 Europe." 
 
 " A genuine philosopher ! How snug you are here, to be sure. A 
 man in a pleasant nook like this can well afford to smile at the busy 
 ambitions of the outer world. I take it you are about the very hap- 
 piest fellow I know ?" 
 
 " Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," said he, peevishly. 
 
 " This spot only wants what I hinted to you t'other evening, to be 
 .perfection." 
 
 " Ay !" B^d the other, dryly. 
 
296 BAEEINGHON. 
 
 " And you agree with me heartily, if you had the candour to say it. 
 Come, out with itj man, at once. I saw your gardener this morning 
 with a great hasketful of greenery, and a large bouquet on the top of 
 it — are not these significant signs of a projected campaign ? You 
 are wrong. Major, upon my life you are wrong not to be &auk with 
 me. I could, by a strange hazard, as the newspapers say, ' tell you 
 something to your advantage.' " 
 "About what?" 
 
 " About the very matter you were thinking of as I drove up. 
 Come, I will be more generous than you deserve." And, laying his 
 arm on M'Cormick's shoulder, he half whispered in his ear, "It is a 
 good thing — a deuced good thing ! and I promise you, if I were a 
 marrying man, you'd have a competitor. I won't say she'll have one 
 of the great fortunes people rave about, but it wUl be considerable 
 — very considerable." 
 
 " How do you know, or what do you know ?" 
 " I'll tell you in three words. How I know is, because I 
 have been the channel for certain inquiries they made in India. 
 What I know is, the Directors are sick of the case, they are sorely 
 ashamed of it, and not a little uneasy lest it should come before the 
 public, perhaps before the Parliament. Old Barrington has made all 
 negotiation difficult by the extravagant pretensions he puts forward 
 about his son's honour, and so forth. If, however, the girl were mar- 
 ried, her husband would be the person to treat with, and I am assured 
 with him they would deal handsomely, even generously." 
 
 " And why wouldn't all this make a marrying man of you, though 
 you weren't before ?" 
 
 " There's a slight canonical objection, if you must know," said 
 Stapylton, with a smile. 
 " Oh, I perceive — a wife already ! In India, perhaps ?" 
 " I have no time just now for a long story, M'Cormick," said he, 
 familiarly, " nor am I quite certain I'd tell it if I had. However, 
 you know enough for all practical purposes, and I repeat to you, this 
 is a stake I can't enter for — ^you understand me ?" 
 
 " There's another thing, now," said M'Cormick, " and as we are 
 talking so freely together there's no harm in mentioning it. It's 
 only the other day, as I may call it, that we met for the first time ?" 
 " Very true ; when 1 was down here at Cobham." 
 " And never heard of each other before ?" 
 " Not to my knowledge, certainly." 
 
 " That being the case, I'm curious to hear how you took this won- 
 derful interest in me. It wasn't anything in my appearance, I'm 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 297 
 
 sure, nor my manners ; and as to what you'd hear about me among 
 those blackguards down here, there's nothing too bad to say of 
 me." 
 
 " I'll be as frank as yourself," said Stapylton, boldly ; " yau ask for 
 candour, and you shall have it. I hadn't talked ten minutes with you 
 till I saw that you were a thorough man of the world ; the true old 
 soldier, who had seen enough of Ufe to know that whatever one gets 
 for nothing, in this world, is just worth nothing, and so I said to 
 myself, ' If it ever occurs to me to chance upon a good opportunity 
 of which I cannot from circumstances avail myself, there's my man. 
 I'll go to him and say, " M'Cormick, that's open to you, there's a safe 
 thing !" And when in return he'd say, " Stapylton, what can I do for 
 you ?" my answer would be, " Wait till you are satisfied that I have 
 done you a good turn ; be perfectly assured that I have really served 
 you." And then, if I wanted a loan of a thousand or fifteen hundred 
 to lodge for the lieutenant-colonelcy, I'd not be ashamed to say, 
 " M'Oormick, let me have so much.'' ' " 
 
 " That's ii, is it ?" said M'Cormick, with a leer of intense cunning, 
 " Not a bad bargain for yow, anyhow. It is not every day that a man 
 can sell what isn't his own." 
 
 " I might say, it's not every day that a man regards a possible loan 
 as a gift, but I'm quite ready to reassure all your fears on that score ; 
 I'll even pledge myself never to borrow a shilling from you." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that ; you took me up so quick," said the old 
 fellow, reddening with a sense of shame he had not felt for many a 
 year. " I may be as stingy as they call me, but for all that I'd stand 
 to the man who stands to me." 
 
 " Between gentlemen and men of the world these things are better 
 left to a sense of an honourable understanding than made matters of 
 compact. There is no need of another word on the matter. I shall 
 be curious, however, to know how your project speeds. Write to me — 
 you have plenty of time — and write often. I'm not unlikely to learn 
 something about the Indian claim, and, if I do, you shall hear of it." 
 
 " I'm not over good at pen and ink work ; indeed, I haven't much 
 practice, but I'll do my best." 
 
 " Do, by all means. Tell me how you get on with Aunt Dinah, 
 who, I suspect, has no strong affection for either of us. Don't be 
 precipitate ; hazard nothing by a rash step ; secure your way by in- 
 timacy, mere intimacy ; avoid particular attentions strictly ; be always, 
 there, and on some pretext or other — but why do I say aU this to an 
 old soldier, who has made such sieges scores of times !" 
 
 " Well, I think I see my way clear enough," said the old fellow, 
 
298 BAEEIirGTOlf. 
 
 ■with a grin. " I wish I was as sure I knew -why you take such an 
 interest in me." 
 
 "I believe I have told you already; I hope there is nothing bo 
 strange in the assurance as to require corroboration. Come, I must 
 say good-by ; I meant to have said five words to you, and I have 
 stayed here five-and-twenty minutes." 
 
 " "Wouldn't you take something ? — couldn't I offer you anything ?" 
 said M'Cormick, hesitatingly. 
 
 " ^Nothing, thanks. I lunched before I started, and although old 
 Dinah made several assaults upon me while I ate, I managed to 
 secure two cutlets and part of a grouse-pie, and a rare glass of Ma- 
 deira to wash them down." 
 
 " That old woman is dreadful, and I'll take her down a peg yet, as 
 sure as my name is Dan." 
 
 " No don't, Major ; don't do anything of the kind. The people 
 who tame tigers are sure to get scratched at last, and nobody thanks 
 them for their pains. Eegard her as the sailors do a fire-ship ; give her 
 a wide berth, and steer away from her." 
 
 " Ay, but she sometimes gives chase." 
 
 " Strike your flag, then, if it must be ; for, trust me, you'U not 
 conquer her." 
 
 " "We'll see, we'E see," muttered the old fellow as he waved his 
 adieux, and then turned back into the house again. 
 
 As Stapylton lay back in his carriage he could not help muttering 
 a malediction on the " dear friend " he had just parted with. When 
 the bourgeois gentilhomme objected to his adversary pushing him 
 " en tierce" while he attacked him " en qnarte," he was expressing a 
 great social want, applicable to those people who in conversation 
 will persist in saying many things which ought not to be uttered, 
 and expressing doubts and distrusts which, however it be reasonable 
 to feel, are an outrage to avow. 
 
 " The old fox," said Stapylton, aloud, " taunted me with selling 
 what did not belong to me ; but he never suspects that I have bought 
 something without paying for it, and that something himself! Yes, 
 the mock siege he will lay to the fortress will occupy the garrison 
 till it suits me to open the real attack, and I will make use of him, 
 besides, to learn whatever goes on in my absence. How the old fellow 
 swallowed the bait ! "What self-esteem there must be in such a rugged 
 nature, to malce him imagine he could be successful in a cause like 
 this ! He is, after all, a clumsy agent to trust one's interest to. If 
 the choice had been given me, I'd far rather have had a woman to 
 watch over them, Polly Dill, for instance, the very girl to under- 
 
BABEIlTGTOir. 299 
 
 fitand such a mission well. How adroitly wotdd she have played the 
 game, and how clearly would her letters have shown me the exact 
 state of events." 
 
 Such were the texts of his musings as he drove along, and deep 
 as were his thoughts, they never withdrew him, when the emergency 
 called, from attention to every detail of the journey, and he scru- 
 tinised the post-horses as they were led out, and apportioned the 
 rewards to the postilions, as though no heavier care lay on his heart 
 than the road and its belongings. While he rolled thus smoothly 
 along, Peter Barrington had been summoned to his sister's presence, 
 to narrate in full all that he had aisked, and all that he had learned, 
 of Stapylton and his fortunes. 
 
 Miss Dinah was seated in a deep arm-chair, behind a formidable 
 embroidery-frame — a thing so complex and mysterious in form as to 
 suggest an implement of torture. At a short distance oflf sat Wi- 
 thering, with pen, ink, and paper before him, as if to set down any 
 details of unusual importance ; and into this imposing presence 
 poor Barrington entered with a woful sense of misgiving and humi- 
 liation. 
 
 " We have got a quiet moment at last, Peter," said Miss Barring- 
 ton. " I have sent the girls over to Brown's Bam for the tulip-roots, 
 and I have told Darby that if any visitors came they were to be 
 informed we were particularly occupied by business and could see no 
 one." 
 
 " Just so," added Withering ; " it is a case before the judge in 
 chamber." 
 
 " But what have we got to hear ?" asked Barrington, with an air 
 of innocence. 
 
 " We have got to hear your report, brother Peter; the narrative of 
 your late conversation with Major Stapylton ; given, as nearly as your 
 memory will serve, in the exact words and in the precise order every- 
 thing occurred." 
 
 " October the twenty-third," said Withering, writing as he spoke ; 
 " minute of interview between P. B. and Major S. Taken on the 
 same morning it occurred, with remarks and observations expla- 
 natory." 
 
 " Begin," said Dinah, imperiously, while she worked away without 
 lifting her head. " And avoid, so far as possible, anything beyond 
 the precise expression employed." 
 
 " But you don't suppose I took notes in short-hand of what we 
 said to each other, do you ?" 
 
 " I certainly suppose yop can have retained in your memory a 
 
300 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 conversation that took place two hours ago," said Miss Dinah, 
 sternly. 
 
 " And can relate it circumstantially and clearly," added Withering, 
 
 " Then I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I can do nothing of 
 the kind." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you had no interview with Major 
 Stapylton, Peter ?" 
 
 " Or that you have forgotten all about it ?" said "Withering. 
 
 " Or is it that you have taken a pledge of secresy, brother 
 Peter?" 
 
 " No, no, no ! It is simply this, that though I retain a pretty fair 
 general impression of what I said myself, and what he said after- 
 wards, I could no more pretend to recount it accurately, than I 
 could say off by heart a scene in ' £omeo and Juliet.' " 
 
 " "Why don't you take the ' Comedy of Errors' for your iUnstration, 
 Peter Barrington ? I ask you, Mr. "Withering, have you in all your 
 experience met anything like this P" 
 
 " It would go hard with a man in the witness-box to make such a 
 declaration, I must say." 
 
 " "What would a jury think of, what would a judge say to, him ?" 
 said she, using the most formidable of all penalties to her brother's 
 imagination. " "Wouldn't the court tell him that he would be com- 
 pelled to speak out ?" 
 
 " They'd have it out on the cross-examination, at all events, if not 
 on the direct." 
 
 " In the name of confusion, what do yoii want with me ?" exclaimed 
 Peter, in despair. 
 
 " "We want everything ; everything that you heard about this man. 
 Who he is, what he is ; what by the father's side, what by the 
 mother's ; what are his means, and where ; v^ho knows him, who are 
 his associates. Bear in mind that, to us, here he has dropped out of 
 the clouds." 
 
 " And gone back there too," added "Withering. 
 
 " I wish to Heaven he had taken me with him !" sighed Peter, 
 drearily. 
 
 " I think in this case. Miss Barrington," said 'Withering, with a 
 weU affected gravity, " we had better withdraw a juror, and ac- 
 cept a nonsuit." 
 
 " I have done with it altogethbr," said she, gathering up her 
 worsted and her needles, and preparing to leave the room. 
 
 " My dear Dinah," said Barrington, entreatingly, " imagine a man 
 as wanting in tact as I am — and as timid, too, about giving casual 
 
BAEEINGTOIf. sol 
 
 Offence — conducting such an inquiry as you committed to my hands. 
 iFancy how, at every attempt to obtain information, his own boldness, 
 I might call it rudeness, stared him in the face, till at last, rather than 
 push his investigations, he grew puzzled how to apologise for his 
 prying curiosity." 
 
 " Brother, brother, this is too bad ! It had been better to have 
 thought more of your granddaughter's fate and less of your own feel- 
 ings." And with this she flounced out of the room, upsetting a 
 spider-table, and a case of stuffed birds that stood on it, as she 
 passed. 
 
 " I don't doubt but she's right, Tom," said Peter, when the door 
 closed. 
 
 " Did he not tell you who he was, and what his fortune ? Did 
 you really learn nothing from him ?" 
 
 " He told me everything ; and if I had not been so cruelly badgered, 
 I could have repeated every word of it ; but you never made a hound 
 true to the scent by flogging him, Tom ; isn't that a fact, eh ?" And 
 consoled by an illustration that seemed so pat to his case, he took 
 his hat and strolled out into the garden. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIir. 
 
 GENERAL C0NYEK3. 
 
 In a snug little room of the Old Ship Hotel, at Dover, a large, heavy 
 man, with snow-white hair and moustaches — ^the latter less common 
 in those days than the present — sat at table with a younger one, so 
 like him that no doubt could have existed as to their being father 
 and son. They had dined, and were sitting over their wine, talking 
 occasionally, but oftener looking fondly and affectionately at each 
 other ; and once, by an instinct of sudden love, grasping each other's 
 hand, and sitting thus several minutes without a word on either side. 
 
 " Tou did not expect me before to-morrow, Fred," said the old 
 man, at last. 
 
 " No, father," replied young Conyers. " I saw by the newspapers 
 that you were to dine at the TuUeries on Tuesday, and I thought you 
 would not quit Paris the same evening." 
 
302 BAEEHTGTOIf. 
 
 " Yes ; I started the moment I took off my uniform. I wanted ta 
 be with you, my boy j and the royal politeness that detained me was 
 anything but a favour. How you have grown, Ered — almost my own 
 height, I believe." 
 
 " The more like you the better," said the youth, as his eyes ran 
 over, and the old man turned away to hide his emotion. 
 
 After a moment he said, " How strange you should not have got 
 my letters, IVed ; but, after all, it is just as well as it is. I wrote ia 
 a very angry spirit, and was less just than a little cool reflection 
 might have made me. They made no charges against me, though I 
 thought they had. There were grumblings, and discontents, and such- 
 like. They called me a Eajah, and raked up all the old stories they 
 used to circulate once on a time about a far better fellow — — " 
 
 " Tou mean Colonel Barrington, don't you ?" said Fred. 
 
 " Where or how did you hear of that name ?" said the old man, 
 almost sternly. 
 
 " An accident made me the guest of his family, at a little cottage 
 they live in on an Irish river. I passed weeks there, and, through 
 the favour of the name I bore, I received more kindness than I ever 
 before met in Hfe." 
 
 " And they knew you to be a Conyers, and to be my son ?" 
 
 " It was Colonel Barrington's aunt was my hostess, and she it was 
 who, on hearing my name, admitted me at once to all the privileges 
 of old friendship. She told me of the close companionship which 
 once subsisted between you and her nephew, and gave me rolls of his 
 letters to read, wherein every line spoke of you." 
 
 " And Mr. Barrington, the father of G-eorge, how did he receive 
 you?" 
 
 " At first with such coolness that I couldn't bring myself to recross 
 his threshold. He had been away from home when I arrived, and 
 the day of his return I was unexpectedly presented to hun by hia 
 sister, who evidently was as unprepared as myself for the reception I 
 met with." 
 
 " And what was that reception — how was it ? Tell me aU as it 
 happened," 
 
 " It was the affair of a moment. Miss Barrington introduced me, 
 saying, ' This is the son of poor George's dearest friend — ^this is a 
 Conyers ;' and the old man faltered, and seemed like to faint, and 
 after a moment stammered out something about an honour he had 
 never counted upon — a visit he scarcely could have hoped for ; and, 
 indeed, so overcome was he that he staggered into the house only to 
 take to his bed, where he lay seriously ill for several days after." 
 
BAEEDfOTON. 303 
 
 " Poor fellow ! It -vras hard to forgive — ^very hard." 
 
 "Ay, but lie has forgiven it — whatever it was — heartily, and 
 wholly forgiven it. "VVe met afterwards by a chance in Gtermany, 
 and while I was hesitating how to avoid a repetition of the painful 
 scene which marked our first meeting, he came manfully towards me 
 with his hand out, and said, ' I have a forgiveness to beg of you ; 
 and if you only knew how I long to obtain it, you would scarce say 
 me no.' " 
 
 " The worthy father of poor George ! I think I hear him speak 
 the very words himself. Go on, Fred — go on, and tell me further." 
 
 " There is no more to tell. Sir, unless I speak of all the affectionate 
 kindness he has shown — the trustfulnfess and honour with which he 
 has treated me. I have been in his house like his own son." 
 
 " Ah ! if you had known that son ! If you had seen what a type of 
 a soldier he was ! The most intrepid, the boldest fellow that ever 
 breathed ; but with a heart of childlike simplicity and gentleness. I 
 could tell you traits of him, of his forbearance, his forgiveness, his 
 generous devotion to friendship, that would seem to bespeak a nature 
 that had no room for other than soft and tender emotion ; and yet, if 
 ever there was a lion's heart within a man's bosom it was his." For a 
 moment or two the old man seemed overcome by his recollections, 
 and then, as if by an effort, rallying himself, he went on : " Ton have 
 often heard the adage, Fred, that enjoins watching one's pennies and 
 leaving the pounds to take care of themselves ; and yet, trust me, the 
 maxim is truer as applied to our morals than our money. It is by 
 the smaller, finer, and least important traits of a man that his fate in 
 life is fashioned. The caprices we take no pains to curb, the tempers 
 we leave unchecked, the petty indulgences we extend to our vanity 
 and self-love — these are the great sands that wreck us far offcener 
 than the more stern and formidable features of our character. I 
 ought to know this truth — I myself lost the best, the truest, and the 
 noblest friend that ever man had, just from the exercise of a spirit of 
 bantering and ridicule which amused those about me, and gave me 
 that pre-eminence which a sarcastic and witty spirit is sure to assert. 
 Tou know already how George Barrington and I lived together like 
 brothers. I do not believe two men ever existed more thoroughly 
 and sincerely attached to each other. All the contrarieties of our 
 dispositions served but to heighten the interest that linked us to- 
 gether. As for myself, I was never wearied in exploring the strange 
 recesses of that great nature that seemed to unite all that could be 
 daring and dashing in man with the tenderness of a woman. I believe 
 I knew him far better than he knew himself. But to come to what I 
 
804 BABEINGTON. 
 
 ■want to tell you, and which is an agony to me to dwell on. Though 
 for a long while our cloae friendship was weU known in the regiment, 
 and spoken of as a thing incapable of change, a sort of rumour — no, 
 not even a rumour, but an impression — seemed to gain that the ties 
 between us were looser on my side than his ; that G-eorge looked up 
 to me, and that I, with the pride of a certain superiority, rather 
 lorded it over Mm. This feeling became painfully strengthened when 
 it got about that Barrington had lent me the greater part of the 
 purchase-money for my troop — a promotion, by the way, which barred 
 his own advancement ; and it was whispered, so at least I heard, that 
 Barrington was a mere child in my hands, whom I rebuked or re- 
 warded at pleasure. If I could have traced these rumours to any 
 direct source, I could have known how to deal with them. As it 
 was, they were vague, shadowy, and unreal ; and their very unsub- 
 stantiality maddened me the more. To have told G-eorge of them 
 would have been rasher still. The thought of a wrong done to me 
 would have driven him beyond all reason, and he would infallibly 
 have compromised himself beyond recal. It was the very first time 
 in my life I had a secret from him, and it eat into my heart like a 
 virulent disease. The consciousness that I was watched, the feeling 
 that eyes were upon me marking aU I did, and tongues were com- 
 menting on all I said, exasperated me, aad at one moment I would 
 parade my friendship for Barrington in a sort of spirit of defiance, 
 and at another, as though to give the lie to my slanderers, treat him 
 with indifference and carelessness, as it were to show that I was not 
 bound to him by the weight of a direct obligation, and that our rela- 
 tions involved nothing of independence. It was when, by some cruel 
 mischance, I had been pursuing this spirit to its extreme, that the 
 conversation one night at mess turned upon sport and tiger-hunting. 
 Many stories were told, of course, and we had the usual narratives of 
 hair-breadth escapes and perils of the most appalling kind ; till at 
 length some one — I forget exactly who it was — narrated a single- 
 handed encounter with a jaguar, which in horror exceeded anything 
 we had heard before. The details were not alone so terrible, but the 
 circumstances so marvellous, that one and aU who listened cried out, 
 ' Who did it ?' 
 
 " ' The man who told me the tale,' replied the narrator, ' and who 
 will probably be back to relate it here to you, in a few days — Colonel 
 Barrington.' 
 
 " I have told you the devilish spirit which had me in possession. 
 I have already said that I was in one of those moods of insolent 
 mockery in which nothing was sacred to me. N"o sooner, then, did I 
 
BABEIN&TOIf. 305 
 
 hear Barrington's name than I burst into a hearty laugh, and said, 
 ' Oh ! if it was one of G-eorge Barrington's tigers you ought to have 
 mentioned that fact at the outset. Tou have been exciting our feel- 
 ings unfairly.' 
 
 " ' I assume that his statement was true,' said the other, gravely. 
 
 " ' Doubtless ; just as battle-pieces are true, that is, pictorially 
 true. The tiger did nothing that a tiger ought not to do, nor did 
 George transgress any of those " unities" which such combats re- 
 quire. At the same time, Barrington's stories have always a some- 
 thing about them that stamps the authorship, and you recognise this 
 trait just as you do a white horse in a picture by "Wouvermans.' 
 
 " In this strain I went on, heated by my own warmed imagination, 
 and the approving laughter of those around me. I recounted more 
 than one feat of Barrington's — things which I knew he had done, 
 some of them almost incredible in boldness. These I told with many 
 a humorous addition and many an absurd commentary, convulsing 
 the listeners with laughter, and rendering my friend ridiculous. 
 
 " He came back from the hills within the week, and before he was 
 two hours in his quarters he had heard the whole story. "We were 
 at luncheon in the mess-room when he entered, flushed and excited, 
 but far more moVed by emotion than resentment. 
 
 " ' Ormsby,' said he, ' you may laugh at me to your heart's content 
 and I'll never grumble at it, but there are some young officers here 
 who, not knowing the ties that attach us, may fancy that these quiz - 
 zings pass the limits of mere drollery, and even jeopardise something 
 of my truthfulness. You, I know, never meant this any more than I 
 have felt it, but others might, and might, besides, on leaving this and 
 sitting at other tables, repeat what they had heard here. Tell them, 
 therefore, that you spoke of me as you have a free right to do, in jest, 
 and that your ridicule was the good-humoured banter of a friend — of 
 a friend who never did, never could, impugn my honour.' 
 
 " His eyes were swimming over, and his lips trembling, as he 
 uttered the last words. I see him now, as he stood there, his very 
 cheek shaking in agitation. That brave, bold fellow, who would have 
 marched up to a battery without quailing, shook like a sickly girl. 
 
 " ' Am I to say that you never draw the long-bow, Q-eorge ?' asked 
 I, half insolently. 
 
 " ' Tou are to say. Sir, that I never told a lie,' cried he, dark with 
 passion. 
 
 " ' Oh, this discussion will be better carried on elsewhere,' said I, 
 as T arose and left the room. 
 
 " As I was in the wrong, totally in the wrong, I was passionate 
 
306 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 and headstrong. I sat down and wrote a most insolent letter to Bar- 
 rington. I turned all the self-hate that was consuming me against 
 my friend, and said I know not what of outrage and insult. I did 
 worse ; I took a copy of my letter, and declared that I -would read it 
 to the officers in the mess-room. He sent a friend to me to beg I 
 would not take this course of open insult. My answer was, ' Cap- 
 tain Bairrington knows his remedy.' When I sent this message I 
 prepared for what I felt certain would follow. I knew Barrington so 
 well that I thought even the delay of an hour, then two hours, 
 strange. At length evening drew nigh, and, though I sat waiting in 
 my quarters, no one came from him — not a letter nor a line apprised 
 me what course he meant to take. 
 
 " Not caring to meet the mess at such a moment, I ordered my 
 horses and drove up to a small station about twenty miles off, leaving 
 word where I was to be found. I passed three days there in a state 
 of fevered expectancy. Barrington made no sign, and at length, 
 racked and distressed by the conflict with myself — now, summoning 
 up an insolent spirit of defiance to the whole world, now, humbling 
 myself in a consciousness of the evil line I had adopted — I returned 
 one night to my quarters. The first news that greeted me was that 
 Barrington had left us. He had accepted the offer of a Native com- 
 mand which had been made to him some months before, and of which 
 we had often canvassed together all the advantages and disadvantages. 
 I heard that he had written two letters to me before he started, and 
 torn them up after they were sealed. I never heard from him, never 
 saw him more, till I saw his dead body carried into camp the morn- 
 ing he fell. 
 
 " I must get to the end of this quickly, Tred, and I will tell you 
 all at once, for it is a theme I will never go back on. I came to Eng- 
 land with despatches about two years after Barrington's death. It 
 was a hurried visit, for I was ordered to hold myself in readiness to 
 return almost as soon as I arrived. I was greatly occupied, going 
 about from place to place and person to person, so many great people 
 desired to have a verbal account of what was doing in India, and to 
 hear confidentially what I thought of matters there. In the midst of 
 the mass of letters which the post brought me every morning, and 
 through which, without the aid of an officer on the staff, I could 
 never have got through, there came one whose singular address struck 
 me. It was to ' Captain Ormsby Conyers, 22nd Light Dragoons,' a 
 rank I had held fourteen years before that time in that same regiment. 
 I opined at once that my correspondent must have been one who had 
 known me at that time and not followed me in the interval. I was 
 
BABEINGTON. 307 
 
 right. It was from old Mr. Barrington — George Barrington's father. 
 What version of my quarrel with his son could have reached him, I 
 cannot even guess, nor by what light he read my conduct in the afiair, 
 but such a letter I never read in my life. It was a challenge to meet 
 him anywhere, and with any weapon, but couched in language so in- 
 sulting as to impugn my courage, and hint that I would probably 
 shelter myself behind the pretext of his advanced age. ' But remem- 
 ber,' said he, ' if God has permitted me to be an old man, it is ym 
 who have made me a childless one !' " 
 
 Por a few seconds he paused, overcome by emotion, and then went 
 on : "I sat down and wrote him a letter of contrition, almost abject 
 in its terms. I entreated him to believe that for every wrong I had 
 done his noble-hearted son, my own conscience had repaid me in 
 misery ten times told ; that if he deemed my self-condemnation in- 
 sufficient, it was open to him to add to it whatever he wished of 
 obloquy or shame; that if he proclaimed me a coward before the 
 world, and degraded me in the eyes of men, I would not oflfer one 
 word in my defence. I cannot repeat all that I said in my deep hu- 
 miliation. His answer came at last, one single line, re-enclosing my 
 own letter to lae : ' Lest I should be tempted to make use of this 
 letter, I send it back to you ; there is no need of more between us.' 
 
 " With this our intercourse ceased. When a correspondence was 
 published in the ' Barrington Inquiry,' as it was called, I half hoped 
 he would have noticed some letters of mine about George, but he 
 never did, and in his silence I thought I read his continued iinfor^ 
 giveness." 
 
 " I hope, father, that you never believed the charges that were 
 ijiade against Colonel Barrington ?" 
 
 " Not one of them ; disloyalty was no more his than cowardice. I 
 never knew the Englishman with such a pride of country as he had, 
 nor could you have held out a greater bribe to him, for any achieve- 
 ment of peril, than to say, ' What a gain it would be for England." " 
 
 " How was it that such a man should have had a host of 
 enemies ?" 
 
 " Nothing so natural. Barrington was the most diffident of men ; 
 his bashfulness amounted to actual pain. With strangers, this made 
 him cold to very sternness, or, as is often seen in the effort to con- 
 quer a natural defect, gave him a manner of over-easy confidence that 
 looked like impertinence. And thus the man who would not have 
 wounded the self-love of the meanest beggar, got the reputation of 
 being haughty, insolent, and oppressive. Besides this, when he was 
 in the right, and felt himself so, he took no pains to convince others 
 
 x 2 
 
308 BAEEIlfGT03«r. 
 
 of the fact. His maxim was — hare I not heard it from his lips scores 
 of times — ' The end will show.' " 
 
 " And yet the end will not show, father ; his fame has not been 
 •vindicated, nor his character cleared." 
 
 " In some measure the fault of those who took up his cause. They 
 seemed less to insist on reparation than punishment. They did not 
 say, ' Do justice to this man's memory ;' but, ' Come forward and 
 own you wronged him, and broke his heart.' Now, the accusation 
 brought against George Barrington of assuming sovereign power was 
 not settled by his death ; his relatives forgot this, or merged it in 
 their own charge against the Company. They mismanaged every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Is it too late to put them on the right track, father ; or could you 
 do it ?" asked the youth, eagerly. 
 
 " It is not too late, boy ! There is time for it yet. There is, how- 
 ever, one condition necessary, and I do not see how that is to be 
 secured." 
 
 " And what is that ?" 
 
 " I should see Mr. Barrington and confer with him alone ; he 
 must admit me to his confidence, and, I own to you, I scarcely deem 
 that possible." 
 
 " May I try— may I attempt this ?" 
 
 " I do not like to refuse you, Fred : but, if I say Tes, it will be to 
 include you in my own defeated hopes. For many a year Mr. Bar- 
 rington has refused to give one sign of his forgiveness ; for in his 
 treatment of you I only recognise the honourable feeling of exempt- 
 ing the son from the penalty due to the father. But, perhaps, defeat 
 is better than self-reproach, and as I have a strong conviction I could 
 serve him, I am ready to risk a failure." 
 
 " I may make the attempt, then ?" said Pred, eagerly. " I will 
 write to Miss Barrington to-day." 
 
 "And now of yourself. What of your career ? How do you like 
 soldiering, boy ?" 
 
 " Less than ever. Sir ; it is only within the last week or two that 
 we have seen anything beyond barrack or parade duty. Now, how- 
 ever, we have been called to repress what are called risings in the 
 northern shires ; and our task has been to ride at large unarmed 
 mobs and charge down masses, whose grape-shot are brickbats. Not 
 a very glorious campaign !" 
 
 The old man smiled, but said nothing for a moment. 
 
 " Tour Colonel is on leave, is he not ?" asked he. 
 
BAESIlfOTOlf. 309 
 
 " Yes. "We are commanded by that Major Sfcapylton I told 
 you of." 
 
 " A smart officer, but no friend of yours, Fred," said the General, 
 smiling. 
 
 " No, Sir ; certainly no friend of mine," said the young man, re- 
 solutely. " To refuse me a week's leave to go and meet my father, 
 ■whom I have not seen for years, and, when pressed, to accord me four 
 days, is to disgust me with himself and the service together." 
 
 " "Well, as you cannot be my guest, Fred, I wiU be yours. I'll go 
 back with you to head-quarters. Stapylton is a name I used to be 
 familiar with long ago. It may turn out that I know his family : 
 but let us talk of Barrington. I have been thinking it would be 
 better not to link any question of his own interests with my desire 
 to meet him, but simply to say I'm in England, and wish to know if 
 he would receive me." 
 
 " It shall be as you wish. Sir. I wiU write to his sister by this 
 post." 
 
 " And after one day in town, Pred, I am ready to accompany you 
 anywhere." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 MAJOK M'CORMI CK'S LETTEE. 
 
 As it was not often that Major M'Cormick performed the part of 
 a letter-writer, perhaps my reader will pardon me if I place him 
 before him on one of these rare occasions. If success would always 
 respond to labour, his would have been a real triumph, for the effort 
 cost him many days, two sleepless nights, a headache, and half a 
 quire of paper. 
 
