Castle Richmond

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  HOW THE EARL WAS WON.

  It was not quite at first that the countess could explain to her sonhow she now wished that Owen Fitzgerald might become her son-in-law.She had been so steadfast in her opposition to Owen when the earlhad last spoken of the matter, and had said so much of the wickedlydissipated life which Owen was leading, that she feared to shock theboy. But by degrees she brought the matter round, speaking of Owen'sgreat good fortune, pointing out how much better he was suited forriches than for poverty, insisting warmly on all his good qualitiesand high feelings, and then saying at last, as it were withoutthought, "Poor Clara! She has been unfortunate, for at one time sheloved Owen Fitzgerald much better than she will ever love his cousinHerbert."

  "Do you think so, mother?"

  "I am sure of it. The truth is, Patrick, you do not understand yoursister; and indeed it is hard to do so. I have also always had aninward fear that she had now engaged herself to a man whom she didnot love. Of course as things were then it was impossible that sheshould marry Owen; and I was glad to break her off from that feeling.But she never loved Herbert Fitzgerald."

  "Why, she is determined to have him, even now."

  "Ah, yes! That is where you do not understand her. Now, at thisspecial moment, her heart is touched by his misfortune, and shethinks herself bound by her engagement to sacrifice herself with him.But that is not love. She has never loved any one but Owen,--and whocan wonder at it? for he is a man made for a woman to love."

  The earl said nothing for a while, but sat balancing himself on theback legs of his chair. And then, as though a new idea had struckhim, he exclaimed, "If I thought that, mother, I would find out whatOwen thinks of it himself."

  "Poor Owen!" said the countess. "There is no doubt as to what hethinks;" and then she left the room, not wishing to carry theconversation any further.

  Two days after this, and without any further hint from his mother,he betook himself along the banks of the river to Hap House. In hiscourse thither he never let his horse put a foot upon the road, butkept low down upon the water meadows, leaping over all the fences,as he had so often done with the man whom he was now going to see.It was here, among these banks, that he had received his earliestlessons in horsemanship, and they had all been given by OwenFitzgerald. It had been a thousand pities, he had thought, that Owenhad been so poor as to make it necessary for them all to discouragethat love affair with Clara. He would have been so delighted towelcome Owen as his brother-in-law. And as he strode along over theground, and landed himself knowingly over the crabbed fences, hebegan to think how much pleasanter the country would be for him if hehad a downright good fellow and crack sportsman as his fast friend atCastle Richmond. Sir Owen Fitzgerald of Castle Richmond! He would bethe man to whom he would be delighted to give his sister Clara.

  And then he hopped in from one of Owen's fields into a small paddockat the back of Owen's house, and seeing one of the stable-boys aboutthe place, asked him if his master was at home.

  "Shure an' he's here thin, yer honour;" and Lord Desmond could hearthe boy whispering, "It's the young lord hisself." In a moment OwenFitzgerald was standing by his horse's side. It was the first timethat Owen had seen one of the family since the news had been spreadabroad concerning his right to the inheritance of Castle Richmond.

  "Desmond," said he, taking the lad's hand with one of his, andputting the other on the animal's neck, "this is very good of you. Iam delighted to see you. I had heard that you were in the country."

  "Yes; I have been home for this week past. But things are all so atsixes and sevens among us all that a fellow can't go and do just whathe would like."

  Owen well understood what he meant. "Indeed they are at sixes andsevens; you may well say that. But get off your horse, old fellow,and come into the house. Why, what a lather of heat the mare's in."

  "Isn't she? it's quite dreadful. That chap of ours has no more ideaof condition than I have of--of--of--of an archbishop. I've justtrotted along the fields, and put her over a ditch or two, and yousee the state she's in. It's a beastly shame."

  "I know of old what your trottings are, Desmond; and what a ditchor two means. You've been at every bank between this and Banteer asthough you were going for a steeplechase plate."

  "Upon my honour, Owen--"

  "Look here, Patsey. Walk that mare up and down here, between thisgate and that post, till the big sweat has all dried on her; and thenstick to her with a whisp of straw till she's as soft as silk. Do youhear?"

  Patsey said that he did hear; and then Owen, throwing his arm overthe earl's shoulder, walked slowly towards the house.

  "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, old boy," said Owen,pressing his young friend with something almost like an embrace. "Youwill hardly believe how long it is since I have seen a face that Icared to look at."

  "Haven't you?" said the young lord, wondering. He knew thatFitzgerald had now become heir to a very large fortune, or rather thepossessor of that fortune, and he could not understand why a man whohad been so popular while he was poor should be deserted now that hewas rich.

  "No, indeed, have I not. Things are all at sixes and sevens as yousay. Let me see. Donnellan was here when you last saw me; and I wassoon tired of him when things became serious."

  "I don't wonder you were tired of him."

