The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2. Lever Charles James

into the middle of the room. His face was flushed, his forehead covered with perspiration, and his clothes, stained with dust, showed that he had come off a very long and fast walk. He wiped his forehead with a flaring cotton handkerchief, and then, with a long-drawn puff, threw himself back into an arm-chair.

      There was something so actually comic in the cool assurance of the little man, that Darcy lost all sense of annoyance at the interruption, while he surveyed him and enjoyed the dignified coolness of Lady Eleanor’s reception.

      “That’s the devil’s own bit of a road,” said Paul, as he fanned himself with a music-book, “between this and Coleraine. Whenever it ‘s not going up a hill, it’s down one. Do you ever walk that way, ma’am?”

      “Very seldom indeed, sir.”

      “Faith, and I ‘d wager, when you do, that it gives you a pain just here below the calf of the leg, and a stitch in the small of the back.”

      Lady Eleanor took no notice of this remark, but addressed some observation to Helen, at which the young girl smiled, and said, in a whisper, —

      “Oh, he will not stay long.”

      “I am afraid, Mr. Dempsey,” said the Knight, “that. I must be uncourteous enough to say that we are unprepared for a visitor this evening. Some letters of importance have just arrived; and as they will demand all our attention, you will, I am sure, excuse the frankness of my telling you that we desire to be alone.”

      “So you shall in a few minutes more,” said Paul, coolly. “Let me have a glass of sherry and water, or, if wine is not convenient, ditto of brandy, and I ‘m off. I did n’t come to stop. It was a letter that you forgot at the post-office, marked ‘with speed,’ on the outside, that brought me here; for I was spending a few days at Coleraine with old Hewson.”

      The kindness of this thoughtful act at once eradicated every memory of the vulgarity that accompanied it; and as the Knight took the letter from his hands, he hastened to apologize for what he said by adding his thanks for the service.

      “I offered a fellow a shilling to bring it, but being harvest-time he wouldn’t come,” said Dempsey. “Phew! what a state the roads are in! dust up to your ankles!”

      “Come now, pray help yourself to some wine and water,” said the Knight; “and while you do so, I ‘ll ask permission to open my letter.”

      “There ‘s a short cut down by Port-na-happle mill, they tell me, ma’am,” said Dempsey, who now found a much more complaisant listener than at first; “but, to tell you the truth, I don’t think it would suit you or me; there are stone walls to climb over and ditches to cross. Miss Helen, there, might get over them, she has a kind of a thoroughbred stride of her own, but fencing destroys me outright.”

      “It was a very great politeness to think of bringing us the letter, and I trust your fatigues will not be injurious to you,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling faintly.

      “Worse than the damage to a pair of very old shoes, ma’am, I don’t anticipate; I begin to suspect they’ve taken their last walk this evening.”

      While Mr. Dempsey contemplated the coverings of his feet with a very sad expression, the Knight continued to read the letter he held in his hand with an air of extreme intentness.

      “Eleanor, my dear,” said he, as he retired into the deep recess of a window, “come here for a moment.”

      “I guessed there would be something of consequence in that,” said Dempsey, with a sly glance from Helen to the two figures beside the window. “The envelope was a thin one, and I read ‘War Office’ in the corner of the inside cover.”

      Not heeding the delicacy of this announcement, but only thinking of the fact, which she at once connected with Lionel’s fortunes, Helen turned an anxious and searching glance towards the window; but the Knight and Lady Eleanor had entered a small room adjoining, and were already concealed from view.

      “Was he ever in the militia, miss?” asked Dempsey, with a gesture of his thumb to indicate of whom he spoke.

      “I believe not,” said Helen, smiling at the pertinacity of his curiosity.

      “Well, well,” resumed Dempsey, with a sigh, “I would not wish him a hotter march than I had this day, and little notion I had of the same tramp only ten minutes before. I was reading the ‘Saunders’ of Tuesday last, with an account of that business done at Mayo between O’Halloran and the young officer-you know what I mean?”

      “No, I have not heard it; pray tell me,” said she, with an eagerness very different from her former manner.

      “It was a horsewhipping, miss, that a young fellow in the Guards gave O’Halloran, just as he was coming out of court; something the Counsellor said about somebody in the trial, – names never stay in my head, but I remember it was a great trial at the Westport assizes, and that O’Halloran came down special, and faith, so did the young captain too; and if the lawyer laid it on very heavily within the court, the red-coat made up for it outside. But I believe I have the paper in my pocket, and, if you like, I’ll read it out for you.”

      “Pray do,” said Helen, whose anxiety was now intense.

      “Well, here goes,” said Mr. Dempsey; “but with your permission I ‘ll just wet my lips again. That ‘s elegant sherry!”

      Having sipped and tasted often enough to try the young lady’s patience to its last limit, he unfolded the paper, and read aloud, —

      “‘When Counsellor O’Halloran had concluded his eloquent speech in the trial of Darcy v. Hickman, – for a full report of which see our early columns, – a young gentleman, pushing his way through the circle of congratulating friends, accosted him with the most insulting and opprobrious epithets, and failing to elicit from the learned gentleman a reciprocity,’-that means, miss, that O’Halloran did n’t show fight, – ‘struck him repeatedly across the shoulders, and even the face, with a horsewhip. He was immediately committed under a bench warrant, but was liberated almost at once. Perhaps our readers may understand these proceedings more clearly when we inform them that Captain Forester, the aggressor in this case, is a near relative of our Irish Secretary, Lord Castlereagh.’ That ‘s very neatly put, miss, isn’t it?” said Mr. Dempsey, with a sly twinkle of the eye; “it’s as much as to say that the Castle chaps may do what they please. But it won’t end there, depend upon it; the Counsellor will see it out.”

      Helen paid little attention to the observation, for, having taken up the paper as Mr. Dempsey laid it down, she was deeply engaged in the report of the trial and O’Halloran’s speech.

      “Wasn’t that a touching-up the old Knight of Gwynne got?” said Dempsey, as, with his glass to his eye, he peered over her shoulder at the newspaper. “Faith, O’Halloran flayed him alive! He ‘s the boy can do it!”

      Helen scarce seemed to breathe, as, with a heart almost bursting with indignant anger, she read the lines before her.

      “Strike him!” cried she, at length, unable longer to control the passion that worked within her; “had he trampled him beneath his feet, it had not been too much?”

      The little man started, and stared with amazement at the young girl, as, with flashing eyes and flushed cheek, she arose from her seat, and, tearing the paper into fragments, stamped upon them with her foot.

      “Blood alive, miss, don’t destroy the paper! I only got a loan of it from Mrs. Kennedy, of the Post-office; she slipped it out of the cover, though it was addressed to Lord O’Neil. Oh dear! oh dear! it’s a nice article now!”

      These words were uttered in the very depth of despair, as, kneeling down on the carpet, Mr. Dempsey attempted to collect and arrange the scattered fragments.

      “It’s no use in life! Here’s the Widow Wallace’s pills in the middle of the Counsellor’s speech! and the last day’s drawing of the lottery mixed up with that elegant account of old Darcy’s – ”

      A hand which, if of the gentlest mould, now made a gesture to enforce silence, arrested Mr. Dempsey’s words, and at the same moment