CHAPTER X. DALY'S FAREWELL.
Neither of the ladies were at home when Bagenal Daly, followed by hisservant Sandy, reached "The Corvy," and sat down in the porch to awaittheir return. Busied with his own reflections, which, to judge from thedeep abstraction of his manner, seemed weighty and important, Dalynever looked up from the ground, while Sandy leisurely walked round thebuilding to note the changes made in his absence, and comment, in noflattering sense, on the art by which the builder had concealed so manytraits of "The Corvy's" origin.
"Ye 'd no ken she was a ship ava!" said he to himself, as he examinedthe walls over which the trellised creepers were trained, and thelatticed windows festooned by the honeysuckle and the clematis, andgazed in sadness over the altered building. "She's no a bit like theauld Corvy!"
"Of course she 's not!" said Daly, testily, for the remark had suddenlyaroused him from his musings. "What the devil would you have? Are _you_like the raw and ragged fellow I took from this bleak coast, and ledover more than half the world?"
"Troth, I am no the same man noo that I was sax-and-forty years agane,and sorry I am to say it."
"Sorry,--sorry! not to be half-starved and less than half-clad; haulinga net one day, and being dragged for yourself the next--sorry!"
"Even sae, sore sorry. Eight-and-sixty may be aye sorry not to betwa-and-twenty. I ken nae rise in life can pay off that score. It 's naower pleasant to think on, but I'm no the man I was then. No, nor, forthat matter, yerself neither."
Daly was too long accustomed to the familiarity of Sandy's manner tofeel offended at the remark, though he did not seem by any means torelish its application. Without making any reply, he arose and enteredthe hall. On every side were objects reminding him of the past, strangeand sad commentary on the words of his servant. Sandy appeared to feelthe force of such allies, and, as he stood near, watched the effect thevarious articles produced on his master's countenance.
"A bonnie rifle she is," said he, as if interpreting the admiring lookDaly bestowed upon a richly ornamented gun. "Do you mind the day yerhonor shot the corbie at the Tegern See?"
"Where the Tyrol fellows set on us, on the road to Innspruck, and Ibrought down the bird to show them that they had to deal with a marksmanas good at least as themselves."
"Just sae; it was a bra' shot; your hand was as firm, and your eye assteady then as any man's."
"I could do the feat this minute," said Daly, angrily, as turning awayhe detached a heavy broadsword from the wall.
"She was aye over weighty in the hilt," said Sandy, with a dry malice.
"You used to draw that bowstring to your ear," said Daly, sternly, as hepointed to a Swiss bow of portentous size.
"I had twa hands in those days," said the other, calmly, and without theslightest change of either voice or manner.
Not so with him to whom they were addressed. A flood of feelings seemedto pour across his memory, and, laying his hand on Sandy's shoulder,he said, in an accent of very unusual emotion, "You are right, Sandy, Imust be changed from what I used to be."
"Let us awa to the auld life we led in those days," said the other,impetuously, "and we 'll soon be ourselves again! Does n't that remindyer honor of the dark night on the Ottawa, when you sent the canoe, withthe pine-torch burning in her bow, down the stream, and drew all thefire of the Indian fellows on her?"
"It was a grand sight," cried Daly, rapturously, "to see the dark riverglittering with its torchlight, and the chiefs, as they stood rifle inhand, peering into the dense pine copse, and making the echoes ring withtheir war-cries."
"It was unco near at one time," said Sandy, as he took up the fold ofthe blanket with which his effigy in the canoe was costumed. "There 'sthe twa bullet-holes, and here the arrow-bead in the plank, where I hadmy bead! If ye had missed the Delaware chap wi' the yellow cloth on hisforehead--"
"I soon changed its color for him," said Daly, savagely.
"Troth did ye; ye gied him a bonny war-paint. How he sprang into theair! I think I see him noo; many a night when I 'm lying awake, I thinkI can hear the dreadful screech he gave, as he plunged into the river."
"It was not a cry of pain, it was baffled vengeance," said Daly.
"He never forgave the day ye gripped him by the twa hands in yer ainone, and made the squaws laugh at him. Eh, how that auld deevil theycau'd Black Buffalo yelled! Her greasy cheeks shook and swelled over herdark eyes, till the face looked like nothing but a tar lake in Demerarawhen there 's a hurricane blowin' over it."
"You had rather a tenderness in that quarter, if I remember aright,"said Daly, dryly.
"I 'll no deny she was a bra sauncie woman, and kenned weel to make ahaggis wi' an ape's head and shoulders." Sandy smacked his lips, as ifthe thought had brought up pleasant memories.
"How I escaped that bullet is more than I can guess," said Daly, as heinspected the blanket where it was pierced by a shot; and as he spoke,he threw its wide folds over his shoulders, the better to judge of theposition.
"Ye aye wore it more on this side," said Sandy, arranging the folds withtasteful pride; "an', troth, it becomes you well. Tak the bit tomahawkin your hand, noo. Ech! but yer like yoursel once more."
"We may have to don this gear again, and sooner than you think," saidDaly, thoughtfully.
"Nae a bit sooner than I 'd like," said Sandy. "The salvages, as theyca' them, hae neither baillies nor policemen, they hae nae cranks aboutlawyers and 'tornies; a grip o' a man's hair and a sharp knife is evenas mickle a reason as a hempen cord and a gallows tree! Ech, it warms mybluid again to see you stridin' up and doon,--if you had but a smudge o'yellow ochre, or a bit o' red round your eyes, ye 'd look awful well."
"What are you staring at?" said Daly, as Sandy opened a door stealthily,and gazed down the passage towards the kitchen.
