Tony Butler. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ and her tears fell faster as she looked at him; and fearing that her sobs might awake him, she stole silently away and left the room.

      “There’s the steam-whistle, mother; I can just see the smoke over the cliff. I ‘m off,” said he, as she had dropped off asleep.

      “But your breakfast, Tony; I ‘ll make you a cup of tea.”

      “Not for the world; I ‘m late enough as it is. God bless you, little woman. I ‘ll be back before you know that I ‘m gone. Good-bye.”

      She could hardly trace the black speck as the boat shot out in the deep gloom of daybreak, and watched it till it rounded the little promontory, when she lost it; and then her sorrow – sorrow that recalled her great desolation – burst forth, and she cried as they only cry who are forsaken. But this was not for long. It was the passion of grief, and her reason soon vanquished it; and as she dried her tears, she said, “Have I not much to be grateful for? What a noble boy he is, and what a brave good man he may be!”

      CHAPTER II. A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN IRELAND

      The country-house life of Ireland had – and I would say has, if I were not unhappily drawing on my memory – this advantage over that of England, that it was passed in that season when the country offered all that it had of beauty and attraction; when the grove was leafy, and the blossomy fruit-trees vied in gorgeous color with the flowery beds beneath them; when the blackbird’s mellow song rang through the thicket, and the heavy plash of the trout rose above the ripple of the river; when the deep grass waved like a sea under a summer wind, and the cattle, grouped picturesquely, tempered the noonday heat beneath the spreading elms, or stood contemplatively in the stream, happy in their luxurious indolence.

      What a wealth of enjoyment does such a season offer! How imperceptibly does the lovely aspect of nature blend itself day by day with every incident of our lives, stealing its peaceful influence over our troubled hearts, blunting the pangs of our disappointments, calming down the anxieties of our ambitions! How pleasant is the companionship of our book, and doubly, trebly delightful the converse of our friend! How gratefully, too, do we imbibe the health that comes with every charm of color and sound and form and odor, repeating at every step, “How beautiful the world is, and how enjoyable!”

      I am not going to disparage – far be it from me – the fox-cover or the grouse-mountain; but, after all, these are the accidents, not the elements, of country life, which certainly ought to be passed when the woods are choral with the thrush, and the air scented with the apple-blossom; when it is sweet to lie under the weeping-willow beside the stream, or stroll at sunset through the grove, to gain that crested ridge where the red horizon can be seen, and watch the great sun as it sinks in splendor.

      Lyle Abbey had not many pretensions to beauty of architecture in itself, or to scenery in its neighborhood. Nor was it easy to say why a great, bulky, incongruous building, disfigured by painted windows to make it Gothic, should have ever been called an Abbey. It was, however, both roomy and convenient within. There were fine, lofty, spacious reception-rooms, well lighted and ventilated. Wide corridors led to rows of comfortable chambers, where numbers of guests could be accommodated, and in every detail of fitting and furniture, ease and comfort had been studied with a success that attained perfection.

      The grounds, – a space of several hundred acres, – enclosed within a massive wall, had not more pretensions to beauty than the mansion. There were, it is true, grand points of view, – noble stretches of shore and sea-coast to be had from certain eminences, and abundant undulations, – some of these wild and picturesque enough; but the great element of all was wanting, – there was no foliage, or next to none.

      Trees will not grow in this inhospitable climate, or only grow in the clefts and valleys; and even there their stunted growth and scathed branches show that the northwest wind has found them out, twisting their boughs uncouthly towards the eastward, and giving them a semblance to some scared and hooded traveller scudding away before a storm.

      Vegetation thrives no better. The grass, of sickly yellow, is only fit for sheep, and there are no traces of those vast tracts of verdure which represent culture in the South of Ireland. Wealth had fought out the battle bravely, however, and artificial soils and trees and ornamental shrubs, replaced and replaced by others as they died off, combated the ungrateful influences, and won at last a sort of victory. That is to say, the stranger felt, as he passed the gate, that he was entering what seemed an oasis, so wild and dreary and desolate was the region which stretched away for miles on every side.

      Some drives and walks had been designed – what will not landscape gardening do? – with occasional shelter and cover. The majority, however, led over wild, bleak crests, – breezy and bracing on fine days, but storm-lashed whenever the wind came, as it will for ten months out of twelve, over the great rolling waters of the Atlantic.

      The most striking and picturesque of these walks led along the cliffs over the sea, and, indeed, so close as to be fenced off by a parapet from the edge of the precipice. It was a costly labor, and never fully carried out, – the two miles which had been accomplished figuring for a sum that Sir Arthur declared would have bought the fee-simple of a small estate. It was along this pathway that Captain Lyle sauntered with his two sisters on the morning after his arrival. It was the show spot of the whole demesne; and certainly, as regards grand effects of sea-view and coastline, not to be surpassed in the kingdom. They had plotted together in the morning how they would lead Mark in this direction, and, suddenly placing him in one of the most striking spots, enjoy all his wonderment and admiration; for Mark Lyle had seldom been at home since his “Harrow” days, and the Abbey and its grounds were almost strange to him.

      “What are the rocks yonder, Bella?” said he, listlessly, as he puffed his cigar and pointed seaward.

      “The Skerries, Mark; see how the waves beat over that crag. They tried to build a lighthouse there, but the foundations were soon swept away.”

      “And what is that? It looks like a dismantled house.”

      “That is the ruined castle of Dunluce. It belonged to the Antrim family.”

      “Good heavens! what a dreary region it all is!” cried he, interrupting. “I declare to you, South Africa is a garden compared to this.”

      “Oh, Mark, for shame!” said his elder sister. “The kingdom has nothing grander than this coast-line from Portrush to Fairhead.”

      “I ‘m no judge of its grandeur, but I tell you one thing, – I ‘d not live here, – no, nor would I contract to live six months in a year here, – to have the whole estate. This is a fine day, I take it.”

      “It is a glorious day,” said Bella.

      “Well, it’s just as much as we can do to keep our legs here; and certainly your flattened bonnets and dishevelled hair are no allies to your good looks.”

      “Our looks are not in question,” said the elder, tartly. “We were talking of the scenery; and I defy you to tell me where, in all your travels, you have seen its equal.”

      “I ‘ll tell you one thing, Alice, it’s deuced dear at the price we are looking at it; I mean, at the cost of this precious bit of road we stand on. Where did the governor get his engineer?”

      “It was Tony planned this, – every yard of it,” said Bella, proudly.

      “And who is Tony, pray?” said he, superciliously.

      “You met him last night, – young Butler. He dined here, and sat next Alice.”

      “You mean that great hulking fellow, СКАЧАТЬ