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

me if I know what it means!” exclaimed Paul, in utter despair at the confusion of his own faculties. “My brain is in a whirl.”

      “It was a little political dispute between Mr. Dempsey and myself, sir,” said Helen, with a faint smile. “He was reading for me an article from the newspaper, whose views were so very opposite to mine, and his advocacy of them so very animated, that – in short, we both became warm.”

      “Yes, that’s it,” cried Dempsey, glad to accept any explanation of a case in which he had no precise idea wherein lay the difficulty, – “that’s it; I ‘ll take my oath it was.”

      “He is a fierce Unionist,” said Helen, speaking rapidly to cover her increasing confusion, “and has all the conventional cant by heart, ‘old-fashioned opinions,’ ‘musty prejudices,’ and so on.”

      “I did not suspect you were so eager a politician, my dear Helen,” said the Knight, as, half chidingly, he threw his eyes towards the scattered fragments of the torn newspaper.

      The young girl blushed till her neck became crimson: shame, at the imputation of having so far given way to passion; sorrow, at the reproof, whose injustice she did not dare to expose; and regret, at the necessity of dissimulation, all overwhelming her at the same moment.

      “I am not angry, my sweet girl,” said the Knight, as he drew his arm around her, and spoke in a low, fond accent. “I may be sorry – sincerely sorry – at the social condition that has suffered political feeling to approach our homes and our firesides, and thus agitate hearts as gentle as yours by these rude themes. For your sentiments on these subjects I can scarcely be a severe critic, for I believe they are all my own.”

      “Let us forget it all,” said Helen, eagerly; for she saw-that Mr. Dempsey, having collected once more the torn scraps, was busy in arranging them into something like order. In fact, his senses were gradually recovering from the mystification into which they had been thrown, and he was anxious to vindicate himself before the party. “All the magnanimity, however, must not be mine,” continued she; “and until that odious paper is consumed, I ‘ll sign no treaty of peace.” So saying, and before Dempsey could interfere to prevent it, she snatched up the fragments, and threw them into the fire. “Now, Mr. Dempsey, we are friends again,” said she, laughing.

      “The Lord grant it!” ejaculated Paul, who really felt no ambition for so energetic an enemy. “I ‘ll never tell a bit of news in your company again, so long as my name is Paul Dempsey. Every officer of the Guards may horsewhip the Irish bar – I was forgetting – not a syllable more.”

      The Knight, fortunately, did not hear the last few words, for he was busily engaged in reading the letter he still held in his hands; at length he said, —

      “Mr. Dempsey has conferred one great favor on us by bringing us this letter; and as its contents are of a nature not to admit of any delay – ”

      “He will increase the obligation by taking his leave,” added Paul, rising, and, for once in his life, really well pleased at an opportunity of retiring.

      “I did not say that,” said Darcy, smiling.

      “No, no, Mr. Dempsey,” added Lady Eleanor, with more than her wonted cordiality; “you will, I hope, remain for tea.”

      “No, ma’am, I thank you; I have a little engagement, – I made a promise. If I get safe out of the house without some infernal blunder or other, it ‘s only the mercy of Providence.” And with this burst of honest feeling, Paul snatched up his hat, and without waiting for the ceremony of leave-taking, rushed out of the room, and was soon seen crossing the wide common at a brisk pace.

      “Our little friend has lost his reason,” said the Knight, laughing. “What have you been doing to him, Helen?”

      A gesture to express innocence of all interference was the only reply, and the party became suddenly silent.

      “Has Helen seen that letter?” said Lady Eleanor, faintly, and Darcy handed the epistle to his daughter. “Read it aloud, my dear,” continued Lady Eleanor; “for, up to this, my impressions are so confused, I know not which is reality, which mere apprehension.”

      Helen’s eyes glanced to the top of the letter, and saw the words “War Office;” she then proceeded to read: —

      “‘Sir, – In reply to the application made to the Commander-in-Chief of the forces in your behalf, expressing your desire for an active employment, I have the honor to inform you that his Royal Highness, having graciously taken into consideration the eminent services rendered by you in former years, and the distinguished character of that corps which, raised by your exertions, still bears your name, has desired me to convey his approval of your claim, and his desire, should a favorable opportunity present itself, of complying with your wish. I have the honor to remain, your most humble and obedient servant,

      “‘Harry Greville,

      “Private Secretary.”

      On an enclosed slip of paper was the single line in pencil: —

      “H. G. begs to intimate to Colonel Darcy the propriety of attending the next levee of H. R. H., which will take place on the 14th.”

      “Now, you, who read riddles, my dearest Helen, explain this one to us. I made no application of the kind alluded to, nor am I aware of any one having ever done so for me. The thought never once occurred to me, that his Majesty or his Royal Highness would accept the services of an old and shattered hulk, while many a glorious three-decker lies ready to be launched from the stocks. I could not have presumed to ask such a favor, nor do I well know how to acknowledge it.”

      “But is there anything so very strange,” said Helen, proudly, “that those highly placed by station should be as highly gifted by nature, and that his Royal Highness, having heard of your unmerited calumnies, should have seen that this was the fitting moment to remember the services you have rendered the Crown? I have heard that there are several posts of high trust and honor conferred on those who, like yourself, have won distinction in the service.”

      “Helen is right,” said Lady Eleanor, drawing a long breath, and as if released of a weighty load of doubt and uncertainty; “this is the real explanation; the phrases of official life may give it another coloring to our eyes, but such, I feel assured, is the true solution.”

      “I should like to think it so,” said Darcy, feelingly; “it would be a great source of pride to me at this moment, when my fortunes are lower than ever they were, – lower than ever I anticipated they might be, – to know that my benefactor was the Monarch. In any case I must lose no time in acknowledging this mark of favor. It is now the 4th of the month; to be in London by the 14th, I should leave this to-morrow.”

      “It is better to do so,” said Lady Eleanor, with an utterance from which a great effort had banished all agitation; “Helen and I are safe and well here, and as happy as we can be when away from you and Lionel.”

      “Poor Lionel!” said the Knight, tenderly; “what good news for him it would be were they to give me some staff appointment, – I might have him near us. Come, Eleanor,” added he, with more gayety of manner, “I feel a kind of presentiment of good tidings. But we are forgetting Bagenal Daly all this time; perhaps this letter of his may throw some light on the matter.”

      Darcy now broke the seal of Daly’s note, which, even for him, was one of the briefest. This was so far fortunate, since his writing was in his very worst style, blotted and half erased in many places, scarcely legible anywhere. It was only by assembling a “committee of the whole house” that the Darcys were enabled to decipher even a portion of this unhappy document. As well as it could be rendered, it ran somewhat thus: —

      “The verdict is against us; old Bretson never forgave you carrying away the medal from him in Trinity some fifty years back; he charged dead against you; I always said he would. Summum jus, summa injuria– The Chief Justice – the greatest wrong! and the jury the fellows who lived under you, in your own town, and their fathers and grandfathers! at least, as many of the rascals as had such. – Never mind, Bicknell has moved for a new trial;