CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
With leave, Bassanio, I am half yourself, and I must freely have the half of anything that this same paper brings you.
SHAKESPEARE.
The castle which had been built by the ancestors of Mr Rainscourt, andwhich, in feudal times, had been one of strength and importance, wasabout two miles from the town of ---, in the county of Galway, on thewest coast of Ireland; and, as Mr Rainscourt had correctly surmised,when he returned to it, no officer could be found who was bold enough toventure his life by an attempt at caption, surrounded as he was by asavage and devoted peasantry, who had no scruples at bloodshed. Immuredwithin its walls, with little to interest, and no temptation to expendmoney, Mr and Mrs Rainscourt lived for nearly two years, indulgingtheir spleen and discontent in mutual upbraidings,--their feelingstowards each other, from incessant irritation, being now rather those ofhatred than any other term that could be applied. The jewels of MrsRainscourt, and every other article that could be dispensed with, hadbeen sold, and the purse was empty. The good-will of the tenants of themortgaged property had for some time supplied the ill-assorted couplewith the necessaries of life; every day added to their wants, to theirhatred, and their despair.
They were seated at the table, having finished a dinner off some gamewhich Mr Rainscourt had procured with his gun, and which had been theirfare, with little variety, ever since the shooting season had commenced,when the old nurse, the only domestic they retained,--probably the onlyone who would remain with them without receiving wages,--made herappearance. "And sure there's a letter for the master; Barney, thepost-boy, is just bringing it."
"Well, where is it?" replied Rainscourt.
"He says that it's two thirteens that must be paid for it, and the dirtyspalpeen of a postmaster told him not to give you the letter without themoney for it in his fist."
"Tell Barney to step in here--have you two shillings, Mrs Rainscourt?"
"Not one, Mr Rainscourt," replied the lady, gloomily.
The nurse reappeared with Barney.
"Well, Barney, where's the letter?" said Mr Rainscourt; "let me look atit."
"Sure, your honour, it's not me that's refusing it ye. But the mastertould me--`Barney,' says he, `if you give his honour the letter withoutthe two thirteens in your fist, it's a good bating that I'll give yewhen ye come back.'"
"Well, but, Barney, let me look at it, and see by the postmark whereit's from. I shall know, directly, whether I will take it up or not."
"And suppose that your honour should wish to open the letter! It's notfor gentlemen like ye to be standing against the temptation;--and then,the two thirteens, your honour."
"Well, Barney, since you won't trust me, and I have no money, you musttake the letter back. It might bring me good news--I have had nothingbut bad of late."
"And sure enough it might bring you good news. Then, your honour shalltake the letter and I'll take the _bating_;" and the good-natured ladpulled out the letter from his pocket, and gave it to Rainscourt.
Rainscourt, who first wished to ascertain whether it was one of hisusual dunning correspondents, examined the post-mark and handwriting ofthe superscription, that he might return it unopened, and save poorBarney from the beating which he had volunteered to receive for hissake, but the hand was unknown to him, and the post-mark was so faintand illegible that he could not decipher it. He looked into the sidesof the letter, and the few words which he could read whetted hiscuriosity.
"I'm afraid, Barney, that I must open it."
"Good luck to your honour, then, and may it prove so."
The letter was opened, and the contents threw a gleam of pleasure, whichhad been rarely seen of late on the brow of the reader. His wife hadwatched his countenance. "Barney," cried Rainscourt, with delight,"call to-morrow, and I'll give you a guinea."
"Sure your honour's in luck, and me too," replied Barney, grinning, andbacking out of the room. "I'll go take my bating at once."
But, to explain the contents of this letter, we must narrate events ofwhich we have lost sight in following up the naval career of our hero.
About three weeks after the death of Admiral de Courcy, theline-of-battle ship in which old Adams had sailed with our hero underhis protection, returned into port. The vicar, who anxiously awaitedher arrival, immediately proceeded there, that he might claim Willy inthe capacity of his guardian. Having obtained the address of CaptainM---, he called upon him, and opened his case by requesting that the boymight be permitted to come on shore. He was proceeding to narrate thechange which had taken place in his ward's prospects, when he wasinterrupted by Captain M---, who, first detailing the death of oldAdams, and the conduct of Willy, stated that he had sent the boy home inthe prize for an outfit. It was with great feeling that CaptainM--- was forced to add the apparent certainty, that the vessel, whichhad never been heard of, had foundered at sea. Shocked at theintelligence, which was communicated at a moment when his heart wasexpanded, at the idea of having been instrumental in repairing theinjustice and neglect which had been shown towards his _protege_, thevicar, not caring to mention to a stranger the family particulars uponwhich his request had been grounded, withdrew, without even giving hisname or address. Three years afterwards, when, as we have narrated, ourhero again made his appearance, Captain M--- had no clue to guide him,by which he might communicate the intelligence of his recovery to onewhom he naturally concluded did not make such inquiries without havingsome interest in our hero's welfare.