"I 'm thinking that as there is naebody in the house but the twa lasses,maybe your honor would try a war-cry,--ye ken ye could do it bra'lyonce."
"I may need the craft soon again," said Daly, thoughtfully.
"Mercy upon us! here 's the leddies!" cried Sandy. But before Daly coulddisencumber himself of his weapons and costume, Helen entered the hall.
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If Lady Eleanor started at the strange apparition before her, andinvoluntarily turned her eye towards the canoe, to see that its occupantwas still there, it is not much to be wondered at, so strongly did thereal and the counterfeit man resemble each other. The first surpriseover, he was welcomed with sincere pleasure. All the eccentricitiesof character which in former days were commented on so sharply wereforgotten, or their memory replaced by the proofs of his ardentdevotion.
"How well you are looking!" was his first exclamation, as he gazed atLady Eleanor and Helen alternately, with that steady stare which is oneof the prerogatives of age towards beauty.
"There is no such tonic as necessity," said Lady Eleanor, smiling, "andit would seem as if health were too jealous to visit us when we haveevery other blessing."
"It is worth them all, madam. I am an old man, and have seen much of theworld, and I can safely aver that what are called its trials lie chieflyin our weaknesses. We can all of us carry a heavier load than fortunelays on us--" He suddenly checked himself, as if having unwittinglylapsed into something like rebuke, and then said, "I find you alone; isit not so?"
"Yes; Darcy has left us, suddenly and almost mysteriously, without youcan help us to a clearer insight. A letter from the War Office arrivedhere on Tuesday, acknowledging, in most complimentary terms, thefairness of his claim for military employment, and requesting hispresence in London. This was evidently in reply to an application,although the Knight made none such."
"But he has friends, mamma,--warm-hearted and affectionate ones,-whomight have done so," said Helen, as she fixed her gaze steadily on Daly.
"And you, madam, have relatives of high and commanding influence," saidhe, avoiding to return Helen's glance,--"men of rank and station, whomight well feel proud of such a _protege_ as Maurice Darcy. And whathave the
y given him?"
"We can tell you nothing; the official letter may explain more to yourclear-sightedness, and I will fetch it." So saying, Lady Eleanor aroseand left the room. Scarcely had the door closed, when Daly stood up,and, walking over, leaned his arm on the back of Helen's chair.
"You received my letter, did you not?" said he, hurriedly. "You know theresult of the trial?"
Helen nodded assent, while a secret emotion covered her face withcrimson, as Daly resumed,--
"There was ill-luck everywhere: the case badly stated; Lionel absent;I myself detained in Dublin, by an unavoidable necessity,--everythingunfortunate even to the last incident. Had I been there, matters wouldhave taken another course. Still, Helen, Forester was right; and, dependupon it, there is no scanty store of generous warmth in a heart that canthrob so strongly beneath the aiguiletted coat of an aide-de-camp. Theholiday habits of that tinsel life teach few lessons of self-devotion,and the poor fellow has paid the penalty heavily."
"What has happened?" said Helen, in a voice scarcely audible.
"He is disinherited, I hear. All his prospects depended on his mother;she has cast him off, and, as the story goes, is about to marry.Marriage is always the last vengeance of a widow."
"Here is the letter," said Lady Eleanor, entering; "let us hope you canread its intentions better than we have."
"Flattering, certainly," muttered Daly, as he conned over the lines tohimself. "It's quite plain they mean to do something generous. I trust Imay learn it before I sail."
"Sail! you are not about to travel, are you?" asked Lady Eleanor, in avoice that betrayed her dread of being deprived of such support.
"Oh! I forgot I had n't told you. Yes, madam, another of those strangeriddles which have beset my life compels me to take a long voyage--toAmerica."
"To America!" echoed Helen; and her eye glanced as she spoke to theIndian war-cloak and the weapons that lay beside his chair.
"Not so, Helen," said Daly, smiling, as if replying to the insinuatedremark; "I am too old for such follies now. Not in heart, indeed, but inlimb," added he, sternly; "for I own I could ask nothing better than theprairie or the pine-forest. I know of no cruelty in savage life that hasnot its counterpart amid our civilization; and for the rude virtues thatare nurtured there, they are never warmed into existence by the hotbedof selfishness."
"But why leave your friends,--your sister?"
"My sister!" He paused, and a tinge of red came to his cheek as heremembered how she had failed in all attention to the Darcys. "Mysister, madam, is self-willed and headstrong as myself. She acknowledgesnone of the restraints or influence by which the social world consentsto be bound and regulated; her path has ever been wild and erratic asmy own. We sometimes cross, we never contradict, each other." He paused,and then muttered to himself, "Poor Molly! how different I knew youonce! And so," added he, aloud, "I must leave without seeing Darcy! andthere stands Sandy, admonishing me that my time is already up. Good-bye,Lady Eleanor; good-bye, Helen." He turned his head away for a second,and then, in a voice of unusual feeling, said: "Farewell is always a sadword, and doubly sad when spoken by one old as I am; but if my heartis heavy at this moment, it is the selfish sorrow of him who parts fromthose so near. As for you, madam, and your fortunes, I am full of goodhope. When people talk of suffering virtue, believe me, the element ofcourage must be wanting; but where the stout heart unites with the goodcause, success will come at last."
He pressed his lips to the hands he held within his own, and hurried,before they could reply, from the room.
"Our last friend gone!" exclaimed Lady Eleanor, as she sank into achair.
Helen's heart was too full for utterance, and she sat down silently,and watched the retiring figure of Daly and his servant till theydisappeared in the distance.