“You shall hear it, brother,” said she, taking the paper and reading,—
“'Miss Barrington informs Mr. Kinshela that if he does not at once retract his epistle of this morning's date, she will place it in the hands of her legal adviser, and proceed against it as a threatening letter.'”
“Oh, sister, you will not send this?”
“As sure as my name is Dinah Barrington.”
CHAPTER VI. AN EXPRESS
In the times before telegraphs,—and it is of such I am writing,—a hurried express was a far more stirring event than in these our days of incessant oracles. While, therefore, Barrington and his sister and Withering sat in deep consultation on Josephine's fate and future, a hasty summons arrived from Dublin, requiring the instantaneous departure of Stapylton, whose regiment was urgently needed in the north of England, at that time agitated by those disturbances called the Bread Riots. They were very formidable troubles, and when we look back upon them now, with the light which the great events of later years on the Continent afford us, seem more terrible still. It was the fashion, however, then, to treat them lightly, and talk of them contemptuously; and as Stapylton was eating a hasty luncheon before departure, he sneered at the rabble, and scoffed at the insolent pretension of their demands. Neither Barrington nor Withering sympathized with the spirit of the revolt, and yet each felt shocked at the tone of haughty contempt Stapylton assumed towards the people. “You'll see,” cried he, rising, “how a couple of brisk charges from our fellows will do more to bring these rascals to reason than all the fine pledges of your Parliament folk; and I promise you, for my own part, if I chance upon one of their leaders, I mean to lay my mark on him.”
“I fear, sir, it is your instinctive dislike to the plebeian that moves you here,” said Miss Dinah. “You will not entertain the question whether these people may not have some wrongs to complain of.”
“Perhaps so, madam,” said he; and his swarthy face grew darker as he spoke. “I suppose this is the case where the blood of a gentleman boils indignantly at the challenge of the canaille.”
“I will not have a French word applied to our own people, sir,” said she, angrily.