Kitabı oku: «The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)», sayfa 15

“You say that he’s to be in Oughterard to-night; well, with the blessing of the Virgin,” – an invocation he invariably applied to every act of dubious morality, – “we ‘ll be with him before he’s out of bed to-morrow!”

“I wish he had not given me a blow,” said Jack, musingly. “He seemed such a stout-hearted, spirited old fellow, I’m really grieved to quarrel with him.”

“I’m glad that there’s nobody to hear them words but myself, Mr. Massingbred,” said the other, with all the slowness and deliberation of incipient drunkenness; “I’m rejoiced, sir, that it’s in the confidential intercourse of friendly – friendly – communication – that the son of my old and valued friend – Moore Massingbred – used expressions like that.”

Jack started with amazement at this speech; he had not the slightest suspicion till that moment that Magennis and his father had ever known each other, or even met. A very little patience, however, on his part served to solve the difficulty; for he discovered that one of the peculiarities of this stage of his friend’s ebriety was to fancy himself the intimate and associate of any one whose name he had ever heard mentioned.

“Ay, sir, them’s words your father would never have uttered. I was with him in his first blaze. ‘Moore,’ says I, ‘have n’t you a pair of black breeches?’ – he wore a pair of web ‘tights’ of a light pattern – What are you laughing at, sir?” cried he, sternly, and striking the table with his clenched knuckles, till the glasses all rang on it.

“I was laughing at my father’s costume,” said Jack, who really told the truth; such a portrait of his parent’s appearance being manifestly unlike anything he had ever imagined.

“And the worse manners yours, sir,” rejoined Magennis, rudely. “I’ ll not suffer any man to laugh at an old friend – and – and – schoolfellow!”

It was with the very greatest difficulty that Jack could restrain himself at this peroration, which indignation – the same, probably, that creates poets – had suggested. He had, however, tact enough to preserve his gravity, whilst he assured his companion that no unfilial sentiment had any share in his thoughts.

“So far, so well,” said Magennis, who now helped himself to the whiskey, unadulterated by any water; “otherwise, sir, it’s not Lieutenant Magennis, of the – 9th Foot, would handle you on the ground to-morrow!”

“So, then, you’ve served, Mac? Why, you never broke that to me before!”

“Broke!” cried the other, with a voice shrill from passion, while he made an effort to rise from his chair, and sunk back again, – “broke; who dares to say I was broke? I left the scoundrels myself. I shook the dust off my feet after them. There never was a court-martial about it. Never – never!” To the deep crimson that suffused his face before, there now succeeded an almost death-like pallor, and Massingbred really felt terrified at the change. Some heart-rending recollection seemed suddenly to have cleared his brain, routing in an instant all the effects of intoxication, and restoring him to sobriety and sorrow together.

“Ay,” said he, in a low, broken voice, and still speaking to himself, “that finished me! I never held my head up again! Who could, after such a business? I came here, Mr. Massingbred,” continued he, but addressing his guest in a tone of deep respect, – “I came back here a ruined man, and not eight-and-twenty! You see me now, a dirty, drunken sot, not better dressed nor better mannered than the commonest fellow on the road, and yet I’m a gentleman born and bred, well nurtured, and well educated. I took a college degree and went into the army.” He paused, as if trying to gather courage to go on; the effort was more than he could accomplish, and, as the heavy tears stole slowly down his cheeks, the agony of the struggle might be detected. Half mechanically he seized the decanter of whiskey and poured the tumbler nearly full; but Jack good-humoredly stretched out his hand towards the glass, and said, “Don’t drink, Mac; there’s no head could stand it.”

“You think so, boy,” cried he, with a saucy smile. “Little you know the way we live in the West, here;” and he tossed off the liquor before the other could stop him. The empty glass had scarcely been replaced on the table, when all the former signs of drunkenness had come back again, and in his bloodshot eyes and swollen veins might be seen the very type of passionate debauch.

