Roland Cashel Volume I Part 48

"Anan!" muttered he, as if not well comprehending the question, but, in reality, a mere device employed to give him more time to scan the stranger, and guess at his probable object.

"I was asking," said Linton, "how it happened that a fine old place like this was suffered to go to wreck and ruin?"

"Faix, it's ould enough, anyhow," said the other, with a coa.r.s.e laugh.

"And large too."

"Yer honer was here afore?" said Tom, stealthily glancing at him under his brows. "I 'm thinking I remember yer honer's faytures. You would n't be the gentleman that came down with Mr. Duffy?"

"No; this is my first visit to these parts; now, where does this little road lead? It seems to be better cared for than the rest, and the gate, too, is neatly kept."

"That goes down to the cottage, sir--Tubber-beg, as they call it. Yer honer isn't Mr. Cashel himself?" said Tom, reverentially taking off his tattered hat, and attempting an air of courtesy, which sat marvellously ill upon him.

"I have not that good luck, my friend."

"'T is good luck ye may call it," sighed Tom; "a good luck that does n't fall to many; but, maybe, ye don't want it; maybe yer honer--"

"And who lives in the cottage of Tubber-beg?" said Linton, interrupting.

"One Corrigan, sir; an old man and his granddaughter."

"Good kind of people, are they?"

"Ayeh! there's worse, and there 's betther! They 're as proud as Lucifer, and poor as naygurs."

"And this is the Hall itself?" exclaimed Linton, as he stopped directly in front of the old dilapidated building, whose deformities were only exaggerated by the patchy effect of a faint moonlight.

"Ay, there it is," grinned Tom, "and no beauty either; and ugly as it looks without, it's worse within! There 'a cracks in the walls ye could put your hand through, and the windows is rotten, where they stand."

"It is not very tempting, certainly, as a residence," said Linton, smiling.

"Ah, but if ye heerd the rats, the way they do be racin' and huntin'

each other at night, and the wind bellowsin' down the chimbleys, such screechin' and yellin' as it keeps, and then the slates rattlin', till ye'd think the ould roof was comin' off altogether,--be my soul, there's many a man would n't take the property and sleep a night in that house."

"One would do a great deal, notwithstanding, for a fine estate like this," said Linton, dryly.

There was something, either in the words or the accent, that touched Tom Keane's sympathy for the speaker; some strange suspicion perhaps, that he was one whose fortune, like his own, was not beyond the casualties and chances of life, and it was with a species of coa.r.s.e friends.h.i.+p that he said, "Ah, if we had it between us, we 'd do well."

"Right well; no need to ask for better," said Linton, with a heartiness of a.s.sent that made the other perfectly at ease. "I'm curious to have a look at the inside of the place; I suppose there is no hindrance?"

"None in life! I live below, and, faix, there's no living anywhere else, for most of the stairs is burned, and, as I towld ye, the rats has upstairs all to themselves. Nancy, give us a light," cried he, pa.s.sing into the dark and s.p.a.cious hall, "I'm going to show a gentleman the curiosities. I ax you honer's pardon, the place is n't so clean as it might be."

Linton gave one peep into the long and gloomy chamber, where the whole family were huddled together in all the wretchedness and disorder of a cabin, and at once drew back.

"The cows is on the other side," said the man, "and, beyond, there's four rooms was never plastered; and there, where you see the straw, that's the billiard-room, and inside of it again, there's a place for play-actin', and, more by token, there's a quare thing there."

"What's that?" asked Linton, whose curiosity was excited by the remark.

"Come, and I 'll show yer honer."

So saying, he led on through a narrow corridor, and, pa.s.sing through two or three dilapidated, ruined chambers, they entered a large and s.p.a.cious apartment, whose sloping floor at once showed Linton that they were standing on the stage of a theatre.

Tom Keane held up the flickering light, that the other might see the torn and tattered remnants of the decorations, and the fragments of scenes, as they flapped to and fro. "It's a dhroll place, anyhow," said he, "and there's scarce a bit of it hasn't a trap-door, or some other contrivance of the like; but here's one stranger than all; this is what I towld yer honer about." He walked, as he spoke, to the back wall of the building, where, on the surface of the plaster, a rude scene, representing a wood, was painted, at one side of which a ma.s.sive pile of rock, overgrown with creepers, stood. "Now, ye 'd never guess what was there," said Tom, holding the candle in different situations to exhibit the scene; "and, indeed, I found it by chance myself; see this,"--and he pressed a small but scarcely perceptible k.n.o.b of bra.s.s in the wall, and at once, what appeared to be the surface of the rock, slid back, discovering a dark s.p.a.ce behind. "Come on, now, after me," continued he. Linton followed, and they ascended a narrow stair constructed in the substance of the wall, and barely sufficient to admit one person.

Arriving at the top, after a few seconds' delay, Tom opened a small door, and they stood in a large and well-proportioned room, where some worm-eaten bed-furniture yet remained. The door had been once, as a small, fragment of gla.s.s showed, the frame of a large mirror, and must have been quite beyond the reach of ordinary powers of detection.

"That was a cunning way to steal down among the play acthers," said Keane, grinning, while Linton, with the greatest attention, remarked the position of the door and its secret fastening.

