CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CHANCES OF TRAVEL.
Neither our space nor our inclination prompt us to dwell on Forester'sillness; enough when we say that his recovery, slow at first, made atlength good progress, and within a month after the commencement of theattack, he was once more on the road, bent on reaching the North, andpresenting himself before Lady Eleanor and her daughter.
Miss Daly, who had been his kind and watchful nurse for many days andnights ere his wandering faculties could recognize her, contributed morethan all else to his restoration. The impatient anxiety under which hesuffered was met by her mild but steady counsels; and although she neverventured to bid him hope too sanguinely, she told him that his letterhad reached Helen's hand, and that he himself must plead the cause hehad opened.
"Your greatest difficulty," said she, in parting with him in Dublin,"will be in the very circumstance which, in ordinary cases, would bethe guarantee of your success. Your own rise in fortune has widened theinterval between you. This, to your mind, presents but the natural meansof overcoming the obstacles I allude to; but remember there are otherswhose feelings are to be as intimately consulted,--nay, more so thanyour own. Think of those who never yet made an alliance without feelingthat they were on a footing of perfect equality; and reflect that evenif Helen's affections were all your own, Maurice Darcy's daughter canenter into no family, however high and proud it may be, save as thedesired and sought-for by its chief members. Build upon anything lowerthan this, and you fail. More still," added she, almost sternly, "yourfailure will meet with no compassion from me. Think not, because Ihave gone through life a lone, uncared-for thing, that I undervalue thestrength and power of deep affection, or that I could counsel you tomake it subservient to views of worldliness and advantage. You knowme little if you think so. But I would tell you this, that no lovedeserving of the name ever existed without those high promptings ofthe heart that made all difficulties easy to encounter,--ay, even thoseworst of difficulties that spring from false pride and prejudice. Itis by no sudden outbreak of temper, no selfish threat of this or thatinsensate folly, that your lady-mother's consent should be obtained.It is by the manly dignity and consistency of a character that in thehighest interests of a higher station give a security for sound judgmentand honorable motives. Let it appear from your conduct that you are notswayed by passion or caprice. You have already won men's admiration forthe gallantry of your daring. There is something better still than this,the esteem and regard that are never withheld from a course of honorableand independent action. With these on your side, rely upon it, amother's heart will not be the last in England to acknowledge and gloryin your fame. And now, good-bye; you have a better travelling-companionthan me,-you have hope with you."
She returned the cordial pressure of his hand, and was turning away,when, after what had seemed a kind of struggle with her feelings, sheadded,--
"One word more, even at the hazard of wearying you. Above all andeverything, be honest, be candid; not only with others, but withyourself! Examine well your heart, and let no sense of false shame, letno hopes of some chance or accident deceive you, by which your innermostfeelings are to be guessed at, and not avowed. This is the blackest ofcalamities; this can even embitter every hour of a long life."
Her voice trembled at the last words; and as she concluded, she wrunghis hand once more affectionately, and moved hurriedly away. Foresterlooked after her with a tender interest. For the first time in his lifehe heard her sob. "Yes," thought he, as he lay back and covered his eyeswith his hand, "she, too, has loved, and loved unhappily."
There are few sympathies stronger, not even those of illness itself,than connect those whose hearts have struggled under unrequitedaffection; and so, for many an hour as he travelled, Forester's thoughtsrecurred to Miss Daly, and the last troubled accents of her partingspeech. Perhaps he did not dwell the less on that theme because itcarried him away from his own immediate hopes and fears,--emotions thatrendered him almost irritable by their intensity.
While on the road, Forester travelled with all the speed he couldaccomplish. His weakness did not permit of his being many hours in acarriage, and he endeavored to compensate for this by rapid travellingat the time. His impatience to get forward was, however, such that hescarcely arrived at any halting-place without ordering horses to be atonce got ready, so that, when able, he resumed the road without losing amoment.
In compliance with this custom, the carriage was standing all readywith its four posters at the door of the inn of Castle Blayney; whileForester, overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, had thrown himself onthe bed and fallen asleep. The rattling crash of a mail-coach and itsdeep-toned horn suddenly awoke him: he started, and looked at his watch.Was it possible? It was nearly midnight; he must have slept more thanthree hours! Half gratified by the unaccustomed rest, half angry atthe lapse of time, he arose to depart. The night was the reverse ofinviting; a long-threatened storm had at last burst forth, and the rainwas falling in torrents, while the wind, in short and fitful gusts,shook the house to its foundation, and scattered tiles and slates overthe dreary street.