“Not ask me to their houses!” cried he, hoarse with passion. “Who wants them? Not invite me! Did I ever seek them? The dirty, mean spalpeens, don’t I know the history of every one of them? Could n’t I expose them from one end of the county to the other? Who ‘s Blake of Harris-town? He ‘s the son of Lucky Magarry, the pedler. You don’t believe me. I had it from Father Cole himself. Lucky was hanged at Ennis. ‘Ye want a confession!’ says Lucky, when he came out on the drop; ‘ye want a confession! Well, I suppose there’s no use in keeping anything back now, for ye ‘ll hang me at any rate, and so here it’s for you. It was I murdered Mr. Shea, and there was nobody helping me at all. I did it all myself with a flail; and be the same token, it ‘s under Mark Bindon’s tombstone this minute. There now, the jury may be azy in their minds, and the judge, and the hangman, too, if he cares about it. As for his honor the high sheriff,’ said he, raising his voice, ‘he ‘s a fine man, God bless him, and the county may be proud of him; for it was he ferreted out all about this business! And faix, notwithstanding all, I ‘m proud of him myself, for he ‘s my own son!’ And as he said that he dropped on his knees and cried out that he might never see glory if there was a word of lie in anything he said then! So that’s what Blake got for his zeal for justice!”

And as Magennis finished, he burst into a wild, fiendish laugh, and said, —

“There ‘s the country gentry – there ‘s the people won’t know Magennis and his wife! – ay, sir, his lawful, married wife! Let me see that you or any other man will deny it, or refuse to treat her as becomes her station. – Joan! Joan!” shouted he, striking the poker violently against the chimney; and with hot haste and intense anxiety the poor girl rushed into the room the moment after. “Sit down here, ma’am,” said Magennis, rising, and placing a chair for her beside his own, with an affectation of courtesy that savored of mockery, – “sit down, I say,” cried he, stamping his foot passionately. “That’s my wife, sir! No man that sits at my board shall behave to her as anything else.”

“I have ever treated her with respect,” said Massingbred, “and shall always continue to do so.”

“And it’s better for you to do so,” said the other, fiercely, the bullying spirit rising on what he deemed the craven submission of his guest.

Meanwhile the girl sat trembling with terror, not knowing what the scene portended, or how it was to end.

“The herd’s daughter, indeed! No, sir, Mrs. Magennis, of Barnagheela, that’s her name and title!”

At these words the poor girl, overcome with joy and gratitude, fell down upon her knees before him, and, clasping his hand, covered it with kisses.

“Is n’t that pretty breeding!” cried Magennis, violently. “Get up, ma’am, and sit on your chair like a lady. The devil a use in it, do what you will, say what you will, – the bad ‘drop’ is in them; and whatever becomes of you in life, Massingbred, let me give you this advice, – never marry beneath you!”

Jack contrived at this juncture to signal to the girl to step away; and by appearing to attend with eagerness to Magennis, he prevented his remarking her exit.

“A man ‘s never really ruined till then,” continued he, slowly, and evidently sobering again as he went on. “Friends fall away from you, and your companions are sure to be fellows with something against them! You begin by thinking you ‘re doing a grand and a courageous thing! You string up your resolution to despise the world, and, take my word for it, the world pays you off at last. Ay,” said he, after a long pause, in which his features settled down into an expression of deep sorrow, and his voice quivered with emotion, – “ay, and I ‘ll tell you something worse than all, – you revenge all your disappointment on the poor girl that trusted you! and you break her heart to try and heal your own!”

With these last words he buried his head between his hands and sobbed fearfully.

“Leave me now, – leave me alone,” said he, without lifting his head. “Good-night – good-night to you!”

Massingbred arose without a word, and, taking a candle, ascended to his chamber, his last thoughts about his host being very unlike those with which he had first regarded him. From these considerations he turned to others more immediately concerning himself; nor could he conquer his misgivings that Magennis was a most unhappy selection for a friend in such an emergency.

“But then I really am without a choice,” said he to himself. “Joe Nelligan, perhaps, might – but no, he would have been infinitely more unfit than the other. At all events, Nelligan has himself severed the friendship that once existed between us.” And so he wandered on to thoughts of his former companionship with him. Regretful and gloomy enough were they, as are all memories of those in whose hearts we once believed we had a share, and from which we cannot reconcile ourselves to the exclusion.

“He had not the manliness to meet me when I had become aware of his real station! What a poor-spirited fellow! Just as if I cared what or who his father was! My theory is, Jack Massingbred can afford to know any man he pleases! Witness the roof that now shelters me, and the character of him who is my host!”

It was a philosophy he built much upon, for it was a form of self-love that simulated a good quality, many of his acquaintances saying, “At all events, there ‘s no snobbery about Massingbred; he ‘ll know, and even be intimate with, anybody.” Nor did the deception only extend to others. Jack himself fancied he was an excellent fellow, – frank, generous, and open-hearted.

