CHAPTER XX. A SUPPER.
In long-measured sweep the waves flowed smoothly in upon the low shore at Baldoyle of a rich evening in autumn, as a very old man tottered feebly down to the strand and seated himself on a rock. Leaning his crossed arms on his stout stick, he gazed steadily and calmly on the broad expanse before him. Was it that they mirrored to him the wider expanse of that world to which he was so rapidly tending; was it in that measured beat he recognized the march of time, the long flow of years he could count, and which still swept on, smooth but relentless; or was it that the unbroken surface soothed by its very sameness a brain long wearied by its world conflict? Whatever the cause, old Matthew Dunn came here every evening of his life, and, seated on the self-same spot, gazed wistfully over the sea before him.
Although his hair was snow-white and the wrinkles that furrowed his cheeks betrayed great age, his eyes yet preserved a singular brightness, and in their vivid glances showed that the strong spirit that reigned within was still unquenched. The look of defiance they wore was the very essence of the man,—one who accepted any challenge that fortune flung him, and, whether victor or vanquished, only prepared for fresh conflict.
There was none of the weariness so often observable in advanced age about his features, nothing of that expression that seems to crave rest and peace, still as little was there anything of that irritable activity which seems at times to' counterfeit past energy of temperament; no, he was calm, stern, and self-possessed, the man who had fought this way from boyhood, and who asked neither grace nor favor of fortune as he drew nigh the end of the journey!
“I knew I'd find you here,” said a deep voice close to his ear. “How are you?”
The old man looked up, and the next moment his son was in his arms. “Davy, my own boy—Davy, I was just thinking of you; was it Friday or Saturday you said you 'd come.”
“I thought I could have been here Saturday, father, but Lord Jedburg made a point of my dining with him yesterday; and it was a great occasion,—three Cabinet Ministers present, a new Governor-General of India too,—I felt it was better to remain.”
“Right, Davy,—always right,—them's the men to keep company with!”
“And how are you, sir? Are you hale and stout and hearty as ever?” said Dunn, as he threw his head back, the better to look at the old man.
“As you see me, boy: a little shaky about the knees, somewhat tardy about getting up of a morning; but once launched, the old craft can keep her timbers together. But tell me the news, lad,—tell me the news, and never mind me.”