 Had not Stapylton retained him by an admirably-selected hamper 
 of good things from a celebrated Italian warehouse in the Strand, I 
 am afraid that M'Cormiek's zeal might have cooled down to the zero 
 of forgetfulness ; but the reindeer hams and the Yarmouth bloaters, 
 the potted shrimps and the preserved guavas, were an appeal that 
 addressed themselves to that organ which with him paid the double 
 debt of digestion and emotion. He felt that such a correspondent 
 was worth a sacrifice, and he made it. That my reader may appre- 
 
310 ' BAEEISGTOH. 
 
 ciate the cost of the achievement, I womld have him imagine how a 
 mason about to build a wall should be obliged to examine each stonei 
 before he laid it, test its constituent qualities, its shape and its size — 
 for it was thus that almost every word occasioned the Major k refer* 
 ence to the dictionary, spelling not having been cultivated in his 
 youth, nor much practised in his riper years. Ghraees of style^ how- 
 ever, troubled him little ; and, to recur to my figure of the stone* 
 mason, if he was embarrassed in his search for the materials, he cared 
 ■Wonderfully little for the architecture. His letter ran thus, and the 
 teader will perceive that it must have been written some weeks aftet 
 the events recorded in the last chapter : 
 
 " Mac's Nest, October, Thursday^ 
 " Deae S., — A touch of my old Walcheren complaint has laid me 
 up since Tuesday, and if the shakes make me illegible now, that's the 
 reason why. Besides this, the weather is dreadful ; cold east winds 
 and rain, sometimes sleet, every day ; and the turf so wet, it's only 
 smoke, not fire. I believe it is the worst climate in Europe, and it 
 gets wetter every year. 
 
 " The hamper came to hand, but though it was marked ' Carriage 
 paid, this side up,' they upset it and broke two bottles, and charged 
 seven-and-fourpence halfpenny for the bringing it, which is, I think, 
 enormous ; at least, Tim Hacket got over a thrashing-machine from 
 Scotland last spring for twelve-and-four, and there's no comparison 
 between the two. Thanks to you, however, all the same ; but if you 
 can get any of this charge reduced, so much the better, not to speak 
 of the bottles — both mixed pickles — which they ought to make good. 
 " I am glad to see you are touching up the Eadicals in the North ; 
 powder and ball will do more to bring them to reason than spouting 
 in Parliament. The papers say there was nine killed and twenty- 
 three wounded ; and one fellow, the Stochpert See, says, that, ' if the 
 Butcher that led the dragoons isn't turned out of the service with 
 disgrace, no gentleman will degrade himself by entering the army.' 
 Isn't the Butcher yourself? Miss Barrington, always your friend, 
 says it is ; and that if the account of another paper, called the j^is^ 
 be true, you'll have to go to a court-martial. I stood stoutly to you 
 through it all, and declared that when the niggers was up at Jamaica, 
 we hadn't time to take the names of the prisoners, and we always 
 cut one of their ears ofi"to know them again. Old Peter laughed till the 
 tears ran down his face, but Dinah said, ' If I did not suppose. Sir, 
 that you were inventing a very graceless joke, I'd insist on your 
 leaving this room and this house on the instant.' It was ten o'clock 
 
BAEEINGTON. 311 
 
 at night, and raining hard, so you may guess I gave in. Bad as she 
 is, the young one is her equal, and I gave up all thoughts of what you 
 call * prosecuting my suit' in that quarter. She isn't even commonly 
 civil to me, and when I ask her for, maybe, the mustard at dinner, she 
 turns away her head, aud says, ' Darby, give Major M'Oormick the 
 salt.' That's French politeness, perhaps ; but. I'll pay them all off 
 yet, for they can't get sixpence on the mortgage, and I'm only 
 drinking out that bin of old Madeira before I tell them that I won't 
 advance the money. Why would I ? The women treat me worse 
 than a dog, and old B. is neither more nor less than a fool. Dill, the 
 doctor, however he got it, says it's all up about the suit with the 
 India Company ; that there's no proof of the Colonel's marriage at 
 all, that the charges against him were never cleared up, and that 
 nothing can come out of it but more disgrace and more exposure, 
 
 " I wish you'd send me the correct account of what took place 
 between you and one of your subalterns, for old Dinah keeps harping 
 on it in a sort of mysterious and mischievous way of her own, that 
 provokes me. Was it that he refused to obey orders, or thatyow, as 
 she says, used such language towards him, that he wrote to report 
 you ? Give it to me in black and white, and maybe I won't try her 
 temper with it. At all events, make out some sort of a case, for the 
 old woman is now intolerable. She said yesterday, ' Major Stapylton, 
 to whom I write by this post, will see that his visit here must be pre- 
 ceded by an explanation.' There's her words for you, and I hope you 
 like them ! 
 
 " I think you are right to be in no hurry about purchasing, for 
 many say the whole system will be changed soon, aud the money 
 would be clean thrown away. Besides this, I have been looking over 
 my bank-book, and I find I couldn't help you, just now. Two bad 
 harvests, and the smut in the wheat last year, are running me mighty 
 close. I won't finish this till to-morrow, for I'm going to dine at ' The 
 Home' to-day. It is the granddaughter's birthday, and there was a 
 regular shindy about who was to be asked. Old Peter was for a 
 grand celebration, and inviting the Admiral, and the Grores, and Grod 
 knows who besides ; and Dinah was for what she called a family party, 
 consisting, I suppose, of herself and Darby. I'll be able, before I 
 close this, to tell you how it ended ; for I only know now that Dill 
 and his daughter are to be there. 
 
 " Wednesday. — I sit down with a murdering headache to finish this 
 letter. Maybe it was the pickled lobster, or the ice punch, or the 
 other drink they called champagne-cup, that did it. But I never 
 passed such a night since I was in the trenches, and I am shaking 
 
812 BAEEIlTGTOir, 
 
 still, BO that I can scarce hold the pen. It was a grand dinner, to be 
 sure, for ruined people to give. Venison from Carrick Woods, and 
 game of every kind, with all kinds of wine; and my Lord Carriclcmore 
 taking in Miss Dinah, and the Admiral following up with the niece, 
 and Tom Brabazon and Dean of Deanspark, and the devil knows who 
 besides, bringing up the rear, with Dill and your obedient servant. 
 Every dish that came in, and every bottle that was uncorked, I said 
 to myself, ' There goes another strap on the property ;' and I felt as 
 if we were eating the trees, and the timber, and the meadows, all the 
 time at table. 
 
 " It's little of the same sympathy troubled the others. My Lord 
 was as jolly as if he was dining with the King ; and old Cobham 
 called for more of the Madeira, as if it was an inn ; and Peter him- 
 self — the heartless old fool — when he got up to thank the company 
 for drinking his granddaughter's health, said : ' May I trust, that even 
 at my advanced age, this may not be the last time I may have to 
 speak my gratitude to you all for the generous warmth with which 
 you have pledged this toast ; but even should it be so, I shall carry 
 away with me from this evening's happiness a glow of pleasure that 
 wiU animate me to the last. It was only this morning I learned what 
 I know you will all hear with satisfaction, that there is every proba- 
 bility of a speedy arrangement of my long-pending suit with the 
 Company, and that my child here will soon have her own again.' 
 Grand applause and huzzas, with a noise that drowned ' Bother!' 
 from myself, and in the middle of the row up jumps the Admiral, and 
 cries out, ' Three cheers more for the Eajah's daughter !' I thought 
 the old roof would come down ; and the blackguards in the kitchen took 
 up the cry and shouted like mad, and then we yelled again, and this 
 went on for maybe five minutes. ' What does it all mean,' says I, 
 ' but a cheer for the Court of Bankruptcy, and Hip, hip, hurray ! for 
 the Marshalsea Prison !' After that, we had half an hour or more of 
 flatteries and compliments. My Lord was so happy, and Peter Bar- 
 rington so proud, and the Admiral so delighted, and the rest of us so 
 much honoured, that I couldn't stand it any longer, but stole away, 
 and got into the garden, to taste a little fresh air and quietness. I 
 hadn't gone ten paces, when I came plump upon Miss Dinah, taking 
 her coifee under a tree. ' Tou are a deserter, I fear. Sir,' said she, in 
 her own snappish way ; so I thought I'd pay her off, and I said, ' To 
 tell you the truth. Miss Barrington, at our time of life these sort of 
 things are more full of sadness than pleasure. We know how hollow 
 they are, and how little heart there is in the cheers of the people that 
 
BABEIirGTOIf. 313 
 
 are so jolly over your wine, but wouldn't stop to talk to you when 
 you came down to water !' 
 
 " ' The worse we think of the world, Major M'Cormick,' says she, 
 ' the more risk we run of making ourselves mean enough to suit it.' 
 
 " ' I don't suspect. Ma'am,' says I, ' that when people have known 
 it so long as you and I, that they are greatly in love with it.' 
 
 " ' They may, however, be mannerly in their dealings with it. Sir,' 
 said she, fiercely ; and so we drew the game, and settled the men for 
 another battle. 
 
 " ' Is there anything new. Ma'am ?' says I, after a while. 
 
 " ' I believe not. Sir. The bread riots still continue in the North, 
 where what would seem the needless severity of some of the military 
 commanders have only exasperated the people. You have heard, I 
 suppose, of Major Stapylton's business ?' 
 
 " ' Ifot a word. Ma'am,' says I ; ' for I never see a paper.' 
 
 " ' I know very little of the matter myself,' says she. ' It was, 
 it would appear, at some night assemblage at a place called 
 Lund's Common. A young officer, sent forward by Major Stapyl- 
 ton to disperse the people, was so struck by the destitution and 
 misery he witnessed, and the respectful attitude they exhibited, 
 that he hesitated about employing force, and restricted himself to 
 counsels of quietness and submission. He did more — ^not perhaps 
 very prudently, as some would say — he actually emptied his pockets of 
 all the money he had, giving even his watch to aid the starving horde 
 before him. What precise version of his conduct reached his superior, 
 I cannot say ; but certainly Major Stapylton commented on it in 
 terms of the harshest severity, and he even hinted at a reason for the 
 forbearance too offensive for any soldier to endure.' 
 
 " She did not seem exactly to know what followed after this, but 
 some sort of inquiry appeared to take place, and witnesses were ex- 
 amined as to what reaUy occurred at Lund's Common ; and amongst 
 others, a Lascar, who was one of the factory hands — having come to 
 England a great many years before, with an officer from India. This 
 fellow's evidence was greatly in favour of young Conyers, and was 
 subjected to a very severe cross-examination from yourself, in the 
 middle of which he said something in Hindostanee that nobody in 
 the court understood but you ; and after this he was soon dismissed, 
 and the case closed for that day. 
 
 " ' What do you think, Major M'Cormick,' said she, ' but when the 
 court of inquiry opened the next morning, Lal-Adeen, the Lascar, was 
 n ot to be found high or low. The court have suspended their sittings to 
 
814 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 search for him ; but only one opinion ptevails>'— that Major Stapylfcon 
 inows more of this man's escape than he is likely to tell.' I have 
 taken great pains to give you her own very words in all this business, 
 and I wrote them down th« moment I got home, for I thought to 
 inyself you'd, maybe, write about the matter to old Peter, and you 
 ought to be prepared for the way they look at it ; the more because 
 Miss Dinah has a liking for young Conyers — what she calls a motherly 
 aflfeetion ; but I don't believe in the motherly part of it ! But of 
 course you care very little what the people here say about you at aU. 
 At least, I know it wouldn't trouble me much, if I was in your place. 
 At all events, whatever you do, do with a high hand, and the Horse 
 Guards is sure to stand to you. Moderation may be an elegant 
 thing in civil life, but I never knew it succeed in the army. 
 There's the rain coming on again, and I just sent out six cars to the 
 bog for turf; so I must conclude, and remain, yours sincerely, 
 
 " Daniei T. M'Cobmick. 
 
 " I'm thinking of foreclosing the small mortgage I hold on 'The 
 Home,' but as they pay the interest regularly, five per cent., I 
 Wouldn't do it if I knew things were going on reasonably well with 
 them ; send me a line about what is doing regarding the ' claim,' and 
 it will guide me." 
 
 While Major M'Cormick awaited the answer to his postscript, 
 which to him — as to a lady — was the important part of his letter, a 
 short note arrived at ' The Home' from Mr. Withering, enclosing a 
 letter he had just received from Major Stapylton. Withering's com- 
 munication was in answer to one from Barrington, and ran thus : 
 
 " Deae B., — All things considered, I believe you are right in not 
 receiving General Conyers at this moment. It would probably, as 
 you suspect, enable calumnious people to say that you could make 
 your resentments play second when they came in the way* of your 
 interests. If matters go on well, as I have every hope they will, you 
 can make the amende to him more satisfactorily and more gracefully 
 hereafter. Buxton has at length consented to bring the case before 
 the House ; of cotirse it will not go to a division, uor, if it did, could 
 it be carried ; but the discussion will excite interest, the Press wiU 
 take it up, and after a few regretful and half-civil expressions from 
 the Ministry, the India Board will see the necessity of an arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 " It is somewhat unfortunate and mal a propos that Stapylton 
 
BAEEIITGTOK. 
 
 31S 
 
 should at this moment have got into an angry collision with young 
 Conyets. I have not followed the case closely, but, as usual in such 
 things, they seem each of them in the wrong — the youog sub wanting 
 to make his generous sympathy supply the place of military obe- 
 dience, and the old officer enforcing discipline at the cost of very 
 harsh language. I learn this morning that Conyers has sold out, in- 
 tending to demand a personal satisfaction. Tou will see by S.'s letter 
 that he scarcely alludes to this part of the transaction at all. S. feels 
 very painfully the attacks of the PrSss, and sees, perhaps more 
 forcibly than I should in his place, the necessity of an. exchange. 
 Bead attentively the portion I have underlined." 
 
 It is to this alone I have to direct my readers' attention, the 
 first two sides of the letter being entirely filled with details about the 
 "claim:" 
 
 " ' The newspapers have kept me before you for some days back, 
 much more, I doubt not, to their readers' amusement than to 
 my own gratification. I could, if I pleased, have told these slanderers 
 that I did not charge a crowd of women and children — ^that I did not 
 cut down an elderly man at his own door-sill — that I did not use 
 language " ofiensive and unbecoming" to one of my officers, for his 
 having remonstrated in the name of humanity against the cruelty of 
 my orders. In a word, I might have shown the contemptible scrib- 
 blers that I knew how to temper duty with discretion, as I shall know 
 how, when the occasion offers, to fiiake the punishment of a calum- 
 niator a terror to his colleagues. However, there is a very absurd 
 story going about of a fellow whose insolence I certainly did reply to 
 with the flat of my sabre, and whom I should be but too happy to 
 punish legally, if he could be apprehended. That he made his escape 
 after being captured, and that I connived at, or assisted in it — ^I 
 forget which — you have probably heard. In fact, there is nothing 
 too incredible to say of me for the moment ; and what is worse, I 
 begin to suspect that the Home Secretary, having rather burned his 
 fingers in the business, will not be very sorry to make an Admiral 
 Byng of a Major of Hussars. For each and all these reasons I mean 
 to exchange, and, if possible, into a regiment iu India. This will, of 
 course, take some time ; meanwhile, I have asked for and obtained 
 some months' leave. Tou will be surprised at my troubling you with 
 flo much of purely personal matters, but they are the necessary 
 preface to what I now come. Tou are aware of the letter I wrote 
 some time back to Mr. Barrington, and the request it preferred. If 
 
310 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 the reply I received was not discouraging, neither was it conclusive. 
 The ordinary common-places as to the shortness of our acquaintance, 
 the want of sufficient knowledge of each other's tastes, characters, 
 &c., were duly dwelt upon ; biit I could not at the end say, was I 
 an accepted or a rejected suitor. Now that the critical moment of 
 my life draws nigh — for such I feel the present emergency— an act 
 of confidence in me would have more than double value. Can you 
 tell me that this is the sentiment felt towards me, or am I to learn 
 that the yells of a rabble have drowned the voices of my friends ? In 
 plain words, will Miss Josephine Barrington accept my offer ? Will 
 she entrust her happiness to my keeping, and change the darkest 
 shadow that ever lowered over my life into a gleam of unspeakable 
 brightness ? Tou have given me too many proofs of a friendly dispo- 
 sition towards me, not to make me feel that you are the best fitted to 
 bring this negotiation to a good issue. If I do not mistake you 
 much, you look with favour on my suit and wish it success. I am 
 ashamed to say how deeply my hopes have jeopardied my future 
 happiness, but I tell you frankly life has no such prize to my ambi- 
 tion, nor, in fact, any such alternative of despair before me.' 
 
 " Now, my dear Barrington," continued "Withering's letter, 
 " there is a great deal in this that I like, and something with which 
 I am not so much pleased. If, however, I am not the Major's 
 advocate to the extent he asks, or expects me, it is because I feel that 
 to be unjustly dealt with is a stronger claim on ^our heart than that 
 of any other man I ever met with, and the real danger here would be 
 that you should suffer that feelirig to predominate over all others. 
 Consult your granddaughter's interests, if you can, independently of 
 this ; reflect well if the plan be one likely to promise her happiness. 
 Take your sensible, clear-headed sister into your counsels ; but, above 
 all, ascertain Josephine's own sentiments, and do nothing in direct 
 opposition to them." 
 
 " There, Dinah," said Barrington, placing the letter in her hands, 
 " this is as much to your address as to mine. Eead it over carefully, 
 and you'll find me in the garden when you have done." 
 
 Miss Barrington laid down her great roll of worsted work, and 
 began her task without a word. She had not proceeded very far, 
 however, when Josephine entered in search of a book. " I beg 
 pardon, aunt, if I derange you." 
 
 " We say disturb, or inconvenience, in English, Miss Barrington. 
 What is it you are looking for ?" 
 
BAEBINaTON. 317 
 
 " The ' Legend of Montrose,' aunt. I am so much amused by that 
 Major Dalgetty that I can think of nothing but him." 
 
 " TJmpb !" muttered the old lady. " It was of a character not alto- 
 gether dissimilar I was tbinking myself at that moment. Sit down 
 here, cbild, and let me talk to you. This letter that I bold here, 
 Josephine, concerns you" 
 
 " Me, aunt — concerns me ? And who on earth could have written 
 a letter in which I am interested ?" 
 
 " Tou shall hear it." She coughed only once or twice, and then 
 went on : " It's a proposal of marriage — no less. That gallant 
 soldier who left us so lately bas fallen in love with you — so he says, 
 and of course he knows best. He seems fully aware that, being older 
 than you, and graver in temperament, bis offer must come heralded 
 with certain expressions almost apologetic ; but he deals with the 
 matter skilfully, and tells us that being well off as regards fortune, 
 of good blood, and with fair prospects before him, be does not wish to 
 regard his suit as hopeless. Tour grandfather was minded to learn 
 bow you might feel disposed to accept bis addresses by observing 
 your demeanour, by watching what emotion mention of him might 
 occasion, by seeing how far you felt interested in bis good or ill repute. 
 I did not agree with him. I am never for the long road when there 
 is a short one, and therefore I mean to let you bear bis letter. This 
 is what he writes." While Miss Dinah read the extract which 
 the reader bas just seen, she never noticed, or, if noticed, never 
 attended to, the agitation in her niece's manner, or seemed to 
 remark that from a deep crimson at first her cheeks grew pale as 
 death, and her lips tremulous. " There, child," said Miss Dinah, as 
 she finished — " there are bis own words ; very ardent words, but 
 withal respectful. What do you think of them — of them and of 
 him?" 
 
 Josephine hung down her head, and with her hands firmly clasped 
 together, she sat for a few moments so motionless that she seemed 
 scarcely to breathe. 
 
 " Would you like to think over this before you speak of it, Jo- 
 sephine ? Would you like to take this letter to your room and ponder 
 over it alone ?" 
 
 No answer came but a low, half-subdued sigh. 
 
 " If you do not wish to make a confidante of me, Josephine, I ata 
 sorry for it, but not offended." 
 
 " No, no, aunt, it is not that," burst she in ; "it is to you, and you 
 alone, I wish to speak, and I will be as candid as yourself. I am not 
 
318 BAEBIN0TOS'. 
 
 sui^rised afc the eontents of this letter. I mean, I was ia a measure 
 prepared for them." 
 
 " That is to say, child, that he paid you certain attentions ?" 
 
 She nodded assent. 
 
 " And how did you receive them ? Did you let him understand 
 that you were not indifferent to him — that hia addresses were agree, 
 able to you ?" 
 
 Another, but shorter nod, replied to this question. 
 
 " I must confess," said the old lady, bridling up, " all this amazes 
 me greatly. "Why, child, it is but the other day you met each other 
 for the first time. How, when, and where you found time for such 
 relations as you speak of, I cannot imagine. Do you mean to tell 
 me, Josephine, that you ever talked alone together?" 
 
 " Constantly, aunt!" 
 
 " Constantly !" 
 
 " Tes, aunt. We talked a great deal together." 
 
 " But how, child— where r" 
 
 " Here, aunt, as we used to stroll together every morning througk 
 the wood, or in the garden ; then, as we went on the river or to the 
 waterfall." 
 
 " I can comprehend nothing of all this, Josephine. I know you 
 mean to deal openly with me, so say at once, how did this intimacy 
 begin ?" 
 
 " I can scarcely say how, aunt, because I believe we drifted into it. 
 We used to talk a great deal of ourselves, and at length we grew to 
 talk of each other : of our likings and dislikings ; our tastes and 
 our tempers. And these did not always agree 1" 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " No, aunt," said she, with a heavy sigh. " We quarrelled very 
 often ; and once — I shall not easily forget it — once seriously." 
 
 " What was it about ?'" 
 
 " It was about India, aunt ; and he was in the wrong, and had to 
 own it afterwards, and ask pardon." 
 
 " He must know much more of that country than you, child. 
 How came it that you presumed to set up your opinion against 
 his ?" 
 
 " The presumption was bis," said she, haughtily. " He spoke of 
 Ms father's position as something the same as my father's. He 
 talked of him as a Eajah !" 
 
 " I did not know that ho spolte of his father," said Miss Dinah, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
^fi' .-,'4///'/. 
 
EAEKTNGTON. 319 
 
 " Oh, he spoke much of him. He told me, amougst other things, 
 how he had been a dear friend of papa's ; that as young men they 
 lived togetJier like brothers, and never were separate till the fortune 
 of life divided them." 
 
 " What is aU. this I am listening to ? Of whom are you telling 
 me, Josephine ?" 
 
 " Of Fred, Aunt Dinah ; of Pred, of course." 
 
 " Do you mean young Conyers, child ?" 
 
 " Tes. How could I mean any other ?" 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta !" said the old lady, drumming with her heel on the 
 floor and her fingers on the table. " It has all turned out as I said 
 it wotdd ! Peter, Peter, will you never be taught wisdom I Listen 
 to me, child," said she, turning almost sternly towards Josephine. 
 " We have been at cross-purposes with each other all this time. This 
 
 letter which I have just read for you " She stopped suddenly as 
 
 she reached thus far, and after a second's pause, said, " Wait for me 
 here ; I will be back presently. I have a word to say to your grand- 
 father." 
 
 Leaving poor Josephine in a state of trepidation and bewilderment 
 — ashamed at the confession she had just made, and trembling with a 
 vague sense of some danger that impended over her— Miss Dinah 
 hurried away to the garden. 
 
 " Here's a new sort of worm gat- into the celery, Dinah," said he, 
 as she came up, " and a most destructive fellow he is. He looks lilte 
 a mere ruffling of the leaf, and you'd never suspect him." 
 
 " It is your peculiarity never to suspect anything, brother Peter, 
 even after you have had warning of peril. Do you remember my 
 telling you, when we were up the Ehine, what would come of that 
 intimacy between Conyers and Josephine ?" 
 
 " I think I do," said he, making what seemed an effort of me- 
 mory. 
 
 " And can you recal the indolent, slipshod answer you made me 
 about it ? But of course you cannot. It was an old maid's appre- 
 hensions, and you forgot the whole thing. Well, Peter, I was right 
 and you were wrong." 
 
 " Not the first time that the double event has come off so !" said 
 he, smiling. 
 
 " Tou are too fond of that cloak of humility, Peter Barrington. 
 The plea of G-uilty never saved any one from transportation !" 
 Waiting a moment to recover her breath after this burst of passion, 
 she went on : " After I had read that letter you gave me, I spoke to 
 
320 BAEEIN&TOir. 
 
 Josephine ; I told her in a few words how it referred to her, and 
 frankly asked her what she thought of it. She was very candid 
 and very open, and I must say, also, very collected and composed. 
 Toung ladies of the present day possess that inestimable advantage 
 over their predecessors. Their emotions do not overpower them." 
 This was the second time of " blowing off the steam," and she had 
 to wait a moment to rally. " She told me, frankly, that she was not 
 unprepared for such an offer ; that tender passages had already been 
 exchanged between them. The usual tomfoolery, I conclude — that 
 supreme effort of selfishness people call love — in a word, Peter, 
 she was in no wise disinclined to the proposal ; the only misfortune 
 was, she believed it came from young Conyers." 
 
 Barrington would have laughed, and laughed heartily, if he dared. 
 As it was, the effort to restrain himself sent the blood to his head, 
 and made his eyes run over. 
 
 " Ton may well blush, Peter Barrington," said she, shaking her 
 finger at him. " It's all your own doing." 
 
 " And when you undeceived her, Dinah, what did she say ?" 
 
 " I have not done so yet, but my impression is, that so susceptible 
 a young lady should find no great diEEiculty in transferring her affec- 
 tions. Por the present, I mean to limit myself to declaring that this 
 offer is not from Conyers ; if she has curiosity to know the writer she 
 shall learn it. I always had my doubts about these convents! 
 Bread and water diet makes more epicures than abstinents !" 
 
BAEEINSTOK. 
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 ISTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 
 
 Miss Baeeington, with Josephine at one side and Polly Dill 
 on the other, sat at work in her little room that opened on the 
 garden. Each was engaged in some peculiar task, and each seemed 
 bent upon her labour in that preoccupied way, which would imply 
 that the cares of needlework make no mean call upon human facul- 
 ties. A close observer would, however, have remarked that though 
 Miss Barrington stitched vigorously away at the background for a 
 fierce tiger with measly spots over him, Polly seemed oftener to 
 contemplate than continue her handiwork ; while Josephine's looks 
 strayed constantly from the delicate tracery she was following, to 
 the garden, where the roses, blended with the jasmine and the droop- 
 ing honeysuckles, hung listlessly over the boughs of the apple-tree. 
 
 " If your work wearies you, Kfine," said Miss Dinah, "you had 
 better read for us." 
 
 " Oh no, not at all, aunt ; I like it immensely. I was only wonder- 
 ing why one should devise such impossible foliage, when we have 
 the real thing before us, in all its grace and beauty." 
 
 " Humph!" said the old lady ; "the sight of a real tiger would not 
 put me out of countenance with my own." 
 
 "It certainly ought not, Ma'am," said Polly; while she added, in 
 a faint whisper, " for there is assuredly no rivalry in the case." 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Dill is not too absorbed in her study of nature, as 
 applied to needlework, to read out the newspaper." 
 
 " I will do it with pleasure. Ma'am. "Where shall I begin ?" 
 
 " Deaths and marriages first, of course, child. Then fashion and 
 varieties ; take the accidents afterwards, and close with anything re- 
 markable in politics, or any disastrous occurrence in high Hfe." 
 
 Polly obeyed to the letter ; once only straying into an animated 
 account of a run with the Springfield fox-hounds, where three riders 
 out of a large field came in at the death ; when Miss Dinah stopped 
 her abruptly, saying, " I don't care for the obituary of a fox, young 
 lady. Go on with something else." 
 
 " "Will you have the recent Tragedy at Eing's End, Ma'am ?" 
 
822 BAHEIIISTO]<r. 
 
 " I know it by heart. Is there nothing new in the fashions — how 
 are bonnets worn ? What's the latest sleeve ? "What's the colour 
 in vogue ?" 
 
 "A delicate blue, Ma'am; a little off the skj-, and on the 
 hyacinth." 
 
 " Very becoming to fair people," said Miss Dinah, with a shake 
 of her blonde ringlets. 
 
 " ' The Prince's Hussars !' "Would you like to hear about them, 
 Ma'am ?" 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 " It's a very short paragraph, ' The internal troubles of this un- 
 happy regiment would seem to be never ending. "We last week in- 
 formed our readers that a young subaltern of the corps, the son of 
 one of our most distinguished G-enerals, had thrown up his commission 
 and repaired to the Continent, to enable him to demand a personal 
 satisfaction from his commanding officer, and we now learn that the 
 Major in question is precluded from accepting the gage of battle 
 by something stronger than military etiquette.'^' 
 
 "Eead it again, child; that vile newspaper slang alwavs puzzles 
 me." 
 
 Polly recited the passage in a clear and distinct voic*. 
 
 " What do you understand by it, Polly ?" 
 
 " I take it to mean nothing, Madam. One of those stirring pieces 
 of intelligence which excites curiosity, and are no more expected to 
 be explained than a bad riddle." 
 
 " It cannot surely be, that he shelters himself under his position 
 towards us ? That I conclude is hardly possible!" Though Miss Bar- 
 rington said this as a reflection, she addressed herself almost directly 
 to Josephine. 
 
 "As far as I am concerned, aunt," answered Josephine, promptly, 
 '.'the Major may fight the Monster of the Drachenfels to-morrow, if 
 he wishes it." 
 
 " Oh, here is another mystery, apparently on the same subject. ' The 
 Lascar, Lal-Adeen, whom our readers will remember as having figured 
 in a police-court a few days back, and was remanded till the con- 
 dition of his wound — a severe sabre-cut on the scalp — should permit 
 his farther examination, and on the same night made his escape from 
 the hospital, has once again, and very unexpectedly, turned up at 
 Boulogne-sur-Mer. His arrival in this country, some say voliantarily, 
 others under a warrant issued for his apprehension, will probably 
 take place to-day or to-morrow, and, if report speak truly, be followed 
 by some of the most singular confessions which the public has heard 
 
BAEEIlfGTOI<'. 323 
 
 for a long time back.' The Fost contradicts the statement, and de- 
 clares ' no such person has ever been examined before the magistrate, 
 if he even have any existence at all.' " 
 
 "And what interest has all this for us?" asked Miss Dinah, 
 sharplj. 
 
 "Tou do not forget. Ma'am, that this is the same man Major 
 Stapylton was said to have wounded ; and whose escape, scandal 
 hinted, he had connived at, and who now ' does not exist.' " 
 
 " I declare, Miss Dill, I remember no such thing ; but it appears 
 to me that Major Stapylton occupies a very considerable space in 
 your own thoughts." 
 
 " I fancy Polly likes him, aunt," said Josephine, with a slight 
 smile. 
 
 " Well, I will own he interests me ; there is about him a mysterious 
 something that says, ' I have more in my head, and on my heart, than 
 you think of; and more perhaps than you could carry, if the burden 
 were yours.' " 
 
 " A galley-slave might say the same, Miss Dill." 
 
 " No doubt of it. Ma'am ; and if there be men who mix in the 
 great world, and dine at grand houses, with something of the galley- 
 slave on their conscience, they assuredly impress us with an amount 
 of fear that is half a homage. One dreads them as he does a tiger, 
 but the terror is mingled with admiration." 
 
 " This is nonsense, young lady, and baneful nonsense too, begotten 
 of French novels and a sickly sentimentality. I hope Fifine de- 
 spises it as heartily as I do." The passionate wrath which she dis- 
 played extended to the materials of her work-basket, and while 
 rolls of worsted were upset here, needles were thrown there ; and at 
 last, pushing her embroidery-frame rudely away, she arose and left 
 the room. 
 
 ■" Dearest Polly, how could you be so indiscreet. Tou know, far 
 better than I do, how little patience she has with a paradox." 
 
 " My sweet Fifine," said the other, in a low whisper, " I was dying 
 to get rid of her, and I knew there was only one way of effecting it. 
 Tou may remark that, whenever she gets into a rage, she rushes out 
 into the flower-garden, and walks round and'round till she's ready 
 to drop. There she is already; you may gauge her anger by the 
 number of her revolutions in a minute.^' 
 
 " But why did you wish her away, Polly ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you why ; tbat is, there is a charming French word for 
 what I mean, the verb ' Agacer,' all untranslatable as it is. Now there 
 are moments when a person working in the same room — reading, 
 
 r2 
 
324 BABMNGTON. 
 
 ■writing, looking out of the window — becomes an insupportable inflic- 
 tion. Tou reason, and say, 'How absurd, how childish,howungenerou8,' 
 and so forth. It won't do ; for as you look round he is there still, 
 and by his mere presence keeps up the ferment in your thoughts. 
 Tou fancy, at last, that he stands between you and your inner self, a 
 witness that won't let your own conscience whisper to you, and you 
 come in the end to hate him. Tour dear aunt was on the high road 
 to this goal, when I bethought me of my expedient ! And now 
 we are all alone, dearest, make me a confession." 
 " "What i3 it ?" 
 
 " Tou do not like Major Stapylton ?" 
 " No." 
 
 " And you do like somebody else ?" ; 
 
 " Perhaps," said she, slowly, and dividing the syllables as she spoke 
 them. 
 
 " That being the case, and seeing, as you do, that your aunt is en- 
 tirely of your own mind, at least as to the man you do not care for, 
 why don't you declare as much frankly to your grandfather, and break 
 off the negotiation at once ?" 
 
 " Just because that dear old grandpapa asked me not to be pre- 
 cipitate — not to be rash. He did not tell me that I must love Major 
 Stapylton, or must marry him ; but he said, ' If you only knew, 
 Pifine, what a change in our fortunes would come of a change in yow 
 feelings ; if you could but imagine, child, how the whole journey of 
 life might be rendered easier, all because you took the right-hand 
 road instead of the left ; if you could guess these things, and what 
 
 might follow them ' " She stopped. 
 
