Roland Cashel Volume Ii Part 70

"Yes, senora!" said Maritana, as if answering the look of astonishment of Mary; "and for all that he seems now, he is a well-born caballero, and n.o.ble to boot."

"Everything looks worse and worse for my prospects of companions.h.i.+p,"

said Lady Kilgoff, poutingly. "Mr. Corrigan--Mary--are you both bent on desertion?"

"We are bound for Ireland, fair Lady; the little remnant of my life is a debt I owe my country."

"Senor Rica and your lovely daughter, will you be our companions?"

"Our road lies westward, Lady. The New World must teach us to forget the Old one."

"Mr. Cashel, am I to guess whither your steps will lead you?"

"It would save me the pain of deciding if you did," said Roland, sadly.

"You come with us, Roland," said Mr. Corrigan; "you once told me that you felt Tubber-beg a home. Let us see if time has not erased the impression."

"And Maritana, too!" cried Mary.

"And Enrique!" said Maritana.

"Then I must be of the party," said Dr. Tiernay. "I was never intended by nature for an emba.s.sy physician, but as a village doctor I still feel that I shall hold up my head with dignity."

Rica, who meanwhile was in earnest conversation with Cashel, now advanced into the middle of the group, and said, "Mr. Cashel once contracted a solemn pledge to me, from which I feel no inclination to release him. I ask him before this a.s.semblage if it be true he promised to marry my daughter?"

Roland grew deadly pale, but in a faint voice replied, "It is true."

"Are you willing to keep your pledge?" said Rica, firmly.

Cashel made no answer but a slight motion of the bead.

"Then she is yours," said Rica, placing Mary Leicester's hand in his; while Maritana, in a transport of feeling, fell into her father's arms and sobbed aloud.

"Then we are all bound at once for Ireland," cried Mr. Corrigan; "and I trust never to leave it more."

"I will not promise," said Cashel, as he drew Mary closer to him. "The memories I bear of the land are not all painless."

"But you have seen nothing of Ireland that was Iris.h.!.+" exclaimed Tiernay, boldly. "You saw a mongrel society made up of English adventurers, who, barren of hope at home, came to dazzle with their fas.h.i.+onable vices the cordial homeliness of our humbler land. You saw the poor pageantry of a mock court, and the frivolous pretension of a tinsel rank. You saw the emptiness of pretended statesmans.h.i.+p, and the a.s.sumed superiority of a cla.s.s whose ignorance was only veiled by their insolence. But of hearty, generous, hospitable Ireland--of the land of warm impulses and kindly affections--you saw nothing. That is a country yet to be explored by you; nor are its mysteries the less likely to be unravelled that an Irish wife will be your guide to them. And now to breakfast, for I am famis.h.i.+ng."

Where the characters of a tale bear a share in influencing its catastrophe, the reader seems to have a prescriptive right to learn something of their ultimate destiny, even though the parts they played were merely subordinate. Many of ours here cannot lay claim to such an interest, and were seen but like the phantoms which a magic lantern throws upon the wall,--moving and grouping for a moment and then lost forever.

It is from no want of respect to our reader, if we trace not the current of such lives; it is simply from the fact that when they ceased to act, they ceased, as it were, to exist. Are we not, all of us in the world, acted upon and influenced by events and people,--purely pa.s.sers-by, known to-day, seen perhaps for a week, or known for a month, and yet never after met with in all life's journey? As on a voyage many a casual air of wind, many a wayward breeze helps us onward, and yet none inquire "whence it cometh or whither it goeth,"--so is it in the real world; and why not in the world of fiction, which ought to be its counterpart?

Of those in whom our interest centred, the reader knows all that we know ourselves. Would he, or rather she, care to learn that the elder Miss Kennyf.e.c.k never married, but became a companion to Lady Janet, who on the death of Sir Andrew, caused by his swallowing a liniment, and taking into his stomach what was meant for his skin, went abroad, and is still a well-known character in the watering-places of Germany, where she and her friend are the terror of all who tremble at evil-speaking and slandering?

Olivia married the Reverend Knox Softly, and seems as meek as a curate's wife ought to be, nor bears a trace of those days when she smiled on cornets or mingled sighs with captains of hussars. If some of our characters have fared ill in this adventurous history, others have been more fortunate. The Dean is made a Colonial Bishop, and the distinguished Mr. Howie's picture occupies a place in the last Exhibition!

Meek is still a placeman: bland, gentle, and conciliating as ever, he made at the close of the session a most affecting speech upon the sorrows of Ireland, and drew tears from the ventilator at his picture of her dest.i.tution!

Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k and "Aunt f.a.n.n.y" keep house together in the ancient city of Galway. Attracted to each other by a thousand antipathies, more cohesive than any friends.h.i.+p, they fight and quarrel unceasingly, and are never known to agree, save when the enthusiasm of their malevolence has discovered a common victim in the circle of their "friends."

Here ends our history; nor need we linger longer with those whose happiness, so far as worldly prosperity can make it, is at last secured.

There is but one destiny of which we have to speak. Linton was never brought to trial; the day after his landing in England he was found dead in the cell of his prison,--no trace of violence, nor any evidence of poison to account for the circ.u.mstance; and whether through some agency of his own, or by the workings of a broken heart, the fact remains a mystery.

THE END.