The Fortunes Of Glencore. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ there beyant,” muttered the other, in a low voice, while he pointed towards the distant fireplace; “but he looks tired and weary, and I did n’t like to disturb him.”

      “Tired! weary! – with what? Where has he been; what has he been doing?” cried he, hastily. “Charles, Charles, I say!”

      And slowly rising from his seat, and with an air of languid indifference, the boy came towards him.

      Lord Glencore’s face darkened as he gazed on him.

      “Where have you been?” asked he, sternly.

      “Yonder,” said the boy, in an accent like the echo of his own.

      “There’s Mr. Craggs, now, my lord,” said the old butler, as he looked out of the window, and eagerly seized the opportunity to interrupt the scene; “there he is, and a gentleman with him.”

      “Ha! go and meet him, Charles, – it’s Harcourt. Go and receive him, show him his room, and then bring him here to me.”

      The boy heard without a word, and left the room with the same slow step and the same look of apathy. Just as he reached the hall the stranger was entering it. He was a tall, well-built man, with the mingled ease and stiffness of a soldier in his bearing; his face was handsome, but somewhat stern, and his voice had that tone which implies the long habit of command.

      “You’re a Massy, that I’ll swear to,” said he, frankly, as he shook the boy’s hand; “the family face in every lineament. And how is your father?”

      “Better; he has had a severe illness.”

      “So his letter told me. I was up the Rhine when I received it, and started at once for Ireland.”

      “He has been very impatient for your coming,” said the boy; “he has talked of nothing else.”

      “Ay, we are old friends. Glencore and I have been schoolfellows, chums at college, and messmates in the same regiment,” said he, with a slight touch of sorrow in his tone. “Will he be able to see me now? Is he confined to bed?”

      “No, he will dine with you. I ‘m to show you your room, and then bring you to him.”

      “That ‘s better news than I hoped for, boy. By the way, what’s your name?”

      “Charles Conyngham.”

      “To be sure, Charles; how could I have forgotten it! So, Charles, this is to be my quarters; and a glorious view there is from this window. What’s the mountain yonder?”

      “Ben Creggan.”

      “We must climb that summit some of these days, Charley. I hope you ‘re a good walker. You shall be my guide through this wild region here, for I have a passion for explorings.”

      And he talked away rapidly, while he made a brief toilet, and refreshed himself from the fatigues of the road.

      “Now, Charley, I am at your orders; let us descend to the drawing-room.”

      “You ‘ll find my father there,” said the boy, as he stopped short at the door; and Harcourt, staring at him for a second or two in silence, turned the handle and entered.

      Lord Glencore never turned his head as the other drew nigh, but sat with his forehead resting on the table, extending his hand only in welcome.

      “My poor fellow!” said Harcourt, grasping the thin and wasted fingers, – “my poor fellow, how glad I am to be with you again!” And he seated himself at his side as he spoke. “You had a relapse after you wrote to me?”

      Glencore slowly raised his head, and, pushing back a small velvet skull-cap that he wore, said, —

      “You ‘d not have known me, George. Eh? see how gray I am! I saw myself in the glass to-day for the first time, and I really could n’t believe my eyes.”

      “In another week the change will be just as great the other way. It was some kind of a fever, was it not?”

      “I believe so,” said the other, sighing.

      “And they bled you and blistered you, of course. These fellows are like the farriers – they have but the one system for everything. Who was your torturer; where did you get him from?”

      “A practitioner of the neighborhood, the wild growth of the mountain,” said Glencore, with a sickly smile; “but I must n’t be ungrateful; he saved my life, if that be a cause for gratitude.”

      “And a right good one, I take it. How like you that boy is, Glencore! I started back when he met me. It was just as if I was transported again to old school-days, and had seen yourself as you used to be long ago. Do you remember the long meadow, Glencore?”

      “Harcourt,” said he, falteringly, “don’t talk to me of long ago, – at least not now;” and then, as if thinking aloud, added, “How strange that a man without a hope should like the future better than the past!”

      “How old is Charley?” asked Harcourt, anxious to engage him on some other theme.

      “He ‘ll be fifteen, I think, his next birthday; he seems older, does n’t he?”

      “Yes, the boy is well grown and athletic. What has he been doing – have you had him at a school?”

      “At a school!” said Glencore, starting; “no, he has lived always here with myself. I have been his tutor; I read with him every day, till that illness seized me.”

      “He looks clever; is he so?”

      “Like the rest of us, George, he may learn, but he can’t be taught. The old obstinacy of the race is strong in him, and to rouse him to rebel all you have to do is to give him a task; but his faculties are good, his apprehension quick, and his memory, if he would but tax it, excellent. Here ‘s Craggs come to tell us of dinner; give me your arm, George, we haven’t far to go – this one room serves us for everything.”

      “You’re better lodged than I expected – your letters told me to look for a mere barrack; and the place stands so well.”

      “Yes, the spot was well chosen, although I suppose its founders cared little enough about the picturesque.”

      The dinner-table was spread behind one of the massive screens, and, under the careful direction of Craggs and old Simon, was well and amply supplied, – fish and game, the delicacies of other localities, being here in abundance. Har-court had a traveller’s appetite, and enjoyed himself thoroughly, while Glencore never touched a morsel, and the boy ate sparingly, watching the stranger with that intense curiosity which comes of living estranged from all society.

      “Charley will treat you to a bottle of Burgundy, Har-court,” said Glencore, as they drew round the fire; “he keeps the cellar key.”

      “Let us have two, Charley,” said Harcourt, as the boy arose to leave the room, “and take care that you carry them steadily.”

      The boy stood for a second and looked at his father, as if interrogating, and then a sudden flush suffused his face as Glencore made a gesture with his hand for him to go.

      “You don’t perceive how you touched him to the quick there, Harcourt? You talked to him as to how СКАЧАТЬ