 '" "Well, go on." 
 
 " No. I have said all that he said ; he kissed my cheek as he got 
 thus far, and hurried away from the room." 
 
 " And you, like a sweet, obedient child, hastened away to yours ; 
 wrote a farewell, a heart-broken farewell, to Tred Conyers; and 
 solemnly swore to your own conscience you'd marry a man you dis- 
 liked. These are the sort of sacrifices the world has a high admira- 
 tion for ; but do you know, Tifine, the world limps a little in its 
 morality sometimes, and is not one half the fine creature it thinks 
 itself. Por instance, in the midst of all its enthusiasm for you, it has 
 forgotten that in accepting for your husband a man you do not love, 
 you are doing a dishonesty ; and that, besides this, you really love 
 another. It is what the French call the aggravating circumstance." 
 "I mean to do nothing of the kind!" broke in Fifine, boldly. 
 " Tour lecture does not address itself to we." 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 325 
 
 > " Do not be angry, Kfine," said the other, calmly. 
 
 " It is rather too hard to be rebuked for the faults one might have, 
 but has not, committed. It's like saying how wet you'd have been 
 had you fallen into that pool." 
 
 " Well, it also means, don't fall into the pool !" 
 
 " Do you know, Polly," said Josephine, archly, " I have a sort of 
 suspicion that you don't dislike this Major yourself! Am I right ?" 
 
 " I'd not say you were altogether wrong ; that is, he interests me, 
 or rather he puzzles me, and it piques my ingenuity to read him, 
 just as it would to make out a cipher to which I had only one half 
 the key." 
 
 " Such a feeling as that would never inspire a tender interest, at 
 least with me" 
 
 " Nor did I say it was, Kfine. I have read in some book of my 
 father's how certain physicians inoculated themselves with plague, 
 the better to note the phenomena, and trace the course ; and I own 
 I can understand their zeal, and I'd risk something to decipher this 
 man." 
 
 " This may be very nice in medicine, Polly, but very bad in morals ! 
 At all events, don't catch the plague for the sake of saving me .'" 
 
 " Oh ! I assure you any step I take shall be done in the interests 
 of science solely ; not but that I have a small debt to acquit towards 
 the gallant Major." 
 
 " Tou have ! What can it possibly be ?" 
 
 " Well, it was this wise," said she, with a half sigh. " We met at 
 a country-house here, and he paid me certain attentions, made me 
 compliments on my riding, which I knew to be good, and my singing, 
 which was just tolerable ; said the usual things which mean nothing, 
 and a few of those more serious ones, which are supposed to be more 
 significant ; and then he asked my father's leave to come and visit 
 him, and actually fixed a day and an hour. And we, poor people, all 
 delighted with the flattery of such high notice, and thinking of the 
 eifect upon our neighbours so splendid a visitor would produce, 
 made the most magnificent preparations to receive him — papa in a 
 black satin waistcoat, mamma in her lilac ribbons. I myself — having 
 put the roof on a pigeon-pie, and given the last finishing touch to a 
 pagoda in ruby jelly — I, in a charming figured muslin and a blush 
 rose in my hair, awaited the hour of attack ! And, after all, he never 
 came. No, Fifine, never came ! He forgot us, or he changed his 
 mind, or something else turned up that he liked better ; or — which is 
 just as likely as any of the three — he thought it would be a charm- 
 ing piece of impertinence to pass ofi' on such small folk, who pre- 
 
326 BAEEIlfGTOy. 
 
 sumed to fancy themselves company for him.- At all events, Fifine, 
 we saw him no more. He went his way somewhere, and we were left 
 lamenting!" 
 
 " And yon really liked him, Polly ?" 
 
 " No, of the two, I disliked him ; but I wished very much that he 
 might like me ! I saw him very overhearing and very insolent to those 
 who were certainly his equals, assuming a most offensive superiority 
 everywhere and to any one, and I thought what an awful humilia- 
 tion it would be if so great a personage were to be snubbed by the 
 Doctor's daughter. I wanted to give a lesson which could only be 
 severe if it came from one humble as myself ; but he defeated me, 
 Kfine, and I am still his debtor ! If I did not like him before, you 
 may believe that I hate him now, and I came off here this morning, 
 in hot haste, for no other object than to set you against him, and induce 
 you to regard him as I do." 
 
 " There was little need," said Kfine, calmly ; " but here comes my 
 aunt back again. Make your submission quickly,. Bolly, or it wiU. be 
 too late to expect mercy." 
 
 " I'll do better," said PoUy, rising. " I'U let my trial go on in my 
 absence ;" and with this she stepped out of the window as Miss Batr 
 rington entered by the door. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLI. 
 
 STAPYLTOn'S visit at " THE HOME.'' 
 
 So secretly had Barrington managed, that he negotiated the loan 
 of five hundred pounds on a mortgage of the cottage, without ever 
 letting his sister hear of it ; and when she heard on a particular day 
 that her brother expected Mr. Kinshela, the attorney, from Kilkenny 
 on business, she made the occasion the pretext of a visit to Doctor 
 Dill, taking Josephine with her, to pass the day there. 
 
 Barrington was therefore free to receive his lawyer athis ease, and 
 confer with him alone. Not that lie cared much for his company ; 
 he felt towards the attorney pretty much as an ardent soldier feels to 
 a non-combatant,. the commissary, or the paymaster. Had he been 
 a barrister, indeed, old Peter would have welcomed him with the zest 
 of true companionship ; he would have ransacked, hia memory for 
 
BAEEIN&TOX. 
 
 327 
 
 anecdotes, and prepared for tke meeting as for an encounter of sliarp 
 wits. Now, it is no part of my task to present Mr. Kinshela mora 
 thaa passingly to my reader,, and I will merely say that he was a 
 shrewd, common-place man, whose practice rarely introduced him to 
 the higher classes of his counity, and who recognised Barringtoa, even 
 in his decline, as a person of some consideration. 
 
 They had dined well, and sat over their wine in the little dining- 
 room over the river, a favourite spot of Barringtou's when he wished 
 to be confidential, for it was apart from the rest of the cottage, and 
 removed from all intrusion. 
 
 " So, you won't tell me, Kinskela, who lent us this money ?" said 
 the old man, as he passed the decanter across the table. 
 
 " It is not that I won't. Sir, but I ean't. It was in answer to an 
 advertisement I inserted iu the Times, that I got an applicatioiu from 
 Granger and "Wood to supply particulars ; and I must say there was 
 no unnecessary scrutiny on their part. It Vras as speedily settled a 
 traJnsaetion as I ever conducted, and I believe in my heart we might 
 have had a thousand pounds on it just as easily as five'hundred." 
 
 "As well as it is, Kinshela. When the day of repayment comes 
 round, I'll perhaps find it heavy enough ;" and he sighed deeply as he 
 spoke 
 
 " Who knows, Sir ? There never was a time that capital expended 
 on land was more remunerative than the present." 
 
 Now, Mr. Kinshela well knew that the destination of the money 
 they spoke of was not in this direction, and that it had as little to 
 say to subsoil drainage or top dressing, as to the conversion of the 
 heathen; but he was angling for a confidence, and he did not see 
 how to attain it. 
 
 Barrington smiled before he answered; one of those sad, melan- 
 choly smiles which reveal a sorrow a man is not able to suppress, and 
 then he said, " I'm afraid, Kinshela, I'll not test the problem this 
 time." 
 
 " It will be better employed, perhaps, Sir. Ton mean, probably, 
 to take your granddaughter up to the drawing-room at the Castle ?'^ 
 
 " I never so much as thought of it, Joe Kinshela ; the fact is, that 
 money is going where I have sent many a hundred before it — ^in 
 law ! I have had a long, wearisome, costly suit, that has well-nigh 
 beggared me ; and of that sum you raised for me I don't expect to 
 Lave a shilling by this day week." 
 
 " I heard something about that. Sir," said the other, cautiously. 
 
 " And what was it you heard ?" 
 
 " Nothing, of course, worth repeating ; nothing from any one that 
 
328 ■BAEEINGTON. 
 
 knew the matter himself; just the gossip that goes about, and no 
 more." 
 
 " "Well, let us hear the gossip that goes about, and I'll promise to 
 tell you if it's true." 
 
 " Well, indeed," said Kinshela, drawing a long breath, /'they say 
 that your claim is against the India Board." 
 
 Barrington nodded. 
 
 "And that it is a matter Ijttle short of a million is in dispute." 
 
 He nodded again, twice. 
 
 " And they say, too — of course, on very insufficient knowledge — 
 that if you would have abated your demands once on a time, you 
 might readily have got a hundred thousand pounds, or even more." 
 
 " That's not impossible," muttered Barrington. 
 
 " But that, row " he stammered for an instant; and then 
 
 stopped. 
 
 " But now ? Go on." 
 
 " Sure, Sir, they can know nothing about it ; it's just idle talk, 
 and no more."' 
 
 " Go on, and tell me what they say now," said Barrington, with a 
 strong force on the last word. 
 
 " They say you'll be beaten, Sir," said he, with an effort. 
 
 " And do they say why, Kinshela ?" 
 
 " Tes, Sir ; they say you won't take advice ; tbat no matter what 
 Mr. Withering counsels, or is settled in consultation, you go your 
 own way and won't mind them ; and that you have been heard to 
 declare you'll have all, or nothing." 
 
 " They give me more credit than I deserve, Kinshela. It is, per- 
 haps, what I ought to have said, for I have often thought it. But in 
 return for all the kind interest my neighbours take about me, let them 
 know that matters look better for us than they once did. Perhaps," 
 added he, with a laugh, " perhaps I have overcome my obstinacy, or 
 perhaps my opponents have yielded to it. At all events, Joe, I 
 believe I see land at last, and it was a long ' look-out' and many a 
 fog-bank I mistook for it." 
 
 " And what makes you think now that you'll win ?" said the other, 
 growing bolder by the confidence reposed in him. 
 
 Barrington half started at the presumption of the question ; but he 
 suddenly remembered how it was he himself who had invited the dis- 
 cussion, so he said, calmly, 
 
 " My hope is not without a foundation, and I expect by the mail 
 to-night a friend who may be able to tell me that I have won, or as 
 good as won." 
 
BAEEINGTON. 
 
 329 
 
 Kinshela was dying to ask who the friend was, but even his 
 curiosity had its prudential limits ; so he merely took out his watch, 
 and, looking at it, remarked that the mail would pass in about twenty 
 minutes or so. 
 
 " By the way, I mustn't forget to send a servant to wait on the 
 roadside ;" and he rung the bell and said, " Let Darby go up to the 
 road, and take Major Stapylton's luggage when he arrives." 
 
 " Is that the Major Stapylton is going to be broke for the doings 
 at Manchester, Sir ?" asked Kinshela. 
 
 " He is the same Major Stapylton that a rascally press is now 
 libelling and calumniating," said Barrington, hotly. " As to being 
 broke, I don't believe that we have come yet to that pass in England, 
 that the discipline of our army is administered by every scribbler in 
 a newspaper." 
 
 " I humbly crave your pardon. Sir, if I have said the slightest 
 thing to offend ; but I only meant to ask, was he the officer they were 
 making such a fuss about ?" 
 
 " He is an officer of the highest distinction, and a well-born gentle- 
 man to boot — two admirable reasons for the assaults of a contemptible 
 party. Look you, Kinshela ; you and I are neither of us very young 
 or inexperienced men, but I would ask you, have we learned any 
 wiser lesson from our intercourse with life than to withhold our judg- 
 ment on the case of one who rejects the sentence of a mob, and 
 appeals to the verdict of his equals ?" 
 
 " But if he cut the people down in cold blood — if it be true that 
 he laid open that poor black fellow's cheek from the temple to the 
 chin " 
 
 " If he did no such thing," broke in Barrington ; " that is to say, 
 if there is no evidence whatever that he did so, what will your legal 
 mind say then, Joe Kinshela ?" 
 
 " Just this. Sir. I'd say — what all the newspapers are saying — 
 that he got the man out of the way — bribed and sent him off." 
 
 " "Why not hint that he murdered him, and buried him within the 
 precincts of the gaol ? I declare I wonder at your moderation." 
 
 " I am sure. Sir, that if I suspected he was an old friend of 
 yours " 
 
 " Nothing of the kind — a friend of very short standing ; but what 
 has that to say to it ? Is he less entitled to fair play whether he knew 
 me or not ?" 
 
 " All I know of the case is from the newspapers, and as I scarcely 
 see one word in his favour, I take it there is not much to be said in 
 his defence." 
 
330 BAEBINGTOlf. 
 
 . " Well, if my ears don't deceive me, that was the guard's horn I 
 heai'd then. The man himself will be here in. five minutes or so. 
 Tou shall conduct the prosecution, Kinshela, and I'U be judge be- 
 tween you." 
 
 " Heaven forbid, Sir ; on no account whatever !" said Kinshela, 
 trembling all over. " I'm sure, Mr. Barrington, you couldn't think 
 of repeating what I said to you in confidence " 
 
 " No, no, Kinshela. Tou shall do it yourself; and it's only fair to 
 tell you that he is a right clever fellow,! and fully equal to the task df 
 defending himself." Peter arose as he spoke, and walked out upon 
 the lawn, afiectedly to meet his coming guest, but in reality to cover 
 a laugh that was half smothering him, so comical was the misery ex- 
 pressed in the attorney's face, and so ludicrous was his look of 
 terror. 
 
 Of course I need not say that it never occurred to Barrington to 
 realise his threat, which he merely uttered in the spirit of that 
 quizzing habit that was familiar to him. " Tes, Kinshela," cried he, 
 " here he comes. I recognise his voice already ;" and Barrington 
 now walked forward to welcome liis friend. 
 
 It was not till after some minutes of conversation, and when the 
 light fell strongly on Stapylton's features, that Barrington saw how 
 changed a few weeks of care had made him. He looked at the least 
 ten years older than before. His eyes had lost their bold and daring 
 expression, too, and were deep sunk, and almost furtive in their 
 glance. 
 
 ." Tou are tired, I fear," said Barrington, as the other moved his 
 hand across his forehead, and, with a slight sigh, sank down upon a 
 sofa. 
 
 " Less tired than worried — harassed," said he, faintly. " Just as at 
 a gambling-table a man may lose more in half an hour's high play 
 than years of hard labour could acquire, there are times in life when 
 we dissipate more strength and vigour than we ever regain. I 
 have had rough usage since I saw you last," said he, with a very 
 sickly smile. " How are the ladies — well, I hope?" 
 
 " Perfectly well. They have gone to pass the day with a neigh- 
 bour, and will be home presently. By the way, I left a friend here a 
 few moments ago. What can have become of him?" and he rang the 
 bell hastily. " Where's Mr. Kinshela, Darby ?" 
 
 " Gone to bed. Sir. He said he'd a murthering headache, and 
 hoped your honour would excuse him." 
 
 Though Barrington laughed heartily at this message, Stapylton 
 
BAEBIirGTOm 331 
 
 never asked the reason, but sat deeply immersed in thoiught, and un- 
 mindful of all around him. 
 
 " I half suspect you ought to follow his good, example, Major," 
 said Peter. " A mug of mulled claret for a nightcap, and a good 
 sleep, will set you all right." 
 
 " It will take more than that to do it," said the Major, sadly. 
 Then suddenly rising, and pacing the room with quick, impatient 
 steps, he said, " What could have induced you to let them bring your 
 claim before the House? They are going to do so, ain't they?" 
 
 " Yes. Tom Withering says that nothing will be so effectual, and 
 I thought you agreed with him." 
 
 " Never. Nothing of the kind. I said, threaten it— insist that if 
 they continue the opposition, that you will — that you must do so ; but 
 I never was the fool to imagine that it could be a really wise step. 
 What's the fate of all such motions? I ask you. There's a speech — 
 sometimes an able one — setting forth a long catalogue of unmerited 
 injuries aiid long suffering. There's a claim made out that none 
 can find a flaw in, and a story that, if Parliament was given to soft- 
 ness, might move men almost to tears, and at the end of it up rises a 
 Minister to say how deeply he sympathises with the calamity of the 
 case, but that this. House is, after aU, not the fitting locality for a 
 discussion which is essentially a question of law, and that, even if it 
 were, and if all the allegations were established— a point to which he 
 by no means gave adhesion — there was really no available fund at the 
 disposal of the Crown to make reparation for such losses. Have you 
 not seen this, or something like this, scores of times ? Can you teU 
 me of one that succeeded?" 
 
 " A case of such wrong as this cannot go without reparation," 
 said Peter, with emotion. " The whole country wiU demand it." 
 
 " The country will do no such thing. If it were a question of 
 penalty or punishment — yes ! the country would demand it. Pine, 
 imprison, transport, hang him ! are easy words to utter, a.nd cheap 
 ones ; but pay him, reinstate him, reward him ! have a very different 
 sound and significance. They figure in the budget, and are for- 
 midable on the hustings. Depend on it, Mr. Barrington, the step 
 wiU. be a false one." 
 
 " It has been my fate never to have got the same advice for two 
 weeks together since the day I entered on this weary suit," said 
 Barrington, with a peevishness not natural to him. 
 
 " I may as weU tell you the whole truth at once," said Stapylton. 
 " The Board have gone back of all their good intentions towards us : 
 
332 BAEEIN&TON. 
 
 some recent arrivals from India, it is said, have kindled again the 
 old fire of opposition, and we are to be met by a resistance bold 
 and uncompromising. They are prepared to deny everything we 
 assert ; in fact, they have resolved to sweep all the pieces off the board 
 and begin the whole game again, and all because you have taken 
 this unfortunate course of an appeal to Parliament." 
 
 " Have you told "Withering this ?" 
 
 " Tes ; I have talked the matter over for nearly four hours with 
 him. Like a lawyer, he was most eager to know from what source 
 came the new evidence so damaging to us. I could only guess at 
 this." 
 
 " And your guess was " 
 
 " I scarcely like to own to you that I take a less favourable view of 
 mankind than you do, who know it better ; but in this case my sus- 
 picion attaches to a man who was once your son's dearest friend, but 
 grew to be afterwards his deadliest enemy." 
 
 " I will not have this said. Major Stapylton. I know whom you 
 mean, and I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 Stapylton simply shrugged his shoulders, and continued to pace 
 the room without speaking, while Barrington went on muttering, 
 half aloud, " No, no, impossible ; quite impossible. These things are 
 not in nature. I don't credit them." 
 
 " Tou like to think very well of the world, Sir !" said the Major, 
 with a faint scorn — so faint as scarcely to colour his words. 
 
 " Think very badly of it, and you'll soon come down to the level 
 you assign it," said Peter, boldly. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm not in the humour just now to give it my best 
 suffrages. You've seen, I doubt not, something of the treatment I 
 have met with from the Press for the last few weeks ; not very 
 generous usage — not very just. "Well! what will you say when I 
 teU you that I have been refused an Inquiry into my conduct at 
 Manchester ; that the Government is of opinion that such an inves- 
 tigation might at the moment be prejudicial to the public peace, 
 without any counterbalancing advantage on the score of a personal 
 vindication ; that they do not deem the time favourable for the calm 
 and unbiased judgment of the country; in one short word, Sir, 
 they'd rather ruin a Major of Hussars than risk a Cabinet. I am to 
 exchange into any corps, or any service, I can ; and tliey are to tide 
 over these troubles on the assumption of having degraded me." 
 
 " I hope you wrong them — I do hope you wrong them !" cried 
 Barrington, passionately. 
 
 " You shall see if I do," said he, taking several letters from his 
 
BAEBUfGTON. 
 
 333 
 
 pocket, and searching for one in particular. " Yes, here it is. This 
 is from Aldridge, the private secretary of the Commander-in-Chief. 
 It is very brief, and strictly secret : 
 
 " ' Deae S., — The " Chief" does not like your scrape at all. Ton 
 did rather too much, or too little — a fatal mistake dealing with a 
 mob. Ton must consent — there's no help for it— to be badly used, 
 and an injured man. If you don't like the half-pay list — which 
 would, in my mind, be the beat step — there's the Seventeenth ordered 
 to Baroda, and Maidstone refuses to go. This, or the Second West 
 India, are the only things open. Above all, don't show fight ; don't 
 rally a party round you, for there is not a man in England whose in- 
 fluence is sufficiently great to stand between you and the public. A 
 couple of years' patience and a hot climate will set all right, and 
 reinstate you everywhere. Come over here at once, and I'll do my 
 best for you. 
 
 " ' Tours ever, 
 
 " ' St. G-eoege Aldeidge.' 
 
 " This is a friend's letter," said Stapylton, with a sneer ; " and he 
 has no better counsel to give me than to plead guilty, and ask for a 
 mitigated punishment." 
 
 Barrington was silenced ; he would not by any expression of indig- 
 nation add to the great anger of the other, and he said nothing. At 
 last he said, " I wish from my heart — I wish I could be of any service 
 to you." 
 
 " Tou are the only man living who can," was the prompt answer. 
 
 " How so — in what way ? Let me hear." 
 
 " When I addressed a certain letter to you some time back, I was 
 in a position both of fortune and prospect to take at least something 
 from the presumption of my offer. Now, though my fortune remains, 
 my future is more than clouded, and if I ask you to look favourably 
 on my cause now, it is to your generosity I must appeal; I am, in 
 fact, asking you to stand by a fallen man." 
 
 This speech, uttered in a voice slightly shaken by agitation, went 
 to Barrington' s heart. There was not a sentiment in his nature so 
 certain to respond to a call upon it as this one of sympathy with the 
 beaten man ; the weaker side was always certain of his adherence. 
 With a nice tact Stapylton said no more, but pushing open the 
 window, walked out upon the smooth sward, on which a faint moon- 
 light flickered. He had shot his bolt, and saw it as it quivered in his 
 victim's flesh. Barrington was after him in an instant, and drawing 
 
334 BiEBiNflTOir. 
 
 an arm witliin Hs, he said in a low voice, " Tou may count upon 
 me." 
 
 Stapylton -wrung his hand warmly, -without speaking. After walk- 
 ing for a few moments, side by side, he said : " I must be frank with 
 you, Mr. Barrington. I have little time and no taste for circumlocu- 
 tion ; I cannot conceal from myself that I am no favourite with your 
 sister. I was not as eag^r as I ought to have been to cultivate her 
 good opinion ; I was a little piqued at what I thought mere in- 
 justices on her part — small ones, to be sure, but they wounded me, 
 and with a temper that always revolted against a wrong, I resented 
 them, and I fear me, in doing so, I jeopardised her esteem. If she is 
 as generous as her brother, she will not remember these to me in 
 my day of defeat. Women, however, have their own ideas of mercy, 
 as they have of everything, and she may not choose to regard me as 
 you have done." 
 
 " I suspect you are wrong about this," said Barrington, break- 
 ing in. 
 
 " Well, I wish I may be ; at all events, I must put the feeling to 
 the test at once, for I have formed my plan, and mean to begin it 
 immediately." 
 
 " And what is it ?" 
 
 " Very few words will tell it. I intend to go on half-pay, or sell 
 out if that be refused me ; set out for India by the next mail, and, 
 with what energy remains to me, vimdieate your son's claim. I have 
 qualifications that will make me better than a better man. I am well 
 versed in Hindostanee, and a fair Persian scholar ; I have a wide ac- 
 quaintance with natives of every rank, and I know how and where to 
 look for information. It is not my disposition to feel over-sanguine, 
 but I would stake all I possess on my success, for I see exactly the 
 flaws in the chain, and I know where to go to repair them. Tou have 
 witnessed with what ardour I adopted the suit before ; but you can- 
 not estimate the zeal with which I throw myself into it now — now 
 that, like George Barrington himself, I am a man wronged, outraged, 
 and insulted." For a few seconds he seemed overcome by passion 
 and unable to continue ; then he went on: " If your granddaughter 
 will accept me, it is my intention to settle on her all I possess. Our 
 marriage can be private, and she shall be free to accompany me, or to 
 reipain here, as she likes." 
 
 " But how can all this be done so "hurriedly ? Tou talk of starting 
 at once." 
 
 " I must, if I would save your son's cause. The India Board are 
 sending out their emissaries to Calcutta, and I must anticipate them 
 
BAEEnfflTON. 335 
 
 — if I cannot do more, by gaining tbem over to ua, on the voyage out. 
 It is a case for energy and activity, and I want to employ botb." 
 
 " The time is very short for all this," said Barrington again. 
 
 " So it is. Sir, and so are the few seconds which may rescue a man 
 from drowning ! It is in the crisis of my fate that I ask you to stand 
 by me." 
 
 " But have yau any reason to believe that my granddaughter will 
 hear you favourably ? Tou are almost strangers to each other ?" 
 
 " If ahe will not give me the legal right to make her my heir, I 
 mean to usurp the privilege. I have already been with a lawyer for 
 that purpose. My dear Sir," added he, passionately, " I want to 
 break with the past for ever ! When the world sets up its howl 
 against a man, the odds are too great ! To stand and defy it, he must 
 succumb or retreat. Now, I mean to retire, but with the honours of 
 war, mark you." 
 
 " My sister will never consent to it," muttered Barrington. 
 
 " "Will you ? Have I the assurance oi your support ?" 
 
 " I can scarcely venture to say ' Tes,' and yet I can't bear to say 
 'JSV toyou!" 
 
 "This is less than I looked for from you," said Stapylton, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " I know Dinah so well. I know how hopeless it would be to ask 
 her concurrence to this plan," 
 
 " She may not take the generous view of it ; but therp is a worldly 
 one worth considering," said Stapylton, bitterly. 
 
 " Then, Sir, if you count on tJiat, I would not give a copper half- 
 penny for your chance of success !" cried Barrington, passionately. 
 
 " Tou have quite misconceived me ; you have wronged me alto- 
 gether," broke in Stapylton, in a tone of apology, for he saw the 
 mistake he had made, and hastened to repair it. " My meaning was 
 this " 
 
 " So muoh the better. I'm glad I misunderstood you. But here 
 come the ladies. , Let us go and meet them." 
 
 " One word — only one word. WiU you befriend me?" 
 
 " I will do, all that I can ; that is, all that I ought," said Barring- 
 ton, as he led him away, and re-entered the cottage. 
 
 " I will not meet them to-night," said Stapylton, hurriedly. " I 
 am nervous and agitated. I will say, ' Good night' now." 
 
 This was the second time within a few days that Stapylton had 
 fihown an unwillingness to confront Miss Barrington, and Peter 
 thought over it long and anxiously. " What can he mean by it ?" 
 said he to himself. " Why should he be so frank and outspoken with 
 
336 BAEBIirGTOlf. 
 
 me, and so reserved with her ? "What can Dinah know of him ? 
 What can she suspect, that is not known to me ? It is true they 
 never did like each other — ^never ' hit it off ' together ; but that is 
 scarcely his fault. My excellent sister throws away little love on 
 strangers, and opens' every fresh acquaintance with a very fortifying 
 prejudice against the newly-presented. However it happens," mut- 
 tered he, with a sigh, " she is not often wrong, and I am very seldom 
 right;" and, with this reflection, he turned once again to resume 
 his walk in the garden. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLII. 
 
 A DOCXOK AND HIS PATIENT. 
 
 Staptiton did not make his appearance at breakfast; he sent 
 down a message that he had passed a feverish night, and begged 
 that Doctor Dill might be sent for. Though Barrington made two 
 attempts to see his guest, the quietness of the room on each occasion 
 implied that he was asleep, and, fearing to disturb him, he went down 
 stairs again on tiptoe. 
 
 " This is what the persecution has done, Dinah,'' said he. " They 
 have brought that stout-hearted fellow so low, that he may be the 
 victim of a fever to-morrow." 
 
 " Nonsense, Peter. Men of courage don't fall sick because the 
 newspapers calumniate them. They have other things on their minds 
 than such puny attacks." 
 
 " So he may, likely enough, too. He is bent heart and soul on 
 what I told you last night, and I'm not surprised if he never closed 
 his eyes thinking of it." 
 
 " Neither did I !" said she, curtly, and left the room. 
 
 The Doctor was not long in arriving, and, after a word or two with 
 Barrington, hastened to the patient's room. 
 
 " Are we alone ?" asked Stapylton, cutting short the bland speech 
 with which Dill was making his approaches. " Draw that curtain 
 a bit, and take a good look at me. Are my eyes bloodshot ? Are the 
 pupils dilated ? I had a bad sun-stroke once ; see if there be any 
 signs of congestion about me." 
 
'fe^--^-/^^^^-, 
 
BAEEINGTON. 337 
 
 " No, I see none. A little flushed ; your pulse, too, is accelerated, 
 and the heart's action is laboured " 
 
 " Never mind the heart ; if the head be well, it wiU take care of it. 
 Eeach me that pocket-book ; I want to acquit one debt to you before 
 I incur another. No humbug between us ;" and he pressed some 
 notes in the other's palm as he spoke. " Let us understand each 
 other fully, and at once. I'm not very ill ; but I want you," 
 
 " And I am at your orders." 
 
 "PaithfuUy— loyally?" 
 
 " PaithfuUy — ^loyally !" repeated the other, after him. 
 
 "Tou've read the papers lately — ^you've seen these attacks on 
 me?" 
 
 " Tes." 
 
 " "Well, what do they say and think here — I mean in this house — 
 about them? How do they discuss them? Eemember, I want 
 candour and frankness ; no humbug. I'll not stand humbug !" 
 
 " The women are against you." 
 
 "Both of them?" 
 
 « Both." 
 
 " How comes that ? — on what grounds ?" 
 
 " The papers accused you of cruelty ;' they affirmed that there 
 was no cause for the measures of severity you adopted ; and they 
 argued " 
 
 " Don't bore me with all that balderdash. I asked you how was 
 it that these women assumed I was in the wrong ?" 
 
 " And I was about to tell you, if you had not interrupted me." 
 
 " That is, they believed what they read in the newspapers ?" 
 
 " Tes." 
 
 "And, of course, swallowed that fine story about the Hindoo 
 fellow that I first cut down, and afterwards bribed to make his 
 escape from the hospital P" 
 
 " I suspect they half believed it." 
 
 " Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part ! Can you 
 tell me physiologically — for I think it comes into that category — 
 why it is that women, not otherwise ill natured, in nine cases out of 
 ten take the worst alternative as the credible one ? But never mind 
 that. They condemn me. Isn't it so ?" 
 
 " Tes ; and while old Barrington insists " 
 
 " "Who cares what he insists ! Such advocacy as his only provokes^ 
 attack, and invites persecution. I'd rather have no such allies !" 
 
 " I believe you are right." 
 
 " I want fellows like yourself, Doctor — sly, cautious, subtle fellows 
 
338 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 -*7-accustome(i to stealing strong medicines into the 83'stem in small 
 doses ; putting the patient, as you call it in your slang, ' under the 
 influence' of this, that, and t'other — eh ?" 
 
 Dill smiled blandly at the compliraent to his art, and Stapylton. 
 went on : 
 
 " Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic treatment. 
 I need a heroic remedy, Doctor. I'm in love." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced between in- 
 terest and incredulity. 
 
 " Tes, and. I want to marry !" 
 
 " Miss Barrington ?" 
 
 " The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make the dis- 
 tinction, for I don't wish to be thought insane. Now yoii have tlie 
 ■case. "What's your prescription ?" 
 
 " Propose for her !" 
 
 " So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not unfavourable ; 
 he is, perhaps, more ; he is, in a measure, friendly ; but what avaUs 
 such advocacy ? I want another guess sort of aid^— a clever man ; or, 
 what is better still, a clever woman, to befriend me." 
 
 He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not speak, so he 
 went on: "A clever woman, to take a woman's view of the case, 
 baltoicing this against that, never ignoring an obstacle, but inquiring 
 what there may be to compensate for it. Do you know such a one. 
 Doctor ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I may ; but I have my doubts about securing her ser- 
 vices." 
 
 " Even with a retainer ?" 
 
 " Even with a retainer. Tou see, Major" — here Dill dropped his 
 voice to a most confidential whispeiv— " my daughter Polly — for I 
 know we both have her in mind^PoUy is a strange sort of girl, and 
 very hard to understand ; for while, if the ease were her own, she'd 
 no more think of romance than she would of giving ten guineas for a 
 dress, if she was advising another whose position and prospects were 
 higher than hers, it's the romantic part of it she'd lay all the stress on." 
 
 " Erom which I gather, that my suit will not stand this test !" said 
 Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. " Eh, isn't that your meaning ?" 
 
 " You are certainly some years older than the lady," said Dill, 
 blandly. 
 
 " Not old enough to be, as the world would surely say, ' her father,' 
 but fully old enough to give licence for sarcasm." 
 