It is a very strange fact – and fact it certainly is – that the men who reason most upon their own natures, look inwardly at their own minds, and scrutinize most their own motives, are frequently the least natural of all mankind! This self-inquiry is such thorough self-deception that he who indulges in it often becomes an actor. As for Massingbred, there was nothing real about him save his egotism! Gifted with very good abilities, aided by a strong “vitality,” he had great versatility; but of all powers, this same plastic habit tends most to render a man artificial.

Now, his present difficulty was by no means to his taste. He did not like his “quarrel;” he liked less the age and station of his adversary; and least of all was he pleased with the character of his “friend.” It was said of Sheridan, that when consulted about the music of his operas, he only asked, “Will it grind?” – that is, would it be popular enough for a street organ, and become familiar to every ear? So Jack Massingbred regarded each event in life by the test of how it would “tell,” in what wise could a newspaper report it, and how would it read in the Clubs? He fancied himself discussing the adventure at “White’s,” and asking, “Can any one say what Massingbred’s row was about? Was he poaching? – or how came he there? Was there a woman in it? And who is his friend Magennis?” In thoughts like these he passed hour after hour, walking his room from end to end, and waiting for morning.

At length he bethought him how little likely it was that Magennis would remember anything whatever of the transaction, and that his late debauch might obliterate all memory of the affair. “What if this were to be the case, and that we were to arrive too late at Oughterard? A pretty version would the papers then publish to the world!” Of all possible casualties this was the very worst; and the more he reflected on it, the more probable did it seem. “He is the very fellow to wake up late in the afternoon, rub his eyes, and declare he had forgotten the whole thing.”

“This will never do!” muttered he to himself; and at once determined that he would make an endeavor to recall his friend to consciousness, and come to some arrangement for the approaching meeting. Massingbred descended the stairs with noiseless steps, and gently approaching the door of the sitting-room, opened it.

Magennis was asleep, his head resting upon the table, and his heavy breathing denoting how deeply he slumbered. On a low stool at his feet sat Joan, pale and weary-looking, her cheeks still marked with recent tears, and the dark impression of what seemed to have been a blow beneath her eye. Jack approached her cautiously, and asked if it were his custom to pass the night thus.

“Sometimes, when he ‘s tired – when he has anything on his mind,” replied she, in some confusion, and averting her head so as to escape notice.

“And when he awakes,” said Jack, “he will be quite refreshed, and his head all clear again?”

“By coorse he will!” said she, proudly. “No matter what he took of a night, nobody ever saw the signs of it on him the next morning.”

“I did not ask out of any impertinent curiosity,” continued Massingbred; “but we have, both of us, some rather important business to-morrow in Oughterard. We ought to be there at an early hour.”

“I know,” said she, interrupting. “He bid me bring down these;” and she pointed to a case of pistols lying open beside her, and in cleaning which she had been at the moment engaged. “I brought the wrong ones, first.” Here she stammered out something, and grew crimson over her whole face; then suddenly recovering herself, said, “I did n’t know it was the ‘Terries’ he wanted.”

“The ‘Terries’?” repeated Jack.

“Yes, sir. It was these Terry Callaghan shot the two gentlemen with, the same morning, at Croghaglin, – father and son they were!” And saying these words in a voice of the most perfect unconcern possible, she took up a flannel rag and began to polish the lock of one of the weapons.

“They ‘re handsome pistols,” said Jack, rather amused with her remark.

“They ‘re good, and that’s better!” replied she, gravely. “That one in your hand has seven double crosses on the stock and nine single.”

“The seven were killed on the ground, I suppose?”

A short nod of assent was her reply.

“Such little events are not unfrequent down here, then?”

“Anan!” said she, not understanding his question.

Jack quickly perceived that he had not taken sufficient account of Joan’s limited acquaintance with language, and said, —

“They often fight in these parts?”

“Ayeh! not now,” replied she, in a half-deploring tone. “My father remembers twenty duels for one that does be nowadays.”

“A great change, indeed.”

“Some say it’s all for the better,” resumed she, doubtfully. “But hush, – he’s stirring; leave him quiet, and I ‘ll call you when he’s ready.”

“And I can depend – ”

“To be sure you can. He forgets many a thing; but no man living can say that he ever misremembered a duel.” And with these words, in a low whisper, she motioned Massingbred to the door.

