“The bit of candle is near out,” said Tom, “but sure there is n't much more to be seen; there's rooms there was never opened, and more on the other side, the same. The place is as big as a barrack, and here we are once more on the grand stair.”
For once, the name was not ill applied, as, constructed of Portland stone, and railed with massive banisters of iron, it presented features of solidity and endurance, in marked contrast to the other portions of the edifice. Linton cast one more glance around the gloomy entrance, and sallied forth into the free air. “I 'll see you to-morrow, Tom,” said he, “and we'll have some talk together. Good night.”
“Good night, and good luck to yer honer; but won't you let me see your honer out of the grounds,—as far as the big gate, at least?”
“Thanks; I know the road perfectly already, and I rather like a lonely stroll of a fine night like this.”
Tom, accordingly, reiterated his good wishes, and Linton was suffered to pursue his way unaccompanied. Increasing his speed as he arrived at a turn of the road, he took the path which led off the main approach, and led down by the river-side to the cottage of Tubber-beg. There was a feeling of strong interest which prompted him to see this cottage, which now he might call his own; and as he went, he regarded the little clumps of ornamental planting, the well-kept walks, the neat palings, the quaint benches beneath the trees, with very different feelings from those he had bestowed on the last-visited scene. Nor was he insensible to the landscape beauty which certain vistas opened, and, seen even by the faint light of a new moon, were still rich promises of picturesque situation.
Suddenly, and without any anticipation, he found himself on turning a little copse of evergreens, in front of the cottage, and almost beneath the shadow of its deep porch. Whatever his previous feelings of self-interest in every detail around, they were speedily routed by the scene before him.
In a large and well furnished drawing-room, where a single lamp was shining, sat an old man in an easy-chair, his features, his attitude, and his whole bearing indicating the traces of recent illness. Beside him, on a low stool almost at his feet, was a young girl of singular beauty,—the plastic grace of her figure, the easy motion of the head, as from time to time she raised it to throw upwards a look of affectionate reverence, and the long, loose masses of her hair, which, accidentally unfastened, fell on either shoulder, making rather one of those ideals which a Raphael can conceive than a mere creature of every-day existence. Although late autumn, the windows lay open to the ground, for, as yet, no touch of coming winter had visited this secluded and favored spot. In the still quiet of the night, her voice, for she alone spoke, could be heard; at first, the mere murmur of the accents reached Linton's ears, but even from them he could gather the tone of cheering and encouragement in which she spoke. At length he heard her say, in a voice of almost tremulous enthusiasm, “It was so like you, dear papa, not to tell this Mr. Cashel that you had yourself a claim, and, as many think, a rightful one, to this same estate, and thus not trouble the stream of his munificence.”
“Nay, child, it had been as impolitic as unworthy to do so,” said the old man; “he who stoops to receive a favor should detract nothing from the generous sentiment of the granter.”
“For my part, I would tell him,” said she, eagerly, “that his noble conduct has forever barred my prosecuting such a claim, and that if, to-morrow, the fairest proofs of my right should reach me, I'd throw them in the fire.”
“To get credit for such self-sacrifice, Mary, one must be independent of all hypothesis; one must do, and not merely promise. Now, it would be hard to expect Mr. Cashel to feel the same conviction I do, that this confiscation was repealed by letters under the hand of Majesty itself. The Brownes, through whom Cashel inherits, were the stewards of my ancestors, entrusted with all their secret affairs, and cognizant of all their family matters. From the humble position of dependents, they suddenly sprang into wealth and fortune, and ended by purchasing the very estate they once lived on as day-laborers,—sold as it was, like all confiscated estates, for a mere fraction of its value.”