 " Then, as she will be a great fortune " 
 
 " Not a sixpence— she'll not have sixpence, Doctor. That bubble 
 
BAEEINGXON, 339 
 
 has burst at last, and can never be blown again. The whole claim 
 has been rejected, refused, thrown out, and there's an end of it. It 
 amuses that old, man to sit on the wreck and fancy he can repair the 
 shattered timbers and make them seaworthy ; and, for the time he is 
 likely to last, it is only kindness to leave him to his delusion ; but he 
 is ruined — ruined beyond recal, and, as I have told you, the girl will 
 have nothing." 
 
 " Do they know this — has Barrington heard it ?" 
 
 " Tes ; I broke it to him last night, but I don't think he fuUy 
 realised the tidings ; he has certain reserves — certain little conceits of 
 his own — which are to supply him with a sort of hope ; but let us talk 
 of something more practical. How can we secure Miss Dill's ser- 
 vices ?" 
 
 " A few days ago, the easiest way would have been to oiFer to be- 
 friend her brother, but this morning brings us news that this is not 
 needed — he is coming home." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " It is a great event in its way ; at least, it may be for Tom. It 
 seems there was a collision at sea, somewhere near the Cape, between 
 the ship Si. Helen's, that carried out Greneral Hunter and his staff, and 
 the JRegulus, with the Forty-ninth on board. It was at night, and a 
 terrible sea on at the time. In the shock, the St. Selen's took fire, 
 and as the two ships were inextricably locked together, the danger 
 was common to each. While the boats were being lowered and 
 manned — for it was soon seen the vessels could not be saved — a cry 
 arose that the fire was gaining on the fore hold, and would soon reach 
 the magazine. The woful news spread at once, and many jumped 
 overboard in their terror. Just then, Tom heard that there was a 
 means of drowning the powder by opening a certain sluice, and, 
 without waiting for more, he clambered across into the sinking 
 vessel, made his way through smoke and fire, gained the spot, and 
 succeeded, just as the very ladder itself had caught the flames. 
 How he got back he cannot tell, for the vessel foundered in a few 
 minutes, and he was so burned — face, cheek, and one shoulder — that 
 he was unconscious of everything ; and, even when the account came, 
 was still in bed, and not able to see." 
 " He was a wild sort of lad, was he not — a scamp, in short ?" 
 " No, not exactly that ; idle — careless — ^kept bad company at 
 times." 
 
 " These are the fellows who do this kind of thing once in their 
 lives — mark you, never twice. They never have more than one shot 
 in their locker, but it will suffice in this case." 
 
 z2 
 
340 BAEBINGTOlf. 
 
 Though the worthy Doctor was very far from enthusiastic about 
 his son's gallantry, there was a degree of coolness in the Major's 
 estimate of it that almost shocked him, and lie sat staring steadily at 
 the stern bronzed face and the hard lineaments of the man, and won- 
 dering of what strange stuff such natures were fashioned. 
 
 " It's quite clear, then, that for Master Tom we can do nothing 
 half so good as chance has done for him," said Stapylton, after a short 
 interval. 
 
 " Chance and himself, too," added the Doctor. 
 
 Stapylton made no answer, but covering his eyes with his hand, lay 
 deep in thought. 
 
 " If you only had the Attorney- G-eneral, Mr. "Withering, on your 
 side," said Dill. " There is no man has the same influence over this 
 family." 
 
 " It's not what you call influence I want, my good Sir. It is a far 
 more subtle and more delicate agent. I require the sort of aid, in 
 fact, which your daughter could supply, if she would. An appoint- 
 ment awaits me in India, but I must occupy it at once. I have no 
 time for a long courtship. I'm just as hurried as that boy of yours 
 was when he swamped the powder-magazine. It's a skirmish where 
 I can't wait for the heavy artillery, but must do my best with the 
 light field-guns — do you understand me?" 
 
 Dill nodded, and Stapylton resumed : " The thing can be done just 
 by the very road that you have pronounced impossible — that is, by 
 the romantic side of it — making it a case of violent love at first sight, 
 the passion of a man past the heyday of youth, but yet young 
 enough to feel a most ardent affection. I am, besides," said he, 
 laughing with a strange blending of levity and sarcasm, "a sort of 
 Brummagem hero ; have been wounded, led assaults, and that kind of 
 thing, to a degree that puffery can take the benefit of. And, last of 
 all. Doctor, I am rich enough to satisfy greater ambitions than ought 
 to live under such a roof as this. Do you see the part your daughter 
 can take in this drama ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I do." 
 
 " And could you induce her to accept it ?" 
 
 " I'm not very certain — I'd be slow to pledge myself to it." 
 
 " Certainly," said Stapylton, mockingly; " the passing glimpses we 
 bachelors obtain of the working of that vaunted institution. The 
 Pamily, fail to impress us with all its imputed excellence ; you are, 
 it seems to me, just as powerless within your own doors, as I am 
 regarding what goes on in a neighbour's house, I take it, however. 
 
BAEEINGTOir. Sll 
 
 that it can't be helped. Children, like colonies, are only governable 
 when helpless." 
 
 " I suspect you are wrong, Sir ; at least, I fancy I have as much of 
 the sort of influence you speak of as others ; but still, I think, here, 
 in this particular ease, you would yourself be your best ambassador, 
 if you were strong enough to come down with me iu the boat to- 
 day." 
 
 " Of course I am !" cried Stapylton, starting up to a sitting pos- 
 ture ; " and what then ?" 
 
 " Tou would be better in my house than this," said Dill, mys- 
 teriously. 
 
 " Speak out, and speak clearly, Doctor; I have very little the 
 matter with me, and am in no want of change of air. What I need 
 is the assistance of one dexterous enough to advocate my plans 
 with persons and in places to which I have no access. Tour 
 daughter is just such a one — will she do it ?" 
 
 " We can ask her." 
 
 " Well, how will you explain my absence to these people here ? 
 What will you say for my not appearing at breakfast, and yet being 
 able to take an airing with you ?" 
 
 " I will put it oil hygenic grounds," said Dill, smiling acutely. 
 " My profession has a number of sanctuaries the profane vulgar can 
 never enter. I'll just step down now and ask Barrington to lend me 
 his boat, and I'll throw out a dark hint that I'd like to manage a con- 
 sultation on your case without alarming you, for which purpose I'd 
 ask Doctor Tobin to be at my house, when we arrive there, by mere 
 accident, so that a conference would follow as a matter of course." 
 
 " Very wily — very subtle all this. Doctor. Do you know, I'm half 
 f"ightened at the thought of trusting myself to such a master of in- 
 trigue and mystification." 
 
 ■ " Have no fears ; I reserve all my craft for my clients." And with 
 this he left the room, but only for a few minutes, for he met Bar- 
 rington on the stairs, and speedily obtained permission to take his 
 boat to Inistioge, having first pledged himself to come back with 
 Stapylton to dinner. 
 
 " We shall see, we shall see," muttered Stapylton to himself. 
 " Tour daughter must decide where I am to dine to-day." 
 
 By the way — that is, as they glided along the bright river — DiU 
 tried to prepare Stapylton for the task before him, by sundry hints 
 as to Polly's temper and disposition, with warnings against this, and 
 cautions about that. "Above all," said he, " don't try to overreach 
 her." 
 
342 BAEEiiroTOir. 
 
 " Perfect frankness — candour itself — ^is my device. "Won't [that 
 do?" 
 
 " Ton must first see will 'she believe it," said the Doctor, slily ; 
 and for the remainder of the way there was a silence between them. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIir. 
 
 CROSS PUKPOSES. 
 
 " "Wheee's Miss Polly?" said Dill, hastily, as he passed his 
 threshold. 
 
 " She's making the confusion of roses in the kitchen, Sir," said 
 the maid, whose chemistry had been a neglected study.. 
 
 " Tell her that I have come back, and that there is a gentleman 
 along with me," said he, imperiously, as he led the way into his 
 study. "I have brought you into this den of .miae, Major, because 
 I would just say one word more by way of caution before you see 
 PoUy. You may imagine, from the small range of her intercourse with 
 the world, and her village life, that her acuteness will not go very 
 far ; don't be too sure of that — don't reckon too much on her want of 
 experience." 
 
 " I suppose I have encountered as sharp wits as hers before thia 
 time o' day," replied he, half peevishly ; and then, with an air of better 
 temper, added, " I have no secrets to hide, no mystery to cloak. If 
 I want her alliance, she shall herself dictate the terms that shall re- 
 quite it." 
 
 The Doctor shook his head dubiously, but was silent. . 
 
 " I half suspect, my good Doctor," said Stapylton, laughing, " that 
 your charming daughter is a little, a very little, of a domestic despot ; 
 you are all afraid of her ; never very sure of what she will say, or do, 
 or thinlf, on any given circumstances, and nervously alive to the risk 
 of her displeasure." 
 
 " There is something in what you say," remarked Dill, with a sigh ; 
 " but it was always my mistake to bring up my children with too 
 much liberty of action. Prom the time they were so high" — and he 
 held his hand out about a yard above the floor — " tliey were their own 
 masters." Just as the words had fallen from him, a little chubby, shock- 
 headed fellow, about five years old, burst into the room, which he be- 
 
BAKEINGTOir. 343 
 
 lieved unoccupied, and then, suddenly seeing his papa, set up a howl 
 of terror that made the house ring. 
 
 " What is it, Jimmy ^what is it, my poor man ?" said Polly, rush- 
 ing with tucked-up sleeves to the spot ; and, catching him up in her 
 arms, she kissed him affectionately. 
 
 " "Will you take him away ? — will you take him out of that ?" 
 hissed out Dill between his teeth. " Don't you see Major Stapylton 
 here?" 
 
 " Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toUette that was never intended 
 for his presence." 
 
 " I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming one, nor 
 a more charming tableau to display it in !" 
 
 " There, Jimmy," said she, laughing; " you must have some bread- 
 and-jara for getting me such a nice compliment." And she bore away 
 the still sobbing urchin, who, burying his head in her bosom, could 
 never summon courage to meet his father's eye. 
 
 " "What a spacious garden you appear to have here !" said Stapylton, 
 who saw all the importance of a diversion to the conversation. 
 
 " It is a very much neglected one," said Dill, pathetically. " My 
 poor dear boy Tom used to take care of it when he was here ; he had 
 a perfect passion for flowers." 
 
 "Whether that Tom was associated in the Major's mind with some 
 other very different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled slightly, and after 
 a moment said, " If you permit me, I'll take a stroll through your 
 garden, and think over what we have been talking of." 
 
 " Make yourself at home in every respect," said Dill. " I have a 
 few professional calls to make in the village, but we'll meet at 
 luncheon." 
 
 " He's in the garden, Polly," said Dill, as he passed his daughter 
 on the stairs ; " he came over here this morning to have a talk with 
 you." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir !" 
 
 " Tes ; he has got it into his head that you can be of service to 
 him." 
 
 " It is not impossible, Sir ; I think I might." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it, Polly ; I'm delighted to see you take a good 
 sensible view of things. I need not tell you he's a knowing one." 
 
 " No, Sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, ' he shows 
 his hand.' " 
 
 " So he does, Polly ; but I have known fellows do that just to mis- 
 lead the adversary." 
 
 " Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily." And- with a 
 
344 BABKINGIOK. 
 
 saucy toss of her head she passed on, scarcely noticing the warning 
 gesture of her father's finger as she went. 
 
 "When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself with 
 the means of occupying her fingers for an hour or so, she repaired to 
 the garden and took her seat under a large elm, around whose massive 
 trunk a mossy bench ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of 
 separate places. 
 
 " What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades. Miss 
 Dill," said Stapylton, as he seated himself at her side ; " how unpic- 
 turesque, and how prudish." 
 
 " It was a simple notion of my brother Tom's," said she, smiling, 
 " who thought people would not be less agreeable by being reminded 
 that they had a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of 
 their neighbour." 
 
 " "What an unsocial thought !" 
 
 " Poor Tom ! A strange reproach to make against you" said she, 
 laughing out. 
 
 " By the way, hasn't he turned out a hero — saved a ship and all she 
 carried from the flames — and all at the hazard of his own life?" 
 
 " He has done a very gallant thing ; and, what's more, I'll venture 
 to say there is not a jiian who saw it thinks so little of it as 
 himself." 
 
 " I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling." 
 
 " I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority," said she, 
 with a slight bend of the head. 
 
 " A prettily turned compliment. Miss Dill, hxe you habitually 
 given to flattery ?" 
 
 " No ; I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call 
 me more candid than courteous." 
 
 " "Will you let me take you at the world's estimate — ^that is, will you 
 do me the inestimable favour to bestow a little of this same candour 
 upon mef 
 
 " "Willingly, "What is to be the subject of it ?" 
 
 " The subject is a very humble one — myself !" 
 
 " How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme ?" 
 
 " Better than you think for, perhaps !" And, for a moment, he ap- 
 peared awkward and ill at ease. " Miss Dill," said he, after a pause, 
 " Fortune has been using me roughly of late, and, like, all men who 
 deem themselves hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where 
 I fancy I have found a more kindly disposition towards me. Am. 
 I indulging a self-delusion in believing that such sentiments are 
 yours ?" 
 
BAHEIIfGTOir. 345 
 
 Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the 
 real object of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in her father's 
 manner how he himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she 
 had made up her mind for a great franlmess on each side ; but now, 
 seeing the diplomatic mysteriousness with which the Major opened 
 his attack, that love of mischievous drollery which entered into her 
 nature suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to 
 seem to accept the Major's speech as the preliminary to an offer of 
 his hand. She therefore merely turned away her head slightly, and 
 in a low voice said, " Continue !" 
 
 " I have not deceived myself, then," said he, with more warmth of 
 manner. " I have secured one kind heart in my interest ?" 
 
 " You must own," said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, 
 " that you scarcely deserve it." 
 
 " How — in what way ?" asked he, in astonishment. 
 
 " "What a short memory you are blessed with ! Must I, then, re- 
 mind you of a certain evening at Cobham ? Must I recal what I 
 thought at the time very particular, as they certainly were very 
 pleasant, attentions on your part ? Must I, also, bring to mind a 
 certain promised visit from you, the day and hour all named by 
 yourself — a visit which never came off? And after all this. Major, are 
 you not really a bold man to come down and take up your negotia- 
 tion where you dropped it ? Is there not in this a strong convic- 
 tion of the greatness of Major Stapylton, and the littleness of the 
 Doctor's daughter ?" 
 
 Stapylton was struck dumb. When a general sees that what he 
 meant as a feint has been converted into a real attack, the situation 
 is often imminent ; but what comparison in difficulty is there between 
 that mistake and that of him who assails what he never 'desired 
 to conquer ? How he inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he 
 had opened his negotiation. 
 
 " I perceive," said she, triumphing over his confusion, " that your 
 calmer judgment does not reassure you. Ton feel that there is a 
 certain levity in this conduct not quite excusable ! Own it frankly, 
 and at once !" 
 
 " I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater 
 embarrassment!" 
 
 " Shall I tell you why ?" 
 
 " Ton couldn't ; it would be totally impossible." 
 
 " I will try, however, if you permit me. Ton do ! Then here goes. 
 Ton no more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at 
 Cobham than you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came 
 
846 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 here this mopning to make your court to me. Tou are much pained 
 at the awkwardness of a situation so naturally wounding to me, and, 
 for the life of you, you cannot imagine what escape there is out of 
 such difficulty." 
 
 " Tou are wonderfully clever, Miss Dill," said he; and there "was 
 an honest admiration in his look that gave the words a full signi- 
 ficance. 
 
 " No," said she, "but I am wonderfully good natured. I forgive 
 you what is the hardest thing in the world to forgive !" 
 
 " Oh ! if you would but be my friend," cried he, warmly. 
 
 " What a want of tact there was in that speech. Major Stapylton," 
 said she, with a laugh ; " but, perhaps, you wanted to reverse the 
 line of our dear little poet, who tells of some one ' that came but for 
 friendship, and took away Love !' " 
 
 " How cruel you are in all this mockery of me !" 
 
 " Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from you ? — yoio, 
 who can afford to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. 
 From the time of that ' Major bold of Halifax' the song tells of, I 
 never heard your equal." 
 
 " Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes ?" 
 said he, gravely. 
 
 " I think not — at least not just now ; but why should I make the 
 attempt ?" 
 
 " Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency — a 
 matter in which I am deeply interested, and which involves, probably, 
 my future happiness." 
 
 " Ah, Major ! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feel- 
 ings once more ?" 
 
 " My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy ?" 
 
 " No, don't do any such thing ; it would seem ungenerous to refuse, 
 and yet I could not accord it." 
 
 " Fairly beaten," said he, with a sigh ; "there is no help for it. 
 Tou are tlie victor !" 
 
 " How did you leave our friends at ' The Home ?' " said she, with 
 an easy indifference in her tone. 
 
 " All well, perfectly well ; that is to say, I believe so, for I only 
 saw my host himself." 
 
 " "What a pleasant house ; how well they understand receiving their 
 friends." 
 
 " It is so peaceful and so quiet !" said he, with an effort to seem at 
 ease. 
 
 " And the garden is charming 1" 
 
BAEHINOTOK. 
 
 347 
 
 " And all this is perfectly intolerable," said he, rising, and 
 speaking in a voice thick with suppressed anger. " I never came 
 here to play a part in a vaudeville ! Tour father led me to believe, 
 Miss Dill, that you might not be indisposed to lend me your favour- 
 ing aid in a suit which I am interested in. He told me I should at 
 least find you frank and outspoken ; that if you felt inclined to assist 
 me, you'd never enhance the service by a seeming doubt or hesi- 
 tation " 
 
 " And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he did then give 
 you to expect?" 
 
 " That you'd say so !" 
 
 " So I do then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my counsels offer 
 a bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you." 
 
 " This is the acme of candour. Tou can only equal it by saying 
 how I could have incurred your disfavour ?" 
 
 " There is nothing of disfavour in the matter. I think you charm- 
 ing. Tou are a hero — very clever, very fascinating, very accomplished ; 
 but I believe it would be a great mistake for Pifi.ne to marry you. 
 Tour tempers have that sort of resemblance that leave no reliefs in 
 their mutual play. Tou are each of you hot and hasty, and a little 
 imperious; and if she were not very much in love, and consequently 
 disposed to think a great deal of you and very little of herself, these 
 traits that I speak of would all work ill. But if every one of them 
 were otherwise, there would still be one obstacle worse than all !" 
 
 " And that is ?" 
 
 " Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton ? Tou do not, 
 surely, want confidences from me that are more than candour !" 
 
 " Do I understand you aright ?" said he, growing red and pale by 
 turns, as passion worked within him ; " do I apprehend you cor- 
 rectly ? These people here are credulous enough to be influenced by 
 the shadowy slanders of the newspapers, and they listen to the half- 
 muttered accusations of a hireling press ?" 
 
 " They do say very awkward things in the daily press, certainly," 
 said she, dryly ; " and your friends marvel at the silence with which 
 you treat them." 
 
 " Then I have divined your meaning," said he. "It is by these 
 cowardly assailants I am supposed to be vanquished. I suspect, how- 
 ever, that Colonel Barrington himself was, once on a time, indulged 
 with the same sort of flattery. They said that he had usurped a. 
 sovereignty, falsified documents, purloined jewels of immense value. 
 I don't know what they did not charge him with. And what do they 
 say of me ? That I exhibited great severity — cruelty, if you wUl — 
 
348 BAHRIlfBTOK-. 
 
 towards a mob in a state of rebellion. That I reprimanded a very 
 silly subaltern for a misplaced act of humanifcy. That I have been 
 cashiered, too, they assert, in face of the Oaaette, which announces 
 my appointment to an unattached Majority. In a word, the enormity 
 of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and they write of me 
 whatever their unthinking malevolence can suggest to them. Tou 
 have, perhaps, seen some of these paragraphs ?" 
 
 " Like every one else, I have read them occasionally ; not very at- 
 tentively, indeed. But, in truth, I'm not a reader of newspapers. 
 Here, for instance, is this morning's as it came from Dublin, still un- 
 opened ;" and she handed it as she spoke. 
 
 " Let us see if I be still honoured with their notice," said he, un- 
 folding the paper, and running his eyes hastily over it. " Debate on 
 the" Sugar Bill — Prison Eeforms — China — Eeinforcements for Ca- 
 nada — Mail Service to the Colonies — Bankruptcy Court. Oh, here 
 we have it — here it is !" and he crushed the paper while he folded 
 down one part of it. " Shall I read it for you ? The heading is 
 very tempting : ' Late Military Scandal. — A very curious report is 
 now going through our West-end Clubs, and especially such as are 
 the resort of military officers. It is to the purport that a certain 
 Pield-officer of Cavalry — whose conduct has been the subject of 
 severe strictures from the Press — will speedily be called to answer 
 for a much graver offence than the transgression of regimental dis- 
 cipline. The story which has reached us is a very strange one, and 
 we should call it incredible, if we were not informed on authority 
 that one of our most distinguished Indian Generals has declared 
 himself fully satisfied of its truth in every particular.' Can you 
 fancy anything worse than this. Miss Dill ? An unknown somebody 
 is alleged to be convinced of an unknown something that attaches to 
 me ; for, of course, I am designated as the ' Pield-officer of Cavalry,' 
 and the public is graciously pleased to hold me in abhorrence till I 
 have found out my calumniator and refuted him !" 
 
 " It seems very hard. "Who do vou suspect is the Indian General 
 alluded to ?" 
 
 " Tell me, first of all — does he exist ?" 
 " And this, too, you will not reply to, nor notice ?" 
 " Not, certainly, through such a channel as it reaches me. If the 
 slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, I may know how to deal 
 with him. But what has led us into this digression ? I am sure it 
 is as little to your taste as to mine. I have failed in my mission, 
 and if I were able to justify every act of my life, what would it avail 
 
BAttltlNGTOJf. 349 
 
 tne ? Tou have pronounced against me ; at least, you will not take 
 my brief." 
 
 " "What if I were retained by the other side ?" said she, smiling. 
 
 " I never suspected that there was anotlier side," said lie, with an 
 air of extreme indifference. " Who is my formidable rival ?" 
 
 " I might have told you if I saw you were really anxious on the 
 subject." 
 
 '' It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for example, 
 Major M'C-Tmi : " 
 
 " Oh, that is too bad!" cried Polly, interrupting. "Tbis would 
 mean an impertinence to Miss Barrington." 
 
 " How pleasant we must have been ! Almost five o'clock, and I 
 scarcely thought it could be three!" said he, with an affected 
 languor. 
 
 " ' Time's foot is not heard when he treads upon flowers,' " said 
 she, smiling. 
 
 " "Where shall I find your father, Miss Dill ? I want to tell him 
 what a charming creature his daughter is, aud how wretched I feel 
 at n6t being able to w'n her favour." 
 
 " Pray don't ; or he migh , fall into my own mistake, and imagine 
 that you wanted a lease of it for life." 
 
 " Still cruel, still inexorable !" said he, with a mockery of affliction 
 in his tone. " Will you say all the proper things — the regrets, 
 and such-like — I feel at not meeting hira again ; and if he has asked 
 me to dinner — which I really forget — w'^l you make the fitting 
 apology?" 
 
 " And what is it, in the present case ?" 
 
 " I'm not exactly sure whether I am engaged to dine elsewhere, 
 or too ill to dine at all." 
 
 " Why not say it is the despair at being rejected renders you 
 unequal to the effort ? I mean, of course, by myself, Major Stapyl- 
 ton." 
 
 " I have no objection ; say so, if you like," said lie, with an insult- 
 ing indifference. " Good day, Miss DUl. This is the way to the 
 road, I believe ?" and, with a low bow, very deferential, but very dis- 
 tant, he turned away to leave tiie garden. He had not, however, 
 gone many paces, when he stopped, and seemed to ponder. He looked 
 up at the sky, singularly clear and cloudless as it was, without a 
 breath of wind in the air ; he gazed around him on every side, as if 
 in search of an object he wanted ; and then, taking out his purse, he 
 drew forth a shilling and examined it. " Tes," muttered he, " Chance 
 
350 BAEEINGTOlf. 
 
 has been my only counsellor for many a year, and the only one that 
 never takes a bribe ! And yet, is it not taking to the raft before the 
 ship has foundered ? True ; but shall I be sure of the raft if I wait for 
 the shipwreck ? She is intensely crafty. She has that sort of head 
 that loves a hard knot to unravel ! Here goes ! Let Destiny take 
 all the consequences !" and, as he flung up the piece of money in the 
 air, he cried, " Head !" It was some minutes ere he could discover 
 where it had fallen, amongst the close leaves of a border of straw- 
 berries. He bent down to look, and exclaimed, " Head ! she has 
 won!" Just as he arose from, his stooping attitude, he perceived 
 that Polly was engaged in the adjoining walk, making a bouquet of 
 roses. He sprang across the space, and stood beside her. 
 
 " I thought you had been a mile off by this time, at least," said 
 she, calmly. 
 
 " So I meant, and so I intended ; but, just as I parted from you, a 
 thought struck me — one of those thoughts which come from no 
 process of reasoning or reflection, but seem impelled by a force out 
 of our own natures — that I would come back and tell you something 
 that was passing in my mind. Can you guess it ?" 
 
 " No ; except it be that you. are sorry for having trifled so unfeel- 
 ingly with my hopes, and have come back to make the best repara- 
 tion in your power, asking me to forgive and accept you." 
 
 " Tou have guessed aright ; it was for that I returned." 
 
 " What a clever guess I made ! Confess I am very ready- vritted !" 
 
 " You are ; and it is to engage those ready wits in my behalf that 
 I am now before you." 
 
 " At my feet, Sir, is the appropriate expression. I wonder how a 
 gentleman so suited to be the hero of a story could forget the lan- 
 guage of the novel." 
 
 " I want you to be serious," said he, almost sternly. 
 
 " And why should that provoke seriousness from me which only 
 costs yoM levity ?" 
 
 " Levity ! — where is the levity ?" 
 
 " Is it not this instant that you flung a shilling in the air, and 
 cried out, as you looked on it, ' She has won ?' Is it not that you 
 asked Chance to decide for you what most men are led to by their 
 affections, or at least their interests ; and if so, is levity not the name 
 for this ?" 
 
 " True in part, but not in whole ; for I felt it was I who had won 
 when ' head' came uppermost." 
 
 " And yet you have lost." 
 
BAHKIlSfGTOJir. 351 
 
 " How so ! Toil refuse me ?" 
 
 " I forgive your astonishment. It is really strange, but I do refuse 
 you." 
 
 " But why ? Are you piqued with me for anything that occurred 
 this morning ? Have I offended you by anything that dropped from 
 me in tbat conversation ? Tell me frankly, that I may, if in my power, 
 rectify it." 
 
 " No ; I rather felt flattered at the notion of being consulted. I 
 thought it a great tribute to ray clear-headedness and my tact." 
 
 " Then tell me what it was." 
 
 " You really wish it ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Insist upon it ?" 
 
 " I insist upon it." 
 
 " "Well, it was this. Seeing that you were entrusting your future 
 fortune to. Chance, I thought that I would do the same ; and so I 
 tossed up whether, opportunity serving, 1 should accept you or a cer- 
 tain other, and the other won!" 
 
 " May I ask for the name of my fortunate rival ?" 
 
 " I don't think it is very fair, perhaps not altogether delicate of 
 you ; and the more since he has not proposed, nor possibly ever may. 
 But no matter, you shall bear his name. It was Major M'Oor- 
 mick." 
 
 " M'Cormick ! Tou mean this for insult to me, Miss Dill ?" 
 
 " Well, it certainly is open to that objection," said she, with a 
 very slight closure of her eyes, and a look of steady, resolute de- 
 fiance. 
 
 " And in this way," continued he, "to throw ridicule over the offer 
 I have made you ?" 
 
 " Scarcely that ; the proposition was in itself too ridiculous to re- 
 quire any such aid from me." 
 
 For a moment Stapylton lost his self-possession, and be turned on 
 her with a look of savage malignity. 
 
 " An insult, and an intentional insult !" said he ; "a bold thing to 
 avow." 
 
 " I don't think so. Major Stapylton. "We have been playing a very 
 rough game with each other, and it is not very wonderful if each of us 
 should have to complain of bard treatment." 
 
 " Could not so very clever a person as Miss Dill perceive that I 
 was only jesting ?" said he, with a cutting insolence in his tone. 
 
 "I assure you that I did not," said she, calmly; "had I known, 
 
352 BABEINGTON. 
 
 or even suspected it was a jest, I never should have been angry. That 
 the distinguished Major Stapylton should mock and quiz — or ^Yhat- 
 ever be the name for it — the Doctor's daughter, however question- 
 able the good taste, was, after all, only a passing slight. The thought 
 of asking her to marry him was different — that was an outrage !" 
 
 " Tou shall pay for this one day, perhaps," said he, biting his 
 lip. 
 
 ". Wo, Major Stapylton," said she, laughing ; " this is not a debt 
 of honour ; you can afford to ignore it." 
 
 " I tell you again, you shall pay for'it." 
 
 " Till then, Sir !" said she, with a curtSey ; and without giving 
 him time for another word, she turned and re-entered the house. 
 
 Scarcely had Stapylton gained the road than he was joined by 
 M'Cormick. " Faith, you didn't get the best of that brush, anyhow," 
 said he, with a grin. 
 
 " "What do you mean. Sir ?" replied Stapylton, savagely. 
 
 " I mean that I heard every word that passed between you, and 
 I wouldn't have been standing in' your shoes for a fifty-pound 
 note." 
 
 "How. is your rheumatism this morning?" asked Stapylton, 
 blandly. 
 
 " Pretty much as it always is," croaked out the other. 
 
 " Be thankful to it, then, for if you were not a cripple, I'd throw 
 you into that river as sure as I stand here to say it." 
 
 Major M'Cormick did not wait for a less merciful moment, but 
 hobbled away from the spot with all the speed he could muster. 
 
^y//e:<^yM^^/y'. ^«^^^^/^■>'^^^:;5^ 
 
BAKBINGTOlf. 353 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIV. 
 
 When Stapylton stepped out of tis boat and landed at " The 
 Home," the first person he saw was certainly the last in his wishes. 
 It was Miss Dinah, who stood at the jetty as though awaiting him. 
 Scarcely deigning to notice, beyond a faint smile of acquiescence, the 
 somewhat bungling explanation he gave of his absence, she asked if 
 he had not met her brother ? 
 
 " No," said he. " I left the village a couple of hours ago ; rather 
 loitering aa I came along, to enjoy the river scenery." 
 
 " He took the road, and in this way missed you," said she, dryly. 
 
 " How unfortunate ! for me, I mean, of course. I own to you. Miss 
 Barrington, wide as the difference between our ages, I never yet met 
 any one so thoroughly companionable to me as your brother. To 
 meet a man so consummately acquainted with the world, and yet not 
 soured by his knowledge ; to see the ripe wisdom of age blended with 
 the generous warmth of youth ; to find one whose experiences only 
 make him more patient, more forgiving, more trustful " 
 
 " Too trustful. Major Stapylton ; far too trustful." And her bold 
 grey eyes were turned upon him as she spoke with a significance that 
 could not be mistaken. 
 
 " It is a noble feeling. Madam," said he, haughtily. 
 
 " It is a great misfortune to its possessor, Sir." 
 
 " Can we deem that misfortune, Miss Barrington, which enlarges 
 the charity of our natures,^ and teaches us to be slow to think ill ?" 
 
 Not paying the slightest attention to his question, she said, 
 
 " My brother went in search of you. Sir, to place in your hands 
 some very urgent letters from the Horse Guards, and which a special 
 messenger brought here this morning." 
 
 " Truly kind of him. They relate, I have no doubt, to my Indian 
 appointment. They told me I should have news by to-day or to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " He received a letter also for himself. Sir, which he desired to 
 show you." 
 
 " About his lawsuit, of course ? It is alike a pleasure and a duty 
 to me to serve him in that afiair." 
 
 2a 
 
354 BAEHINGTON. 
 
 " It more nearly concerns yourself, Sir," said she, in the same cold, 
 stern tone ; " though it has certainly its bearing, on the case you 
 speak of." 
 
 " More nearly concerns myself !" said he, repeating her words 
 slowly. " I am about the worst guesser of a riddle in the world. 
 Miss Barrington. Would you kindly relieye my curiosity ? Is 
 this letter a continuation of those cowardly attacks, which, in the 
 want of a worthier theme, the Press have amused themselves by 
 making upon' me ? Is it possible that some enemy has had the 
 malice to attack me through my friends ?" 
 
 " The writer of the letter in question is a sufficienb guarantee for 
 its honour — Mr. "Withering.'' 
 
 " Mr. "Withering!" repeated he, with a start, and then, as suddenly 
 assuming an easy smile, added : "I am perfectly tranquil to find 
 myself in such hands as Mr. "Withering's. And what, pray, does he 
 say of me ?" 
 
 " Will you excuse me, Major Stapylton, if I do not enter upon a 
 subject on which I am not merely very imperfectly informed, but on 
 which so humble a judgment as mine would be valueless ? My 
 brother showed me the letter very hurriedly ; I had but time to see to 
 what it referred, and to be aware that it was his duly to let you see 
 it at once— if possible, indeed, before you were again under his 
 roof." 
 