Jack obeyed in silence, and, ascending to his room, lay down on the bed. He determined to pass the interval before morning in deep thought and self-examination; but, somehow, he had scarcely laid his head on the pillow when he fell off into a heavy sleep, sound and dreamless.

The day was just breaking when he was aroused by a somewhat rude shake, and a voice saying, —

“Come, up with you. We ‘ve a sharp ride before us!”

Jack started up, and in an instant recalled all the exigencies of the hour.

“I have sent the ‘tools’ forward by a safe hand,” continued Magennis; “and Joan has a cup of tea ready for us below stairs. So lose no time now, and let us be off.”

The humble meal that awaited them was soon despatched, and they were speedily mounted on the pair of mountain ponies Magennis had provided, and whose equipments, even in the half-light of the morning, rather shocked Mas-singbred’s notions of propriety, – one of his stirrup-leathers being a foot shorter than the other, while an old worsted bell-rope formed the snaffle-rein of his bridle.

The road, too, was rugged and precipitous, and many a stumble and scramble had they in the uncertain light; while the swooping rain dashed violently against them, and effectually precluded all thought of conversation. Two hours, that seemed like ten, brought them at length upon the highroad; after which, by a brisk canter of forty minutes, they reached Oughterard.

“Let us dismount here,” said Jack, as they gained the outskirts of the town, not fancying to make a public appearance on his humble steed.

“Why so?” answered Magennis. “It’s ashamed of the pony you are! Oh, for the matter of that, don’t distress yourself; we ‘re too well used to them in these parts to think them ridiculous.”

There was a soreness and irritation in his tone which Jack quickly remarked, and as quickly tried to obviate, by some good-natured remark about the good qualities of the animals; but Magennis heard him without attention, and seemed entirely immersed in his own thoughts.

“Turn in there, to your left,” cried he, suddenly, and they wheeled into an arched gateway that opened upon the stable-yard of the inn. Early as it was, the place was full of bustle and movement; for it was the market-day, and the farmers were already arriving.

Carts, cars, gigs, and a dozen other nameless vehicles crowded the spot, with kicking ponies and mules of malicious disposition; grooming and shoeing and unharnessing went on, with a noise and merriment that was perfectly deafening; and Massingbred, as he threaded his way through the crowd, soon perceived how little notice he was likely to attract in such an assembly. Magennis soon dismounted, and having given directions about the beasts, led Jack into the house, and up a narrow, creaking stair into a small room, with a single window, and a bed in one corner. “This is where I always put up,” said he, laying down his hat and whip, “and it will do well enough for the time we ‘ll want it.”

CHAPTER XVI. “A CHALLENGE”

“He ‘s here; he arrived last night,” said Magennis, as he entered the room after a short exploring tour through the stables, the kitchen, and every other quarter where intelligence might be come at. “He came alone; but the major of the detachment supped with him, and that looks like business!”

“The earlier you see him the better, then,” said Mas-singbred.

“I’ll just go and get my beard off,” said he, passing his hand across a very grizzly stubble, “and I’ll be with him in less than half an hour. There’s only a point or two I want to be clear about. Before he struck you, did you gesticulate, or show any intention of using violence?”

“None. I have told you that I caught his horse by the bridle, but that was to save him from falling back.”

“Ah, that was indiscreet, at all events.”

“Would n’t it have been worse to suffer him to incur a severe danger which I might have prevented?”

“I don’t think so; but we’ll not discuss the point now. There was a blow?”

“That there was,” said Jack, pointing to the spot where a great strap of sticking-plaster extended across his forehead.

“And he seemed to understand at once that reparation was to be made for it?”

“The suggestion came from himself, frankly and speedily.”

“Well, it’s pretty evident we have to deal with a gentleman!” said Magennis, “and that same’s a comfort; so I’ll leave you now for a short time: amuse yourself as well as you can, but don’t quit the room.” And with this caution Magennis took his departure, and set off in search of Mr. Repton’s chamber.

“Where are you bringing the mutton chops, Peter?” said he to a waiter, who, with a well-loaded tray of eatables, was hastening along the corridor.

“To the ould Counsellor from Dublin, sir. He’s break-fastin’ with the Major.”

“And that’s his room, No. 19?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They ‘re merry, at all events,” said Magennis, as a burst of hearty laughter was heard from within the chamber.

“‘T is just that they are, indeed,” replied Peter. “The Counsellor does be telling one story after another, till you ‘d think he ‘d no end of them. He began last night at supper, and I could scarce change the plates for laughin’.”