The vicar, in the mean time, although he had every reason to believethat Willy was no more, resorted to every means that his prudence couldsuggest to ascertain the positive fact. For many months the most strictinquiries were set afloat by his agents, whether a captured vessel hadbeen wrecked on the French coast. The prisoners at Verdun and otherdepots were examined--rewards were offered, by emissaries in France, forthe discovery of the boy, but without success. Having waited two years,all hope became extinct, and the letter now received by Mr Rainscourtwas from the vicar, acquainting him with the circumstances, andsurrendering up the property to him, as next of kin.
"Pray, Mr Rainscourt, may I ask the contents of a letter, the perusalof which not only makes you so generous, but implies that you expect tohave the means of being so?"
When happy ourselves, especially when unexpectedly so, we feel kindlydisposed towards others. For a moment Rainscourt seemed to haveforgotten all his differences with his wife; and he as readily impartedto her his good fortune as he had, on a previous occasion, hisdisappointment.
"My dear Clara, the grandchild is dead, and we have possession of theproperty."
"My dear Clara!" Such an epithet had never been used since the firstweek of their marriage. Overcome by the joyful intelligence, but moreovercome by the kind expression of her husband, which recalled the dayswhen she fondly loved. Mrs Rainscourt burst into tears, and throwingherself down with her face on his knees, poured out, in sobs, hergratitude to Heaven, and her revived affection for her husband.
Their daughter Emily, now ten years old, astonished at so unusual ascene, ran up, impelled as it were by instinct, and completed the familygroup, by clinging to her father. Rainscourt, who was affected, kissedthe brow of the child, and congratulated her on becoming an heiress.
"I never knew before that money would do so much good," observed thechild, referring to the apparent reconciliation of her parents.
Mrs Rainscourt rose from her position, and sat down at the table,leaning her face upon her hands. "I am afraid that it has come toolate," said she, mournfully, as she recalled the years of indifferenceand hostility which had preceded.
Mrs Rainscourt was correct in her supposition. Respect and esteem hadlong departed, and without their aid, truant love was not to bereclaimed. The feeling of renewed attachment was as transient as it wassudden.
"I must be off to England immediately," observed the husband. "Ipresume that I shall have no difficulty in obtaining money from the bankwhen I show this
letter. Old --- will be ready enough to thrust hisnotes into my hands now."
"Shall we not go with you, Mr Rainscourt?"
"No; you had better remain here till I have arranged matters a little.I must settle with three cursed money-lenders, and take up the bondsfrom J---. Little scoundrel! he'll be civil enough."
"Well, Mr Rainscourt, it must, I suppose, be as you decide: but neitherEmily nor I are very well equipped in our wardrobes and you will not beexactly competent to execute our commissions."
"And therefore shall execute none."
"Do you, then, mean to leave us here in rags and beggary, while you areamusing yourself in London?" replied Mrs Rainscourt, with asperity."With your altered circumstances, you will have no want of society,either male or _female_," continued the lady, with an emphasis upon thelast word--"and a wife will probably be an encumbrance."
"Certainly not such a kind and affectionate one as you have proved, mydear," replied the gentleman, sarcastically; "nevertheless I mustdecline the pleasure of your company till I have time to look about me alittle."
"Perhaps, Mr Rainscourt, now that you will be able to afford it, youwill prefer a separate establishment? If so, I am willing to accede toany proposition you may be inclined to make."
"That's a very sensible remark of yours, my dear, and shall receive dueconsideration."
"The sooner the better, sir," replied the piqued lady, as Mr Rainscourtquitted the room.
"My dear child," said Mrs Rainscourt to her daughter, "you see howcruelly your father treats me. He is a bad man, and you must never payattention to what he says."
"Papa told me just the same of you, mamma," replied the girl, "yesterdaymorning, when you were walking in the garden."
"Did he! The wretch, to set my own child against me!" cried MrsRainscourt, who had just been guilty of the very same offence which hadraised her choler against her husband.