 "What a grave significance your words have, Miss Barrington," 
 said he, with a cold smile. " They actually set me to think over all 
 my faults and failings, and wonder for which of them I am now 
 arraigned." 
 
 " We do not profess to judge you. Sir." 
 
 By this time they had sauntered up to the little garden in front of 
 the cottage, within the paling of which Josephine was busily engaged 
 in training a japonica. She arose as she heard the voices, and, in her 
 accustomed tone, wished Stapylton good evening. "She, at least, 
 has heard nothing of all this," muttered he to himself, as he saluted 
 her. He then opened the little wicket, and Miss Barrington passed 
 in, acknowledging his attention by a short nod, as she walked hastily 
 forward and entered the cottage. Instead of following her, Stapylton 
 closed the wicket again, remaining on the outside, and leaning his 
 arm on the upper rail. 
 
 " Why do you perform sentry ? Are you not free to enter the 
 fortress ?" said Fifine. 
 
 " I half suspect not," said he, in a low tone, and to hear which, she 
 was obliged to draw nigher to where he stood; 
 
BAHEINGTOIf. 355 
 
 " What do you mean ? I don't understand you !" 
 
 " No great wonder, for I don't understand' myself. Tour aunt 
 has, however, in her own most mysterious way, given me to be- 
 lieve that somebody has written something about me to some- 
 body else, and until I clear up what in all probability I shall never 
 hear, that I had better keep to what the Scotch call the 'back o' the 
 gate.' " 
 
 " This is quite unintelligible." 
 
 " I hope it is, for it is almost unendurable. I am sorely afraid," 
 added he, after a minute, " that I am not so patient as I ought to be 
 under MissBarrington's strictures. I am so much more in the habit 
 of command than of obedience, that I may forget myself now and 
 then. To you, however, I am ready to submit all my past life and 
 conduct. By you I am willing to be judged. If these cruel calum- 
 nies which are going, the round of the papers on me have lowered me 
 in your estimation, my case is a lost one ; but if, as I love to think, 
 your woman's heart resents an injustice — if, taking counsel of your 
 courage and your generosity, you feel it is not the time to withdraw 
 esteem when the dark hour of adversity looms over a man — thenj I 
 care no more for these slanders than for the veriest trifles which cross 
 one's every-day life. In one word — your verdict is Ufa or death to 
 me." 
 
 " In that case," said she, with an effort to dispel the seriousness 
 of his manner, " I must have time to consider my sentence." 
 
 " But that is exactly what you cannot have, Josephine," said 
 he ; and there was a certain earnestness in his voice and look, which 
 made her hear him call her by her name without any sense of being 
 offended. " Pirst relieve the suffering — there will be ample leisure 
 to question the sufferer afterwards. The Good Samaritan wasted few 
 words, and asked for no time. The noblest services are those of 
 which the cost is never calculated. Tour own heart can tell you : 
 can you befriend me, and will you ?" 
 
 " I do not know what it is you ask of me," said she, with a frank 
 boldness which actiially disconcerted him. " Tell me distinctly, what 
 is it?" 
 
 " I will tell you," said he, taking her hand, but so gently, so re- 
 spectfully withal, that she did not at first withdraw it. " I will tell you. 
 It is that you will share that fate on which fortune is now frown- 
 ing — that you will add your own high-couraged heart to that of one 
 who never knew a fear till now — that you will accept my lot in this 
 the day of my reverse, and enable me to turn upon my pursuers 
 and scatter them. To-morrow or next day will be too late. It is 
 
 2 a2 ^ 
 
356 BAEEINQTOir. 
 
 now, at this hour, that friends hold back, that one more than, friend 
 is needed. Can you be that, Josephine ?" 
 
 " No !" said she, firmly. " If I read your meaning aright, I 
 cannot." 
 
 " Tou cannot love me, Josephine," said he, in a voice of intense 
 emotion ; and though he waited some time for her to speak, she was 
 ^ silent. " It is true, then," said he, passionately, " the slanderers have 
 done their work !" 
 
 " I know nothing of these calumnies. "When my grandfather told 
 me that they accused you falsely, and condemned you unfairly, I 
 believed him. I am as ready as ever to say so. I do not under- 
 stand your cause ; but I believe you to be a true and gallant gentle- 
 man !" 
 
 " But yet, not one to love!" whispered he, faintly. 
 
 Again she was silent, and for some time he did not speak. 
 
 " A true and gallant gentleman !" said he, slowly repeating her 
 own words ; " and if so, is it an unsafe keeping to which to entrust 
 your happiness ? It is no graceful task to have oneself for a theme ; 
 but I cannot help it. I have no witnesses to call to character ; a few 
 brief lines in an army list, and some scars — old reminders of French 
 sabres — are poor certificates, and yet I have no others." 
 
 There was something which touched her in the sadness of his 
 tone as he said these words, and if she knew how, she would have 
 spoken to him in kindliness. He mistook the struggle for a change of 
 purpose, and with greater eagerness continued : " After all, I am 
 scarcely more alone in the world than you are ! The dear friends 
 who now surround you cannot be long spared, and what isolation 
 will be your fat_e then ! Think of this, and think, too, how in assur- 
 ing your own future, you rescue mine." 
 
 Very differently from his former speech did the present affect 
 her ; and her cheeks glowed and her eyes flashed as she said, " I have 
 never entrusted my fate to your keeping, Sir ; and you may spare 
 yourself all anxiety about it." 
 
 " Tou mistake me. Tou wrong me, Josephine " 
 
 " Tou wrong yourself, when you call me by my christian name ; 
 and you arm me with distrust of one who would presume upon an 
 interest he has not created." 
 
 " Tou refuse me, then ?" said he, slowly and calmly. 
 
 " Once, and for ever!" 
 
 " It may be that you are mistaken, Miss Harrington. It may be 
 that this other affection, which you prefer to mine, is but the sickly 
 sentiment of a foolish boy, whose life up to this has not given one 
 
BABEINGTON. 357 
 
 single guarantee, nor sliown one solitary trait, of those which make 
 ' true and gallant gentlemen.' But you have made your choice." 
 
 " I have," said she, with a low but firm voice. 
 
 "You acknowledge, tlien, that I was right," cried he, suddenly; 
 " there is a prior attachment ? Your heart is not your own to give ?" 
 
 " And by what right do you presume to question me ? Who are 
 you, that dares to do this ?" 
 
 " Who am I ?" cried he, and for once his voice rose to the discor- 
 dant ring of passion. 
 
 " Yes, that was my question," repeated she, firmly. 
 
 " So, then, you have had your lesson, young lady," said he ; and 
 the words came from him with a hissing sound, that indicated intense 
 anger. " Who am I ? You want my birth, my parentage, my 
 bringing up ! Had you no friend who could have asked this in your 
 stead ? Or were all those around you so bereft of courage that 
 they deputed to a young girl what should have been the office of 
 a man ?" 
 
 Though the savage earnestness of his manner startled, it did not 
 affright her ; and it was with a cold quietness she said : " If you had 
 known my father. Major Stapylton, I suspect you would not have 
 accused his daughter of cowardice !" 
 
 " Was he so very terrible ?" said he, with a smile that was half a 
 sneer. 
 
 " He would have been, to a man like you." 
 
 " To a man like me — a man like me ! Do you know, young lady, that 
 either your words are very idle words, or very offensive ones ?" 
 
 " And yet, I have no wish to recal them. Sir." 
 
 " It would be better you could find some one to sustain them. 
 Unfortunately, however, you cannot ask that gallant gentleman we 
 were just talking of; for it is only the other day, and after passing 
 over to Calais to meet me, his friends pretend that there is some 
 obstacle to our meeting. I owe my tailor or my bootmaker some- 
 thing; or I have not paid my subscription to a club; or I have left 
 an unsettled bill at Baden. I really forget the precise pretext ; but 
 it was one which, to them, seemed quite sufficient to balk me of a 
 redress, and at the same time to shelter their friend." 
 
 " I will not believe one word of it. Sir !" 
 
 " Well, we have at least arrived at a perfect frankness in our in- 
 tercourse. May I ask you, young lady, which of your relatives has 
 suggested your present course ? Is it to your aunt or to your grand- 
 father I must go for an explanation ?" 
 
 " I suspect it is to me, Major Stapylton," said Barrington, as he 
 
358 BAEEINGHOK. 
 
 came from behind Josephine. It is to me you must address your- 
 self. Kfine, my dear, your aunt is looking for you ; go and tell her, 
 too, that I am quite ready for tea, and you will find me here when it 
 is ready. Major Stapylton and I will take a stroll along the river- 
 side." Now this last was less an invitation than a sort of significant 
 hint to Stapylton, that his host had no intention to ask him to cross 
 his threshold, at least for the present ; and, indeed, as Barrington 
 passed out and closed the wicket after him, he seemed as though 
 closing the entrance for ever. 
 
 With a manner far more assured than his wont, Barrington 
 said : " I have been in pursuit of you, Major Stapylton, since four 
 o'clock. I missed you by having taken the road instead of the river ; 
 and am much grieved that tl)e communication I have to make you 
 should not take place anywhere rather than near my own roof, or 
 within my own gates." 
 
 " I am to suppose from your words, Sir, that what you ar6 about 
 to say can scarcely be said to a friend. And if so, cannot you hit 
 upon a more convenient mode of making your communication?" 
 
 " I think not. I believe that I shall be dealing more fairly with 
 you by saying what I have to say in person." 
 
 " Go on," said Stapylton, calmly, as the other paused. 
 
 " You are aware," continued Barrington, "that the chief obstacle 
 to a settlement of the claims I have long preferred against the India 
 Company has been a certain document which they possess, declaring 
 that a large portion of the territory held by the Rajah of Luckerabad 
 was not amenable to the laws that regulate succession, being what 
 is called ' Lurkar-teea'— conquered country — over which, under no 
 circumstances, could the Bajah exercise prospective rights. To this 
 deed, for their better protection, the Company obtained the signature 
 and seal of the Eajah himself, by means which, of course, we could 
 never discover ; but they held it, and always declared that no portion 
 of my son's claim could extend to these lands. Now, as they denied 
 that he could succeed to what are called the ' Turban lands,' meaning 
 the right of sovereignty — being a British subject on the one hand, 
 and rejected his claim to these conquered countries on the other^- 
 they excluded him altogether." 
 
 " My dear Sir," said Stapylton, mildly, " I'm shocked to interrupt 
 you, but I am forced to ask, what is the intimate bearing of all this 
 upon me, or on your position towards me ?" 
 
 " Have a little patience, Sir, and suifer me to proceed. If it should 
 turn out that this document — I mean that which bears the signature 
 and seal of the Eajah^ — should be a forgery ; if, I say, it could be showa 
 
BAEKINGTOJr. 359 
 
 that what the India Board have long relied on to sustain their case 
 and corroborate their own view could be proved false, a great poiat 
 would be gained towards the establishment of our claim." 
 
 " Doubtless," said Stapylton, with the half-peevish indifference of 
 one listening against his will. 
 
 " Well, there is a good prospect of this," said Barrington, boldly. 
 " Nay, more, it is a certainty." 
 
 " Mr. Barrington," said Stapylton, drawing himself haughtily up, 
 " a few hours ago this history would have had a very great interest 
 for me. My hopes pointed to a very close relatiouship with your 
 family ; the last hour has sufficed to dispel those hopes. Tour grand- 
 daughter has rejected me so decidedly, that I cannot presume to sup- 
 pose a change in her opinion possible. Let me not, then, obtain any 
 share in your confidence to which I have no right whatever." 
 
 " What I am about to say will have more interest for you, Sir," 
 continued Barrington. " I am about to mention a name that you 
 will recognise — ^the Moonshee, Ali Gohur." 
 
 Stapylton started, and dropped the cigar he was smoking. To 
 take out another and light it, however, sufficed to employ him, as he 
 murmured between his teeth, " Go on." 
 
 " This man says " continued Barrington. 
 
 " Said, perhaps, if you like," broke in Stapylton, " for he died some 
 months ago. 
 
 "No; he is alive at this hour. He was on board the Indiaman that 
 was run down by the transport. He was saved, and carried on board 
 the Regulus by the intrepidity of young DiU. He is now recovering 
 rapidly from the injuries he received, and at the date of the letter 
 which I hold here, was able to be in daily communication with 
 Colonel Hunter, who is the writer of this." 
 
 " I wish the gallant Colonel honester company. Are you aware, 
 Mr. Barrington, that you are speaking of one of the greatest rascals 
 of a country not famed for its integrity ?" 
 
 " He lays no claim to such for the past ; but he would seem 
 desirous to make some reparation for a long course of iniquity." 
 
 " Charmed for his sake, and that of his well-wishers, if he have any. 
 But, once again. Sir, and at all the risk of appearing very impatient, 
 what concern has all this for me ?" 
 
 " A great deal, Sir. The Moonshee declares that he has beea for 
 years back in close correspondence with a man we long since believed 
 dead, and that this man was known ;to have communicated constantly 
 with the law advisers of the India Board in a manner adverse to us, 
 he being no other than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes, 
 
360 BAEEESr&TOlf. 
 
 whom lie always addressed under cover to Captain Horace Sbapylton, 
 Prince's Hussars." 
 
 " This is — strange enough, when one thinks of the quarter it comes 
 from — perfectly true. I came to know Edwardes when on my voyage 
 home, invalided. He took immense trouble about me, nursed and 
 tended me, and, in return, asked as a favour to have some letters 
 he was expecting addressed to my care. I neither knew who he 
 was, nor cared. He got his letters, and, I suppose, read them ; but 
 of their contents, I, it is needless to say, know nothing. I am speak- 
 ing of a dozen years ago, or at least eight or ten, for since that time 
 I have never heard of either Edwardes or his friend." 
 
 " He tells a different story. He asserts tliat to his letters, for- 
 warded to the same address up to the period of last March, he regu- 
 larly received replies ; but at last, finding that the writer was disposed 
 to get rid of him, he obtained means to circulate a report of his 
 death, and sailed for Europe to prefer his claims, whatever they be, 
 in person." 
 
 " And if every word of this were true, Mr. Barrington, which I 
 don't suspect it is, how, in the name of common sense, does it concern 
 me ? I don't suppose I ever took my own letters at a post-office 
 twice in my life. My servant, who has lived with me fourteen years, 
 may, for aught I know, have been bribed to abstract these letters on 
 their arrival ; they would be easily recognised by the very superscrip- 
 tion. This is one way the thing might have been done. There may 
 have been fifty more, for aught I know or care." 
 
 " But you don't deny that you knew Edwardes, and had a close 
 intimacy with him ? — a circumstance which you never revealed to 
 Withering or myself." 
 
 " It is not at all improbable I may have known half a dozen of that 
 name. It is by no means an uncommon one, not to say that I have 
 a singularly infelicitous memory for people's names. But for the last 
 time, Sir, I must protest against this conversation going any further. 
 Ton have taken upon you, I would hope without intending it, the 
 tone of a Erench Juge d'Instruction in the interrogation of a pri- 
 soner. Tou have questioned and cross-questioned me, asking how I 
 can account for this, or explain that. Now, I am ready to concede a 
 great deal to your position as my host, and to your years, but really 
 I must entreat of you not to push my deference for these beyond the 
 limits of the respect I owe myself. You very properly warned me at 
 the opening of this conversation that it ought not to have the sanc- 
 tion of your roof-tree, I have only to beg, that if it is to go any fur- 
 
BABEINGTOW. 361 
 
 ther, that it be conducted in sucli a shape as is usual between gentle- 
 men who liave an explanation to ask, or a satisfaction to demand." 
 
 There was consummate craft in giving the discussion this turn. 
 Stapylton well knew the nature of the man he was addressing, and 
 that after the passing allusion to his character as a host, he only 
 needed to hint at the possibility of a meeting to recal him to a degree 
 of respect only short of deference for his opponent. 
 
 " I defer to you at once. Major Stapylton," said the old man, with 
 a hland courtesy, as he uncovered and bowed. " There was a time 
 when I should scarcely have required the admonition you have given 
 me." 
 
 " I am glad to perceive that you understand me so readily," said 
 Stapylton, who could scarcely repress the joy he felt at the success 
 of his diversion ; " and that nothing may mar our future understanding, 
 this is ray address in London, where I shall await your orders for a 
 week." 
 
 Though the stroke was shrewdly intended, and meant to throw 
 upon Barrington all the onus of the provocation, the Major little sus- 
 pected that this was the one solitary subject of which his opponent 
 was a master. On the " duello" Barrington was an authority beyond 
 appeal, and no subtlety, however well contrived, could embarrass or 
 involve him. 
 
 " I have no satisfaction to claim at your hands. Major Stapylton," 
 said he, calmly. " My friend, Mr. "Withering, when he sent me 
 these letters, knew you were my guest, and he said, ' Read them to 
 Major Stapylton. Let him know what is said of him, and who says 
 it.' " 
 
 " And, perhaps, you ought to add. Sir, who gives it the sanction of 
 his belief," broke in Stapylton, angrily. " You never took the trouble 
 to recite these charges till they obtained your credence." 
 
 " Tou have said nothing to disprove them," said the old man, 
 quickly. 
 
 " That is enough, quite enough. Sir; we understand each other 
 perfectly. Tou allege certain things against me as injuries done 
 you, and you wait for me to resent the imputation. I'll not balk 
 you, be assured of it. The address I have given you in London will 
 enable you to communicate with me when you arrive there ; for I pre- 
 sume this matter had better be settled in Prance or Holland." 
 
 " I think so," said Barrington, with the air of a man thoroughly at 
 his ease. 
 
 " \ need not say, Mr. Barrington, the regret it gives me that it was 
 
362 BAREIirGTOK. 
 
 not one of ray detractors himself, and not their dupe, that should 
 occupy this place." 
 
 " The dupe, Sir, is very much at your service." 
 
 " Till we meet again," said Stapylton, raising his hat as he turned 
 away. In his haste, and the confusion of the moment, he took the 
 path that led towards the cottage ; nor did he discover his mistake 
 till he heard Barrington's voice calling out to Darby : 
 
 " G-et the boat ready to take Major Stapylton to Inistioge." 
 
 " Xou forget none of the precepts of hospitality," said Stapylton, 
 wheeling hastily around, and directing his steps towards the river. 
 
 Barrington looked after him as he went, and probably in his long 
 and varied life, crossed with many a care and many troubles, he had 
 never felt the pain of such severe self-reproach as in that moment. 
 To see his guest, the man who had sat at his board and eaten his salt, 
 going out into the dreary night without one hospitable effort to detain 
 him, without a pledge to his health, without a warm shake of his 
 hand, or one hearty wish for his return. 
 
 " Dear, dear !" muttered he to himself, " what is the world come 
 to ! I thought I had no more experiences to learn of suffering ; but 
 here is a new one. "Who would have thought to see the day that 
 Peter Barrington would treat his guest this fashion ?" 
 
 " Are you coming in to tea, grandpapa ?" cried Josephine, from the 
 garden. 
 
 " Here I am, my dear !" 
 
 " And your guest, Peter, what has become of him ?" said Dinah. 
 
 " He had some very urgent business at Kilkenny ; something 
 that could not admit of delay, I opine." 
 
 " But you have not let him go without liis letters, surely. Here 
 are aU these formidable-looking despatches, on His Majesty's Service, 
 on the chimney-piece." 
 
 " How forgetful of me !" cried he, as, snatching them up, he has- 
 tened down to the river-side. The boat, however, had just gone; and 
 although he shouted and called at the .top. of his voice, no answer 
 came, and he turned back at last, vexed and disappointed. 
 
 " I shall have to start for Dublin to-morrow, Dinah," said he, as 
 he walked thoughtfully up and down the room. " I must have "Wi- 
 thering's advice on these letters. There are very pressing matters to 
 be thought of here, and lean take Major Stapylton's despatches with 
 me. I am certain to hear of him somewhere." 
 
 Miss Barrington turned her eyes full upon him, and watched him 
 narrowly. She was a keen detector of motives, and she scanned her 
 
BAHMirGTOH'. 
 
 363 
 
 brother's face witli no common keenness, and yet she could see no- 
 thing beyond the preoccupation she had often seen. There was no 
 impatience, no anxiety. A shade more thoughtful, perhaps, and even 
 that passed off, as he sat down to his tea, and asked Tifine what com- 
 missions she had for the capital. 
 
 " You will leave by the evening mail, I suppose ?" said Miss Bar- 
 rington. 
 
 " No, Dinah, »night travelling wearies me. I will take the coach as 
 it passes the gate to-morrow at five ; this will bring me in time to 
 catch "Withering at his late dinner, and a pleasanter way to finish a 
 day's travel no man need ask for." 
 
 Ifothing could be more easily spoken than these words, and Miss 
 Dinah felt reassured by them, and left the room to give some orders 
 about his journey. 
 
 " Fifine, darling," said Barrington, after a pause, " do you like your 
 life here ?" 
 
 " Of course I do, grandpapa. How could I wish for one more 
 
 " But it is somewhat dull for one so young — somewhat solitary for 
 a fair, bright creature, who might reasonably enough care for pleasure 
 and the world." 
 
 " To me it is a round of gaiety, grandpapa ; so that I almost felt 
 inclined yesterday to wish for some quiet days with aunt and your- 
 self—some of those dreamy days like what we had in Germany." 
 
 " I fear me much, darling, that I contribute but little to the plea- 
 sure. My head is so full of one care or another, I am but sorry 
 company, Fifine." 
 
 " If you only knew how dull we are without you ! How heavily 
 the day drags on even with the occupations you take no share in; 
 how we miss your steps on the stairs and your voice in the garden, 
 and that merry laugh that sets ourselves a laughing just by its own 
 ring." 
 
 " And you would miss me, then ?" said he, as he pushed the hair 
 from her temples, and stared steadfastly at her face—" you would 
 miss me ?" 
 
 " It would only be half life without you," cried she, passionately. 
 
 " So much the worse-^so much the worse !" muttered he ; and he 
 turned away, and drew his hand across his eyes. " This life of 
 ours, Fifine, is a huge battle-field, and though the comrades fall fast 
 around him, the brave soldier will fight on to the last." 
 
 " You don't want a dress-coat, brother Peter, to dine with "Wi- 
 
364 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 thering, so I have just put up what will serve you for three days, or 
 four, at furthest," said Dinah, entering. " What will be tlie extent 
 of your stay?" , 
 
 " Let me have a black coat, Dinah ; there's no saying what great 
 man may not ask for my company ; and it might be a week before I 
 get back again." 
 
 " There's no necessity it should be anything of the kind, Peter ; 
 and with your habits an hotel life is scarcely an economy. Come, 
 Pifine, get to bed, child. You'll have to be up at daybreak. Tour 
 grandpapa won't think his coifee drinkable, if it is not made by your 
 hands." 
 
 And with this remark, beautifully balanced between a reproof and 
 a flattery, she proceeded to blow out the candles, which was her accus- 
 tomed mode of sending her company to their rooms. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLV. 
 
 THE OLD LEAVEN. 
 
 WiTHEEiNG arrived at his own door just as Barrington drove up 
 to it. " I knew my letter would bring you up to town, Barrington," 
 said he ; " and I was so sure of it, that I ordered a saddle of mutton 
 for your dinner, and refused an invitation tojthe Chancellor's." 
 
 " And quite right, too. I am far better company, Tom. Are we 
 to be all alone ?" 
 
 " All alone." 
 
 " That was exactly what I wanted. Now, as I need a long evening 
 with you, the sooner they serve the soup the better ; and be sure you 
 give your orders that nobody be admitted." 
 
 If Mr. Withering's venerable butler, an official long versed in the 
 mysteries of his office, were to have been questioned on the subject, 
 it is not improbable he would have declared that he never assisted at 
 a pleasanter ^e^e-d-^e^e than that day's dinner. They enjoyed^ their 
 good dinner and their good wine like men who bring to the enjoy- 
 ment a ripe experience of such pleasures, and they talked with the 
 rare zest of good talkers and old friends. 
 
 " We are in favour with Nicholas," said Withering, as the butler 
 
BAKEINGTON. 305 
 
 withdrew, and left them alone, " or he would never have given us that 
 bottle of port. Do you mark, Barrington, it's the green seal that 
 John Bushe hegged so hard for one night, and all unsuccessfully." 
 
 " It is rare stuff!" said Barrington, looking at it betweea him and 
 the light. 
 
 " And it was that story of yours of the Kerry election that won 
 it. The old feUow had to rush out of the room to have his laugh 
 out." 
 
 " Do you know, Tom," said Barrington, as he sipped his wine, " I 
 believe, in another generation, nobody will laugh at all. Since you 
 and I were boys, the world has taken a very serious turn. Not that 
 it is much wiser, or better, or more moral, or more cultivated, but it 
 is graver. The old jollity would be now set down simply for vul- 
 garity, and with many people a joke is only short of an insult." 
 
 " Shall I tell you why, Peter ? We got our reputation for wit, 
 just as we made our name for manufacture, and there sprung up a 
 mass of impostors in consequence — fellows who made poor jokes and 
 rotten calicoes, that so disgusted the world, that people have gone to 
 France for their fun, and to Germany for their furniture. That is, 
 to my taking, the reason of all this social reaction." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Tom. Old Joe Millers are not unlike 
 cloth made out of devil's dust. One can't expect much wear out of 
 either." 
 
 " We must secure another bottle from that bin before Nicholas 
 changes his mind," said Withering, rising to ring the bell. 
 
 " No, Tom, not for me. I want all the calm and all the judgment 
 I can muster, and don't ask me to take more wine. I have much to 
 say to you." 
 
 " Of course you have. I knew well that packet of letters would bring 
 you up to town ; but you have had scarcely time to read them." 
 
 " Very hurriedly, I confess. They reached me yesterday afternoon ; 
 and when I had run my eyes hastily over them, I said, ' Stapylton 
 must see this at once.' The man was my guest — he was under my 
 roof — there could not be a question about how to deal with him. 
 He was out, however, when the packet reached my hands, and while 
 the pony was being harnessed, I took another look over that letter 
 from Colonel Hunter. It shocked me, Tom, I confess ; because 
 there flashed upon me quite suddenly the recollection of the prompti- 
 tude with which the India Board at home here were provided with 
 an answer to each demand we made. It was not merely that when 
 we had advanced a step they met us ; but we could scarcely meditate 
 a move that they were not in activity to repel it." 
 
366 BAEEIITGTON. 
 
 " I saw fhat, too, and was struck By it," said Withering. 
 " True enough, Tom. I remember a remark of yours one day. 
 ' These people,' said you, ' Lave our range so accurately, one would 
 suspect they had stepped the ground.' " The lawyer smiled at the 
 compliment to his acuteness, and the other went on : " As I read 
 further, I thought Stapylton had been betrayed— his correspondent 
 in India had shown his letters. 'Our enemies,' said I, 'have seen 
 our despatches, and are playing with our cards on the table.' No 
 tttought of distrust — not a suspicion against his loyalty had ever 
 crossed me till I met him. I came unexpectedly upon himj however, 
 before the door, and there was a ring and a resonance in his voice as 
 1 came up that startled me ! Passioa forgets to shut the door 
 sometimes, and one can see in an angry mind what you never sus- 
 pected in the calm one. I took him up at once, without suffering 
 him to recover his composure, and read him a part of Hunter's letter. 
 He was ready enough with his reply ; he knew the Moonshee by re- 
 putation as a man of the worst character, but had suffered him to 
 address certain letters under cover to him, as a convenience to the 
 person they were meant for, and who was no- other than the son of 
 the notorious Sam Edwardes. ' "Whom you have known all thia 
 while,' said I, ' without ever acknowledging to us ?' 
 
 " ' "Whom I did know some years back,' replied he, ' but never 
 thought of connecting with the name of Colonel Barrington's enemy.' 
 AH this was possible enough, Tom ; besides, his manner was fi-ank 
 and open in the extreme. It was only at last, as I dwelt, what he 
 deemed too pertinaciouslj', on this point, that he suddenly lost control 
 of himself, and said, ' I will have no more of this' — or, ' This must go 
 no further' — or some words to that effect." 
 
 " Ha ! the probe had touched the sore spot, eh ?" cried "Withering. 
 " Go on !" 
 
 " ' And if you desire further explanations from me, you must ask 
 for them at the price men pay for inflicting unmerited insult.' " 
 
 " Cleverly turned — cleverly done," said Withering ; " but you 
 were not to be deceived and drawn off by that feint, eh ?" 
 
 " Peint or not, it succeeded, Tom. He made me feel that I had 
 injured him, and as he would not accept of my excuses — as, in fact, 
 he did not give me time to make them " 
 
 " He got you into a quarrel, isn't that the truth ?" asked Wither- 
 ing, hotly. 
 
 " Come, come, Tom, be reasonable ; he had perfect right on his 
 side. There was what he felt as a very grave imputation upon him • 
 that is, I had made a charge, and his explanation had not satisfied 
 
BAEEINGTON. 367 
 
 me — or, at all events, I had not said I was satisfied — and we each, of 
 UB, I take it, were somewhat warmer than we need have been." 
 
 " And you are going to meet him — going to fight a duel ?" 
 
 " Well, if I am, it will not be the first time," 
 
 " And can you tell for what ? Will you be able to make any 
 man of common intelligence understand for what you are going 
 out ?" 
 
 " I hope so. I have the man in my eye. No, no, don't make a 
 wry face, Tom. It's another old friend I was thinking of to help me 
 through this afiair, and I sincerely trust he will not be so hard to 
 instruct as you imagine." 
 
 " How old are you, Barrington ?" 
 
 " Dinah says eighty-one ; but I suspect she cheats me. I think I 
 am eighty-three." 
 
 " And is it at eighty-three that men fight duels ?" 
 
 " Not if they can help it, Tom, certainly. I have never been out 
 since I shot Tom Connelly in the knee, which was a matter of forty 
 years ago, and I had good hopes.it was to be my last exploit of this 
 kind. But what is to be done if a man tells you that your age is 
 your protection; that if it had not been for your white hairs and your 
 shaking ankles, that he'd have resented your conduct or your words 
 to him ? Eaith, I think it puts a fellow on his mettle to show that 
 his heart is all right, though his hand* may tremble." 
 
 " I'll not take any share in such a folly; I tell you, Barrington, 
 the world for whom you are doing this will be the very first to scout 
 its absurdity. Just remember for a- moment we are not living in the 
 old days before the Union, and we have not the right, -if we had the 
 power, to throw our age back into the barbarism it has escaped 
 from." 
 
 " Barbarism ! The days of poor Telverton, and Ponsonby, and 
 Harry Gtattan, and Parsons, and Ned tysaght, barbarism ! Ah ! 
 my dear Tom, I wish we had a few of such barbarians here now, and 
 I'd ask for another bottle or two of that port." 
 
 " I'll not give it a milder word ; and what's more, I'll not sufier 
 you to tarnish a time-honoured name by a folly which even a boy 
 would be blamed for. My dear old friend, just grant me a little 
 patience." 
 
 " This is cool, certainly," said Barrington, laughing. " Tou have 
 said aU manner of outrageous things to me for half an hour unop- 
 posed, and now you cry, have patience." 
 
 " Give me your honour now that this shall not go farther." 
 
 " I cannot, Tom — I assure you, I cannot." 
 
368 BAEMsraTON. 
 
 " What do you mean by, you cannot ?" cried Withering, angrily. 
 
 " I mean just what I said. If you had accepted a man's brief, 
 Tom Withering, there is a professional etiquette which would pre- 
 vent your giving it up and abandoning him ; and so there are situa- 
 tions between men of the world which claim exactly as rigid an 
 observance. I told Stapylton I would be at his orders, and I mean 
 to keep my word." 
 
 " Not, if you had no right to pledge it ; not, if I can prove to you 
 that this quarrel was a mere got-up altercation to turn you from an 
 inquiry which this man dare not face." 
 
 " This is too subtle for me, Withering, far too subtle." 
 
 " No such thing, Barrington ; but I will make it plainer. How if 
 the man you are going to meet had no right to the name he bears ?" 
 
 " What do I care for his name ?" 
 
 " Don't you care for the falsehood by which, he has assumed one 
 that is not his own ?" 
 
 " I may be sorry that be is not more clean-handed ; but I tell you 
 again, Tom, thej' never indulged sijch punctilios in our young days, 
 and I'm too old to go to school again !" 
 
 " I declare, Barrington, you provoke n^," said the lawyer, rising, 
 and pacing the room with hasty strides. " After years and years of 
 weary toil, almost disheartened by defeat and failure, we at last see 
 the outline of land ; a few more days — or it may be hours — of perse- 
 verance may accomplish our task. Since I arose this morning I have 
 learned more of our case, seen my way more clearly through matters 
 which have long puzzled me, than the cost of years has taught me. I 
 have passed four hours with one who would give his life to serve you, 
 but whose name I was not at liberty to, divulge, save in the last ne- 
 cessity, and the reasons for which reserve I heartily concur in ; and 
 now, by a rash and foolish altercation, you would jeopardy everything. 
 Do you wonder if I lose temper ?" 
 