Muttering some not very intelligible observation to himself, Magennis passed down the stairs, and issuing into the street, wended his way to the barber’s.

If the Oughterard Figaro had not as brilliant a vocation as his colleague of Seville, his occupations were scarcely less multifarious, for he kept the post-office, was clerk at petty sessions, collected the parish cess, presided over “the pound,” besides a vast number of inferior duties. Whether it was the result of a natural gift, or by the various information of his official life, Hosey Lynch was regarded in his native town as a remarkably shrewd man, and a good opinion on a number of subjects.

He was a short, decrepit old fellow, with an enormous head of curly black hair, which he seemed to cultivate with all the address of his craft; probably intending it as a kind of advertisement of his skill, displaying as it did all the resources of his handiwork. But even above this passion was his ardor for news, – news political, social, legal, or literary; whatever might be the topic, it always interested him, and it was his especial pride to have the initiative of every event that stirred the hearts of the Oughterard public.

The small den in which he performed his functions occupied the corner of the street, giving a view in two directions, so that Hosey, while cutting and curling, never was obliged to lose sight of that world without, in whose doings he felt so strong an interest. In the one easy-chair of this sanctum was Magennis now disposed, waiting for Mr. Lynch, who had just stepped down to “the pound,” to liberate the priest’s pig. Nor had he long to wait, for Hosey soon made his appearance, and slipping on a very greasy-looking jean-jacket, proceeded to serve him.

“The top of the morning to you, Captain,” – he always styled him by the title, – “it’s a rare pleasure to see you so early in town; but it will be a bad market to-day – cut and curled, Captain?”

“No; shaved!” said Magennis, bluntly.

“And shaved you shall be, Captain, – and beautifully shaved, too, for I have got an excellent case from Lamprey’s; they came yesterday, – came with the writ against Jones Creegan.”

“At whose suit?”

“Mrs. Miles Creegan, the other brother’s widow,” said Hosey, lathering away and talking with breathless rapidity. “There was a clause in old Sam’s will, that if ever Tom, the chap that died at Demerara – you’d like more off the whiskers, it’s more military. It was only yesterday Major Froode remarked to me what a soldierlike-looking man was Captain Magennis.”

“Is he in command of the detachment?”

“He is in his Majesty’s – 1st Foot – the ‘Buccaneers,’ they used to be called; I suppose you never heard why?”

“No, nor don’t want to hear. What kind of a man is the Major?”

“He ‘s a smart, well-made man, with rather a haughty look,” said Hosey, drawing himself up, and seeming to imply that there was a kind of resemblance between them.

“Is he English or Irish?”

“Scotch, Captain, – Scotch; and never gives more than fivepence for a cut and curl, pomatum included. – No letters, Mrs. Cronin,” cried he, raising up the movable shutter of the little window; then bending down his ear he listened to some whispered communication from that lady, after which he shut the panel, and resumed his functions. “She ‘s at law with O’Reilly about the party wall. There’s the Major now going down to the barracks, and I wonder who’s the other along with him;” and Hosey rushed to the door to find some clew to the stranger. In less than a quarter of a minute he was back again, asking pardon for absence, and informing Magennis “that the man in plain clothes was a Dublin counsellor, that arrived the night before. I think I can guess what he’s here for.”

“What is it?” cried Magennis, eagerly.

“There’s an election coming on, and the Martins expect a contest. – Nothing for you, Peter,” said he, to an applicant for a letter outside. “He’s looking to be made barony constable these four years, and he ‘s as much chance as I have of being – what shall I say? – ”

“Are you done?” asked Magennis, impatiently.

“One minute more, sir – the least touch round the chin, – and, as I was saying, Captain, the Martins will lose the borough.”

“Who thinks so besides you?” asked Magennis, gruffly.

“It is, I may say, the general opinion; the notion current in – There ‘s Miss Martin herself,” cried he, running to the window. “Well, really, she handles them ponies elegant!”

“Does she come often into town?”

“I don’t think I saw her in Oughterard – let me see when it was – it’s two years – no, but it’s not far off – it’s more than – ”

“Are you done?” said Magennis, impatiently. “I told you that I was pressed for time this morning.”