So terrible was the hurricane, many doubts were entertained that themail could proceed further; and when it did at length set forth, gloomyprognostics of danger--dark pictures of precipices, swollen torrents,and broken bridges--were rife in the bar and the landlord's room. Thesearguments, if they could be so called, were all renewed when Forestercalled for his bill, as a preparation to depart, and all the perils thatever happened by land or by water recapitulated to deter him.
"The middle arch of the Slaney bridge was tottering when the up-mailpassed three hours before. A horse and cart were just fished out ofMooney's pond, but no driver as yet discovered. The forge at the crossroads was blown down, and the rafters were lying across the highway."These, and a dozen other like calamities, were bandied about, andpitched like shuttlecocks from side to side, as the impatient travellerdescended the stairs.
Had Forester cared for the amount of the reckoning, which he did not, hemight have entertained grave fears of its total, on the principle wellknown to travellers, that the speed of its coming is always in theinverse ratio of the sum, and that every second's delay is sure to swellits proportions. Of this he never thought once; but he often reflectedon the tardiness of waiters, and the lingering tediousness of themoments of parting.
"It's coming, sir; he 's just adding it up," said the head waiter, forthe sixth time within three minutes, while he moved to and fro, with theofficial alacrity that counterfeits despatch. "I 'm afraid you 'll havea bad night, sir. I 'm sure the horses won't be able to face the stormover Grange Connel."
Forester made no reply, but walked up and down the hall in moodysilence.
"The gentleman that got off the mail thought so too," added the waiter;"and now he 's pleasanter at his supper, iu the coffee-room, thansitting out there, next to the guard, wet to the skin, and shiveringwith cold."
Less to inspect the stranger thus alluded to than to escape theimpertinent loquacity of the waiter, Forester turned the handle ofthe door, and entered the coffee-room. It was a large, dingy-lookingchamber, whose only bright spot seemed within the glow of a blazingturf-fire, where at a little table a gentleman was seated at supper. Hisback was turned to Forester; but even in the cursory glance the lattergave, he could perceive that he was an elderly personage, and one whohad not abandoned the almost bygone custom of a queue.
The stranger, dividing his time between his meal and a newspaper,--whichhe devoured more eagerly than the viands before him,--paid no attentionto Forester's entrance; nor did he once look round. As the waiterapproached, he asked hastily, "What chance there was of gettingforward?"
"Indeed, sir, to tell the truth," drawled out the man, "the storm seemsgetting worse, instead of better. Miles Finerty's new house, at the endof the street, is just blown down."
"Never mind Miles Finerty, my good friend, for the present," rejoinedthe old gentleman, mildly, "but just tell me, are horses to be had?"
 
; "Faith! and to tell your honor no lie, I 'm afraid of it." Here hedropped to a whisper. "The sick-looking gentleman, yonder, has fourwaiting for him, since nine o'clock; and we 've only a lame mare and apony in the stable."
"Am I never to get this bill?" cried out Forester, in a tone thatillness had rendered peculiarly querulous. "I have asked, begged for it,for above an hour, and here I am still."
"He's bringing it now, sir," cried the waiter, stepping hastily out ofthe room, to avoid further questioning. Forester, whose impatience hadnow been carried beyond endurance, paced the room with hurried strides,muttering, between his teeth, every possible malediction on the wholerace of innkeepers, barmaids, waiters,--even down to Boots himself.These imprecating expressions had gradually assumed a louder andmore vehement tone, of which he was by no means aware, till the oldgentleman, at the pause of a somewhat wordy denunciation, gravelyadded,--
"Insert a clause upon postboys, sir, and I 'll second the measure."
Forester wheeled abruptly round. He belonged to a class, a section ofsociety, whose cherished prestige is neither to address nor be addressedby an unintroduced stranger; and had the speaker been younger, or of anyage more nearly his own, it is more than likely a very vague stare ofcool astonishment would have been his only acknowledgment of the speech.The advanced age, and something in the very accent of the stranger,were, however, guarantees against this conventional rudeness, and heremarked, with a smile, "I have no objection to extend the provisionsof my bill in the way you propose, for perhaps half an hour's experiencemay teach me how much they deserve it."
"You are fortunate, however, to have secured horses. I perceive that thestables are empty."
"If you are pressed for time, sir," said Forester, on whom the quiet,well-bred manners of the stranger produced a strong impression, "itwould be a very churlish thing of me to travel with four horses while Ican spare a pair of them."
