The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Terry stood thunderstruck at the sudden outbreak of temper, and turned at once to the responsible individual, to whom he merely acted as guide, to make a reply.

      “And are ye tramping it too?” said M’Nab, with a sneering accent as he addressed the footman. “Methinks ye might hae a meal’s meat out o’ the goold lace on your hat, and look mair like a decent Christian afterwards. Ye’r out of place maybe.”

      These last words were delivered in an irony, to which a tone of incredulity gave all the sting; and these only were intelligible to the sleek and well-fed individual to whom they were addressed.

      In all likelihood, had he been charged with felony or highway robbery, his self-respect might have sustained his equanimity; any common infraction of the statute-law might have been alleged against him without exciting an undue indignation; but the contemptuous insinuation of being “out of place” – that domestic outlawry, was more than human endurance could stomach; nor was the insult more palatable coming from one he believed to be a servant himself. It was therefore with the true feeling of outraged dignity he replied —

      “Not exactly out of place jest now, friend; though, if they don’t treat you better than your looks show, I’d recommend you trying for a new situation.”

      Of a verity, Sir Archibald’s temper was destined to sore trials that morning; but this was a home thrust, for which no forethought could have prepared him.

      “I hope I am no’ going to lose my senses,” said he, as he pressed his hands on either side of his temples. “May the Lord keep me from that worst of a’ human calamities.”

      This pious wish, uttered with real, unfeigned fervency, seemed to act like a charm upon the old man’s temper, as though the very appeal had suggested a calmer and more patient frame of mind. It was, then, with all the dignity of his natural character, when unclouded by momentary flashes of passion, that he said —

      “What may be your errand here this morning?”

      Few and simple as the words were, there was that in their quiet, unassuming delivery, which in a second recalled the footman to a full consciousness of his impertinent mistake. He saw at once the immeasurable gulph, impassible to any effort of assumption or insolence, which separated them, and with the ready tact of his calling, he respectfully took off his hat, and held forth a sealed letter, without one word of reply or apology.

      Sir Archibald put on his spectacles, and having carefully read the superscription, turned back towards the house without speaking.

      “Here is a letter for you, O’Donoghue,” said he, as he entered the parlour where the chief was already seated at his breakfast, while Kerry O’Leary, a short distance behind his chair, was relating the circumstances of the last night’s adventure.

      “Is it from Mark?” said the old man eagerly; and then glancing at the writing, he threw it from him in disappointment, and added, “I am getting very uneasy about that lad.”

      “Had ye no’ better read the letter; the messenger wha brought it seems to expect an answer,” interposed M’Nab.

      “Messenger! – eh – not by post? Is Hemsworth come back?” exclaimed O’Donoghue, with an evident degree of fear in his manner.

      “No, sir,” said Kerry, guessing to what topic his master’s thoughts were turning; “the Captain is not coming, they say, for a month or six weeks yet.”

      “Thank God,” muttered O’Donoghue; “that scoundrel never leaves me a night’s rest, when I hear he’s in the neighbourhood. Will you see what’s in it, Archy? – my head is quite confused this morning; I got up three hours before my time.”

      Sir Archibald resumed his spectacles, and broke the seal. The contents were at some length it would seem, for as he perused the letter to himself, several minutes elapsed.

      “Go on, Kerry,” said O’Donoghue; “I want to hear all about this business.”

      “Well, I believe your honour knows the most of it now; for when I came up to the glen, they were all safe over, barrin’ the mare; poor Kittane, she was carried down the falls, and they took her up near a mile below the old bridge, stone dead; Master Mark will fret his heart out when he hears it.”

      “This is a very polite note,” interposed Sir Archy, as he laid the letter open before him, “from Sir Marmaduke Travers, begging to know when he may be permitted to pay his personal respects to you, and express his deep and grateful sense – his own words – of your son’s noble conduct in rescuing his daughter at the hazard of his life. It is written with much modesty and good sense, and the writer canna be other than a true gentleman.”

      “Travers – Travers,” repeated O’Donoghue; “why that’s the man himself. It was he bought the estate; he’s Hemsworth’s principal.”

      “And if he be,” replied M’Nab, “canna an honest man ha’e a bad servant? There’s nothing about Hemsworth here. It’s a ceevil demand from one gentleman to anither.”

      “So it is, then, Sir Marmaduke, that has been staying at the lodge these some weeks past. That was Mark’s secret – poor dear boy, he wouldn’t tell me, fearing it would annoy me. Well, what is it he wants.”

      “To visit you, O’Donoghue.”

      “What nonsense; the mischiefs done already. The mortgage is forclosed; and as for Carrignacurra, they can do nothing before the next term; Swaby says so, at least.”

      “Can ye no’ comprehend. It is no law document; but a ceevil way to make your acquaintance. Sir Marmaduke wad pay his respects to ye.”

      “Well, let him come,” said O’Donoghue, laughing; “he’s sure to find me at home. The sheriff takes care of that for him. Mark will be here to-morrow or next day; I hope he won’t come before that.”

      “The answer must be a written one,” said M’Nab; “it wad na be polite to gie the flunkie the response.”

      “With all my heart, Archy, so that I am not asked to indite it. Miles O’Donoghue are the only words I have written for many a year” – and he added, with a half bitter laugh – “it would have been as well for poor Mark, if I had forgotten even that same.”

      Sir Archibald retired to write the answer, with many a misgiving as to the substance of the epistle; for while deeply gratified at heart, that his favourite, Herbert, had acquitted himself so nobly, his own pride was mortified, as he thought over the impressions a visit to the O’Donoghue household might have on the mind of a “haughty Southern,” for such in his soul he believed him.

      There was no help for it, however; the advances were made in a spirit so very respectful, every line breathed such an evident desire, on the writer’s part, to be well received, that a refusal, or even a formal acceptance of the proffered visit, was out of the question. His reply, then, accepted the intended honour, with a profession of satisfaction; apologising for his omission in calling on Sir Marmaduke, on the score of ill health, and concluded by a few words about Herbert, for whom many inquiries were made in the letter. This, written in the clear, but quaint, old-fashioned characters of the writer’s time, and signed, “O’Donoghue,” was carefully folded, and enclosed in a large square envelope, and with it in his hand, M’Nab re-entered the breakfast room.

      “Wad you like to hear the terms of the response, O’Donoghue, before I seal it up?” asked Sir Archy, with an air of importance.

      “No, СКАЧАТЬ