“Not so very unlikely, sir. He sits poring over maps and charts for hours together, and scans the new coast survey like a man bent on exploring the scenes for himself. It is hard to say what is best to do with him.”
“I'll tell you what he must not be permitted to do with himself: he must not leave Ireland; he must not marry; he must not enter Parliament; and, for the moment, to employ his thoughts and banish ennui, we 'll get up the house-warming at Tubbermore. I mean to set off thither to-morrow.”
“Without Mr. Cashel, sir?”
“Of course; be it your care that matters are well looked to in my absence, and as Kennyfeck's house is safer than the barracks, he may dine there as often as he pleases. Keep a watch on Jones,—not that I think he 'll be very dangerous; see after Lord Charles, whether he may try to profit by my absence; and, above all, write me a bulletin each day.”
Mr. Phillis promised a strict obedience to orders, and rose to retire, pleading the necessity of his being at home when his master returned.
“What of this letter, sir? Shall I contrive to place it in his pocket, and discover it as he is undressing? He never suspects anything or anybody.”
“No, George,—I 'll keep it; it may turn out useful to us one of these days; there's no knowing when or how. I 'm curious, too, to see how he will act with reference to it,—whether he will venture on any confidence towards me. I suspect not; he never alludes to his bygones. The only terror his mind is capable of would seem the fear of fashionable contempt. If he ever lose this, he's lost to us forever.” This was said rather in soliloquy than addressed to Phillis, who did not appear to catch the meaning of the remark. “You'll leave this note on his table, and take care he sees it. It is to remind him of an appointment here to-morrow with Hoare, the money-lender, at eleven o'clock punctually.”
Phillis took the note, and after a very respectful leave-taking, withdrew.
“Yes,” said Linton, musing, as he leaned against the window, “all goes fairly so far. Mr. Phillis may live to see himself once more a merchant tailor in Cheapside, and Tom Linton, under the buckler of his M.P., defy duns and bums, and be again a denizen of the only city worth living in.”
He then reseated himself in an easy-chair, and prepared to con over the letter, to which he had only given a passing attention. The narrative of Enrique, full of exciting details and hair-breadth 'scapes, was, however, far less an object of interest to Linton than the consideration how far a character like this might be made use of for the purpose of threat and intimidation over Cashel.