"I am really very grateful," said the old gentleman, rising, and bowingcourteously; "if this be not a great inconvenience--"
"By no means; and if it were," rejoined Forester, "I have a debt toacquit to my own heart on this subject. I remember once, when travellingdown to the west of Ireland, I reached a little miserable country townat nightfall, and, just as here, save that then there was no storm--"The entrance of the long-expected landlord, with his bill, hereinterrupted Forester's story. As he took it, and thus afforded time forthe stranger to fix his eyes steadfastly upon him, unobserved, Foresterquickly resumed: "I was remarking that, just as here, there were onlyfour post-horses to be had, and that they had just been secured byanother traveller a few moments before my arrival. I forget the name ofthe place--"
"Perhaps I can assist you," said the other, calmly. "It was Kilbeggan."
Had a miracle been performed before his eyes, Forester could not havebeen more stunned; and stunned he really was, and unable to speak forsome seconds. At length, his surprise yielding to a vague glimmering ofbelief, he called out, "Great heavens! it cannot be--it surely is not--"
"Maurice Darcy, you would say, sir," said the Knight, advancing with anoffered hand. "As surely as I believe you to be my son Lionel's brotherofficer and friend, Captain Forester."
"Oh, Colonel Darcy! this is, indeed, happiness," exclaimed the youngman, as he grasped the Knight's hand in both of his, and shook itaffectionately.
"What a strange rencontre," said the Knight, laughing; "quite theincident of a comedy! One would scarcely look for such meetingstwice,--so like in every respect. Our parts are changed, however; it isyour turn to be generous, if the generosity trench not too closely onyour convenience."
Forester could but stammer out assurances of delight and pleasure, andso on, for his heart was too full to speak calmly or collectedly.
"And Lionel, sir, how is he,-when have you heard from him?" said theyoung man, anxious, by even the most remote path, to speak of theKnight's family.
"In excellent health. The boy has had the good fortune to be employedin a healthy station, and, from a letter which I found awaiting me at myarmy agent's, is as happy as can be. But to recur to our theme: will youforgive my selfishness if I say that you will add indescribably to thefavor if you permit me to take these horses at once? I have not seen myfamily for some time back, and my impatience is too strong to yield toceremony."
"Of course,--certainly; my carriage is, however, all ready, and at thedoor. Take it as it is, you 'll travel faster and safer."
"But you yourself," said Darcy, laughing,--"you were about to moveforward when we met."
"It's no matter; I was merely travelling for the sake of change," saidForester, confusedly.
"I could not think of such a thing," said Darcy. "If our way ledtogether, and you would accept of me as a travelling companion, Ishould be but too happy; but to take the long-boat, and leave you onthe desolate rock, is not to be thought of." The Knight stopped; andalthough he made an effort to continue, the words faltered on his lips,and he was silent. At last, and with an exertion that brought a deepblush to his cheek, he said: "I am really ashamed, Captain Forester, toacknowledge a weakness which is as new to me as it is unmanly. The bestamends I can make for feeling is to confess it. Since we met that samenight, circumstances of fortune have considerably changed with me. I amnot, as you then knew me, the owner of a good house and a good estate.Now, I really would wish to have been able to ask you to come and seeme; but, in good truth, I cannot tell where or how I should lodge youif you said 'yes.' I believe my wife has a cabin on this northern shore,but, however it may accommodate us, I need not say I could not ask afriend to put up with it. There is my confession; and now that it istold, I am only ashamed that I should hesitate about it."
Forester once more endeavored, in broken, disjointed phrases, to expresshis acknowledgment, and was in the very midst of a mass of contradictoryexplanations, hopes, and wishes, when Linwood entered with, "Thecarriage is ready, my Lord."
The Knight heard the words with surprise, and as quickly remarked thatthe young man was dressed in deep mourning. "I have been unwittinglyaddressing you as Captain Forester," said he, gravely; "I believe Ishould have said--"
"Lord Wallincourt," answered Forester, with a slight tremor in hisvoice; "the death of my brother--" Here he hesitated, and at length wassilent.
The Knight, who read in his nervous manner and sickly appearance thesigns of broken health and spirits, resolved at once to sacrifice merepersonal feeling in a cause of kindness, and said: "I see, my Lord, youare scarcely as strong as when I had the pleasure to meet you first, andI doubt not that you require a little repose and quietness. Come alongwith me then; and if even this cabin of ours be inhospitable enough notto afford you a room, we 'll find something near us on the coast, and Ihave no doubt we 'll set you on your legs again."