  "But, Desmond, how's your mother?"

  "Oh, she's very well. These are bad times for poor people like us,you know."

  "And your sister?"

  "She's pretty well too, thank you." And then there was a pause."You've had a great change in your fortune since I saw you, have younot?" said the earl, after a minute or two. And there it occurred tohim for the first time, that, having refused his sister to this manwhen he was poor, he had now come to offer her to him when he wasrich. "Not that that was the reason," he said to himself. "But it wasimpossible then, and now it would be so pleasant."

  "It is a sad history, is it not?" said Owen.

  "Very sad," said the earl, remembering, however, that he had riddenover there with his heart full of joy,--of joy occasioned by thatvery catastrophe which now, following his friend's words like aparrot, he declared to be so very sad.

  And now they were in the dining-room in which Owen usually lived, andwere both standing on the rug, as two men always do stand when theyfirst get into a room together. And it was clear to see that neitherof them knew how to break at once into the sort of loving, genialtalk which each was longing to have with the other. It is so easy tospeak when one has little or nothing to say; but often so difficultwhen there is much that must be said: and the same paradox is equallytrue of writing.

  Then Owen walked away to the window, looking out among the shrubsinto which Aby Mollett had been precipitated, as though he couldcollect his thoughts there; and in a moment or two the earl followedhim, and looked out also among the shrubs. "They killed a fox exactlythere the other day; didn't they?" asked the earl, indicating thespot by a nod of his head.

  "Yes, they did." And then there was another pause. "I'll tell youwhat it is, Desmond," Owen said at last, going back to the rug andspeaking with an effort. "As the people say, 'a sight of you is goodfor sore eyes.' There is a positive joy to me in seeing you. It islike a cup of cold water when a man is thirsty. But I cannot put thedrink to my lips till I know on what terms we are to meet. When lastwe saw each other, we were speaking of your sister; and now that wemeet again, we must again speak of her. Desmond, all my thoughtsare of her; I dream of her at night, and find myself talking to herspirit when I wake in the morning. I have much else that I ought tothink of; but I go about thinking of nothing but of her. I am toldthat she is engaged to my cousin Herbert. Nay, she has told me soherself, and I know that it is so. But if she becomes his wife--anyman's wife but mine--I cannot live in this country."

  He had not said one word of that state of things in his life'shistory of which the country side was so full. He had spoken ofHerbert, but he had not alluded to Herbert's fall. He
had spoken ofsuch hope as he still might have with reference to Clara Desmond;but he did not make the slightest reference to that change in hisfortunes--in his fortunes, and in those of his rival--which mighthave so strong a bias on those hopes, and which ought so to havein the minds of all worldly, prudent people. It was to speak ofthis specially that Lord Desmond had come thither; and then, ifopportunity should offer, to lead away the subject to that other one;but now Owen had begun at the wrong end. If called upon to speakabout his sister at once, what could the brother say, except that shewas engaged to Herbert Fitzgerald?

  "Tell me this, Desmond, whom does your sister love?" said Owen,speaking almost fiercely in his earnestness. "I know so much of you,at any rate, that whatever may be your feelings you will not lie tome,"--thereby communicating to the young lord an accusation, which hevery well understood, against the truth of the countess, his mother.

  "When I have spoken to her about this she declares that she isengaged to Herbert Fitzgerald."

  "Engaged to him! yes, I know that; I do not doubt that. It has beendinned into my ears now for the last six months till it is impossibleto doubt it. And she will marry him too, if no one interferes toprevent it. I do not doubt that either. But, Desmond, that is not thequestion that I have asked. She did love me; and then she was orderedby her mother to abandon that love, and to give her heart to another.That in words she has been obedient, I know well; but what I doubt isthis,--that she has in truth been able so to chuck her heart aboutlike a shuttlecock. I can only say that I am not able to do it."

  How was the earl to answer him? The very line of argument whichOwen's mind was taking was exactly that which the young lord himselfdesired to promote. He too was desirous that Clara should go back toher first love. He himself thought strongly that Owen was a man morefitted than Herbert for the worshipful adoration of such a girl ashis sister Clara. But then he, Desmond, had opposed the match whileOwen was poor, and how was he to frame words by which he mightencourage it now that Owen was rich?

  "I have been so little with her, that I hardly know," he said. "But,Owen--"

  "Well?"

  "It is so difficult for me to talk to you about all this."

  "Is it?"

  "Why, yes. You know that I have always liked you--always. No chap wasever such a friend to me as you have been;" and he squeezed Owen'sarm with strong boyish love.

  "I know all about it," said Owen.

  "Well; then all that happened about Clara. I was young then, youknow,"--he was now sixteen--"and had not thought anything about it.The idea of you and Clara falling in love had never occurred to me.Boys are so blind, you know. But when it did happen--you rememberthat day, old fellow, when you and I met down at the gate?"