 " Tou have got me into such a state of bewilderment, Tom, that I 
 don't know what I am asked to agree to. But who is your friend — 
 isn't it a woman ?" 
 
 " It is not a woman." 
 
 " I'd have bet five pounds it was ! When as sharp a fellow as 
 you takes the wrong line of country, it's generally a woman is leading 
 the way over the fences." 
 
 " This time your clever theory is at fault." 
 
 " Well, who is it ? Out with him, Tom. I have not so many 
 staunch friends in the world that I can afford to ignore them." 
 
 " I will fell you his name on one condition." 
 
 " I agree. What is the condition ?" 
 
BA.IlEINGT03!f. 369 
 
 " It is this : that when you hear it you will dismiss from your 
 mind — though it be only for a brief space — all the prejudices that 
 years may have heaped against him, and suffer me to show you that 
 you, with all your belief in your own fairness, are not just ; and with 
 a firm conviction in your own generosity, might be more generous. 
 There's my condition!" 
 
 " Well, it must be owned I am going to pay pretty smartly for my 
 information," said Barrington, laughing. " And if you are about to 
 preach to me, it will not be a ' charity' sermon : but, as I said before, 
 I agree to everything." 
 
 Withering stopped his walk and resumed it again. It was evident 
 he had not satisfied himself how he should proceed, and he looked 
 agitated and undecided. " Barrington," said he, at last, " you have 
 had about as many reverses in life as most men, and must have met 
 with fully your share of ingratitude and its treatment. Do you feel, 
 now, in loolsing back, that there are certain fellows you cannot for- 
 give ?" 
 
 " One or two, perhaps, push me harder than the rest; but if I have 
 no gout flying about me, I don't think I bear them any malice.'' 
 
 " Well, you have no gouty symptoms now, I take it ?" 
 
 " Never felt better for the last twenty years." 
 
 " That is as it should be ; for I want to talk to you of a man who, 
 in aU our friendship, you have never mentioned to me, but whose 
 name I know vrill open an old wound — Ormsby Conyers." 
 
 Barrington laid down the glass he was lifoing to his lips, and 
 covered his face with both his hands, nor for some moments did he 
 speak a word. " Withering," said he, and his voice trembled as he 
 spoke, " even your friendship has scarcely the right to go this far. 
 The injury the man you speak of did me meets me every morning as 
 I open my eyes, and my first prayer each day is that I may forgive 
 him, for every now and then as my lone lot in life comes strongly before 
 me, I have need to pray for this ; but I have succeeded at last — I have 
 forgiven him from my heart ; but, dear friend, let us not talk of what 
 tears open wounds that bleed afresh at a touch. I beseech you, let 
 all that be a bygone." 
 
 " That is more than I can do, Barrington ; for it is not to me you 
 must acknowledge you have forgiven this man — you must tell it to 
 himself." 
 
 " That is not needed, Tom. Thousands of long miles separate us, and 
 will in all lilcelihood separate us to the last. What does he want with 
 my forgiveness, which is less a question between him and me, than be- 
 tween me and my own heart ?" 
 
370 BAEKINGTON. 
 
 " And yet it is what he most desires on earth ; he told tne so within 
 an hour !" 
 
 " Told you so — and within an hour ?" 
 
 " Yes, Barrington, he is here. Not in the house," added he, hastily, 
 for the suddenness of the announcement had startled the old man, 
 and agitated him greatly. " Be calm, my dear friend," said Wither- 
 ing, laying a hand on the other's shoulder. " He who is now come 
 to claim your forgiveness, has never injured you to the extent you 
 believe. He asks it as the last tribute to one he loved only less than 
 you loved him. He has told me everything ; never sparing himself, 
 nor seeking by any subtlety to excuse a particle of his conduct. Let 
 me tell you that story as I heard it. It will be some solace to you 
 to know that your noble-hearted son inspired a friendship which, 
 after the long lapse of years, exacts such an atonement as one act 
 of disloyalty to it could demand. This was Ormsby Conyers's one 
 and only treason to the love that bound them. Listen t6 it !" 
 
 Barrington tried to speakj but could not, so he nodded an assent, 
 and Withering continued. His story was that which the reader has al- 
 ready heard from the lips of Conyers himself, and the old lawyer 
 told it well. If he did not attempt to extenuate the offence and 
 wrong of Conyers, he showed the power and strength of an affection 
 which could make one of the haughtiest of men come forward to 
 accuse himself, and at every cost of humiliation vindicate the noble 
 nature of his friend. 
 
 " And why not have avowed all this before ? — why not have spared 
 himself years of self-accusing, and me years of aggravated misery ?" 
 cried Barrington. 
 
 " He did make the attempt. He came to England about eighteen 
 years ago, ^nd his first care was to write to you. He asked to be al- 
 lowed to see yon, and sent you at the same time an admission; that 
 he had injured you, and was come to seek your forgiveness." 
 
 " That's true, Tom ; all strictly true. I remember all about it. 
 His letter was such a one as an enemy might have used to crush him. 
 My own temper at the time was not to be trusted too far ; sorrow was 
 making me cruel, and might make me vindictive ; so I sent it back to 
 him, and hinted it was safer in his hands than mine." 
 
 " And he has never forgotten your generosity. He said, ' It was 
 what well became the father of George Barrington.' " 
 
 " If he is here in this city, now, let me see him. Eemember, 
 Withering, when a man comes to my age his time is short. Cannot 
 we go to him at once ?" 
 
 " Not feeling certain of your coming up to town to-day, I had ar- 
 
BAEEIlf&TOir. 371 
 
 ranged with Conyers to start for ' The Home' to-morrow ; we were to 
 await the post hour, and, if no letter came from you, to leave at ten 
 o'clock. I was to take him up at Elvidge's Hotel. "WTiat say you if 
 I drive him down to Keynolds's ? Tou stop there, I know." 
 
 " With all my heart, Tom. I am fully as impai;ient as he can be 
 to sign and seal our reconciliation. Indeed, I feel myself already 
 less sinned against than sinning : and an act of forgiveness is only an 
 exchange of prisoners between us. If you knew how young I feel 
 again at all this, "Withering," said he, grasping his friend's hand. 
 " What a happiness to know that poor George's memory is so revered, 
 that one who had failed towards him in fidelity should come to 
 expiate the wrong thus openly ! My fine, noble-hearted boy deserved 
 this tribute ! And he told you how they loved each other ; in what 
 a brotherhood th^ lived ; and what a glorious fellow Greorge was ? 
 Did he tell you of his gentleness ? womanly softness it was, Tom. A 
 careless observer might have said there was no stuff in him to make a 
 soldier, and yet where was there his equal ? Tou heard what he did 
 at Nagapoor and Meerutan, where he held a mountain-pass with 
 three squadrons against a whole army corps, and never owned to 
 being wounded till he fell fainting from his horse on the retreat. Oh, 
 let me not speak of these things, or my heart will burst. I must leave 
 you, old friend ; this agitation will unfit me for much that is before 
 me ; let me go, I beseech you, and when you see me to-morrow, 
 you'll find I am all myself again." 
 
 It was in silence they grasped each other's hand, and parted. 
 
 CHAPTEE SLVI. 
 
 A HAPPY MEETINS. 
 
 Baeeington scarcely closed his eyes that night after he had 
 parted with Withering, so full was he of thinking over all he had 
 heard. " It was," as he repeated to himself over and over again, " ' such- 
 glorious news' to hear that it was no long-laid plot, no dark trea- 
 chery, had brought poor G-eorge to his grave, and that the trusted 
 friend had not turned out a secret enemy. How .prone we are " 
 thought he, " to suffer our suspicions to grow into convictions, just by 
 
 2b2 
 
272 BABEINGTON. 
 
 the mere force of time. Conyers was neither better nor worse than 
 scores of young fellows entering on life, undisciplined in self-restraint, 
 and untutored by converse with the world ; and in his sorrow and re- 
 pentance he is far and away above most men. It was fine of him to 
 come thus, and become his own accuser, rather than suffer a shade of 
 reproach to rest upon the fame of his friend. And this reparation he 
 would have made years ago, but for my impatience. It was I that 
 would not listen — would not admit it. 
 
 " I believe in my heart, then, this confession has a higher value for 
 me than would the gain of our great suit. It is such a testimony to 
 my brave boy as but one man living could offer. It is a declaration 
 to the world that says, ' Here am I, high in station, covered with 
 dignities and rich in rewards ; yet there was a man whose fate has 
 never interested you ! over, whose fall you never sorrowed 1 hundreds of 
 times my superior 1' What a reward is this for all my life of toil and 
 struggle — what a glorious victory when the battle looked so doubtful. 
 People will see at last it is not an old man's phantasy — it is not the 
 headlong affection of a father for his son has made me pursue this re- 
 paration for him here. There is a witness ' come to judgment,' who 
 will tell them what George Barrington was ; how noble as a man, 
 how glorious as a soldier." 
 
 While the old man revelled in the happiness of these thoughts, 
 so absorbed was he by them that he utterly forgot the immediate 
 object which had occasioned his journey — forgot Stapylton and the 
 meeting, and aU that had led to it. Thus passed the hours of the 
 night, and as the day broke he arose, impatient to actual feverishness 
 for the coming interview. He tried by some occupation to fill up 
 the time. He sat down to write to his sister an account of all Wither- 
 ing had told him, leaving the rest to be added after the meeting ; 
 but he found, as he read it over, that after the mention of George's 
 name, nothing dropped from his pen but praises of him. It was all 
 about his generosity, his open-heartedness, and his bravery. " This 
 would seem downright extravagant," said he, as he crushed the paper 
 in his hand, " till she hears it from the lips of Conyers himself." 
 He began another letter, but, somehow, again he glided into the self- 
 same channel. 
 
 " This will never do," said he ; " there's nothing for it but a brisk 
 walk." So saying, he sallied out into the deserted streets, for few 
 were about at that early hour. Barrington turned his steps towards 
 the country, and soon gained one of those shady alleys which lead 
 towards Pinglas. It was a neighbourhood he had once known well, 
 and a favourite resort of those pleasant fellows who thought they 
 
BAEEiNaToir. 373 
 
 compensated for a hard night at Daly's by sipping syllabub of a 
 morning on a dewy meadow. He once had rented a little cottage 
 there ; a fancy of poor George's it was, that there were some trout in 
 the stream beside it ; and Barrington strolled along tiU he came to a 
 little mound, from which he could see the place, sadly changed and 
 dilapidated since he knew it. Instead of the rustic bridge that crossed 
 the river, a single plank now spanned the stream, and in the disorder 
 and neglect of all around, it was easy to see it had fallen to the lot of 
 a peasant to live in it. As Barrington was about to turn away, he 
 saw an old man — unmistakably a gentleman — ascending the hill, with 
 a short telescope in his hand. As the path was a narrow one, he 
 waited therefore for the other's arrival, before he began to descend 
 himself. "With a politeness which in his younger days Irish gentlemen 
 derived from intercourse with Prance, Barrington touched his hat as 
 he passed the stranger, and the other, as if encouraged by the show 
 of courtesy, smiled as he returned the salute, and said, 
 
 " Might I take the liberty to ask you if you are acquainted with 
 this locality ?" 
 
 " Eew know it better, or, at least, knew it once," said Barring- 
 ton. 
 
 " It was the classic ground of Ireland in days past," said the 
 stranger. " I have heard that Swift lived here." 
 
 " Yes ; but you cannot see his house from this. It was nearer to 
 Santry, where you see that wood yonder. There was, however, a 
 celebrity once inhabited that small cottage before us. It was the 
 home of Parnell." 
 
 " Is that Parnell's cottage ?" asked the stranger, with eagerness ; 
 " that ruined spot, yonder ?" 
 
 " Tes. It was there he wrote some of his best poems. I knew 
 the room well he lived in." 
 
 " How I would like to see it!" cried the other. 
 
 " Tou are an admirer of Parnell, then ?" said Barrington, with a 
 smile of courteous meaning. 
 
 " I will own to you. Sir, it was less of Parnell I was thinking than 
 of a dear friend who once talked to me of that cottage. He had 
 lived there, and cherished the memory of that life when far away 
 from it ; and so well had he described every walk and path around it, 
 each winding of the river, and every shady nook, that I had hoped 
 to recognise it without a guide." 
 
 '' Ah, it is sadly changed of late. Tour friend had not probably 
 seen it for some years ?" 
 
 " Let me see. It was in a memorable year he told me he lived 
 
374 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 there — when some great demonstration ■was made by the Irish volun- 
 teers, with the- Bishop of Down at their head. The Bishop dined 
 there on that day." 
 
 " The Earl of Bristol dined that day with me, there," said Bar- 
 rington, pointing to the cottage. 
 
 " May I ask with whom I have the honour to speak. Sir ?" said the 
 stranger, bowing. 
 
 " "Was it George Barrington told you this ?" said the old man, 
 trembling with eagerness ; " was it he, who lived here ? I may ask, 
 Sir, for I am his father !" 
 
 "And I am Oriiisby Conyers," said the other ; and his face became 
 pale, and his knees trembled as he said it. 
 
 " Grive me your hand, Conyers," cried Barrington ; " the hand that 
 my dear boy has so often pressed in friendship. I know all that you 
 were to each other ; all that you would be to his memory." 
 
 " Can you foi^ive me ?" said Conyers. 
 
 " I have, for many a year. I forgave you when I thought you had 
 been his enemy. I now know you had only been your own to sacri- 
 fice such love, such affection as he bore you." 
 
 " I never loved him more than I have hated myself for my conduct 
 towards him." 
 
 " Let us talk of George, he loved us both," said Barrington, who 
 still held Conyers by the hand. " It is a theme none but yourself 
 can rival me in interest for." 
 
 It was not easy for Conyers to attain that calm which could 
 enable him to answer the other's questions ; but by degrees he grew 
 to talk freely, assisted a good deal by the likeness of the old man to 
 his son — a resemblance in manner even as much as look — and thus^, 
 before they reached town again, they had become like familiar 
 friends. 
 
 Barrington could never hear enough of George ; even of the inci- 
 dents he had heard of by letter, he liked to listen to the details again, 
 and to mark how all the traits of that dear boy had been appreciated 
 by others. 
 
 " I must keep you my prisoner," said Barrington, as they gained 
 the door of his hotel. " The thirst I have is not easily slaked ; re- 
 member, that for more than thirty years I have had none to talk to me 
 of my boy ! I know all about your appointment with "Withering ; he 
 was to have brought you here this morning to see me, and my old 
 friend will rejoice when he comes and finds us here together." 
 
 " He was certain you would come up to town," said Conyers, " when 
 you got his letters. Tou would see at once that there were matters 
 
BAEEHiTGTON. 375 
 
 whicli should be promptly dealt with ; and he said, ' Banington wiU 
 be my guest at dinner to-morrow.' " 
 
 " Eh ? — how ? — what was it all about? George has driven all else out 
 of my head, and I declare to you I have not the very vaguest recol- 
 lection of what "Withering's letters contained. "Wait a moment ; a 
 light is breaking on me. I do remember something of it all now. 
 To be sure ! What a head I have ! It was all about Stapylton. By 
 the way. General, how you would have laughed had you heard the 
 dressing "Withering gave me last night, when I told him I was going 
 to give Stapylton a meeting." 
 
 " A hostile meeting ?" 
 
 " "Well, if you like to give it that new-fangled name. General, 
 which I assure you was not in vogue when I was a yo,ung man. 
 "Withering rated me soundly for the notion, reminded me of my 
 white hairs and such other disqualifications, and asked me indig- 
 nantly, ' "What the world would say wheu they came to hear of it ?' 
 ' "What would the world say if they heard I declined it, Tom ?' was 
 my answer. "Would they not exclaim, ' Here is one of that fire-eating 
 school who are always rebuking us for our laxity in matters of 
 honour, look at him and say, are these the principles of his sect ?' " 
 
 Conyers shook his head dissentingly, and smiled. 
 
 " No, no !" said Barrington, replying to the other's look, " you are 
 just of my own mind ! A man who believes you to have injured him, 
 claims reparation as a matter of right. I could not say to Stapylton, 
 ' I will not meet you !' " 
 
 " I did say so, and that within a fortnight." 
 
 " Tou said so, and under what provocation ?" 
 
 " He grossly insulted my son, who was his subaltern ; he outraged 
 him by oftensive language, and he dared even to impugn his personal 
 courage. It was in one of those late riots where the military were 
 called out ; and my boy, entrusted with the duty of dispersing an 
 assemblage, stopped to remonstrate where he might have charged, and 
 actually relieved the misery, he had his orders to have trampled under 
 the feet of his squadron. Major Stapylton could have reprimanded, 
 he might have court-martialed him ; he had no right to attempt to dis- 
 honour him. My son left the service — I made him leave on the spot — 
 and we went over to France to meet this man. I sent for Proctor to 
 be my boy's friend, and my letter found him at Sir Gilbert Stapylton' s, 
 at HoUowclifie. To explain his hurried departure. Proctor told what 
 called him away. ' And will you suiTer your friend to meet that ad- 
 :venturer,' said Sir Gilbert, ' who stole my nephew's name if he did not 
 steal more ?' To be brief, he told that this fellow had lived with 
 
376 BAEBINQTON. 
 
 Colonel Howard Stapylton, British Resident at Glmrtnapore, as a sort 
 of humble private secretary. ' In the cholera that swept the district 
 Howard died, and although his will, deposited at Calcutta, contained 
 several legacies, the effects to redeem them were not to be discovered. 
 Meanwhile, this young fellow assumed the name of Stapylton, gave 
 himself out for his heir, and even threatened to litigate some landed 
 property in England with Howard's brother. An intimation, that if 
 he dared to put his menace in action a full inquiry into his conduct 
 should be made, stopped him, and we heard no more of him — at least 
 for a great many years. When an old Madras friend of Howard's came 
 down to spend his Christmas, said, " Who do you think I saw in town 
 last week, but that young scamp Howard used to call his Kitmagar, 
 and who goes by the name of Stapylton ?" we were so indignant at 
 first that we resolved on all manner of exposures ; but learning that 
 he had the reputation of a good oflScer, and had actually distinguished 
 himself at Waterloo, we relented. Since that, other things have 
 come to our knowledge to make us repent our lenity. In fact, he is 
 an adventurer in its very worst sense, and has traded upon a certain 
 amount of personal courage to cover a character of downright igno- 
 miny.' Proctor, on bearing all this, recalled me to England; and 
 declared that he had traced enough to this man's charge to show he 
 was one whom no gentleman could meet. It would appear that some 
 recent discoveries had been made about him at the Horse Guards also, 
 for when Proctor asked for a certain piece of information from one of 
 his friends in office there, he heard, for answer, ' We hope to know 
 that, and more, in a day or two.' " 
 
 "Do you know that I'm sorry for it, heartily sorry," said Barring- 
 ton. " The fellow had that stamp of manliness about him that would 
 seem the pledge of a bold, straightforward nature." 
 
 " I have a high value for courage, but it won't do everything." 
 
 " More's the pity, for it renders all that it aids of tenfold more 
 worth." 
 
 " And on the back of all this discovery comes Hunter's letter, 
 •which Withering has sent you, to show that this Stapylton has for 
 years back been supplying the Indian Directors with materials to 
 oppose your claims." 
 
 " Nothing ever puzzled us so much as the way every weak point of 
 our case was at once seized upon, and every doubt we ourselves 
 entertained, exaggerated into an impassable barrier. Withering long 
 suspected that somq secret enemy was at work within our own lines, 
 and repeatedly said that we were sold. The difficulty is, why this man 
 should once have been our enemy, and now should strive so eagerly to 
 
BAEBINGTOS. 
 
 377 
 
 be, not alone our friend, but one of us. Tou have heard he proposed 
 for my granddaughter ?" 
 
 " Fred suspected his intentions in that quarter, but we were not 
 certain of them." 
 
 " And it is time I should ask after your noble-hearted boy. How 
 is he, and where ?" 
 
 " He is here, at my hotel, impatiently waiting your permission to 
 go down to ' The Home.' He has a question to ask there, whose 
 answer will be his destiny." 
 
 " Has Josephine turned another head, then ?" said Barrington, 
 laughing. 
 
 " She has won a very honest heart; as true and as honourable^ a 
 nature as ever lived," said Conyers, with emotion. " Tour grand- 
 daughter does not know, nor needs ever to Icnow, the wrong I have 
 done her father ; and, if you have forgiven me, you wiU. not remem- 
 ber it against my boy." 
 
 " But what do you yourself say to all this ? Tou have never seen 
 tlie girl ?" 
 
 " Fred has." 
 
 " Tou know nothing about her tastes, her temper, her bringing up." 
 
 " Fred does." 
 
 " Nor are you aware that the claim we have so long relied on is 
 almost certain to be disallowed. I have scarcely a hope now remaining 
 with regard to it." 
 
 " I have more than I need, and if Fred wiU let me have a bungalow 
 in his garden, I'll make it all over to him to-morrow." 
 
 " It is then with your entire consent he would make this offer ?" 
 
 " With my whole heart in it ! I shall never feel I have repaired 
 the injury I have done George Barrington tUl I have called his 
 daughter my own." 
 
 Old Barrington arose, and walked up and down with slow and 
 measured steps. At last he halted directly in front of General Con- 
 yers, and said : 
 
 " If you will do me one kindness I will agree to everything. What 
 am I saying ? I agree already ; and I would not make a bargain of 
 my consent ; but you will not refuse me a favour ?" 
 
 " Ask me anything, and I promise it on the faith of a gentleman." 
 
 " It is this, then ; that you will stand by me in this affair of Sta- 
 pylton's. I have gone too far for subtleties or niceties. It is no 
 question of who was his father, or what was his own bringing up. I 
 have told him I should be at his orders, and don't let me break my 
 word." 
 
378 BABEIlfaTON. 
 
 " If you choose me for your friend, Barrington, you must not dic- 
 tate bow I am to act for you." 
 
 " That is quite true ; you are perfectly correct there," said the 
 other, in some confusion. 
 
 " On that condition, then, that I am free to do for you what I 
 would agree to in my own case, I accept the charge." 
 
 " And there is to be no humbug of consideration for my age and 
 my white hairs ; none of that nonsense about a fellow with one leg 
 in- the grave. Mark you, Conyers, I will stand none of these ; I have 
 never taken a writ of ease not to serve on a jury, nor will I hear o^ 
 one that exempts me from the rights of a gentleman." 
 
 " I have got your full powers to treat, and you must trust me. 
 Where are we to find Stapylton's friend ?" 
 
 " He gave me an address which I never looked at. Here it is 1" 
 and he drew a card from his pocket. 
 
 " Captain Duff Brown, late Fifth Fusiliers, Holt's Hotel, Charing 
 Cross." 
 
 " Do you know him ?" asked Barrington, as the other stood silently 
 re-reading the address. 
 
 " Tes, thoroughly," said he, with a dry significance. " The man who 
 selects Duff Brown to act for him in an affair of honour must be in 
 a sore strait. It is a sorry endorsement to character. He had to 
 leave the service from the imputation of foul play in a duel himself; 
 and I took an active part against him." 
 
 " Will this make your position unpleasant to you — would you 
 rather not act for me ?" 
 
 " Quite the reverse. It is more than ever necessary you should 
 have some one who not only knows the men he is to deal with, but 
 is known himself to them. It is a preliminary will save a world 
 of trouble." 
 
 " When can we set out ?" 
 
 "To-night, by the eight o'clock packet, we can sail for Liver- 
 pool ; but let us first of all despatch Fred to ' The Home.' The poor 
 boy will be half dead with anxiety till he knows I have your per- 
 mission." 
 
 " I'll accredit him with a letter to my sister ; not that he needs it, 
 for he is one of her prime favourites. And now for another point. 
 Withering must be made to believe that we are all off together for 
 the country this evening. He is so opposed to this affair with 
 Stapylton, that he is in a mood to do anything to prevent it." 
 
 " Well thought of; and here comes the man himself in search 
 of us." 
 
 " I have been half over the town after you this morning. General," 
 
J-y- 
 
 
 '?i?'//^/'u?:./i/^^z,'f . 
 
BABEINGTON. 
 
 379 
 
 said ■Withering, as he entered ; " and your son, too, could make 
 nothing of your absence. He is in the carriage at the door now, not 
 knowing whether he ought to come up." 
 
 " I'll soon reassure hin* on that score," said Barrington, as he left 
 the room, and hastened down stairs with the step of one that defied 
 the march of time. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 
 
 In a very modest chamber of a house in one of the streets which 
 lead from the Strand to the Thames, two persons sat at supper. 
 It is no time for lengthened introductions, and I must present Captain 
 Duff Brown very hurriedly to my reader, as he confronted his friend 
 StapyltoB. at table. , The captain was a.jovial-looking, full-whiskered, 
 somewhat corpulent man, with a ready reply, a ready laugh, and a 
 hand readier than either, whether the weapon it wielded was a billiard- 
 cue or a pistol. 
 
 The board before them was covered with oysters and oyster- 
 shells, porter in its pewter, a square-shaped decanter of gin, and a 
 bundle of cigars. The cloth was dirty, the knives unclean, and the 
 candles ill-matched and of tallow ; but the guests did not seem to 
 have bestowed much attention to these demerits, but ate and drank 
 like men who enjoyed their fare. 
 
 " The best country in Europe— the best in the world — I call 
 England for a fellow who knows life," cried the captain. " There is 
 nothing you cannot do ; nothing you cannot have in it." 
 
 " With eight thousand a year, perhaps," said Stapylton, sarcas- 
 tically. 
 
 " No need of anything like it. Does any man want a better 
 supper than we have had to-night ? "What better could he have ? 
 And the whole cost not over five, or at most six shillings for the 
 pair of Tis." 
 
 " Tou may talk till you are hoarse. Duff, but I'll not stay in it. 
 "When once I have settled these two or three matters I have told 
 
 you of, I'll start for 1 don't much care whither. I'll go to Persia, 
 
 or perhaps to the Tankees." 
 
 "/always keep America for the finish!" said the other. "It is 
 
380 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 to the rest of the world what the copper hell is to Crockford's — the 
 last refuge when one walks in broken boots and with low company. 
 But tell me, what have you done to-day ; where did you go after we 
 parted ?" 
 
 " I went to the Horse Guards, and saw Blanchard — pompous old 
 humbug that he is. I told him that I had made up my mind to sell 
 out ; that I intended to take service in a foreign army — he hates 
 foreigners — and begged he would expedite my aiTairs with his Eoyal 
 Highness, as my arrangements could not admit of delay." 
 
 " And he told you that there was an official routine, out of which 
 no officer need presume to expect his business could travel?" 
 
 " He told me no such thing. He flatly said, ' Tour case is already 
 before the Commander-in-Chief, Major Stapylton, and you may rely 
 on it there will be no needless delay in dealing with it.' " 
 
 " That was a threat, I take it." 
 
 " Of course it was a threat ; and I only said, ' It wiU. be the first 
 instance of the kind, then, in the department,' and left him." 
 
 " Where to, after that ?" 
 
 " I next went to Gregory's, the magistrate of police. I wanted 
 to see tlie informations the black fellow swore to ; and as I knew a 
 son of Gregory's in the Carbiniers, I thought I could manage it ; but 
 bad luck would have it that the old fellow should have in his hands 
 some unsettled bills with my indorsements on them — fact; Gregory 
 and I used to do a little that way once — and he almost got a fit when 
 he heard my name." 
 
 " Tried back after that, eh ?" 
 
 " Went on to Eenshaw's and won fifty pounds at hazard, took 
 Blake's odds on Diadem, and booked myself for a berth in the Bou- 
 logne steamer, which leaves at two this morning." 
 
 " Tou secured a passport for me, didn't you?" 
 
 " No. You'll have to come as my servant. The Embassy fellows 
 were all strangers to me, and said they would not give a separate 
 passport without seeing the bearer." 
 
 " All right. I don't dislike the second cabin, nor the ladies'-maids. 
 "What about the pistols ?" 
 
 " They are yonder, under the great-coat. Eenshaw lent them. 
 They are not very good, he says, and one of them hangs a little in the 
 fire." 
 
 •" They'll be better than the old Irishman's, that's certain. Tou 
 may swear that his tools were in use early in the last century." 
 
 " And himself too ; that's the worst of it all. I wish it was not a 
 fellow that might be my grandfather." 
 
BAEBIKSTOir. 381 
 
 " I don't know. I rather suspect, if I was giren to compunctions, 
 I'd have less of them for shakiog down the rotten ripe fruit than the 
 blossom." 
 
 " And he's a fine old fellow, too," said Stapylton, half sadly. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell hitn to drop in this evening and have a little 
 ecarte ?" 
 
 For a, while Stapylton leaned his head on his hand, moodily, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 " Cheer up, man! Taste that Hollands. I never mixed better," 
 said Brown. 
 
 " I begin to regret, now, Duff, that I didn't take your advice." 
 
 " And run away with her ?" 
 
 " Yes. It would have been the right course, after all !" 
 
 " I knew it. I always said it. I told you over and over again 
 what would happen if you went to work in orderly fashion. They'd 
 at once say, ' "Who are your people — where are they — what have they ?' 
 Now, let a man be as inventive as Daniel Defoe himself, there will 
 always slip out some flaw or other about a name, or a date — dates are 
 the very devil ! But when you have once carried her off, what can they 
 do but compromise ?" 
 
 " She would never have consented." 
 
 " I'd not have asked her. I'd have given her the benefit of 
 the customs of the land she lived in, and made it a regular ab- 
 duction. Paddy somebody and Terence something else are always 
 ready to risk their necks for a pint of whisky and a breach of the 
 laws." 
 
 " I don't think I could have brought myself to it." 
 
 " J could, I promise you." 
 
 " And there's an end of a man after such a thing." 
 
 " Tes, if he fails. If he's overtaken and thrashed, I grant you he 
 not only loses the game, but gets the cards in his face besides. But 
 why fail? Nobody fails when he wants to win — when he determines 
 to win. When I shot De Courcy at Asterabad " 
 
 " Don't bring up that affair, at least as one of precedent. Duff. I 
 neither desire to be tried for a capital felony, nor to have committed 
 one." 
 
 " Capital fiddlesticks ! As if men did not fight duels every day of 
 the week ; the difference between guilt and innocence being, that one 
 fellow's hand shook, and the other's was steady. De Courcy would 
 have ' dropped' me if I'd have let him." 
 
 " And so yoM would have carried her off, Master Duff?" said 
 Stapylton, slowly. 
 
382 BAKEIHrGTOJiT. 
 
 " Tes ; if she bad the pot of money you speak of, and do Lord 
 Chancellor for a guardian. I'd have made the thing sure at once." 
 
 " Tlie money she will and must have ; so much is certain." 
 
 " Then I'd have made the remainder just as certain." 
 
 "It is a vulgar crime, Duff; it vrould be very hard to stoop 
 to it." 
 
 " Pifty things are harder — no cash, no credit, are harder. The 
 Pleet is harder. But what is that noise ? Don't you hear a knock at 
 the door? Tes, there's some one without who hasn't much pa- 
 tience." So saying, he arose and walked to the door. As he opened it, 
 he started hack a little with surprise, for it was a police constable 
 stood before him. 
 
 " Not you. Captain, not you. Sir ! it's another gentleman I want. 
 I see him at the table there — Major Stapylton." By this time the man 
 had entered the room and stood in front of the fire. "I have a 
 warrant against you. Major," said he, quietly. " Informations have 
 been sworn before Mr. Colt that you intend to fight a duel, and you 
 must appear at the office to-morrow, to enter into your bond, and to 
 give securities to keep the peace." 
 
 " Who swore the informations ?" cried Brown. 
 
 " What have we to do with that ?" said Stapylton, impatiently. 
 " Isn't the world full of meddling old women ? Who wants to know 
 the names ?" 
 
 " I'll lay the odds it was old Conyers ; the greatest humbug in that 
 land of humbugs — Bengal. It was he that insisted on my leaving 
 the Fifth. Come, sergeant, out with it. This was General Conyers's 
 doing ?" 
 
 " I'm sorry to be obliged to declare you in custody. Major,"" said 
 the policeman ; " but if you lilse to come over to Mr. Colt's private 
 residence, I'm sure he'd settle the matter this evening." 
 
 " He'll do no such thing, by G-eorge !" cried Brown. " The sneak- 
 ing dogs who have taken this shabby course shall be exposed in open 
 court. We'U have the names in full, and in every newspaper in 
 England. Don't compromise the case, Stapylton ; make them eat the 
 mess they have cooked, to the last mouthful. We'll show the world 
 what the fighting Irishman and his gallant fiiend are made of. Major 
 Stapylton is your prisoner, sergeant !" 
 
 The man smiled slightly at the passionate energy of the speaker, 
 and turned to Stapylton. " There's no objection to your going to 
 your lodgings, Major. Tou'll be at the chief ofiice by ten to-morrow." 
 
