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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ coincide with your views, sir.”

      Kennyfeck seemed surprised at this, for he had not, to his knowledge, ventured on any opinion.

      “Perhaps,” said he, taking breath for a last effort, “if you ‘d kindly look at the map of the estate, and just see where this farm trenches on your own limits, you could judge better about the propriety of the renewal.”

      “Oh, with pleasure!” exclaimed Cashel, while he suffered himself to be led into the study, his face exhibiting very indifferent signs of satisfaction.

      “Shall we assist in the consultation, Mr. Cashel?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, smiling in reply to his reluctant look at leaving.

      “Oh, by all means!” cried he, enthusiastically; “do come, and give me your advice. Pray, come.”

      “Come, girls,” said the mother, “although I perceive Mr. Kennyfeck is terribly shocked at the bare thought of our intrusion; but be of good courage, we only accompany Mr. Cashel to save him from any long imprisonment.” And so she moved majestically forward, her daughters following her.

      An alchemist would probably have received company in his laboratory, or a hermit admitted a jovial party in his cell, with less of constraint and dissatisfaction than did Mr. Kennyfeck watch the approach of his wife and daughters to the sanctum of his study.

      Save at rare intervals, when a disconsolate widow had come to resolve a question of administration, or a no less forlorn damsel had entered to consult upon an action for “breach of promise,” St. Kevin himself had never been less exposed to female intervention. It needed, then, all his reverence and fear of Mrs. Kennyfeck to sustain the shock to his feelings, as he saw her seat herself in his office-chair, and look around with the air of command that he alone used to exhibit in these regions.

      “Now for this same map, Mr. Kennyfeck, and let us bear the question for which this Privy Council has been convened.”

      “This is the map,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, unfolding a large scroll, “and I believe a single glance will enable Mr. Cashel to perceive that some little deliberation would be advisable before continuing in possession a tenant whose holding completely destroys the best feature of the demesne. This red line here is your boundary towards the Limerick road; here, stands the house, which, from the first, was a great mistake. It is built in a hollow without a particle of view; whereas, had it been placed here, where this cross is marked, the prospect would have extended over the whole of Scariff Bay, and by the west, down to Killaloe.”

      “Well, what’s to prevent our building it there yet?” interrupted Cashel. “I think it would be rare fun building a house, – at least if I may judge from all the amusement I’ve had in constructing one of leaves and buffalo-hides, in the prairies.”

      Mrs. Kennyfeck and her eldest daughter smiled their blandest approbation, while Olivia murmured in her sister’s ear, “Oh, dear, he is so very natural, isn’t he?”

      “That will be a point for ulterior consideration,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, who saw the danger of at all wandering from the topic in hand. “Give me your attention now for one moment, Mr. Cashel. Another inconvenience in the situation of the present house is, that it stands scarcely a thousand yards from this red-and-yellow line here.”

      “Well, what is that?” inquired Cashel, who already began to feel interested in the localities.

      “This – and pray observe it well, sir – this red-and-yellow line, enclosing a tract which borders on the Shannon, and runs, as you may remark, into the very heart of the demesne, this is Tubberbeg, the farm in question, – not only encroaching upon your limits, but actually cutting you off from the river, – at least, your access is limited to a very circuitous road, and which opens upon a very shallow part of the stream.”

      “And who or what is this tenant?” asked Cashel.

      “His name is Corrigan, a gentleman by birth, but of a very limited fortune; he is now an old man, upwards of seventy, I understand.”

      “And how came it that he ever obtained possession of a tract so circumstanced, marring, as you most justly observe, the whole character of the demesne?”

      “That would be a long story, sir; enough, if I mention that his ancestors were the ancient owners of the entire estate, which was lost by an act of confiscation in the year forty-five. Some extenuating circumstances, however, induced the Government to confer upon a younger branch of the family a lease of this small tract called Tubberbeg, to distinguish it from Tubbermore, the larger portion; and this lease it is whose expiration, in a few years, induces the present query.”

      “Has Mr. Corrigan children?”

      “No; his only child, a daughter, is dead, but a granddaughter lives now with the old man.”

      “Then what is it he asks? Is it a renewal of the lease, on the former terms?”

      “Why, not precisely. I believe he would be willing to-pay more.”

      “That’s not what I mean,” replied Cashel, reddening; “I ask, what terms as to time, he seeks for. Would it content him to have the land for his own life?”

      “Mr. Kennyfeck, you are really very culpable to leave Mr. Cashel to the decision of matters of this kind, – matters in which his kindliness of heart and inexperience will always betray him into a forgetfulness of his own interest. What has Mr. Cashel to think about this old creature’s ancestors, who were rebels, it appears, or his daughter, or his granddaughter? Here is a simple question of a farm, which actually makes the demesne worthless, and which, by a singular piece of good fortune, is in Mr. Cashel’s power to secure.”

      “This is a very correct view, doubtless,” said her meek husband, submissively, “but we should also remember – ”

      “We have nothing to remember,” interrupted Mrs. Kenny-feck, stoutly; “nothing, save his interests, who, as I have observed, is of too generous a nature to be trusted with such matters.”

      “Is there no other farm, – have we nothing on the property he ‘d like as well as this?” asked Cashel.

      “I fear not. The attachment to a place inhabited for centuries by his ancestry – ”

      “By his fiddlestick!” struck in Mrs. Kennyfeck; “two and sixpence an acre difference would be all the necessary compensation. Mr. Kennyfeck, how can you trifle in this manner, when you know how it will injure the demesne!”

      “Oh, ruin it utterly!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck.

      “It completely cuts off the beautiful river and those dear islands,” said Olivia.

      “So it does,” said Cashel, musing.

      “I wonder are they wooded? I declare I believe they are. Papa, are these little scrubby things meant to represent trees?”

      “Oaks and chestnut-trees,” responded Mr. Kennyfeck, gravely.

      “Oh, how I should love a cottage on that island, – a real Swiss cottage, with its carved galleries and deep-eaved roof. Who owns these delicious islands?”

      “Mr. Cashel, my dear,” said papa, still bent on examining the map.

      “Do I, indeed!” cried Roland, in an ecstasy. “Then you shall have your wish, Miss Kenny feck. I promise you the prettiest Swiss cottage that your own taste can devise.”

СКАЧАТЬ