  "Remember it!" said Owen. He would remember it, as he thought, whenhalf an eternity should have passed over his head.

  "And I told you then what I thought. I don't think I am a particularfellow myself about money and rank and that sort of thing. I am aspoor as a church mouse, and so I shall always remain; and for myselfI don't care about it. But for one's sister, Owen--you never had asister, had you?"

  "Never," said Owen, hardly thinking of the question.

  "One is obliged to think of such things for her. We should all go torack and ruin, the whole family of us, box and dice,--as indeed wehave pretty well already--if some of us did not begin to look aboutus. I don't suppose I shall ever marry and have a family. I couldn'tafford it, you know. And in that case Clara's son would be Earl ofDesmond; or if I died she would be Countess of Desmond in her ownright." And the young lord looked the personification of familyprudence.

  "I know all that," said Owen; "but you do not suppose that I wasthinking of it?"

  "What; as regards yourself. No; I am sure you never did. But, lookingto all that, it would never have done for her to marry a man aspoor as you were. It is not a comfortable thing to be a very poornobleman, I can tell you."

  Owen again remained silent. He wanted to talk the earl over intofavouring his views, but he wanted to do so as Owen of Hap House, notas Owen of Castle Richmond. He perceived at once from the tone ofthe boy's voice, and even from his words, that there was no longeranything to be feared from the brother's opposition; and perceivingthis, he thought that the mother's opposition might now perhaps alsobe removed. But it was quite manifest that this had come from whatwas supposed to be his altered position. "A man as poor as you were,"Lord Desmond had said, urging that though now the marriage might bewell enough, in those former days it would have been madness. Theline of argument was very clear; but as Owen was as poor as ever, andintended to remain so, there was nothing in it to comfort him.

  "I cannot say that I, myself, have so much worldly wisdom as youhave," said he at last, with something like a sneer.

  "Ah, that is just what I knew you would say. You think that I amcoming to you now, and offering to make up matters between you andClara because you are rich!"

  "But can you make up matters between me and Clara?" said Owen,eagerly.

  "Well, I do not know. The countess seems to think it might be so."

  And then again Owen was silent, walking about the room with his handsbehind his back. Then after all the one thing of this world whichhis eye regarded as desirable was within his reach. He had then beenright in supposing that that face which had once looked up to his sofull of love had been a true reflex of the girl's heart,--that ithad indicated to him love which was not changeable. It was true thatClara, having accepted a suitor at her mother's order, might now beallowed to come back to him! As he thought of this, he wondered atthe endurance and obedience of a woman's heart which could thus giveup all that it held as sacred at the instance of another. But eventhis, though it was but little flattering to Clara, by no meanslessened the transport which he felt. He had had that pride inhimself, that he had never ceased to believe that she loved him.Full of that thought, of which he had not dared to speak, he hadgone about, gloomily miserable since the news of her engagement withHerbert had reached him, and now he learned, as he thought withcertainty, that his belief had been well grounded. Through all thathad passed Clara Desmond did love him still!

  But as to this overture of reconciliation that was now made to him;how was he to accept it or reject it? It was made to him because hewas believed to be Sir Owen Fitzgerald of Castle Richmond, a baronetof twelve thousand a year, instead of a poor squire, whose wifewould have to look narrowly to the kitchen, in order that food insufficiency might be forthcoming for the parlour. That he wouldbecome Sir Owen he thought probable; but that he would be Sir Owen ofHap House and not of Castle Richmond he had firmly resolved. He hadthought of this for long hours and hours together, and felt that hecould never again be happy were he to put his foot into that houseas its owner. Every tenant would scorn him, every servant would hatehim, every neighbour would condemn him; but this would be as nothingto his hatred of himself, to his own scorn and his own condemnation.And yet how great was the temptation to him now! If he would consentto call himself master of Castle Richmond, Clara's hand might stillbe his.

  So he thought; but those who know Clara Desmond better than he didwill know how false were his hopes. She was hardly the girl to havegone back to a lover when he was rich, whom she had rejected when hewas poor.

  "Desmond," said he, "come here and sit down;" and both sat leaning onthe table together, with their arms touching. "I understand it allnow I think; and remember this, my boy, that whomever I may blame,I do not blame you; that you are true and honest I am sure; and,indeed, there is only one person whom I do blame." He did not saythat this one person was the countess, but the earl knew just as wellas though he had been told.

  "I understand all this now," he repeated, "and before we go anyfurther, I must tell you one thing; I shall never be owner of CastleRichmond."

  "Why, I thought it was all settled!" said the earl, looking up withsurprise.

  "Nothing at all is settled. To every bargain there must be twoparties, and I have never yet become a party to the bargain whic
hshall make me owner of Castle Richmond."

  "But is it not yours of right?"