 Stapylton nodded assent, and the other retired and closed the 
 door. 
 
BAttEINaTOlf. 383 
 
 " What do you say now ?" cried Brown, triumpliatitly. " Didn't 
 I tell you tliis? Didn't I say, that when old Conyers heard my 
 name, he'd say, ' Oh ! there'll be no squaring this business ?' " 
 . " It's just as likely that he said, ' I'U not confer with that man — 
 he had to leave the service.' " 
 
 " More fool you, then, not to have had a more respectable friend. 
 Had you there, Stapylton— eh ?" 
 
 " I acknowledge that. All I can say in extenuation is, that I hoped 
 old Barrington, living so long out of the world, would have selected 
 another old mummy like himself, who had never heard of Captain 
 Duff Brown, nor bis famous trial at Calcutta." 
 
 " There's not a man in the kingdom has not heard of me. I'm. as 
 well known as the first Duke in the land." 
 
 " Don't boast of it. Duff ; even notoriety is not always a cheap 
 luxury." 
 
 " Who knows but you may divide it with me to-morrow or next 
 day!" 
 
 " What do you mean. Sir ? — what do you mean ?" cried Sta- 
 pylton, slapping the table with his clenched band. 
 
 " Only what I said ; that Major Stapylton may furnish the town 
 with a nine days' wonder, vice Captain Duff Brown, forgotten." 
 
 Evidently ashamed of his wrath, Stapylton tried to laugh off the 
 occasion of it, and said, " I suppose neither of us would take the 
 matter much to heart." 
 
 " I'll not go to the office with you to-morrow, Stapylton," added he, 
 after a pause ; " that old Sepoy G-eneral would certainly seize the op- 
 portunity to open some old scores that I'd as soon leave undis- 
 turbed." 
 
 " All right. I think you are prudent there." 
 
 " But I'll be of use in another way. I'll lay in wait for that fellow 
 who reports for the Chronicle, the only paper that cares for these 
 things, and I'll have him deep in the discussion of some devilled kid- 
 neys when your case is called on." 
 
 " I fancy it does not matter what publicity it obtains." 
 
 " Ah ! I don't know that. Old Braddell, our major, used to say, 
 ' Eeputation, after forty, is like an old wall. If you begin to break 
 a hole in it, you never know how much will come away.' " 
 
 " I tell you again. Duff, I'm past scandalising ; but have your way, 
 if you will ' muzzle the ox,' and let us get away from this as soon as 
 maj be. I want a little rest after this excitement." 
 
 " Well, I'm pretty much in the same boot myself, though I don't 
 exactly know where to go to. France is dangerous. In Prussia there 
 
384 BAEBINGTOir. 
 
 are two sentences recorded against me. I'm condemned to eight 
 years' hard labour in "Wurtemberg, and pronounced dead in Austria 
 for my share in that Venetian disturbance." 
 
 " Don't tell me of these rascalities. Bad enough when a man is 
 driven to them, but downright infamy to be proud of." 
 
 " Have you never thought of going into the Church ? I've a notion 
 you'd be a stunning preacher." 
 
 " Give up this bantering, Duif, and tell me how shall I get hold of 
 young Conyers. I'd rather put a ball in that fellow than be a Lieute- 
 nant- General. He has ever been my rock ahead. That silly coxcomb 
 Las done more to mar my destiny than scores of real enemies. To 
 shoot him would be to throw a shell in the very midst of them." 
 
 " I'd rather loot him, if I had the choice ; the old General has lots 
 of money. Stapylton, scuttle the ship, if you like, but first let me 
 land the cargo. Of all the vengeances a man can wreak on another 
 the weakest is to kill him. For my part, I'd cherish the fellow that 
 injured me. I'd set myself to study his tastes and learn his ambi- 
 tions. I'd watch over hira and follow him, being, as it were, his dearest 
 of all friends — read backwards !" 
 
 " This is tiresome scoundrelism. I'll to bed," said Stapylton, taking 
 a candle from the table. 
 
 " Well, if you must shoot this fellow, wait till he's married — wait 
 for the honeymoon." 
 
 " There's some sense in that. I'll go and sleep over it." 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 385 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVni. 
 
 AUNX DOEOTHEA. 
 
 " Ton must come down with me for one day, Tom, to see an old aunt 
 of mine at Bournemouth," said Hunter to young Dill. " I never 
 omitted going to see her the first thing whenever I landed in Eng- 
 land, and she'll not forgive me if I were to do so now." 
 
 " But why should I go. Sir ? My presence would only trouble the 
 comfort of a family meeting." 
 
 " Quite the reverse. She'll be delighted to see you. It will be 
 such a triumph to her, amongst all her neighbours, to have had a visit 
 from the hero of the day — the fellow that all the print-shops are full 
 of. Why, man, you are worth five hundred pounds to me. I'm not 
 sure I might not say double as much." 
 
 " In that case, Sir, I'm perfectly at your orders." 
 
 And down they went, and arrived late on the day after this con- 
 versation at an old-fashioned manor-house, where Miss Dorothy 
 Hunter had passed some sixty odd years of her life. Though to Tom 
 she seenied to bear a great resemblance to old Miss Barrington, 
 there was really little likeness between them, beyond an inordinate 
 pride of birth, and an intense estimation for the claims of family. 
 Miss Hunter's essential characteristic was a passion for celebrities ; 
 a taste somewhat difficult to cultivate in a very remote and little- 
 visited locality. The result was, that she consoled herself by por- 
 traits, or private letters, or autographs of her heroes, who ranged 
 over every imaginable career in life, and of whom, by mere dint of 
 iteration, she had grown to believe herself the intimate friend or cor- 
 respondent. 
 
 No sooner had she learned that her nephew was to be accompanied 
 by the gallant young soldier whose name was in every newspaper, 
 than she made what she deemed the most suitable preparations for 
 his reception. Her bedroom was hung round with portraits of naval 
 heroes, or pictures of sea-fights. Grim old admirals, telescope in 
 hand, or with streaming hair, shouting out orders to board the 
 enemy, were on every side ; while, in the place of honour, over the 
 fireplace, hung a vacant frame, destined one day to contain the hero 
 of the hour, Tom Dill himself. 
 
 2o 
 
386 BABEINGTON. 
 
 Kever was a poor fellow in this world less suited to adulation of 
 this sort. He was either overwhelmed with the flattery, or oppressed 
 by a terror of what some sensible spectator — if such there were^ 
 would think of the absurd position in which he was forced to stand. 
 And when he found himself obliged to inscribe his name in a long 
 column of illustrious autographs, the sight of his' own scarce legible 
 characters filled up the measure of his shame. 
 
 " He writes like the great Turenne," said Miss Dorothy ; " he 
 always wrote from above downwards, so that no other name than his 
 own could figure on the, page." 
 
 " I got many a thrashing for it at school, Ma'am," said Tom, apo- 
 logising, " and so I gave up writing altogether." 
 
 " Ah,, yes ! the men of action soon learn to despise the pen — they 
 prefer to make history rather than record it." 
 
 It was not easy for Hunter to steer his bashful friend through aU 
 the shoals and quicksands of such flattery, but, on the plea of his 
 broken health and strength, he hurried him early to his bed, and re- 
 turned to the fireside, where his aunt awaited him. 
 
 " He's charming, if he were only not so dif&dent. "Why wiU he 
 not be more confiding — more at his ease with me — like Mungo Park, 
 or Sir Sidney Smith ?" 
 
 " After a whUe, so he will, aunt. You'll see what a change there 
 will be in him at our next visit. All these flatteries he meets with 
 are too much for him ; but when we come down again, you'll see him 
 without these distracting influences. Then, bear in mind his anxie- 
 ties — he has not yet:seen his family ; he is eager to be at home again. 
 I carried him off here positively in spite of himself, and on the strict 
 pledge of only for one day." 
 
 " One day ! And do you mean that you are to go to-morrow ?" 
 
 " No help for it, aunt. Tom is to be at Windsor on Saturday. 
 But for that, he would already have been on his way to Ireland." 
 
 " Then there's no time to be lost. "What can we do for him ? 
 He's not rich ?" 
 
 » "Hasn't a shilling; but would reject the very shadow of such 
 assistaiice." 
 
 " Not if a step were purchased for him ; without his knowledge, I 
 mean." 
 
 " It would be impossible that he should not know it." 
 
 " But surely- there's some way of doing it. A handsome sum to 
 commemorate his achievement might be subscribed. I would begin 
 it with a thousand pounds." 
 
BABEINGTON. 387 
 
 " He'd not accept it. I .know him tlioroughly. There's only one 
 road to him through -which he would not deem a favour a burden." 
 
 " And what is that ?" 
 
 " A kindness to his sister. I wish you saw her, aunt !" 
 
 " Is she Hke him ?" 
 
 " Like him:? Tes ; but very much better-looking. She's singularly 
 handsome, and such a. girl! so sbraightforward, and so downright. It 
 is a positive luxury to meet her after all the tiresome conventionalities 
 of the every-day young lady." 
 
 " Shall I ask her here ?" 
 
 " Oil, if you would, aunt ! — if you only would !" 
 
 " That you may fall in love with her, I suppose ?" 
 
 " No, aunt, that is done already." 
 
 " I think. Sir, I might have been apprised of this attachment!" 
 said she, bridling. 
 
 " I didn't know it myself, aunt, till I was close to the Cape. I 
 thought it & mere fancy, as we dropped down Channel ; grew more 
 thoughtful over it, in the Bay of Biscay ; began to believe it, as 
 we discovered St. Helena ; and came back to England resolved to 
 tell you the whole truth, and ask you, at least, to see her and know 
 her." 
 
 " So I will, then. I'll write and invite her here." 
 
 " You're the best and kindest aunt in Christendom !" said he, 
 rushing over and kissing her. 
 
 " I'm not going to let you read it, Sir," said she, with a smile. 
 " If she show it to you, she may. Otherwise, it is a matter between 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Be it entirely as you wish, aunt." 
 
 " And if all this goes hopefully on," said she, after a pause, " is 
 Aunt Dorothea to be utterly forgotten ? No more visits here — no 
 happy summer evenings — no more merry Ohristmases ?" 
 
 " Nay, aunt, I mean to be your neighbour. That cottage you have 
 often offered me, near the rocks, I'U not refuse it again — that is, if 
 you tempt me once more." 
 
 " It is yours, and the farm along with it. Go to bed now, and 
 leave me to write my note, which will require some thought and 
 reflection." 
 
 " I know you'U do it well. I know none who could equal you in 
 such a task." 
 
 " I'll try and acquit myself with credit," said she, as she sat down 
 to the writing-desk. 
 
 2c2 
 
388 SAEEINGTON. 
 
 " And what is all this about — a letter from Miss Dorothea to 
 Polly," said Tom, as they drove along the road hack to town. " Surely 
 they never met ?" 
 
 " Never ; but my aunt intends that they shall. She writes to ask 
 your sister to come on a visit here." 
 
 " But why not have told her the thing was impossible ? Tou know 
 us. Tou have seen the humble way we live — how many a care it costs 
 to keep up that little show of respectability that gets us sufferance 
 in the world, and hqw one little attempt beyond this is quite out 
 of our reach. Why not have told her frankly, Sir, ' These people are 
 not in our station ?' " 
 
 " Just because I acknowledge no such distinction as you want to 
 draw, my good fellow. If my aunt has asked your sister to come 
 three hundred miles to see her, she has thought over her request 
 with 'more foresight than you or I could have given it, take my 
 word for it. When she means kiudly, she plans thoughtfully. And 
 now I will tell you what I never meant to have spoken of, that it 
 was only last night she asked me, how could she be of use to 
 you ?" 
 
 " To me !" said he, blushing ; " and why to me ?" 
 
 " Can you never be brought to see that you are a hero, Tom — ^that 
 all the world is talking of you just now, and people feel a pride in 
 being even passingly mixed up with your name ?" 
 
 " If they only knew how much I have to be ashamed of before I 
 can begin to feel vain, they'd not be so ready with their praise or 
 their flattery." 
 
 " I'll talk over all that with your sister PoUy," said Hunter, 
 gaily ; for he saw the serious spirit that was gaining over the poor 
 fellow. 
 
 " Do so, Sir ; and you'll soon see, if there's anything good or 
 hopeful about me, where it comes from, and who gave it." 
 
BAEETNGTOir. • 389 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIX. 
 
 TEOM GENBEAL CONTEES TO HIS SON. 
 
 Beddwys, U. Wales. 
 Mt deae Feed, — How happy I am that you are eDJoying yourself ; 
 short of being with you, nothing could have given me greater pleasure 
 than your letter. I like your portrait of the old lady, whose eccen- 
 tricities are never inconsistent with some charming traits of disposi- 
 tion, and a nature eminently high-minded and honourable ; but why 
 not more about Josephine ? She is surely oftener in your thoughts 
 than your one brief paragraph would bespeak, and has her due share 
 in making the cottage the delightful home you describe it to be. I 
 entreat you to be more open and more explicit on this theme, for it 
 may yet be many days before I can explore the matter for myself; 
 since, instead of the brief absence I calculated on, we may, for aught 
 I know, be detained here for some weeks. 
 
 It is clear to me, from your last, that a note of mine from Liverpool 
 to you must have miscarried. Tou ask me where you are to address 
 me next, and what is the nature of the business which has called me 
 away so suddenly ? I gave you in that letter all the information that 
 I was myself possessed of, and which, in three words, amounted to 
 this : Old Barrington, having involved himself in a serious personal 
 quarrel with Stapylton, felt, or believed, that he ought to give him a 
 meeting. Seeing how useless all attempt at dissuasion proved, and 
 greatly fearing what hands he might fall into, I agreed to be his 
 friend on the occasion ; trusting, besides, that by a little exercise of 
 tact and temper, extreme measures might be avoided, and the affair 
 arranged. Tou may well believe, without my insisting further upon 
 it, that I felt very painfully how we should both figure before the 
 world — a man of eighty-three or four, accompanied to the ground by 
 another of sixty odd ! I know vpell how, in the changed temper of 
 the age, such acts are criticised, and acquiesce, besides, in the wiser 
 spirit that now prevails. However, as I said before, if Barrington 
 must go on, it were better he should do so under the guidance of a 
 sincere friend than of one casually elevated to act as such, in a moment 
 of emergency. 
 
390' . BAKRISGTOir. 
 
 We left Dublin, by the mail packet, on "Wednesday ; and after a 
 rougli passage of twenty-three hours, reached Liverpool too late to 
 catch the evening coach. Thus detained, we only arrived here on 
 Sunday night late. At my club, I found a note from Stapylton, 
 stating that he had daily called there to learn if we had come, but the 
 boisterous state of the weather sufficiently explained our delay, and 
 giving an address where he might be found, as well as that of " his 
 friend." Now, it so chanced that tbis friend was a very notorious 
 person well known to me in India, where he had been tried for an 
 unfair duel, and narrowly escaped — I should say, unjustly escaped — 
 being hanged. Though I had fully made up my. mind; not to be 
 placed in any relations with such a, man, I thought it would be as well 
 that Barrington should know the character of his antagonist's frienda 
 from other sources-, and so I invited an old Bengal companion of mine: 
 to dine with us the day after we arrived. Stamet was a judge of the ; 
 criminal court that tried Duff Brown, the man I spKik of. As we sat 
 over our wine together we got upon this case, and Stamer declared 
 that it was the only criminal cause in his whole life wherein he re- 
 gretted the escape of the guilty party. " The fellow," said he, " de- 
 fended himself,, in a three hours' speech^ . ably and powerfully; but 
 enunciated at times, as it were unconsciously, sentiments so abbmi- 
 nable and so atrocious as to destroy the sympathy a, part of his dis- 
 course excited. But somehow boldness » has its. fascination, and he 
 was acquitted." 
 
 Barrington's old-fashioned notions were not, however, to be shocked 
 even by this narrative,. and he wMspered to me, " Unpleasant for you, 
 Conyers. "Wish it might have been otherwise, butit can't be helped." 
 "We next turned to discuss Duff Brown's friend, and Stamer exdaimed, 
 " "Why, that's- the man they have been making, all this fuss about, in 
 India. He was, or he said, he was, the adopted son of How^d Sta- 
 pylton ; but the family never believed the adoption, nor ramsented to 
 receive, him, and at this moment a Moonshee, who acted as Persian 
 secretary to old Stapylton, has turned up with some curious disclo- 
 suresj which, if true, would Aow that this young fellow held a very- 
 humble position in Stapylton's household, and never was in his confi- 
 dence. This Moonshee was at Malta a. few weekasago, and may be, 
 for aught I knowj in England now.'' 
 
 I asked; and obtained Barrington's permission to teU how we were 
 ourselvies involved wdth this Major Stapylton,. and he quickly declared 
 that, while the man stood thus accused, there could be no thought of 
 according him a satisfaction. The opinion was not the less stringfint, 
 that Stamer was himself an Irishman, and of a fighting family. . 
 
BAEEuraioir. 391 
 
 I am not yery sure that we made Barrington a convert to our 
 opinions, but we at least, as we separated for the night, left him 
 doubtful and hesitating. I had not been in bed above an hour, when 
 Mr. Withering awoke me. He had followed us from Dublin as soon 
 as he learned our departure, and, going straight to a magistrate, swore 
 informations against both Barrington and Stapylton. " My old friend 
 will never forgive me, I know," said he ; " but if I had not done this, 
 I should never have forgiven myself." It was arranged between us 
 that I was to mention the fact of such informations having been 
 sworn, without stating by whom, to Barrington, and then persuade 
 him to get privately away from town before awarrant could be served. 
 I leave you to imagine that my task was not without its difBculties, 
 but, before the day broke, I succeeded in inddcing him to leave, and 
 travelling by post, without halt, we arrived at this quiet spot yester- 
 day evening. Barrington, with all his good temper, is marvellously 
 put out and irritable, saying, " This is not the way such things were 
 done once;" and peevishly muttering, 'T wonder what poor Harry 
 Beamish, or Gruy Hutchinson, would say to it all?" One thing is 
 quite clear, we bad got into a wasps' nest; Stapylton and his friend 
 were both fellows that no honourable man would like to deal with, and 
 we must wait with a little patience to find some safe road out of this 
 troublesome affair. 
 
 A letter came to B. from the India House the evening before we 
 left town, but he hajided it to me before he finished reading it, merely 
 remarking, " The old story, ' Tours of the ninth or nineteenth has duly 
 been received,' &c." But I found that it contained'a distinct admis- 
 sion that his claim was- not ill founded, and that some arrangement 
 ought" to be come to.- 
 
 I now close this very lengthy epistle, promising, however, that as 
 soon as I hear from town, either from Withering or Stamer, you shall 
 have my news. We are, of course, close prisoners here for the pre- 
 sent, for though the warrant would not extend to li-eland, Barring- 
 ton's apprehensions of being "served" with such a writ at all would 
 induce him to hide for six months to come. 
 
 I scarcely ask you to write to me here, not knowing our probable 
 stay; but to-morrow may, perhaps, tell us something on this head. 
 Till when, believe me, 
 
 Tours aflFectionately, 
 
 Oemsbt Coittees. 
 
 My most cordial greeting to Miss Barrington, and my love to her 
 niece. 
 
392 BAEEINGTOK. 
 
 rEOM PETEE BAEEINGTON TO HIS SISTEE, MISS DINAH BAEEINGTOIT. 
 
 liODg's Hotel, Bond-street. 
 Mt deae DiifAH, — I hardly know how to tell you what has hap- 
 pened, or what is happening around me. I came over here to meet 
 Mnjor Stapylton, but find that there is no such person — the man who 
 calls himself so being a mere adventurer, who had taken the name, 
 and, I believe, no small share of the goods, of its owner, got into the 
 Bengal army, thence into our own service, and though not undistin- 
 guished for gallantry, seems to have led a life of ceaseless roguery and 
 intrigue. He knew all about poor George's business, and was in 
 correspondence with those we believed to be our friends in India, but 
 who now turn out to be our inveterate enemies. This we have got at by 
 the confession of one of those Oriental fellows they call Moonshees, 
 who has revealed all their intercourse for years back, and even shown 
 a document setting forth'the number of rupees he was to receive 
 when Stapylton had been married to Josephine. The Moonshee is 
 very ill, and his examination can only be conducted at intervals, but 
 he insists on a point of much importance to us, which is, that 
 Stapylton induced him to tear out of the Eajah's Koran the page on 
 which the adoption of George was written, and signed by the Meer 
 himself. He received a large sum for this service, which, how- 
 ever, he evaded by a fraud, sending over to England, not the real 
 document itself, but a copy made by himself, and admirably counter, 
 feited. It was the possession of this by Stapylton which enabled 
 him to exercise a great control over our suit : now, averring that it 
 was lost ; now, under pledge of secresy, submitting it to the inspec- 
 tion of some of the Indian authorities.* Stapylton, in a word, saw 
 himself in a position to establish our claim, whenever the time came 
 that, by making Josephine his wife, he could secure the fortune. 
 This is all that we know up to this, but it is a great deal, and shows 
 in what a maze of 'duplicity and treachery we have been involved for 
 more than twenty years. The chief point, however, is, that the real 
 deed, written in the Meer's Koran, and torn out of it by the 
 Moonshee, in his first impulse, to forward it to Stalpylton, is now 
 extant, and the Koran itself is there to show the jagged margin of 
 the torn-out leaf, and the corresponding page on the opposite side of 
 the volume. .Stapylton refuses to utter one word since the accusa- 
 tion against him has been made, and as the charges extend to falsify- 
 ing documents, abstraction of funds, and other derelictions in India, 
 he is now under a heavy bail to appear when called on. 
 
BAEEINGTOK. 393 
 
 The whole business has made me so nervous and excitable, that T 
 cannot close my eyes at night, and I feel feverish and restless all 
 day. It is very shocking to think of a man one has never injured, 
 never heard of, animated with a spirit so inimical as to pass years of 
 life in working ill to us. He would appear to have devoted himself 
 to the task of blackening poor George's character and defaming him. 
 It would seem that Mr. Howard Stapylton was one of those who took 
 an active part against George. Whether this young fellow caught the 
 contagion of this antipathy, or helped to feed it, I cannot tell ; but it 
 is certain that all the stories of cruelty and oppression the India Board 
 used to trump up to us came from this one source ; and at the end 
 of all he seeks to be one of a family he has striven for years to ruin 
 and to crush ! I am lost in my efforts to understand this, though 
 Stamer and Withering assure me they can read the man like print. 
 Indeed, they see inferences and motives in fifty things which convey 
 nothing to me : and wherever I feel myself stopped by some im- 
 passable barrier, to them it is only a bridge that conducts to a fresh 
 discovery. 
 
 The Stapyltons are all in arms now that another sportsman has 
 winged the bird for them ; and each day increases the number, of 
 accusations against this unfortunate fellow. It is true, dear Dinah, 
 that our own prospects brighten through all this. I am constantly 
 receiving civil messages and hopeful assurances ; and even some of 
 the Directors have called to express sympathy and good wishes. But 
 how chiUed is the happiness that comes dashed with the misfortune 
 of another ! What a terrible deal it detracts from our joy to know 
 that every throb of pleasure to ourselves has cost a pang of misery 
 elsewhere ! I wish this fellow could have gone his way, never mind- 
 ing us; or, if that couldn't be, that he'd have grown tired of perse- 
 cuting those who had never harmed him, and given us up ! 
 
 They are now assailing him on all sides. One, has found that he 
 forged a will ; another, that he falsified a signature ; and a miserable 
 creature — a native Indian, who happened to be in that Manchester 
 riot the other day — has now been ferreted out to swear that Stapylton 
 followed him through a suburb, down a lane, and into a brick-field, 
 where he cut him down and left him for dead. There seems a great 
 deal of venom and acrimony in all this ; and though the man is un- 
 questionably not my friend, and I see that this persecution continues, 
 I find it very hard not to stand by him. 
 
 As for Withering, it has made the veteran ten years younger. He 
 is up every morning at five, and I hear that he never goes to his 
 room till long past midnight. These are the pastimes that to ^uch 
 
394 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 men replace the sports, of the field. and i the: accidents of thfe chase. 
 They have their vaGillations of hope and fear, their moments oi de- 
 pression and of triumph in them; and they run a fdlow-creafcure to 
 earth with all the zest of a hard rider after a, fox. 
 
 TeU my darling Eifine' that I am longing to be at home again — 
 longing for thte quiet roof, and the roses in at thfii window, and the 
 murmur of the river, and her own sweet voice better than them aU. 
 And what a. dear of; daily happiness is in our power if we would, only 
 consent to enjoy it, without running after some imaginary good, 
 some fancied blessing, which is to crown our wishes ! If I' could but 
 only have guessed, at the- life of anxiety, doubt, and vacillation the 
 pursuit of this claim would have cost me — thetwenty years of fever — 
 I give you my word, Dinah, I'd rather have earned my daily bread 
 with a spade^ . or; when too old for that, taken to fishing for a liveb'- 
 hood. 
 
 But why do I complain of anything at this moment? When have 
 I been so truly happy for- many a 16ng year ?. Cooyers never leaves 
 me — he talks of George from morning to night. And I now see 
 that with all my affection for that dear boy, . L only half knew his 
 noble nature, his fine, and generous character. If you only heard of 
 the benevolent things he has done ; the poor fellows, he has sent home 
 to their families at hisown cost ; the sums he has. transmitted to wives 
 and widows of soldiers in JBngland'; the children, whose care and sup- 
 port he has provided for ! These were the real drains on that fortune 
 that the world thought wasted and squandered in extravagance. And do 
 you know, Dinah, there is a vein of intense egotismin my heart that 
 I never so much as^ suspected ! I. found it? out by chance — ^it was in 
 marking how far lessil was touched b,y the highest and.beat traits of. 
 my poor boy than by the signs of love to myself I and when 
 Conyers said, " He was always talking about you ; he never did anyr 
 thing important without the question, ' Haw would " Dad " like 
 this, I wonder : . would "Dad" say " Ood speed" in this case ?' And 
 his first glass of wine everj' day was to the health of that dear old 
 father-over the seas;" 
 
 To you who loved him only a little less than myself, I have no 
 shame in the confession. of this weakness.. I suppose Conyers, how- 
 ever, .has hit upon itj. for he harps on this theme continually^ and, in 
 sheer -pride of heart, I feel ten years younger- for iti 
 
 Here comes "Withering to say, " Some more wonderful news ;" but 
 I have begged him to keep, it^till lihave scaled this letter; which, if it 
 grows any longer; I'll never have the, courage to send to you. A dozen 
 kisSfes to Fifine.J.oan, however, transmit .without any inerease to the 
 
BAEEIirGTON. 395 
 
 postage. Give iny love to young Conyers ; tell him I am charmed' 
 with his father: — I never met any one so companionable to me, and I 
 only long for the day when the same roof shall cover all of us. 
 "Eours, my dearest Sister, ever affectionately, 
 
 PbtEE BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 FEOM T. WITHEEHf a, ESQ., TO MISS BIITAH BAEEII^GTON, " THE HOME." 
 
 Long's Hotel, Bond-street. 
 
 Mt deae Miss Baeeington, — If your brother has deputed me to 
 write to you, it is not that he is ill, but simply that the excitement 
 caused by some late events here has so completely mastered him, that 
 he can neither sit quiet a moment, nor address him steadily to any 
 task. 'Not am I surprised it should be so. Old, weather-beaten 
 'Bailor on the ocean of life as I am, I feel an amount of feverishness 
 and anxiety I am half ashamed of. Truth ia, my dear Miss Dinah, 
 we lawyers get so much habituated to certain routine rogueries, that 
 we are almost shocked when we hear of a wickedness not designated 
 by a statute. But I must not occupy your time with such speculaT 
 tions, the more, since I have only a brief space to give to that report 
 of proceedings to which I want your attention. And, first of aU, I 
 will entreat you to forgive me for all want of sequence or connexion 
 in what I may say, since events have grown so jumbled together in 
 my mind, that it is perfectly impossible for me to be certain whether 
 what I relate should come before or after some other recorded fact. 
 In a word, I mean to give you an outline of our discoveries, without 
 showing the track of our voyage on the map, or. even saying how we 
 came by our knowledge. 
 
 Tou are aware, Barrington tells me, how Stapyltou came by the 
 name he bears. Aware that he was for some of his earlier years 
 domesticated with old Howard Stapylton at Ghurtnapore, in some ca- 
 pacity between confidential valet and secretary — a position that was 
 at once one of subordination and trust — it would now appear that a 
 Moonshee, who had long served Colonel Barrington as Persian corre- 
 spondent, came into Howard Stapylton's service in the same capacity: 
 hgw introduced, or by whom, we know not. With this Moonshee, 
 •the young fellow I speak of became an intimate, and close friend, and 
 it is supposed obtained from him all that knowledge of your nephew's 
 affairs, which enabled him to. see to what his claim pretended, and what 
 were its prospects of success. It ia now clear enough that he only 
 regarded this knowledge at first as a means of obtaining &voue from. 
 
396 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 the Indian Government. It was, in fact, by ceding to them in detail 
 certain documents, that he got his first commission in the Madras 
 Pusiliers, and afterwards his promotion in the same regiment; and, 
 when grown more ambitious, he determined to enter the King's service, 
 the money for purchase came from the same source. Being, however, 
 a fellow of extravagant habits, his demands grew at last to be deemed 
 excessive and importunate ; and though his debts had been paid three 
 several times, he was again found involving himself as before, and 
 again requiring assistance. This application was, however, resisted ; 
 and it was apparently on the strength of that refusal that he sud- 
 denly changed his tactics, turned his attention towards us, and 
 bethought him that by forwarding your grandd^iUghter's claim — if he 
 could but win her affections in the mean while — he would secure as a 
 wife one of the richest heiresses in Europe. An examination of dates 
 proves this, by showing that his last application to the Indian Board 
 was only a few weeks before he exchanged into the regiment of 
 Hussars he lately served with, and just then ordered to occupy Kil- 
 kenny. In one word, when it was no longer profitable to oppose 
 Josephine's claim, he determined to support it and make it his own. 
 The " Company," however, fully assured that by the papers in their 
 possession they could prove their own cause against Colonel Bar- 
 rington, resisted all his menaces — when, what does he do ? It was what 
 only a very daring and reckless fellow would ever have thought of — 
 one of those insolent feats of boldness that succeed by the very shock 
 they create. He goes to the Secret Committee at the India House 
 and says : " Of the eighteen documents I have given j'^ou, seven are 
 false. I will not tell you which they are, but if you do not speedily 
 compromise this claim and make a satisfactory settlement on Colonel 
 Barrington's daughter, I'll denounce you, at all the peril it may be to 
 myself" At first they agree, then they hesitate, then they treat again, 
 and so does the affair proceed, till suddenly — no one can guess why 
 — they assume a tone of open defiance, and fiatly declare they wiU 
 hold no further intercourse with him, and even threaten with expo- 
 sure any demand on his part. 
 
 This rejection of him came at a critical moment. It was just when 
 the Press had begun to comment on the cruelty of his conduct at 
 Peterloo, and when a sort of cry was got up through the country to 
 have him dismissed from the service. We all saw, but never sus- 
 pected why he was so terribly cut up at this time. It was hard to 
 believe that he could have taken mere newspaper censure so much to 
 heart. "We never guessed the real cause, never saw that he was 
 driven to his last expedient, and obliged to prejudice all his hope of 
 
EAEEINGTOS'. 397 
 
 success by precipitancy. If he could not make Josephine his wife 
 at once, on the yery moment, all was lost. He made a bold effort at 
 this. Who knows if he might not have succeeded but for you, as 
 Josephine was very young, my old friend himself utterly unfit to 
 cope with anything but open hostility ? I say again, I'd not have 
 answered for the result if you had not been in command of the fortress. 
 At all events, he failed ; and in the failure lost his temper so far as 
 to force a quarrel upon your brother. He failed, however ; and no 
 sooner was he down, than the whole world was atop of him : cre- 
 ditors, Jews, bill-discounters, and, last of all, the Stapyltons, who, so 
 long as he bore their family name thousands of miles off, or asso- 
 ciated it with deeds of gallantry, said nothing ; now, that they saw it 
 held up to attack and insult, came forward to declare that he never 
 belonged to them, and at length appealed formerly to ihe Horse 
 Guards, to learn under what designation he had entered the service, 
 and at what period taken the name he went by. 
 
 Stapylton's application for leave to sell out had just been sent in ; 
 and once more the newspapers set up the cry that this man should 
 not be permitted to carry away to Aix and Baden the proceeds of a 
 sale which belonged to his " creditors." Ton know the world, and I 
 need not tell you all the pleasant things it told this fellow, for men 
 are pretty nigh as pitiless as crows to their wounded. I thought the 
 complication had reached its limit, when I learned yesterday evening 
 that Stapylton had been summoned before a police magistrate for a 
 case of assault committed by him when in command of his regiment 
 at Manchester. The case had evidently been got up by a political 
 party, who, seeing the casual unpopularity of the man, determined to 
 profit by it. The celebrated radical barrister, Hesketh, was engaged 
 for the plaintiff. 
 
