"Of course; and when you are settled, write to me. I'll consult Anne—do you remember Anne, who used to come here to play with poor Clarice? I'll ask her father to get you something—some Government situation. I'll do what I can for you, Guy. I wish, old fellow, I could comfort you up a bit. I wish—oh, Guy, I wish you were in love with the girl, since the deed is done."
"Ay, I wish I was," answered Guy, as he entered the carriage.
So the brothers parted, never to meet again in this life.
Guy did not write for many months, for, when his brother's kind voice no longer soothed him, his foolish, morbid pride was up in arms. He was not going to be a suppliant for some small place, or dependent upon any one. To return to his wife's native place was also distasteful to him, for the rude plenty of her father's house disgusted him; and thus it came to pass that he threw himself headlong into the first scheme that suggested itself.
He saw in a newspaper an advertisement of the "House and Lands of Ballintra," (pronounced as if written Ballintray), "in the County of W—, in Ireland, and within six miles of the town of E—"; and then followed a description of the fertility and beauty of the estate, the excellent dwelling-house, spacious gardens, etc.—all going a-begging, apparently, for a long lease was offered for thirty pounds a year; and there were sixty acres of land.
Guy Egerton, who shared in the very common delusion that every man is born a farmer, thought that this was the very thing for him. In order to be prudent, however, he wrote to the attorney who had advertised the place, to make a few inquiries, and heard that the reason for the lowness of the rent was, that the house required repairs, though it was quite habitable, and that the land was a little "out of heart,—" "whatever that may mean," thought Guy to himself—but that even as a sheep farm it was sure to prove a good investment to any one possessing a few hundred pounds to stock it.
Guy at once closed the bargain. He took his wife over to Ireland, and before he wrote the promised letter to Aymer, they had been some time settled in their new abode, and their eldest son had been born. Indeed, it was to ask his brother to be the child's godfather that he wrote at last: and he named the boy Aymer.
It has seemed to me necessary to sketch the early life of the father of my heroine—Clarice Egerton—that my readers may be prepared to make some allowance for him when they meet him again after the lapse of some years. This chapter is, therefore, merely introductory, and I hope I have not made it too long; but without it, I do not think I could have made my story clear and plain, without going back frequently to explain, which I wished to avoid.
