'Yes, yes,' said I hurriedly, while a strong temptation to laugh outright seized me; 'I have heard that your descent——'
'Yes, my dear; if it wasn't for the Danes, and the cruel battle of the Boyne, there's no saying where I might not be seated now.'
She leaned on the piano as she spoke, and seemed overpowered with sorrow. At this instant the door opened, and the judge made his appearance.
'A thousand pardons for the indiscretion,' said he, stepping back as he saw me sitting with the lady's hand in mine. I sprang up, confused and ashamed, and rushing past him hurried downstairs.
I knew how soon my adventure, for such it would grow into, would be the standing jest of the bar mess; and not feeling disposed to be present at their mirth, I ordered a chaise, and before half an hour elapsed was on my road to Dublin.
CHAPTER XLV. THE RETURN
We never experience to the full how far sorrow has made its inroad upon us until we come back, after absence, to the places where we have once been happy, and find them lone and tenantless. While we recognise each old familiar object, we see no longer those who gave them all their value in our eyes; every inanimate thing about speaks to our senses, but where are they who were wont to speak to our hearts? The solitary chamber is then, indeed, but the body of all our pleasure, from which the soul has departed for ever.
These feelings were mine as I paced the old well-worn stairs, and entered my quarters in the Castle. No more I heard the merry laugh of my friend O'Grady, nor his quick step upon the stair. The life, the stir, the bustle of the place itself seemed to have all fled; the court echoed only to the measured tread of the grenadier, who marched backwards and forwards beside the flagstaff in the centre of the open space. No cavalcade of joyous riders, no prancing horses led about by grooms, no showy and splendid equipages; all was still, sad, and neglected-looking. The dust whirled about in circling eddies, as the cold wind of an autumnal day moaned through the arched passages and gloomy corridors of the old building. A care-worn official, or some slatternly inferior of the household, would perhaps pass from time to time; but except such as these, nothing stirred. The closed shutters and drawn-down blinds showed that the viceroy was absent and I found myself the only occupant of the building.
It requires the critical eye of the observant resident of great cities to mark the changes which season and fashion effect in their appearance. To one unaccustomed to their phases it seems strange to hear, 'How empty the town is! how very few people are in London!'—while the heavy tide of population pours incessantly around him, and his ear is deafened with the ceaseless roll of equipage. But in such a city as Dublin the alteration is manifest to the least observant. But little frequented by the country gentry, and never except for the few months when the court is there; still less visited by foreigners; deserted by the professional classes, at least such of them as are independent enough to absent themselves—the streets are actually empty. The occupations of trade, the bustle of commerce, that through every season continue their onward course in the great trading cities such as Liverpool, Hamburg, Frankfort, and Bourdeaux, scarce exist here; and save that the tattered garments of mendicancy, and the craving cries of hunger are ever before you, you might fall into a drowsy reverie as you walked, and dream yourself in Palmyra.