"I suppose no one but yourself knows of this stair?" said Linton.

"Sorra one, sir, except, maybe, some of the smugglers that used to come here long ago from the mouth of the Shannon. This was one of their hiding-places."

"Well, if this old mansion comes ever to be inhabited, one might have rare fun by means of that pa.s.sage; so be sure, you keep the secret well.

Let that be a padlock on your lips." And, so saying, he took a sovereign from his purse and gave it to him. "Your name is--"

"Tom, yer honer--Tom Keane; and, by this and by that, I'm ready to do yer honer's bidding from this hour out--"

"Well, we shall be good friends, I see," interrupted Linton; "you may, perhaps, be useful to me, and I can also be able to serve you. Now, which is the regular entrance to this chamber?"

"There, sir; it's the last door as ye see in the long pa.s.sage. Them is all bedrooms alone there, but it's not safe to walk down, for the floor is rotten."

Linton noted down in a memory far from defective the circ.u.mstances of the chamber, and then followed his guide through the remainder of the house, which in every quarter presented the same picture of ruin and decay.

"The bit of candle is near out," said Tom, "but sure there is n't much more to be seen; there's rooms there was never opened, and more on the other side, the same. The place is as big as a barrack, and here we are once more on the grand stair."

For once, the name was not ill applied, as, constructed of Portland stone, and railed with ma.s.sive banisters of iron, it presented features of solidity and endurance, in marked contrast to the other portions of the edifice. Linton cast one more glance around the gloomy entrance, and sallied forth into the free air. "I 'll see you to-morrow, Tom," said he, "and we'll have some talk together. Good night."

"Good night, and good luck to yer honer; but won't you let me see your honer out of the grounds,--as far as the big gate, at least?"

"Thanks; I know the road perfectly already, and I rather like a lonely stroll of a fine night like this."

Tom, accordingly, reiterated his good wishes, and Linton was suffered to pursue his way unaccompanied. Increasing his speed as he arrived at a turn of the road, he took the path which led off the main approach, and led down by the river-side to the cottage of Tubber-beg. There was a feeling of strong interest which prompted him to see this cottage, which now he might call his own; and as he went, he regarded the little clumps of ornamental planting, the well-kept walks, the neat palings, the quaint benches beneath the trees, with very different feelings from those he had bestowed on the last-visited scene. Nor was he insensible to the landscape beauty which certain vistas opened, and, seen even by the faint light of a new moon, were still rich promises of picturesque situation.

Suddenly, and without any antic.i.p.ation, he found himself on turning a little copse of evergreens, in front of the cottage, and almost beneath the shadow of its deep porch. Whatever his previous feelings of self-interest in every detail around, they were speedily routed by the scene before him.

In a large and well furnished drawing-room, where a single lamp was s.h.i.+ning, sat an old man in an easy-chair, his features, his att.i.tude, and his whole bearing indicating the traces of recent illness. Beside him, on a low stool almost at his feet, was a young girl of singular beauty,--the plastic grace of her figure, the easy motion of the head, as from time to time she raised it to throw upwards a look of affectionate reverence, and the long, loose ma.s.ses of her hair, which, accidentally unfastened, fell on either shoulder, making rather one of those ideals which a Raphael can conceive than a mere creature of every-day existence. Although late autumn, the windows lay open to the ground, for, as yet, no touch of coming winter had visited this secluded and favored spot. In the still quiet of the night, _her_ voice, for she alone spoke, could be heard; at first, the mere murmur of the accents reached Linton's ears, but even from them he could gather the tone of cheering and encouragement in which she spoke. At length he heard her say, in a voice of almost tremulous enthusiasm, "It was so like you, dear papa, not to tell this Mr. Cashel that you had yourself a claim, and, as many think, a rightful one, to this same estate, and thus not trouble the stream of his munificence."

"Nay, child, it had been as impolitic as unworthy to do so," said the old man; "he who stoops to receive a favor should detract nothing from the generous sentiment of the granter."

"For my part, I would tell him," said she, eagerly, "that his n.o.ble conduct has forever barred my prosecuting such a claim, and that if, to-morrow, the fairest proofs of my right should reach me, I'd throw them in the fire."

"To get credit for such self-sacrifice, Mary, one must be independent of all hypothesis; one must do, and not merely promise. Now, it would be hard to expect Mr. Cashel to feel the same conviction I do, that this confiscation was repealed by letters under the hand of Majesty itself.

The Brownes, through whom Cashel inherits, were the stewards of my ancestors, entrusted with all their secret affairs, and cognizant of all their family matters. From the humble position of dependents, they suddenly sprang into wealth and fortune, and ended by purchasing the very estate they once lived on as day-laborers,--sold as it was, like all confiscated estates, for a mere fraction of its value."

"Oh, base ingrat.i.tude!"

"Worse still; it is said, and with great reason to believe it true, that Hammond Browne, who was sent over to London by my great grandfather to negotiate with the Government, actually received the free pardon and the release of the confiscation, but concealed and made away with both, and, to prevent my grandfather being driven to further pursuit, gave him the lease of this cottage on the low terms we continue to hold it."