Tony Butler. Lever Charles James

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      “You should have given my message as I spoke it to you,” said the mistress, severely.

      “I ‘m no sae blind that I canna see the differ between an aching head and a heavy heart Ye ‘re just frettin’, and there ‘s naething else the matter wi’ you. There he goes now, the same man, – the same gentleman, I mean,” said she, with a faint scoff. “He aye goes back by the strand, and climbs the white rocks opposite the Skerries.”

      “Go and say that I ‘ll be happy to have a visit from him to-morrow, Jeanie; and mind, put nothing of your own in it, lassie, but give my words as I speak them.”

      With a toss of her head Jeanie left the room, and soon after was seen skipping lightly from rock to rock towards the beach beneath. To the old lady’s great surprise, however, Jeanie, instead of limiting herself to the simple words of her message, appeared to be talking away earnestly and fluently with the stranger; and, worse than all, she now saw that he was coming back with her, and walking straight for the cottage. Mrs. Butler had but time to change her cap and smooth down the braids of her snow-white hair, when the key turned in the lock, and Jeanie ushered in Mr. Norman Maitland. Nothing could be more respectful or in better taste than Maitland’s approach. He blended the greatest deference with an evident desire to make her acquaintance, and almost at once relieved her from what she so much dreaded, – the first meeting with a stranger.

      “Are you of the Clairlaverock Maitlands, sir?” asked she, timidly.

      “Very distantly, I believe, madam. We all claim Sir Peter as the head of the family; but my own branch settled in India two generations back, and, I shame to say, thought of everything but genealogy.”

      “There was a great beauty, a Miss Hester Maitland. When I was a girl, she married a lord, I think?”

      “Yes, she married a Viscount Kinross, a sort of cousin of her own; though I am little versed in family history. The truth is, madam, younger sons who had to work their way in the world were more anxious to bequeath habits of energy and activity to their children than ideas of blazons and quarterings.”

      The old lady sighed at this; but it was a sigh of relief. She had been dreading not a little a meeting with one of those haughty Maitlands, associated in her childhood’s days with thoughts of wealth and power, and that dominance that smacks of, if it does not mean, insolence; and now she found one who was not ashamed to belong to a father who had toiled for his support and worked hard for his livelihood. And yet it was strange with what tenacity she clung to a topic that had its terrors for her. She liked to talk of the family, and high connections, and great marriages of all these people with whose names she was familiar as a girl, but whom she had never known, if she had so much as seen.

      “My poor husband, sir, – you may have heard of him, – Colonel Walter Butler, knew all these things by heart. You had only to ask when did so-and-so die, and who married such a one, and he ‘d tell you as if out of a book.”

      “I have heard of Colonel Butler, madam. His fame as a soldier is widespread in India; indeed, I had hoped to have made his son’s acquaintance when I came here; but I believe he is with his regiment.”

      “No, sir, he’s not in the service,” said she, flushing.

      “Ah! a civilian, then. Well, madam, the Butlers have shown capacity in all careers.”

      “My poor boy has not had the chance given him as yet, Mr. Maitland. We were too poor to think of a profession; and so, waiting and hoping, though it ‘s not very clear for what, we let the time slip over; and there he is a great grown man! as fine a young fellow as you ever looked on, and as good as handsome; but yet he cannot do one hand’s turn that would give him bread; and yet, ask your friends at the Abbey if there’s a grace or gift of a gentleman he is not the master of.”

      “I think I know how the Lyles speak of him, and what affection they bear him.”

      “Many would condemn me, sir,” cried she, warming with the one theme that engaged her whole heart, “for having thrown my boy amongst those so far above him in fortune, and given him habits and ways that his own condition must deny him; but it was my pride to see him in the station that his father held, and to know that he became it. I suppose there are dangers in it, too,” said she, rather answering his grave look than anything he had said. “I take it, sir, there are great temptations, mayhap over-strong temptations, for young natures.”

      Maitland moved his head slightly, to imply that he assented.

      “And it’s not unlikely the poor boy felt that himself; for when he came home t’ other night he looked scared and worn, and answered me shortly and abruptly in a way he never does, and made me sit down on the spot and write a letter for him to a great man who knew his father, asking – it is hard to say what I asked, and what I could have expected.”

      “Colonel Butler’s son can scarcely want friends, madam,” said Maitland, courteously.

      “What the world calls friends are usually relatives, and we have but one who could pretend to any sort of influence; and his treatment of my poor husband debars us from all knowledge of him. He was an only brother, a certain Sir Omerod Butler. You may, perhaps, have heard of him?”

      “Formerly British Minister at Naples, I think?”

      “The same, sir; a person, they tell me, of great abilities, but very eccentric, and peculiar, – indeed, so his letters bespeak him.”

      “You have corresponded with him then, madam?”

      “No, sir, never; but he wrote constantly to my husband before our marriage. They were at that time greatly attached to each other; and the elder, Sir Omerod, was always planning and plotting for his brother’s advancement. He talked of him as if he was his son, rather than a younger brother; in fact, there were eighteen years between them. Our marriage broke up all this. The great man was shocked at the humble connection, and poor Walter would not bear to have me slightingly spoken of; but dear me, Mr. Maitland, how I am running on! To talk of such things to you! I am really ashamed of myself! What will you think of me?”

      “Only what I have learned to think of you, madam, from all your neighbors, – with sentiments of deep respect and sincere interest.”

      “It is very good of you to say it, sir; and I wish Tony was back here to know you and thank you for all your attention to his mother.”

      “You are expecting him, then?” asked he.

      “Well, sir, I am, and I am not. One letter is full of hope and expectancy; by Thursday or Friday he ‘s to have some tidings about this or that place; and then comes another, saying how Sir Harry counsels him to go out and make friends with his uncle. All mammon, sir, – nothing but mammon; just because this old man is very rich, and never was married.”

      “I suspect you are in error there, madam. Sir Omerod was married at least twenty years ago, when I first heard of him at Naples.”

      She shook her head doubtfully, and said, “I have always been told the reverse, sir. I know what you allude to, but I have reason to believe I am right, and there is no Lady Butler.”

      “It is curious enough, madam, that through a chance acquaintance on a railroad train, I learned all about the lady he married. She was an Italian.”

      “It ‘s the same story I have heard myself, sir. We only differ about the ending of it. She was a stage-player or a dancer.”

      “No, madam; a very celebrated СКАЧАТЬ