"It is a favor I would have asked, if I dared," said Forester, feebly.He then added: "Indeed, sir, I will confess it, my journey had noother object than to present myself to Lady Eleanor Darcy. Through thekindness of my relative, Lord Castlereagh, I was enabled to send hersome tidings of yourself, of which my illness prevented my being thebearer, and I was desirous of adding my own testimony, so far as itcould go." Here again he faltered.
"Pray continue," said the Knight, warmly; "I am never happier than whengrateful, and I see that I have reason for the feeling here."
"I perceive, sir, you do not recognize me," said the young man,thoughtfully, while he fixed his deep, full eyes upon the Knight'scountenance.
Darcy stared at him in turn, and, passing his hand across his brow,looked again. "There is some mystification here," said he, quickly, "butI cannot see through it."
"Come, Colonel Darcy," said Forester, with more animation than before."I see that you forget me-, but perhaps you remember this." So saying,he walked over to a table where a number of cloaks and travelling-gearwere lying, and taking up a pistol, placed it in Darcy's hand. "This youcertainly recognize?"
"It is my own!" exclaimed the Knight; "the fellow of it is yonder. I hadit with me th
e day we landed at Aboukir."
"And gave it to me when a French dragoon had his sabre at my throat,"continued Forester.
"And is it to your gallantry that I owe my life, my brave boy?" criedthe old man, as he threw his arm around him.
"Not one half so much as I owe my recovery to your kindness," saidForester. "Remember the wounded Volunteer you came to see on the march.The surgeon you employed never left me till the very day I quitted thecamp; although I have had a struggle for life twice since then, I nevercould have lived through the first attack but for his aid."
"Is this all a dream," said the Knight, as he leaned his head uponhis band, "or are these events real? Then you were the officer whoseexchange was managed, and of which I heard soon after the battle?"
"Yes, I was exchanged under a cartel, and sailed for England the dayafter. And you, sir,--tell me of your fate."
"A slight wound and a somewhat tiresome imprisonment tells the wholestory,--the latter a good deal enlivened by seeing that our troops werebeating the French day after day, and the calculation that my durancecould scarcely last till winter. I proved right, for last month camethe capitulation, and here I am. But all these are topics for longevenings to chat over. Come with me; you can't refuse me any longer.Lady Eleanor has the right to speak _her_ gratitude to you; I see youwon't listen to _mine_."
The Knight seized the young man's arm, and led him along as he spoke."Nay," said he, "there is another reason for it. If you suffered me togo off alone, nothing would make me believe that what I have now heardwas not some strange trick of fancy. Here, with you beside me, feelingyour arm within my own, and hearing your voice, it is all that I can doto believe it. Come, let me be convinced again. Where did you join us?"
Forester now went over the whole story of his late adventures, omittingnothing from the moment he had joined the frigate at Portsmouth to thelast evening, when as a prisoner, he had sent for Darcy to speak to himbefore he died. "I thought then," said he, "I could scarcely have morethan an hour or two to live; but when you came and stood beside me, Iwas not able to utter a word, I believe, at the time. It was rather arelief to me than otherwise that you did not know me."
"How strange is this all!" said the Knight, musing. "You have told me amost singular story; only one point remains yet unelucidated. How cameyou to volunteer,--you were in the Guards?"
"Yes," said Forester, blushing and faltering; "I had quitted the Guards,intending to leave the army, some short time previous; but--but--"
"The thought of active service brought you back again. Out with it,and never be ashamed. I remember now having heard from an old friend ofmine, Miss Daly, how you had left the service; and, to say truth, Iwas sorry for it,--sorry for _your_ sake, but sorrier because it alwaysgrieves me when men of gentle blood are not to be found where hardknocks are going. None ever distinguish themselves with more honor, andit is a pity that they should lose the occasion to show the world thatbirth and blood inherit higher privileges than stars and titles."
While the miles rolled over, they thus conversed; and as each becamemore intimately acquainted and more nearly interested in the other, theydrew towards the journey's end. It was late on the following night whenthey reached Port Ballintray; and as the darkness threatened more thanonce to mislead them, the postilion halted at the door of a little cabinto procure a light for his lamps.
While the travellers sat patiently awaiting the necessary preparation, avoice from within the cottage struck Darcy's ear; he threw open thedoor as he heard it, and sprang out, and rushing forward, the momentafterwards pressed his wife and daughter in his arms.
Forester, who in a moment comprehended the discovery, hastened towithdraw from a scene where his presence could only prove a constraint,and leaving a message to say that he had gone to the little inn andwould wait on the Knight next morning, he hurried from the spot, hisheart bursting with many a conflicting emotion.