“I am rather in a hurry to-day,” said
Herbert, “and therefore, if you please, we won’t
make any change now. Never mind the book to-day,
Sally. Good day, Mr. Creagh.” And so
saying, he left the shop and walked rapidly back out
of the village.
The poor coadjutor was left alone at the shop-door,
anathematizing in his heart the pride of all Protestants.
He had been told that this Mr. Fitzgerald was different
from others, that he was a man fond of priests and
addicted to the “ould religion;” and so
hearing, he had resolved to make the most of such
an excellent disposition. But he was forced to
confess to himself that they were all alike.
Mr. Somers could not have been more imperious, nor
Mr. Townsend more insolent.
And then, through the still drizzling rain, Herbert
walked on to Desmond Court. By the time that
he reached the desolate-looking lodge at the demesne
gate, he was nearly wet through, and was besmeared
with mud up to his knees. But he had thought nothing
of this as he walked along. His mind had been
intent on the scene that was before him. In what
words was he to break the news to Clara Desmond and
her mother? and with what words would they receive
the tidings? The former question he had by no
means answered to his own satisfaction, when, all
muddy and wet, he passed up to the house through that
desolate gate.
“Is Lady Desmond at home?” he asked of
the butler. “Her ladyship is at home,”
said the grey-haired old man, with his blandest smile,
“and so is Lady Clara.” He had already
learned to look on the heir of Castle Richmond as
the coming saviour of the impoverished Desmond family.
“But, Mr. Herbert, yer honor, you’re wet
through and through—surely,” said
the butler, as soon as Fitzgerald was well inside
the hall. Herbert muttered something about his
being only damp, and that it did not signify.
But it did signify,—very much,—in
the butler’s estimation. Whose being wet
through could signify more; for was not Mr. Herbert
to be a baronet, and to have the spending of twelve
thousand a-year; and would he not be the future husband
of Lady Clara? not signify indeed!
“An’ shure, Mr. Herbert, you haven’t
walked to Desmond Court this blessed morning.
Tare an’ ages! Well; there’s no knowing
what you young gentlemen won’t do. But
I’ll see and get a pair of trousers of my Lord’s
ready for you in two minutes. Faix, and he’s
nearly as big as yourself, now, Mr. Herbert.”
But Herbert would hardly speak to him, and gave no
assent whatever as to his proposition for borrowing
the Earl’s clothes. “I’ll go
in as I am,” said he. And the old man looking
into his face saw that there was something wrong.
“Shure an’ he ain’t going to sthrike
off now,” said this Irish Caleb Balderstone
to himself. He also as well as some others about
Desmond Court had feared greatly that Lady Clara would
throw herself away upon a poor lover.
