Luttrell Of Arran. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ That surely is something.”

      “But I have determined on the purchase of Derryvaragh,” said Vyner, “if it only be what descriptions make it.”

      “To live here, I hope – to turn Carib – cross yourself when you meet a priest, and wear a landlord’s scalp at your waist-belt.”

      “Nay, nay! I hope for better things, and that the English influences you spoke of so feelingly will not entirely desert me in my banishment.”

      “Don’t imagine that any one will come over here to see you, Vyner, if you mean that.”

      “Not even the trusty Grenfell?” said he, with a half smile.

      “Not if you were to give me the fee-simple of the barbarous tract you covet.”

      “I’ll not believe it, George. I’ll back your friendship against all the bogs that ever engulphed an oak forest. But what is that yonder? Is it a boat? It seems only a few feet long.”

      “It is one of those naval constructions of your charming islanders; and coming this way, too.”

      “The fellow has got a letter, Sir; he has stuck it in his hatband,” said Mr. Crab.

      “An answer from Luttrell,” muttered Vyner. “I wonder will he receive me?”

      CHAPTER V. HOW THE SPOIL WAS DIVIDED

      The letter, which was handed on board by a very wild-looking native, was written on coarse paper, and sealed with the commonest wax. It was brief, and ran thus:

      “Dear Sir, – I cannot imagine that such a meeting as you propose would be agreeable to either of us; certainly the impression my memory retains of you, forbids me to believe that you would like to see me as I am, and where I am. If your desire be, however, prompted by any kind thought of serving me, let me frankly tell you that I am as much beyond the reach of such kindness as any man can be who lives and breathes in this weary world. Leave me, therefore, to myself, and forget me.

      “I am grateful for your attentions to my boy, but you will understand why I cannot permit him to revisit you. I am, faithfully yours,

      “John H. Luttrell.”

      “Well, did I guess aright?” cried Grenfell, as Vyner stood reading the letter over for the third time; “is his answer what I predicted?”

      “Very nearly so,” said the other, as he handed him the letter to read.

      “It is even stronger than I looked for; and he begins ‘Dear Sir.’”

      “Yes, and I addressed him ‘My dear Luttrell!’”

      “Well; all the good sense of the correspondence is on his side; he sees naturally enough the worse than uselessness of a meeting. How could it be other than painful?”

      “Still, I am very sorry that he should refuse me.”

      “Of course you are; it is just the way a fellow in all the vigour of health walks down the ward of an hospital, and, as he glances at the hollow cheeks and sunken eyes on either side, fancies how philanthropic and good he is to come there and look at them. You wanted to go and stare at this poor devil out of that sentimental egotism. I’m certain you never suspected it, but there is the secret of your motive, stripped of all its fine illusions.”

      “How ill you think of every one, and with what pleasure you think it!”

      “Not a bit. I never suffer myself to be cheated; but it does not amuse me in the least to unmask the knavery.”

      “Now, having read me so truthfully, will you interpret Luttrell a little?”

      “His note does not want a comment. The man has no wish to have his poverty and degraded condition spied out. He feels something too low for friendship, and too high for pity; and he shrinks, and very naturally shrinks, from a scene in which every look he gave, every word he uttered, every sigh that he could but half smother, would be recalled to amuse your wife and your sister-in-law when you reached home again.”

      “He never imputed anything of the kind to me,” said Vyner, angrily.

      “And why not? Are we in our gossiping moments intent upon anything but being agreeable, not very mindful of private confidences or indiscreet avowals? We are only bent upon being good recounters, sensation novelists, always flattering ourselves the while as to the purity of our motives and the generosity of our judgments, when we throw into the narrative such words as the ‘poor fellow,’ the ‘dear creature.’ We forget the while that the description of the prisoner never affects the body of the indictment.”

      “I declare you are downright intolerable, Grenfell, and if the world were only half as bad as you’d make it, I’d say Luttrell was the wisest fellow going to have taken his leave of it.”

      “I’d rather sit the comedy out than go home and fret over its vapidness.” “Well, Mr. Crab,” said Vyner, turning suddenly to where his captain was waiting to speak with him, “what news of our spar?”

      “Nothing very good, Sir. There’s not a bit of timber on the island would serve our purpose.”

      “I suppose we must shift as well as we can till we make the mainland!”

      “This fellow here in the boat, Sir,” said a sailor, touching his cap as he came aft, “says that his master has three or four larch-trees about the length we want.”

      “No, no, Crab,” whispered Vyner; “I don’t think we can do anything in that quarter.”

      “Would he sell us one of them, my man?” cried Grab to the peasant.

      “He’d give it to you,” said the man, half doggedly.

      “Yes, but we’d rather make a deal for it. Look here, my good fellow; do you go back and fetch us the longest and stoutest of those poles, and here’s a guinea for your own trouble. Do you understand me?”

      The man eyed the coin curiously, but made no motion to touch it. It was a metal he had never seen before, nor had he the faintest clue to its value.

      “Would you rather have these, then?” said Crab, taking a handful of silver from his pocket and offering it to him.

      The man drew the back of his hand across his eyes, as if the sight had dazzled him, and muttered something in Irish.

      “Come, say you’ll do it,” said Crab, encouragingly.

      “Is there any answer for my master, to his letter, I mean?” said the man, looking at Vyner.

      “No, I think not; wait a moment. No, none,” said Vyner, after a moment of straggle; and the words were not well uttered, when the fellow pushed off his boat, and struck out with all his vigour for the shore.

      “What a suspicious creature your savage is; that man evidently believed you meant to bribe him to some deep treachery against his master,” said Grenfell.

      “Do let the poor peasant escape,” cried Vyner, laughingly, while he hastened below to avoid any further display of the other’s malevolence, calling out to Mr. Crab to follow him. “Let us get under weigh with the land breeze this evening,” said he.

      “There’s СКАЧАТЬ