 When I arrived at the court, it was so full that it was with 
 difficulty I got a passage to a seat behind the bench. There were 
 crowds of fashionables present, the well-known men about town, and 
 the idlers of the clubs, and a large sprinkling of military men, for the 
 news of the case had got wind already. 
 
 Stapylton, dressed in black, and looking pale and worn, but still 
 dignified and like a gentleman, had not a single friend with him. I 
 own to you, I felt ashamed to be there, and was right glad when he 
 did not recognise me. 
 
 Though the case opened by a declaration that this was no common 
 assault case, wherein in a moment of passion a man had been be- 
 trayed into an excess, I knew the cant of my craft too well to lay any 
 stress on such assertion, and received it as the ordinary exordium. 
 
,398 BABBINGKTOir. 
 
 As I listened, however, I was struck by hearing that the injured man 
 was asserted to be one well known to Stapylton, with whom he had 
 been for years in intimacy, and that the assault was in reality a deli- 
 berate attempt to kill, and not, as had been represented, amere pass- 
 ing act of savage severity, committed in hot blood. " My client," 
 said he, " will be brought before you ; he is a Hindoo, but so long a 
 resident of this country, that he speaks our lang^uage fluently. Tou 
 shall hear his story yourself, and yourselves decide on its truthfulness. 
 His wounds are, however, of so serious a nature, that it will be advis- 
 able his statement should be a brief one." As he said this, a dark-com- 
 plexioned fellow, with a look half-frightened, half-defiant, was carried 
 forwards in a chair, and deposited, as he sat, on the table. He gave his 
 name as LalAdeen, his age as forty -eight, his birthplace Majamarha, 
 near Agra. He came to this country twelve years ago, as servant to 
 an officer who had died on the passage, and after many hardships in 
 his endeavour to earn a livelihood, obtained employment at Man- 
 chester in the mill of Brandling and Bennett, where he was employed 
 to sweep the corridors and the stairs ; his wages were nine shillings a 
 week. All this, and much more of the same kind, he told simply 
 and collectedly. I tried to see Stapylton while this was going on, 
 but a pillar of the gallery, against which he leaned, concealed him from 
 my view. 
 
 I omit a great deal, not without its interest, but reserving it for 
 another time, and come to his account of the night on which he was 
 wounded. He said, that as the cavalry marched on that morning 
 into Manchester, he was struck by seeing at the head of the regi- 
 ment one he had never set his eyes on for years, but whose features 
 he knew too well to be deceived in. 
 
 " I tried to get near him, that he might recognise me," said he, 
 " but the crowd kept me back, and I could not. I thought, indeed, at 
 one moment he had seen me, and knew me, but, as he turned his head 
 away, I supposed I was mistaken. 
 
 " It was on the following evening, when the riot broke out in Mill- 
 street, that I saw him next. I was standing at the door of a chemist's 
 shop when the cavalry rode by at a walk. There was a small body of 
 them in front, at about forty or fifty paces,'and who, finding a sort of 
 barricade across the street, returned to the main body, where they 
 seemed to be reporting this. A cry arose that the troops had been 
 blocked up at the rear, and at the same instant a shower of stones 
 came from the side-streets and the house-tops. Thinking to do him a 
 service, I made my way towards him I knew, in order to teU him by 
 what way he could make his escape ; and, jostled and pushed, and half- 
 ridden down, I laid my hand on his horse's shoulder to keep myself 
 
BAEEl-NSTOiT. 399 
 
 from falling. 'Stand back, you scoundrel!' said he, striking me 
 ■with the hilt of his sword in the face. ' Don't you know me, 
 master ?' cried I, in terror. He bent down in his saddle till 
 his face was almost close to mine, and then, reining his horse 
 back to give him room for a blow, he aimed a desperate cut at 
 me. I saw it coming, and threw myself down, but I rose the next 
 instant and ran. The street was already so clear by this time, I got 
 into Cleever's-alley, down Grange-street, up the lane that leads to the 
 brick-fields, and at last into the fields themselves. I was just thinking 
 I was safe, when I saw a horseman behind me ; he saw me, and dashed 
 at me. I fell upon my knees to ask mercy, and he gave me this;" 
 and he pointed to the bandages which covered his forehead, stained 
 as they were with clotted blood. " I fell on my face, and he tried to 
 make his horse trample on me, but the beast would not, and he only 
 touched me with his hoof as he sprang across me. He at last dis- 
 mounted to see, perhaps, if I were dead, but a shout from some of 
 the rioters warned him to mount again, and he rode away, and I 
 lay there till morning. It is not true that I was in prison and 
 escaped — that I was taken to the hospital, and ran away from it. I 
 was sheltered in one of the clay-huts of the brickmakers for several 
 weeks, afraid to come abroad, for I knew that the Sahib was a great 
 man and could take my life. It was only by the persuasions of 
 others that I left my hiding-place, and have come here to tell my 
 story.'' 
 
 On being questioned why this officer could possibly desire to 
 injure hira ? what grudge one in such a station could bear him ? 
 he owned he could not say ; they had never been enemies, and, in- 
 deed, it was in the hope of a friendly recognition and assistance 
 that he approached him in Mill-street. 
 
 Stapylton's defence was very brief, given in an off-hand, frank 
 manner, which disposed many in his favour. He believed the fellow 
 meant to attack him ; he certainly caught hold of his bridle. It was 
 not his intention to give him more than a passing blow ; but the 
 utterance of a Hindoo curse — an expression of gross outrage in the 
 East— recalled prejudices long dormant, and he gave the rascal chase, 
 and cut him over the head — not a severe cut— and totally unaccom- 
 panied by the other details narrated. 
 
 " As for our former acquaintance, I deny it altogether. I have seen 
 thousands of his countrymen, and may have seen him ; but, I repeat, 
 I never knew him, nor can he presume to say he knew me !" 
 
 The Hindoo smiled a faint, sickly smile, made a gesture of deep 
 humility, and asked if he might put a few questions to the " Sahib." 
 
 " Were you in Naghapoor in the year of the floods f " 
 
400 BAEEINGTOir. 
 
 " Yes," said Stapylton, firmly, tut evidently with aa effort to 
 appear calia. 
 
 " In the service of the great Sahib, Howard Stapylton ?" 
 
 " In his service ? Certainly not. I lived with him as his friend, 
 and became his adopted heir." 
 
 " "What office did you fill when you came first to the ' Eesi- 
 dence ?' " 
 
 " I assisted my friend in the duties of his government ; I was a good 
 Oriental scholar, and could write and speak a dialect he knew nothing 
 of. But I submit to the court that this examination, prompted and 
 suborned by others, has no other object than to insult me, by lead- 
 ing to disclosures of matters essentially private in their nature." 
 
 " Let me ask but one question," said the Barrister. "What name 
 did you bear before you took that of Stapylton ?" 
 
 " I refuse to submit to this insolence," said Stapylton, rising angrily. 
 " If the laws of the country only can lend themselves to assist the 
 persecutions of a rascally Press, the sooner a man of honour seeks 
 another land the better. Adjudicate on this case. Sirs; I will not 
 stoop to bandy words with these men." 
 
 " I now. Sir," said Hesketh, opening his bag and taking out a roll 
 of papers, " am here to demand a committal for forgery against the 
 person before you, passing under the name of Horace Stapylton, but 
 whose real designation is Samuel Scott Edwardes, son of Samuel Ed- 
 wardes, a name notorious enough once." 
 
 I cannot go on, my dear friend ; the emotions that overpowered 
 me at the time, and compelled me to leave the court, are again 
 threatening me, and my brain reels at the recollection of a scene 
 which, even to my fast-fading senses, was the most trying of my 
 life. 
 
 To General Conyers I must refer you for what ensued after I left. 
 I cannot even say who came home with me to the hotel, though I 
 am aware I owed that kindness to some one. The face of that un- 
 happy man is yet before me, and all the calm in which I have written 
 up to this leaves me, aa I think over one of the most terrible inci- 
 dents of my life. 
 
 Tour brother, shocked, of course, bears up bravely, and hopes to 
 write to you to-morrow. 
 
 One word of good cheer before I close this miserable record. The 
 Indian Directors have written to offer excellent terms — splendidly 
 liberal terms, Conyers calls them, and I agree with him. We have 
 had a very busy week of it here, but it will be well requited if all that 
 I now anticipate be confirmed to us. Barrington begs you wUl tell 
 
BABBINGTOH". 401 
 
 your neigliboTirs, the Dills, that Tom — I think that is the name — 
 has just arrived at Southampton with General Hunter, and will be 
 here to-morrow evening. 
 
 I have cut out a short passage from the newspaper to finish my 
 narrative. I will send the full report, as published, to-morrow. 
 • Tour attached friend, 
 
 T. "WiTHEEINa. 
 
 " The chief police-office in Marlborough-street was yesterday the 
 ■scene of a very shocking incident. The officer whose conduct at the 
 head of his regiment in Manchester has of late called for the almost 
 unanimous reprobation of the Press, was, while answering to a charge 
 of aggravated assault, directly charged with forgery. Scarcely was the 
 allegation made, than he drew a pistol from his pocket, and placing 
 tlie muzzle to his mouth, pulled the trigger. The direction of the 
 •weapon, however, was accidentally turned, and the ball, instead of 
 proceeding upwards, passed through the lower jaw, fracturing the 
 bone, and creating a terrible wound. It is supposed that the large 
 vessels are not injured, and that he may yet recover. All who wit- 
 nessed the scene describe it as one of intense horror. 
 
 " The unhappy man was at once removed to the Middlesex Hos- 
 pital. He has not uttered a word since the event; and when 
 asked if there were any relatives or friends whom he wished might 
 he sent for, merely shook his head negatively. It is said that 
 when the result of the consultation held on him. was announced to 
 him as favourable, he seemed rather grieved than otherwise at the 
 tidings." 
 
 SEOM rETEE BAEEINGIOir TO DINAH, HIS SISTEE. 
 
 My deae Dinah, — How glad I am to tell you that we leave this to- 
 morrow, and a large party of us, too, all for " The Home." Put young 
 Conyers in my dressing-room, so that the large green bedroom can be 
 free for the G-eneral, at least for one of the generals — for we have an- 
 other here. Hunter, who will also be our guest. Then there will be 
 Withering. As for myself, I can be stowed away anywhere. What hap- 
 piness would there be to us all at such a meeting, if it were not for that 
 poor wretch who lies in all his agony a few streets off, and who is never 
 out of my thoughts. I went twice to the hospital to see him. The 
 first time I lost courage, and came away. The second, I sent up my 
 name, and asked if he would wish to see me. The only answer I got 
 was my visiting-card torn in two ! How hard it is for an injurer to 
 
 2d 
 
402 BABHINGTOir. 
 
 forgive hiia he lias iajured !. I have arranged with the Stapyltons, 
 howeveBjWho instigaijed the charge of forgpEy,,iiot to press it ; at least, 
 they are to take bail, and the bail •will be forfeited, so 1 understand 
 it, but Withering will explain all more cleacly. 
 
 Our own affairs are all as bright and prosperous as our best wishes 
 could desire. The Council have had all the evidence before tl^em, and 
 the Moonshee has produced his copy of the Koran, with the torn leaf 
 fitting into the jagged margin, and Greorge is vindicated at last in 
 everything. His loyalty, his disinterestedness, his honesty, all esta- 
 blished. The ceremony of his marriage has been fully recognised ; and 
 General Conyers tells me, that the lowest estimate of our claim is little 
 short of a quarter of a million, sterling. He counsels me not to be 
 exigent in my terms; if he knew me bettec, perhaps, he would not 
 have deemed the advice so necessary. 
 
 Whai will Pifine say to all this wealth ? Will she want to go back 
 to India, and be a Princess, and ride about on an elephant ? or will 
 she reconcile herself to siuch humble ways as ours ? I am most eager 
 to hear liow she will take the tidings. Withering, says it will not 
 spoil her ; that knowing nothing of life in its moneyed relations, she 
 runs no risk of being carried away by any vulgar notions of her own- 
 importance through riches. 
 
 Conyers has never once hinted at his son's pretensions since iFifine 
 has become an heiress ; and I fancy — it may be only fancy — is a shade 
 or so cool towards me, so that I have not referred to them. But what 
 can I do ? I cannot offer him my granddaugjiter, nor — if what you 
 tell me be true, that they are always quarrelling — would the proposal 
 be a great kindness to either. 
 
 Here is Tom DiU, too, and what a change ! He is the image of 
 Polly ; and a fine, well^grown, straight-figured fellow, that looks you 
 manfuUy in the face — not the slouching, loutish, shame-faced creature 
 you remember him. Hunter has had him gazetted to anEnsigncy in 
 the 10th Poot, and he wiU, or I much mistake him, do honest credit 
 to the recommendationv Hunter takes him about with him wherever 
 he goes, telling all about the shipwreck and Tom's gallantry — enough 
 to turn the lad's head with vanity, but that he is a fine, simple-hearted 
 creature, who thinks very little of himself or his achievement. He 
 seems to have no other thought than' whait Polly, his sister, will say 
 and think of him. 
 
 He also wiU be one of our party ; that is, if I can persuade him to 
 make " The Home" his head-quarters while our friends are with us. 
 What a strong muster we 8ha.ll be ; and how we'll astonish that old 
 bin of Madeira, Dinah ! By the way, I have been rather boastfiil 
 
BiEBINGTOir. 4iOa 
 
 about it to Couyers, and let some bottles have the sun on them for a 
 couple of hours every day. 
 
 I should like to try my chance once more of seeing that poor fellovr 
 at the hospital, but Withering -will not hear of it ; he got positively 
 ill tempered at the bare mention of such a wish. Even Conyers says 
 " Better not," vrith an air that may mean for the sick man's state as 
 much as my own. 
 
 A little more of this life of noise, confusion, and excitement, would 
 finish me. This city existence, with its incessant events and its 
 never-ending anxieties, is like walking in a high wind with the 
 chimney-pots falling and crashing on every side of one — ^while I am 
 pitying the fellow whose skull is just cracked, I am forced to remem- 
 ber that my own is in danger. And yet there are people who like it ; 
 who tell you that out of Loudon there is no living ; that the country 
 is a grave, aggravated by the consciousness that one is dead and 
 buried there ! 
 
 On Tuesday — ^Wednesday, at farthest — Dinah, look out for us. I 
 do not believe there is that prize in the wheel that would tempt me 
 again away from home ; and till I reach it, believe, my dear Dinah, 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 Petee Baeeingtok. 
 
 I have just seen Conyers. He met Sir Harvey Hetherington, the 
 Home Secretary, this morning, and they got into a talk over our 
 business, and H. said how cruelly I had been treated all this time 
 back, and bow unfairly poor George's memory was dealt with. ""We 
 want," said he, " to show your friend our respect and our sympathy, 
 and we have thought of submitting his name to the King for a 
 Baronetcy. How do you think Mr. Barrington himself would take 
 our project?" "I'll find out," said Conyers, as he told me of the 
 conversation. " If they won't let me off, Conyers," said I, " ask them 
 to commute it to Knighthood, for the heralds' fees will be smaller ; 
 but I'll try, meanwhUe, if I can't escape either." So that now, Dinah, 
 you may expect me on Saturday. I told you what a place this was ; 
 you are never sure wiat may befal you from one moment to 
 another ! 
 
404 BAEEIJT&TON, 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 PoETTJNE had apparently ceased to persecute Peter BarringtoD. 
 The Minister did not press honours upon him, and he was free to 
 wait for his companions, and in their company he returned to 
 Ireland. 
 
 The news of his success — great as it was, magnified still more — had 
 preceded him to his own country, and he was met, as all lucky men 
 are met, and will be met to the end of time, by those who know the 
 world and feelingly estimate that the truly profitable are the for- 
 tunate ! 
 
 Not that he remarked how many had suddenly grown so cordia,! ;, 
 what troops of passing acquaintances had become in a moment warm 
 friends, well-wishing and afiectionate. He never so much as sus- 
 pected that " Luck" is a deity worshipped by thousands, who even in 
 the remotest way are not to be benefited by it. He had always regarded 
 the world as a far better thing than many moralists would allow it to 
 be — unsteady, wilful, capricious, if you like — ^but a well-intentioned, 
 kindly-minded world, that would at aU times, where passion or pre- 
 judice stood aloof, infinitely rather do the generous thing than the 
 cruel one. 
 
 Little wonder, then, if he journeyed in a sort of ovation ! At every 
 change of horses, in each village they passed, there was sure to be 
 some one who wanted to shake his hand. People hobbled out on 
 crutches and quitted sick-beds to say how "glad they were;" mere 
 acquaintances most of them, who felt a strange mysterious sort of 
 self-consequence in fancying themselves for the moment the friends- 
 of Peter Barrington, the milliounaire ! This is all very curious, but it 
 is a fact — a fact which I make no pretence to explain, however. 
 
 "And here comes the heartiest well-wisher of them all I" cried 
 Barrington, as he saw his sister standing on the roadside, near the 
 gate. With thoughtful delicacy, Iiis companions lingered behind, 
 while he went to meet and embraced her. " Was I not a true 
 prophet, Dinah, dear ? Did I not often foretel this day to you ?"" 
 said he, as he drew her arm and led her along, forgetting all about, 
 his friends and companions. 
 

 'A:'a<!-i/^ia'/^' . 
 
 y 
 
BAEEINGTOIT. 
 
 405 
 
 " Have they paid the money, Peter ?" said she, sharply. 
 
 " Of' course they have not ; such things are not settled like the 
 fare of a hackney-coach. But our claim is acknowledged, and, fifty 
 thousand times better, George Barrington's name absolved from 
 every shadow of an imputation." 
 
 " "What is the amount they agree to give ?" 
 
 " Upon my life, I don't know ; that is, I don't recollect, there 
 were so many interviews and such discussions ; but Withering can 
 tell you everything. Withering knows it all. Without Mm and 
 Conyers, I don't know how I could have got on. If you had heard 
 how he spoke of George at the Council ! ' Tou talk of my services,' said 
 he, ' they are no more fit to be compared with those of Colonel Bar- 
 rington, than are my petty grievances with the gross wrongs tbat lie 
 on his memory.' Withering was there ; he heard the words, and de- 
 scribed the eifect of them as actually overwhelming." 
 
 '•' And Withering believes the whole thing to be settled ?" 
 
 " To be sure he does ! Why should he oppose his belief to that 
 of the whole world? Why, my dear Dinah, it is not one, nor two, 
 but some hundreds of people have come to wish me joy. They had a 
 triumphal arch at Naas, with ' Welcome to Barrington' over it. At 
 Carlow, Pishbourne came out with the corporation to ofi'er me con- 
 gratulations." 
 
 She gave a hasty, impatient shake of the head, but repressed the 
 sharp reply that almost trembled on her lips. 
 
 " By George !" cried he, " it does one's heart good to witness such 
 a burst of generous sentiment. You'd have thought some great na- 
 tional benefit had befallen, or that some one — his country's idol — had 
 just reaped the recompense of his great services. They came flocking 
 out of the towns as we whirled past, cheering lustily, and shouting 
 ' Barrington for ever !' " 
 
 " I detest a mob," said she, pursing up her lips. 
 
 " These were no mobs, Dinah ; these were groups of honest fellows, 
 with kind hearts, and generous wishes." 
 
 Another, but more decisive toss of the head, warned Peter that the 
 discussion had gone far enough ; indeed, she almost said so, by asking 
 abruptly, " What is to be done about the boy Conyers ? He is madly 
 in love with Josephine." 
 
 " Marry her, I should say !" 
 
 " As a cure for the complaint, I suppose. But what if she will not 
 have him ? What if she declares that she'd like to go back to the 
 convent again — that she hates the world, and is sorry she ever came 
 out into it — that she was happier with the sisters " 
 
406 BAEBINGTON. 
 
 " Has she said all this to you, sister ?" 
 
 " Oentadaly iiot, Peter," said Dinah, bridling up. " These were 
 confidences imparted to the young man Himself. It was he told me 
 of them : he came to me last night in a state hordering on distraction. 
 He was hesitating whether he would not throw himself into the river, 
 or go into a marching regiment." 
 
 "This is only a lamghing matter, then, Dinah?" said Peter, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, brother ! He didnot put the alternatives so 
 much in juxtaposition as I have ; but they lay certainly in that man- 
 ner on his thoughts. But when do your friends arrive ? I thought 
 they were to have come with you ?" 
 
 " What a head I have, Dinah ! They are all here ; two carriages of 
 them. I left them on the road when I rushed on to meet you. Oh, 
 here they come ! here they are !" 
 
 "My brother's good fortune, gentlemen, has made him seem -to 
 forget what adversity never did ; l)ut I believe you all know "how 
 welcome you are, here ? Tour son. General Conyers, thought to 
 meet you earlier, by taking boat down to the village, and the girls 
 went with him. Your friend, Polly Dili, is one of them. General 
 Hunter." 
 
 Having thus, with one sweep of the scythe, cut down a little of aU 
 around her, she led the way towards the cottage, accepting the arm 
 of General Conyers with an antiquated grace rfchat sorely tried 
 Hunter's good manners not to smile at. 
 
 " I iknow what you are looking at — what you are thinking of, Bar- 
 rington," said Withering, as he saw the other stand a moment gazing 
 at the landscape on the opposite side of the river. 
 
 " I 'don't think you do, Tom," said he, tsmiling. 
 
 " Tou were thinking of buying that mountain yonder. Tou ■were 
 saying to yourself, 'I'll be the owner lof that beech wood before I'm a 
 month older!'"' 
 
 " Upon my life, you're right ! though I haven't the remotest notion 
 of how you guessed it. The old fellow that owns it shall name tis 
 own terms to-morrow morning. Here come the girls, and they've 
 got Tom Dill with tkem. How the fellow rows ! and Pifine is laugh- 
 ing away at Cofiyers's attempt to keep the boat straight. Look at 
 Hunter, too j he's off to meet them. Is he ' going in' for the great 
 heiress prize, eh, Tom?" said he, with a knowing smile. 
 
 .Though Hunter -assisted the ladies to lamd -with becoming gal- 
 lantry, he did not .offer his arm to Josetpliine, but dropped behind, 
 where Tom Dill brought up the rear with his sister. 
 
BiEEINGTOIf. 407 
 
 " "W"e have no confidences that you may not listen to," said Polly, as 
 she saw that he hesitated as to joining them. " Tom, indeed, has been 
 telling of yourself, and you may not care to hear your own praises." 
 
 " If they come from yov,, I'm all ears for them." 
 
 " Isn't that pretty, Tom ? Did you ever hear any one ask more 
 candidly for — no — not flattery — what is it to be called ?" 
 
 Tom, however, could not answer, for he had stopped to shake 
 hands with Darby, whose " May I never !" had just arrested him.. 
 
 " What an honest, fine-hearted fellow it is !" said Hunter, as they 
 moved on, leaving Tom behind. 
 
 " But Myou hadn't found it oat, who would have known, or who 
 acknowledgjed it ? I know — for he has told me — all you have been 
 to him." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! nothing ; leas than nothing. He owes all that he is 
 to himself. He is one of those fellows who, once they get into the 
 right groove in life, are sure to go ahead. Not even yov, could make 
 a doctor of him. Nature made him a soldier." 
 
 Polly blushed slightly at the compliment to those teachings she 
 believed a secret, and he went on : 
 
 " What has the world been doing here since I left ?" 
 
 " Pretty much what it did while you were here. It looked after 
 its turnips and asparagus, took care of its young calves, fattened its 
 chickens, grumbled at the dearness of everything, and wondered 
 when Doctor Buck would preach a new sermon." 
 
 " No deaths — no marriages ?" 
 
 " None. There was only one candidate for both, and he has done 
 neither — Major M'Cormick." 
 
 " Confound that old fellow ! I had forgotten him. Do you re- 
 member the last day- I saw you here ? We were in the garden, 
 talking, as we believed, without witnesses. Well, lie overheard us. 
 He heard every word, we said, and a good deal more that we did not 
 say." 
 
 " Tes ; so he informed me, a few days after." 
 
 " Ton don't mean to say that he had the impertinence " 
 
 " The frankness, General ; the charming candour to tell me that 
 I was a very clever girl, and not to be discouraged by one failure or 
 two ; that with time and perseverance — I think he s^id perseverance 
 — some one was sure to take a fancy to me ; he might mpt, perhaps, 
 be handsome, possibly not very young ; his temper, too, might chance 
 to be more tart than was pleasant : in a word, lie drew such a pic- 
 ture, that I had to stop him short and ask was he making me a pro- 
 posal ? He has never spoken to me since !" 
 
403 BAEEINGTON. 
 
 " I feel as if I could break his neck !" muttered Hunter below his 
 breath ; then added, " Do you remember that I asked leave to write 
 to you once — only once ?" 
 
 " Tes, I remember it." 
 
 " ^nd you would not answer rae. Tou shook your head, as though 
 to say the permission would be of no service to me ; that I might 
 write, but, you understand, that it would only be to indulge in a de- 
 lusion " 
 
 " "What an expressive shake of the head that meant all that !" 
 
 " Ah ! there it is again ; never serious, never grave ! And now I 
 want you to be both. Since I landed in England, I ran down for a 
 day to Devonshire. I saw an old aunt of mine, who, besides being 
 very rich, has retained no small share of the romance of her life. She 
 always had a dash of hero-worship about her, and so I took down 
 Tom with me to show her the gallant feUow whose name was_ in all 
 the newspapers, and of whom all the world was talking. She was 
 charmed with him — with his honest, manly simplicity, his utter want 
 of all affectation. She asked me ten times a day, ' Can I not be of ser- 
 vice to him ? Is there no step he wishes to purchase ? Is there 
 nothing we can do for him ?' ' Nothing,' said I ; ' he is quite 
 equal to his own fortune.' ' He may have brothers,' said she. ' He 
 has a sister,' said I — ' a sister who has made him aU. that he is, and 
 it was to repay her love and affection that he has shown himself to be 
 the gallant fellow we have seen him.' ' TeU her to come and see me 
 — that is,' said she, correcting herself, ' give her a letter I shall write, 
 and persuade her, if you can, to oblige me by doing what I ask.' 
 Here is the letter'; don't say no till you have read it. Nay, don't 
 shake your head so deploringly ; things may be hard without being 
 impossible. At aU events, read her note carefully. It's a droU old 
 hand, but clear as print." 
 
 " I'll read it," said she, looking at the letter ; but the sorrowful 
 tone revealed how hopelessly she regarded the task. 
 
 " Ask Tom about her ; and make Tom tell you what she is like. By 
 Jove ! he has such an admiration for the old damsel, I was half afraid 
 he meant to be my uncle." 
 
 They reached the cottage laughing pleasantly over this conceit, 
 and Polly hurried up to her room to read the letter. To her sur- 
 prise, Josephine was there already, her eyes very red with crying, 
 and her cheeks flushed and feverish-looking. 
 
 " My dearest Pifine, what is all this for, on the happiest day of 
 your life ?" said she, drawing her arm around her. 
 
BAEEiiraTOir. 409 
 
 " It's all your fault — all your doing," said tlie other, averting her 
 head, as she tried to disengage herself ffom the embrace. 
 
 " My fault — my doing ? "What do you mean, dearest ; what 
 can I have done to deserve this ?" 
 
 " Tou know very well what you have done. You knew all the 
 time how it would turn out." 
 
 Polly protested firmly that she could not imagine what was at- 
 tributed to her, and only after a considerable time obtained the ex- 
 planation of the charge. Indeed, it was not at first easy to com- 
 prehend it, given, as it was, in the midst of tears, and broken at 
 every word by sobs. The substance was this; that Kfine, in an 
 attempted imitation of Polly's manner — ^an effort to copy the co- 
 quetting which she faacied to be so captivating — had ventured to 
 trifle so far with young Conyers, that, after submitting to every 
 alternative of hope and fear for weeks long, he at last gave way, and 
 determined to leave the house, quit the country, and never meet her 
 more. " It was to be like you, I did it," cried she, sobbing bitterly, 
 " and see what it has led me to." 
 
 " "Well, dearest, be really like me for half an hour ; that is, be very 
 patient and very quiet. Sit down, here, and don't leave this till I 
 come back to you." 
 
 Polly kissed her hot cheek as she spoke, and the other sat down 
 where she was bade, with the half obedient sulkiness of a naughty 
 child. 
 
 " Tell young Mr. Conyers to come and speak to me. I shall be in 
 the garden," said she to his servant ; and before she had gone many 
 paces he was beside her. 
 
 " Oh, Polly dearest ! have you any hope for me ?" cried he, in 
 agony. " If you knew the misery I am enduring." 
 
 " Come aud take a walk with me," said she, passing her arm within 
 his. " I think you will like to hear what I have to tell you." 
 
 The revelation was not a very long one, and as they passed beneath 
 the room where Josephine sat, Polly called out, " Come down here, 
 Kfine, we are making a bouquet ; try if you can find ' heart' s- 
 
 What a happy party met that day at dinner. AU were in their best 
 spirits, each contented with the other. " Have you read my aunt's 
 note ?" whispered Hunter to Polly, as they passed into the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " Yes. I showed it also to Miss Dinah. I asked her advice." 
 
 2e 
 
410 BAEEINaTOir. 
 
 " And what did she say — what did she advise ?" 
 " She said she'd think over it and tell me to-morrow." 
 " To-morrow! Why not now — why not at once?" cried he, im- 
 patiently. " I'll speak to her myself;" and he hurried to the little 
 room w^here Miss Dinah was making tea. 
 
 It was not a very long interview, and Hunter returned, fond, 
 radiant, and triumphant. " She's the cleverest old woman I ever 
 met in my life," said he ; " and the best, besides, after my Aunt Do- 
 rothy. She said that such an invitation as that was too cordial to be 
 coldly declined ; that it meant more — far more — than a politeness ; 
 that you ought to go, yes, by all means ; and if there was any diffi- 
 culty about the journey, or any awkwardness in travelling so far, 
 why, there was an easy remedy for it, as well as for meeting my aunt 
 a perfect stranger." 
 " And what was that ?" 
 
 " To go as her niece, dearest Polly — to be the wife of a man who 
 loves you." 
 
 " Is it possible that you have so much to say to each other that 
 you won't take tea ?" cried Aunt Dinah ; while she whispered to 
 "Withering, " I declare we shall never have a sociable moment till 
 they're all married off, and learn to conduct themselves like reason- 
 able creatures." 
 
 Is it not the best] testimony we can give to Jiappiness, that it is 
 a thing to feel and not describe ; to be enjoyed, but not pictured ? 
 It is like a debt that I owe to my reader, to show him " The Home" as it 
 was when blissful hearts were gathered under its roof; and yet, for the 
 life of me, I cannot acquit myself of it. To say that there were old 
 people with their memories of the past, and young ones with their 
 hopes of the future ; that there were bygones to sigh over, and 
 vistas to gaze at, conveys but little of the kindliness by which heart 
 opened to heart, and sorrow grew lighter by mutual endurance, and 
 joys became brighter as they were imparted to another. 
 
 " So I find," said Barrington, as they sat at breakfast together, 
 " that Josephine insists on going back to the convent, and !Fred is- 
 resolved on an exchange into the Infantry, and is off for Canada im- 
 mediately." 
 
 " Not a bit of it !" broke in Hunter, who remarked nothing of the 
 roguish drollery of old Peter's eye, nor even suspected that the speech 
 was made in mockery. " Master Ered is coming with me into Kiln 
 kenny this morning, for a visit to the Dean, or whatever he is, who 
 dispenses those social handcuffs they call licenses." 
 
BAEEINGTOlf. 411 
 
 " Why, they were quarrelliBg all the morning," repeated Bar- 
 rington. 
 
 " So we were, Sir, and so we mean to do for many a year," said 
 Josephine ; " and to keep us in countenance, I hear that General 
 Hunter and Polly have determined to foUow our example." 
 
 " "What do I hear. Miss Dill ?" said Miss Barrington, with an 
 aiFected severity. 
 
 " I'm afraid, Madam, it is true ; there has been what my father 
 calls ' a contagious endemic' here lately, and we have both caught it ; 
 but ours are mild cases, and we hope soon to recover." 
 
 " What's this I see here !" cried Fred ; who, to conceal his shame, 
 had taken up the newspaper. " Listen to this : ' The notorious 
 Stapylton, alias Edwardes, whose case, up to yesterday, was reported 
 all but hopeless, made his escape from the hospital, and has not since 
 been heard of. It would appear that some of the officials had been 
 bribed to assist his evasion, and a strict inquiry will be immediately 
 set on foot into the affair.' " 
 
 " Do you think he has got over to France ?" whispered Peter to- 
 Withering. 
 
 " Of course he has ; the way was all open, and everything ready 
 for him !" 
 
 " Then I am thoroughly happy !" cried Barrington, " and there's 
 not even the shadow of a cloud over our present sunshine." 
 
 THE END. 
 
C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STKAND. 
 
mm. mm 
 
 
 
 
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