“And know nothing to his disadvantage, I'm certain. He was a good officer and a kind-hearted fellow, whom we all liked. And there he is now,” added he, after a pause, “with a charming girl—his daughter—and I really don't believe they have a five-pound note in the world. You must do this for me, Dunn. I 'm bent upon it!”
“I'll see what can be done about it. Anything like a job is always a difficulty.”
“And everything is a job here, Dunn, and no man knows better how to deal with one.” And so saying, and with a pleasant laugh, the gay-hearted doctor hurried away, to carry hope, and some portion at least of his own cheery nature, into many a darkened sick-room.
Though several names were announced with pressing entreaties for an audience, Dunn would see no one. He continued to walk up and down the room deep in thought, and seemed resolved that none should interrupt him. There were events enough to occupy, cases enough to engage him,—high questions of policy, deep matters of interest, all that can stimulate ambition, all that can awaken energy,—and yet, amidst all, where were his thoughts straying? They were away to the years of his early boyhood, when he had been Paul Kellett's playfellow, and when he was admitted—a rare honor—to the little dinner of the nursery! What a strange thing it was that it was “there and then” his first studies of life and character should have been made; that it was there and then he first moulded himself to the temper and ways of another, conforming to caprices and tending to inclinations not his own. Stern tyrants were these child masters! How they did presume upon their high station, how severely did they make him feel the distance between them, and what arts did they teach him,—what subtle devices to outwit their own imperiousness and give him the mastery over them! To these memories succeeded others more painful still; and Dunn's brow contracted and his lips became tight-drawn as he recollected them.
“I suppose even my father would allow that the debt is acquitted now,” muttered he to himself. “I 'll go and see them!” said he, after a moment; “such a sight will teach me how far I have travelled in life.”
He gently descended a private stair that led to the garden, and, passing out by the stables, soon gained the street Walking rapidly on to the first stand, he engaged a car, and started for Clontarf.
If Davenport Dunn never gave way to a passion for revenge in life, it was in some sort because he deemed it a luxury above his means. He often fancied to himself that the time might come when he could indulge in this pleasure, just as now he revelled in a thousand others, which once had seemed as remote. His theory was that he had not yet attained that eminence whence he could dispense with all aid, and he knew not what man's services at any moment might be useful to him. Still, with all this, he never ceased to enjoy whatever of evil fortune befell those who even in times past had injured him. To measure their destiny with his now, was like striking a balance with Fate,—a balance so strong in his favor; and when he had not actually contributed to their downfall, he deemed himself high-minded, generous, and pure-hearted.
It was reflecting in this wise he drove along, and at last drew up at Kellett's door; his knock was answered by Sybella herself, whose careworn features and jaded look scarcely reminded him of her appearance when first he saw her, flushed and excited by exercise.
“I thought I'd come myself and ask after him,” said Dunn, as he explained the object of his visit.
“He has scarce consciousness enough to thank you,” said she, mournfully, “but I am very grateful to you;” and she preceded him into the room, where her father sat in the selfsame attitude as before.