  "I do not know what you call right."

  "Right of inheritance," said the earl, who, having succeeded to hisown rank by the strength of the same right enduring through manyages, looked upon it as the one substantial palladium of the country.

  "Look here, old fellow, and I'll tell you my views about this. SirThomas Fitzgerald, when he married that poor lady who is stillstaying at Castle Richmond, did so in the face of the world with thefull assurance that he made her his legal wife. Whether such a caseas this ever occurred before I don't know, but I am sure of this thatin the eye of God she is his widow. Herbert Fitzgerald was brought upas the heir to all that estate, and I cannot see that he can fairlybe robbed of that right because another man has been a villain.The title he cannot have, I suppose, because the law won't give ithim; but the property can be made over to him, and as far as I amconcerned it shall be made over. No earthly consideration shallinduce me to put my hand upon it, for in doing so I should look uponmyself as a thief and a scoundrel."

  "And you mean then that Herbert will have it all, just the same as itwas before?"

  "Just the same as regards the estate."

  "Then why has he gone away?"

  "I cannot answer for him. I can only tell you what I shall do. I daresay it may take months before it is all settled. But now, Desmond,you know how I stand; I am Owen Fitzgerald of Hap House, now as Ihave ever been, that and nothing more,--for as to the handle to myname it is not worth talking about."

  They were still sitting at the table, and now they both sat silent,not looking at each other, but with their eyes fixed on the wood.Owen had in his hand a pen, which he had taken from the mantelpiece,and unconsciously began to trace signs on the polished surfacebefore him. The earl sat with his forehead leaning on his two hands,thinking what he was to say next. He felt that he himself loved theman better than ever; but when his mother should come to hear allthis, what would she say?

  "You know it all now, my boy," said Owen, looking up at last; and ashe did so there was an expression about his face to which the youngearl thought that he had never seen the like. There was a gleam inhis eye which, though not of joy, was so bright; and a smile roundhis mouth which was so sweet, though full of sadness! "How can shenot love him?" said he to himself, thinking of his sister. "And now,Desmond, go back to your mother and tell her all. She has sent youhere."

  "No, she did not send me," said the boy, stoutly,--almost angrily;"she does not even know that I have come."

  "Go back then to your sister."

  "Nor does she know it."

  "Nevertheless, go back to them, and tell them both what I have toldyou; and tell them this also, that I, Owen Fitzgerald of Hap House,still love her better than all that the world else can give me;indeed, there is nothing else that I do love,--except you, Desmond.But tell them also that I am Owen of Hap House still--that andnothing more."

  "Owen," said the lad, looking up at him; and Fitzgerald as he glancedinto the boy's face could see that there was that arising within hisbreast which almost prevented him from speaking.

  "And look, Desmond," continued Fitzgerald; "do not think that I shallblame you because you turn from me, or call you mercenary. Do youdo what you think right. What you said just now of your sister's--,well, of the possibility of our marriage, you said under the ideathat I was a rich man. You now find that I am a poor man; and you mayconsider that the words were never spoken."

  "Owen!" said the boy again; and now that which was before rising inhis breast had risen to his brow and cheeks, and was telling its taleplainly in his eyes. And then he rose from his chair, turning awayhis face, and walking towards the window; but before he had gone twosteps he turned again, and throwing himself on Fitzgerald's breast,he burst out into a passion of tears.

  "Come, old fellow, what is this? This will never do," said Owen. Buthis own eyes were full of tears also, and he too was nearly pastspeaking.

  "I know you will think--I am a boy and a--fool," said the earl,through his sobs, as soon as he could speak; "but I can't--help it."

  "I think you are the dearest, finest, best fellow that ever lived,"said Fitzgerald, pressing him with his arm.

  "And I'll tell you what, Owen, you should have her to-morrow if itwere in my power, for, by heaven! there is not another man so worthyof a girl in all the world; and I'll tell her so; and I don't carewhat the countess says. And, Owen, come what come may, you shallalways have my word;" and then he stood apart, and rubbing his eyeswith his arm tried to look like a man who was giving this pledge fromhis judgment, not from his impulse.

  "It all depends on this, Desmond; whom does she love? See her alone,Desmond, and talk softly to her, and find out that." This he saidthoughtfully, for in his mind "love should still be lord of all."

  "By heavens! if I were her, I know whom I should love," said thebrother.

  "I would not have her as a gift if she did not love me," said Owen,proudly; "but if she do, I have a right to claim her as my own."

  And then they parted, and the earl rode back home with a quieter pacethan that which had brought him there, and in a different mood. Hehad pledged himself now to Owen,--not to Owen of Castle Richmond, butto Owen of Hap House--and he intended to redeem his pledge if it werepossible. He had been so conquered by the nobleness of his friend,that he had forgotten his solicitude for his family and his sister.