Dublin. My dear Comrade,—We are neither of us very gifted
letter-writers, but events are always enough to tell, even
when style be wanting; and here am I, so overwhelmed by the
rush of new sensations that I know not where to begin, or
how to tell what has really happened since we parted, nor
distinguish actual stubborn facts from my own fancies. My
brief note from Porto Giacomo told you that I had succeeded
to something like fifteen thousand pounds a year. I believe
it is rather more, with a good round sum, I don't know how
much, in bank; and now, here I am,' just arrived, but
marvellously at home, in the house of the worthy fellow that
has established my claim.
If I only knew so much of my good luck, I 'd say it was no
bad thing to be pleasantly domesticated in a capital
mansion, with every refinement and luxury at hand, and two
such girls, the daughters! Oh, amigo mio, you'd think
wondrous little of the Barcelonetta belles, if I could show
you these damsels! Such tempting shyness; such shrinking,
playful modesty; and then so frank, without that slap-dash
abruptness! Never mind,—I own freely that Maritaña is
lovely; there is not such a mouth—as to a foot—well,
well. I wish I could take a peep at you all again, just as
night closes, and she comes out to take her walk upon the
grass, and hear her singing as she went, or watch her as she
danced the manolo, which—by the way—one of the girls here
caught up wonderfully, and in almost an instant too. But the
manolo, with a long, sweeping, flounced, and furbelowed
petticoat! Only think of the absurdity! Not but she looked
exceedingly pretty the while, but how much better had she,
if one could only have cut half a yard off her drapery!
Have you received the pistols I sent from London? I hope you
'll think them handsome,—I know they are true, having tried
them at thirty-five, and even fifty paces. The yataghan I 'm
certain you 'll admire; it has the peculiar handle and hilt
you 're fond of. Pray let our friends on the Chilian side
learn something of the qualities of the blade itself. I have
been thinking since about the emeralds—and perhaps Maritaña
may refuse them. If so, do what you will with them so that I
hear no more of the matter. And now for the bond: release
me from that tie by all means. It is not that I really feel
it in the light of a contract,—Maritaña never did; but I
have it ever on my mind, like a debt. I give you full powers:
draw upon me for the sum you please, and I promise not to
dishonor the check. Pedro likes a good bargain, and don't
balk him!
I don't know what your own views are in that quarter, but I
tell you frankly that Maritaña has higher and bolder
aspirations than either you or I were likely to aid her in
attaining. She is a proud girl, Enrique, and will never care
for any man that is not able and willing to elevate her into
a very different sphere from that she moves in. I never
actually loved her,—I certainly do not do so now,—and yet
I cannot get her out of my head.
Before I forget it, let me ask you to pay Ruy Dias two
hundred doubloons for me. The horse I killed was not worth
forty; but, these are not times for bargaining, and the
fellow didn't want to part with the beast Alconetti—the
Italian in the Plaza—has something against me,—pay it too;
and now that I am on the subject of debts, whenever you
next cruise off Ventillanos, send a party on shore to catch
the dean, and give him four-and-twenty with a rope's end,—
say it is from me; he 'll know why, and so shall you, when
you inform me that it has been cleverly effected.
Above all, my dear boy, write; I so long to hear about you
all, and to know all that has happened since I left you.
Send the old trunks with my uniform to the agents in the
Havannah; I 'd like to see them once more. François may
keep anything else of mine, except what you would like to
select as a “souvenir.” Don't let Rica write to me. I feel I
should have no chance in a correspondence with him; nor
need I have any, because whatever you say, I agree to,—
remember that.
If you can manage about the emeralds, it would be the most
gratifying news to me. You might tell her that we are so
certain of never meeting again, and that all is now over
forever, and so on,—it would have an air of unkindness to
reject them. Besides, I see no reason why she should! No
matter; I needn't multiply reasons, where, if one will not
suffice, a thousand must fail, and the chances are, if she
suspect my anxiety on the subject, it will decide her
against me. Do it, then, all in your own way.
Have I said all I wanted? Heaven knows! My head is full; my
heart, too, is not without its load. I wish you were here. I
wish it for many reasons. I already begin to suspect you are
right about the sudden effect a spring into wealth may
produce; but I hope that all you said on that score may not
be true. If I thought so, I 'd—No matter, I 'll endeavor to
show that you are unjust, and that is better. Yours ever,
Roland Cashel.
Don Enrique da Cordova,
Lieutenant of the Columbian frigate “Esmeralda.” Care of
Messrs. Eustache et Le Moine, merchants, Havannah.
The next epistle which followed was far more brief. It was thus:—
Messrs. Vanderhaeghen und Droek, Antwerp.
Enclosed is an order on Hamerton for seventeen thousand four
hundred and forty-eight gulden, principal and interest for
three years, of an unjust demand made by you on me before
the tribunal of Bruges.
You failed, even with all the aid of your knavish laws and
more knavish countrymen, to establish this iniquitous claim,
and only succeeded in exhibiting yourselves as rogues and
swindlers,—good burgher-like qualities in your commercial
city.
I have now paid what I never owed; but there still remains
between us an unsettled score. Let my present punctuality
guarantee the honorable intentions I entertain of settling
it one day; till when, as you have shown yourselves my
enemy,
Believe me to be yours, Roland Cashel.
The order on the banker ran as follows:—
Pay to Vanderhaeghen und Droek, two of the greatest knaves alive, seventeen thousand four hundred and forty-eight gulden, being the principal and interest for three years of a dishonest claim made upon Roland Cashel. To Hamerton and Co., Cheapside.
With all that soothing consciousness we hear is the result of good actions, Cashel lay down on his bed immediately on concluding this last epistle, and was fast asleep almost before the superscription was dried.
And now, worthy reader, another peep, and we have done. Ascending cautiously the stairs, you pass through a little conservatory, at the end of which a heavy cloth curtain conceals a door. It is that of a dressing-room, off which, at opposite sides, two bedrooms lie. This same dressing-room, with its rose-colored curtains and ottoman, its little toilet-tables of satin-wood, its mirrors framed in alabaster, its cabinets of buhl, and the book-shelves so coquettishly curtained with Malines lace, is the common property of the two sisters whom we so lately introduced to your notice.
There were they wont to sit for hours after the return from a ball, discussing the people they had met, their dress, their manner, their foibles and flirtations; criticising with no mean acuteness all the varied games of match-making mammas and intriguing aunts, and canvassing the schemes and snares so rife around them. And oh, ye simple worshippers of muslin-robed innocence! oh, ye devoted slaves of ringleted loveliness and blooming freshness! bethink ye what wily projects lie crouching in hearts that would seem the very homes of careless happiness; what calculations; what devices; how many subtleties that only beauty wields, or simple man is vanquished by!
It was considerably past midnight as the two girls sat at the fire, their dressing-gowns and slippered feet showing that they had prepared for bed; but the long luxuriant hair, as yet uncurled, flowed in heavy masses on their neck and shoulders. They did not, as usual, converse freely together; a silence and a kind of constraint sat upon each, and although Olivia held a book before her, it was less for the purpose of reading than as a screen against the fire, while her sister sat with folded arms and gently drooping head, apparently lost in thought. It was after a very lengthened silence, and in a voice which showed that the speaker was following up some train of thought, Miss Kennyfeck said,—
“And do you really think him handsome, Olivia?”