“I remain,” said I, briefly.
He seized me in his arms with transport, as he said:—
“I knew it, boy, I knew it. They told me you were spoiled by flattery, and your head turned by fortune; they said that home and country would weigh lightly in the balance against fame and glory; but I said no, I knew you better. I told them indignantly that I had nursed you on my knee; that I watched you from infancy to boyhood, from boy to man; that he of whose stock you came had one feeling paramount to all, his love of his own fatherland, and that you would not disgrace him. Besides, Charley, there’s not an humble hearth for many a long mile around us, where, amidst the winter’s blast, tempered not excluded, by frail walls and poverty,—there’s not one such but where poor Godfrey’s name rises each night in prayer, and blessings are invoked on him by those who never felt them themselves.”
“I’ll not desert them.”
“I know you’ll not, boy, I know you’ll not. Now for the means.”
Here he entered into a long and complicated exposure of my dear uncle’s many difficulties, by which it appeared that, in order to leave the estate free of debt to me, he had for years past undergone severe privations. These, however,—such is the misfortune of an unguided effort,—had but ill succeeded, and there was scarcely a farm on the property without its mortgage. Upon the house and demesne a bond for three thousand pounds still remained; and to pay off this, Considine advised my selling a portion of the property.
“It’s old Blake lent the money; and only a week before your uncle died, he served a notice for repayment. I never told Godfrey; it was no use. It could only embitter his last few hours; and, besides, we had six months to think of it. The half of that time has now elapsed, however; we must see to this.”
“And did Blake really make this demand, knowing my poor uncle’s difficulties?”
“Why, I half think he did not; for Godfrey was too fine a fellow ever to acknowledge anything of the sort. He had twelve sheep killed for the poor in Scariff, at a time when not a servant of the house tasted meat for months; ay, and our own table, too, none of the most abundant, I assure you.”
What a picture was this, and how forcibly did it remind me of what I had witnessed in times past. Thus meditating, we returned to the house; and Considine, whose activity never slumbered, sat down to con over the rent-roll with old Maguire the steward.