Charles Lever - Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

A long, low whistle from Terry, as he threw up both his hands in the air, abruptly stopped his Lordship.

“What do you mean? Does the sum appear so tremendous, sir?”

“Five thousand! Where would I get it? Five thousand pounds? By the mortial man! your Lordship might as well ax me for five millions. I thought it was a hundred; or, maybe, a hundred and fifty; or, at the outside, two hundred pounds, just to take you over to London for what they call the sayson, or to cut a figure at Paris; but, five thousand! By my conscience, that’s the price of an estate nowadays!”

“It is upon estated property I intend to raise this loan, sir,” said his Lordship, angrily.

“Not Cushnacreena, my Lord?” asked Terry, eagerly.

“No, sir; that is secured by settlement.”

“Nor Ballyrennin?”

“No; the townland of Ballyrennin is, in a manner, tied up.”

“Tory’s Mill, maybe?” inquired Terry, with more eagerness.

“Well, sir,” said his Lordship, drawing himself up, “I must really make you my compliments upon the very accurate knowledge you appear to possess about my estate. Since what period, may I venture to ask, have you conceived this warm interest in my behalf?”

“The way of it was this, my Lord,” said Driscoll, drawing his chair closer, and dropping his voice to a low, confidential tone. “After I had the fever, – the fever and ague I told you about, – I got up out of bed the poor crayture you see me, not able to think of anything, or do a hand’s turn for myself, but just a burden on my friends or anybody that would keep me. Well, I tried all manner of ways to make myself useful, and I used to go errands here and there over the country for any one that wanted to know what land was to be sold, where there was a lot of good sheep, who had a drove of bullocks or a fancy bull; and, just getting into the habit of it, I larned a trifle of what was doing in the three counties, so that the people call me ‘Terry’s Almanack,’ – that’s the name they gave me, better than Tearin’ Terry, anyhow! At all events, I got a taste for finding out the secrets of all the great families; and, to be sure, if I only had the memory, I’d know a great deal, but my head is like a cullender, and everything runs out as fast as you put it in. That’s how it is, my Lord, and no lie in it.” And Terry wiped his forehead and heaved a heavy sigh, like a man who had just accomplished a very arduous task.

“So, then, I begin to understand how Hankes sent you over here to me,” said his Lordship.

“Yes, my Lord,” muttered Terry, with a bow.

“I had been under the impression – the erroneous impression – that you were yourself prepared to advance this small sum.”

“Me! Terry Driscoll lend five thousand pounds! Arrah, look at me, my Lord, – just take a glance at me, and you ‘ll see how likely it is I ‘d have as many shillings! ‘T was only by rayson of being always about – on the tramp, as they call it – that Mr. Hankes thought I could be of use to your Lordship. ‘Go over,’ says he, ‘and just tell him who and what you are.’ There it is now!”

Lord Glengariff made no reply, but slowly walked the room in deep meditation; a passing feeling of pity for the poor fellow before him had overcome any irritation his own disappointment had occasioned, and for the moment the bent of his mind was compassionate.

“Well, Driscoll,” said he, at length, “I don’t exactly see how you can serve me in this matter.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Terry, with a pleasant leer of his restless eyes.

“I say I don’t perceive that you can contribute in any way to the object I have in view,” said his Lordship, half peevish at being, as he thought, misapprehended. “Hankes ought to have known as much himself.”

“Yes, my Lord,” chimed in Terry.

“And you may tell him so from me . He is totally unfitted for his situation, and I am only surprised that Dunn, shrewd fellow that he is, should have ever placed a man of this stamp in a position of such trust. The first requisite in such a man is to understand the deference he owes to us .”

There was an emphasis on the last monosyllable that pretty clearly announced how little share Terry Driscoll enjoyed in this co-partnery.

“That because I have a momentary occasion for a small sum of ready money, he should send over to confer with me a half-witted – I mean a man only half recovered from a fever – a poor fellow still suffering from – ”

“Yes, my Lord,” interposed Terry, as he laid his hand on his forehead in token of the seat of his calamity.

“It is too gross, – it is outrageous, – but Dunn shall hear of it, – Dunn shall deal with this fellow when he comes back. I ‘m sorry for you, Driscoll, – very sorry indeed; it is a sad bereavement, and though you are not exactly a case for an asylum, – perhaps, indeed, you might have objections to an asylum – ”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Well, in that case private friends are, I opine – private friends – and the kind sympathies of those who have known you – eh, don’t you think so?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“That is the sensible view to take of it. I am glad you see it in this way. It shows that you really exercise a correct judgment, – a very wise discretion in your case, – and for a man in your situation – your painful situation – you see things in their true light.”

“Yes, my Lord.” And this time the eyes rolled with a most peculiar expression.

“If you should relapse, however, – if, say, former symptoms were to threaten again, – remember that I am on the committee, or a governor, or something or other, of one of these institutions, and I might be of use to you. Remember that, Driscoll.” And with a wave of his hand his Lordship dismissed Terry, who, after a series of respectful obeisances, gained the door and disappeared.

When change of fortune had reduced the Kelletts so low that Sybella was driven to become a daily governess, her hard fate had exacted from her about the very heaviest of all sacrifices. It was not, indeed, the life of unceasing toil, – dreary and monotonous as such toil is, – it was not the humility of a station for which the world affords not one solitary protection, – these were not what she dreaded; as little was it the jarring sense of dependence daily and hourly imposed. No, she had courage and a high determination to confront each and all of these. The great source of her suffering was in the loss of that calm and unbroken quiet to which the retired habits of a remote country-house had so long accustomed her. With scarcely anything which could be called a society near them, so reduced in means as to be unable to receive visitors at home, Kellett’s Court had been for many years a lonely house. The days succeeded each other with such similarity that time was unfelt, seasons came and went, and years rolled on unconsciously. No sights nor sounds of the great world without invaded these retired precincts. Of the mighty events which convulsed the politics of states, – of the great issues that engaged men’s minds throughout Europe, – they heard absolutely nothing. The passing story of some little incident of cottier life represented to them all that they had of news; and thus time glided noiselessly along, till they came to feel a sense of happiness in that same unbroken round of life.

They who have experienced the measured tread of a conventual existence – where the same incidents daily recur at the same periods, where no events from without obtrude, where the passions and the ambitions and cares of mankind have so little of reality to the mind that they fail to impress with any meaning – are well aware that in the peaceful calm of spirit thus acquired there is a sense of happiness, which is not the less real that it wears the semblance of seriousness, almost of sadness.