“You’re finished now, Captain,” said Hosey, presenting him with a small cracked looking-glass. “That’s what I call a neat chin and a beautiful sweep of whisker. Thank you, Captain. It’s a pleasure and an honor – not to say that it’s – ”

Magennis did not wait for the peroration, but striding hastily out of the little shop, issued into the street that led to the inn. On arriving there, he heard that Mr. Rep-ton had gone out, leaving word that he would be found at Major Froode’s quarters. Thither Magennis now repaired with all the solemn importance befitting his mission.

As he sent in his name, he could overhear the short colloquy that passed within, and perceived that Repton was about to retire; and now the servant ushered him into the presence of a smart, light-whiskered little man, with a pair of shrewd gray eyes, and a high forehead.

“A brother officer, I perceive, sir,” said he, looking at the card, whereupon the title Captain was inscribed; “pray take a chair.”

“You anticipate the reason of this visit, Major Froode,” said the other, with some degree of constraint, as though the preliminaries were the reverse of pleasant to him. The Major bowed, and Magennis went on: “I suppose, then, I’m to treat with you as the friend of Mr. Valentine Repton?”

“And you are Mr. Massingbred’s?” said the Major, answering the question with another.

“I have that honor, sir,” said Magennis, pompously; “and now, sir, how soon can it come off?”

“Don’t you imagine, Captain Magennis, that a little quiet discussion of the question at issue between two old soldiers, like you and myself, might possibly be advisable? Is there not a chance that our united experience might not suggest an amicable arrangement of this business?”

“Quite out of the question, – utterly, totally impossible!” said Magennis, sternly.

“Then perhaps I lie under some misconception,” said the Major, courteously.

“There was a blow, sir! – a blow!” said Magennis, in the same stern tone.

“I opine that everything that occurred was purely accidental, – just hear me out, – that a hasty word and a hurried gesture, complicated with the impatient movement of a horse – ”

A long whistle from Magennis interrupted the speech, and the Major, reddening to the very top of his high forehead, said, —

“Sir, this is unbecoming, – are you aware of it?”

“I’m quite ready for anything when this is settled,” said Magennis, but with less composure than he desired to assume. “What I meant was, that for a blow there is but one reparation.”

“Doubtless, if the injury admit of no explanation,” said the Major, calmly; “but in that lies the whole question. Consider two things, Captain Magennis: first of all, the equivocal appearance of your friend, the age and standing of mine.”

“By Jove! you’ll kill me in trying to save my life,” said Repton, bursting into the room. “I didn’t want to play eavesdropper, Froode, but these thin partitions are only soundboards for the voice. This gentleman,” added he, turning to Magennis, “is perfectly correct. There was a blow; and a blow has only one consequence, and that one I ‘m ready for. There may be, for aught I know, twenty ways of settling these matters in London or at the clubs, but we ‘re old-fashioned in our notions in Ireland here; and I don’t think that even when we pick up new fashions that we ‘re much the better for them, so that if your friend is here, Captain, and ready – ”

“Both, sir; here and ready!”

“Then so am I; and now for the place. Come, Froode, you don’t know Ireland as well as I do; just humor me this time, and whenever I get into a scrape in Scotland you shall have it all your own way. Eh, Captain, is n’t that fair?”

“Spoke like a trump!” muttered Magennis.

“For me, did you say?” said Repton, taking a letter from the servant, who had just entered the room.

“Yes, sir; and the groom says there’s an answer expected.”

“The devil take it, I ‘ve forgotten my spectacles. Froode, just tell me what’s this about, and who it comes from.”

“It’s Miss Martin’s hand,” said Froode, breaking the seal and running over the contents. “Oh, I perceive,” said he; “they’re afraid you have taken French leave of them at Cro’ Martin, and she has driven into town to carry you back again.”

“That comes of my leaving word at the little post-office to forward my letters to Dublin if not asked for to-morrow. Take a pen, Froode, and write a couple of lines for me; say that a very urgent call – a professional call – will detain me here to-day, but that if not back by dinner-time – Captain Magennis thinks it not likely,” added he, turning towards him as he sat, with a very equivocal expression, half grin, half sneer, upon his features – “that I ‘ll be with them at breakfast next morning,” resumed Repton, boldly. “Make some excuse for my not answering the note myself, – whatever occurs to you. And so, sir,” said he, turning to Magennis, “your friend’s name is Massingbred. Any relation to Colonel Moore Massingbred?”

“His son, – his only son, I believe.”

“How strange! I remember the father in the ‘House’ – I mean the Irish House – five-and-thirty years ago; he was always on the Government benches. It was of him Parsons wrote those doggerel lines, —