The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ was not free of a certain dread that Miss Daly would scarcely be acceptable to his wife, while her wayward, uncertain temper would form no safe companionship for his daughter. As he pondered on these things, he began to feel how altered circumstances beget suspicion, and how he, who had never known the feeling of distrust, now found himself hesitating and doubting, where formerly he had acted without fear or reserve.

      “Yes,” said he, aloud, “when wealth and station were mine, the consciousness of power gave energy to my thoughts, but now I am to learn how narrow means can fetter a man’s courage.”

      “Some truth in that,” said a voice behind him; “would cut a very different figure myself if old Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey Grove, were to betake himself to a better world.”

      Darcy’s cheek reddened between shame and anger to find himself overheard by his obtrusive companion, and, with a cold salute, he passed on. Mr. Dempsey, however, was not a man to be so easily got rid of; he possessed that happy temper that renders its owner insensible to shame and unconscious of rebuke; besides that, he was always “going your way,” quite content to submit to any amount of rebuff rather than be alone. If you talked, it was well; if you listened, it was better; but if you affected open indifference to him, and neither exchanged a word nor vouchsafed the slightest attention, even that was supportable, for he could give the conversation a character of monologue or anecdote, which occupied himself at least.

      CHAPTER II. A TALE OF MR. DEMPSEY’S GRANDFATHER

      The Knight of Gwynne was far too much occupied in his own reflections to attend to his companion, and exhibited a total unconcern to several piquant little narratives of Mrs. Mackie’s dexterity in dealing the cards, of Mrs. Fumbally’s parsimony in domestic arrangements, of Miss Boyle’s effrontery, of Leonard’s intemperance, and even of Miss Daly’s assumed superiority.

      “You ‘re taking the wrong path,” said Mr. Dempsey, suddenly interrupting one of his own narratives, at a spot where the two roads diverged, – one proceeding inland, while the other followed the line of the coast.

      “With your leave, sir,” said Darcy, coldly, “I will take this way, and if you ‘ll kindly permit it, I will do so alone.”

      “Oh, certainly!” said Dempsey, without the slightest sign of umbrage; “would never have thought of joining you had it not been from overhearing an expression so exactly pat to my own condition, that I thought we were brothers in misfortune; you scarcely bear up as well as I do, though.”

      Darcy turned abruptly round, as the fear flashed across him, and he muttered to himself, “This fellow knows me; if so, the whole county will soon be as wise as himself, and the place become intolerable.” Oppressed with this unpleasant reflection, the Knight moved on, nor was it till after a considerable interval that he was conscious of his companion’s presence; for Mr. Dempsey still accompanied him, though at the distance of several paces, and as if following a path of his own choosing.

      Darcy laughed good-humoredly at the pertinacity of his tormentor; and half amused by the man, and half ashamed of his own rudeness to him, he made some casual observation on the scenery to open a reconciliation.

      “The coast is much finer,” said Dempsey, “close to your cottage.”

      This was a home-thrust for the Knight, to show him that concealment was of no use against so subtle an adversary.

      “‘The Corvy’ is, as you observe, very happily situated,” replied Darcy, calmly; “I scarcely know which to prefer, – the coast-line towards Dunluce, or the bold cliffs that stretch away to Bengore.”

      “When the wind comes north-by-west,” said Dempsey, with a shrewd glance of his greenish gray eyes, “there ‘s always a wreck or two between the Skerries and Portrush.”

      “Indeed! Is the shore so unsafe as that?”

      “Oh, yes. You may expect a very busy winter here when the homeward-bound Americans are coming northward.”

      “D – n the fellow! does he take me for a wrecker?” said Darcy to himself, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry.

      “Such a curiosity that old ‘Corvy’ is, they tell me,” said Dempsey, emboldened by his success; “every species of weapon and arm in the world, they say, gathered together there.”

      “A few swords and muskets,” said the Knight, carelessly; “a stray dirk or two, and some harpoons, furnish the greater part of the armory.”

      “Oh, perhaps so! The story goes, however, that old Daly – brother, I believe, of our friend at Mother Fum’s – could arm twenty fellows at a moment’s warning, and did so on more than one occasion too.”

      “With what object, in Heaven’s name?”

      “Buccaneering, piracy, wrecking, and so on,” said Dempsey, with all the unconcern with which he would have enumerated so many pursuits of the chase.

      A hearty roar of laughter broke from the Knight; and when it ceased he said, “I would be sincerely sorry to stand in your shoes, Mr. Dempsey, so near to yonder cliff, if you made that same remark in Mr. Daly’s hearing.”

      “He ‘d gain very little by me,” said Mr. Dempsey; “one and eightpence, an old watch, an oyster-knife, and my spectacles, are all the property in my possession – except, when, indeed,” added he, after a pause, “Bob remits the quarter’s allowance.”

      “It is only just,” said Darcy, gravely, “to a gentleman who takes such pains to inform himself on the affairs of his neighbors, that I should tell you that Mr. Bagenal Daly is not a pirate, nor am I a wrecker. I am sure you will be generous enough for this unasked information not to require of me a more lengthened account either of my friend or myself.”

      “You ‘re in the Revenue, perhaps?” interrupted the undaunted Dempsey; “I thought so when I saw you first.”

      Darcy shook his head in dissent.

      “Wrong again. Ah! I see it all; the old story. Saw better days – you have just come down here to lie snug and quiet, out of the way of writs and latitats – went too fast – by Jove, that touches myself too! If I hadn’t happened to have a grandfather, I ‘d have been a rich man this day. Did you ever chance to hear of Dodd and Dempsey, the great wine-merchants? My father was son of Dodd and Dempsey, – that is Dempsey, you know; and it was his father-Sam Dempsey – ruined him.”

      “No very uncommon circumstance,” said the Knight, sorrowfully, “for an Irish father.”

      “You ‘ve heard the story, I suppose? – of course you have; every one knows it.”

      “I rather think not,” said the Knight, who was by no means sorry to turn Mr. Dempsey from cross-examination into mere narrative.

      “I ‘ll tell it to you; I am sure I ought to know it well, I ‘ve heard my father relate it something like a hundred times.”

      “I fear I must decline so pleasant a proposal,” said Darcy, smiling. “At this moment I have an engagement.”

      “Never mind. To-morrow will do just as well,” interrupted the inexorable Dempsey. “Come over and take your mutton-chop with me at five, and you shall have the story into the bargain.”

      “I regret that I cannot accept so very tempting an invitation,” said Darcy, struggling between his sense of pride and a feeling of astonishment at his companion’s coolness.

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