Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II). Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ bad, was n’t it?” said Cashel, pushing the wine past; “but he’s a capital fellow, – took the whole thing in such good part, and seems only anxious that the story should n’t get abroad. Of course I need n’t repeat my caution on that subject?”

      “Oh, certainly not! Shall we join the ladies?” said Mr. Jones, as he surveyed his whiskers and arranged the tie of his cravat before the glass.

      “I’m quite ready,” said Cashel, who had quietly set down in his own mind that the ladies of the Kennyfeck family were a kind of female fac-simile of the stiff-looking old attorney, and, therefore, felt very few qualms on the subject of his disordered and slovenly appearance.

      Scarcely had Cashel entered the drawing-room than he found his hand grasped in Mr. Kennyfeck’s, when, with a most dulcet acccent, he said, —

      “I knew you ‘d forgive me, – I told Mrs. Kennyfeck you’d excuse me for not joining you at dinner; but I was really so fatigued. Mrs. Kennyfeck – Mr. Cashel. My daughter, Mr. Cashel. My daughter Olivia. Well, now, have you dined heartily? – I hope my friends here took care of you.”

      “I thank you. I never dined better, – only sorry not to, have had your company. We have our apologies to make, Mrs. Kennyfeck, for not being earlier; but, of course, you ‘ve heard that we did our very utmost.”

      “Oh, yes, yes! I explained everything,” interrupted Kennyfeck, most eager to stop a possible exposure. “Mrs. Kennyfeck knows it all.”

      Although Cashel’s manner and address were of a kind to subject him to the most severe criticism of the ladies of the Kennyfeck family, they evinced the most laudable spirit in their hospitable and even cordial reception of him, Mrs. Kennyfeck making room for him to sit on the sofa beside her, – a post of honor that even the Castle aides-de-camp only enjoyed by great favor; while the daughters listened with an attention as flattering to him as it was galling to the other two guests.

      Mr. Softly, however, resigned himself to this neglect as to a passing cloud of forgetfulness, and betook himself to the columns of the “Morning Post” for consolation, occasionally glancing over the margin to watch the laughing group around the fire. As for Jones; Mr. Kennyfeck had withdrawn with that gentleman into a window, where the tactics of some bill in equity engaged their attention, – manifestly, however, to the young barrister’s discontent, as his frequent stolen looks towards the ladies evidenced.

      It was the first time that the Kennyfecks had ever deigned to listen to any one whose claims to a hearing rested on higher grounds than the light gossip and small-talk of the capital, the small fashionable chit-chat of a provincial city, and which bears the same resemblance to the table-talk of the greater metropolis as do larks to ortolans, when disguised in the same kind of sauce; only those accustomed to the higher flavor being able to detect the difference. It was, then, with as much surprise as pleasure that they found themselves listening to the narratives in which not a single noble or lordly personage figured, nor one singular incident occurred reflecting on the taste, the wealth, or the morals of their acquaintance. It was no less a novelty, too, for Cashel to find any one a listener to descriptions of scenes and habits in whose familiarity he saw nothing strange or remarkable; so that when the young ladies, at first attracted by mere curiosity, became gradually more and more interested in his stories, his flattered vanity gave new warmth to an enthusiasm always ardent, and he spoke of prairie life and adventure with a degree of eloquence and power that might have captivated even less indulgent auditors.

      It was, besides, the first time that they ever had seen great wealth unallied with immense pretension. Cashel, perhaps from character, or that his accession to fortune was too recent, and his consequent ignorance of all that money can do, whichever of these the cause, was certainly the most unassuming young man they had ever met. In comparison with him, the aides-de-camp were princes of the blood; even Mr. Jones put forth a degree of pretension on the score of his abilities, which stood in strong contrast with the unaffected and simple modesty of Roland Cashel.

      It is but fair to all parties to add that dark and flashing eyes, shaded by long and drooping lashes, a high and massive forehead; a brown, almost Spanish complexion, whose character was increased by a pair of short coal-black moustaches, – did not detract from the merit of tales, which, as they chiefly related to feats of personal daring and address, were well corroborated by the admirable symmetry and handsome proportions of the relater.

      Story followed story. Now the scene lay in the low and misty swamps of the Niger, where night resounds with the dull roar of the beasts of prey, and the heavy plash of the sluggish alligator on the muddy shore; now, it was in the green wood of the Spice Islands, amid an atmosphere scented with perfume, and glittering with every gorgeous hue of plumage and verdure. At one moment he would describe a chase at sea, with all its high and maddening excitement, as each new vicissitude of success or failure arose; and then he would present some little quiet picture of shore life in a land where the boundless resources of Nature supply, even anticipate, the wants and luxuries of man.

      Whatever the interest, and occasionally it rose to a high pitch, that attended his narratives of danger and daring, the little sketches he gave from time to time of the domestic life of these far-away people, seemed to attract the most delighted attention of his fair hearers, particularly where his narrative touched upon the traits, whether of beauty, dress, or demeanor, that distinguish the belles of New Spain.

      “How difficult,” said Miss Kennyfeck, “I could almost say, how impossible, to leave a land so abounding in the romance of life, for all the dull and commonplace realities of European existence.”

      “How hard to do so without leaving behind the heart that could feel such ecstasies,” murmured Olivia, with a half-raised eyelid, and a glance that made Cashel flush with delight.

      “How shall we ever make Ireland compensate you for quitting so lovely a country!” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a smile rarely accorded to anything lower than a viscount.

      “We have a Mexican proverb, madam,” said Cashel, gayly, “which says, ‘Wherever the sun shines, bright eyes shine also.’ But enough of these tiresome memories, in which my egotism will always involve me. Shall we have a fandango?”

      “I don’t know it; I never saw it danced.”

      “Well, the manolo, then.”

      “Nor that either,” said both girls, laughing.

      “Well, will you learn? I’ll teach you the manolo. It’s very simple. If you ‘ll play the air, Miss Kennyfeck, – it runs thus.” Here he opened the pianoforte, and, after a few chords, struck with a masterly finger, he played a little Spanish dance; but with a spirit of execution, and in such an exciting character of time and measure, that a general exclamation of delight broke from the whole room, Mr. Jones himself forgetting all rivalry, and Mr. Softly laying down his newspaper to listen, and for a moment carried away by the fascination of the spirit-stirring melody.

      “That is the manolo; come, now, and let me teach you, first the air, and then the dance.”

      “Oh, I never could succeed to give it that character of bold and haughty defiance it breathes from you,” said Miss Kennyfeck.

      “Nay, nay, a man’s hand is always so rude and heavy, it needs the taper finger of a lady,” – here Cashel bent, and kissed the hand he held, but with such a deference and respect in the salute, that deprived the action, so novel to our eyes, of any appearance of a liberty, – “of a lady,” he resumed, “to impart the ringing brilliancy of the saucy manolo.”

      “Then play it over once more, and I ‘ll try,” said Miss Kennyfeck, who was a most accomplished musician, and had even already caught up the greater СКАЧАТЬ