“And is the man fool enough to fancy such a promise could be legally enforced in this country?” said Tiernay.
“He is not without the opinion of learned counsel,” said Hoare, “who are strongly of opinion that the interpretations Columbian law would put upon the document would be recognized by our own courts, and recognize the marriage as such.”
“And does he, or do you, suppose,” said Cashel, indignantly, “that I could expose her name, were I indifferent about my own, to be bandied about your assize courts, and printed in newspapers, and made the gossip of the town for a nine days' wonder?” He stopped, for he saw by the elation of Hoare's features with what triumph this avowal had been listened to. “And now, sir, enough has been said of this; I come back to my former question,—How came you by this paper?”
“I received it from Don Pedro, with whom I have had much business intercourse, and who left it in my hands a few days back.”
“Then he is in this country?” said Cashel, anxiously.
Hoare nodded an assent.
“Here, in Ireland! and is Mari—” He stopped suddenly, remembering to whom he was speaking; but Hoare, as if eager to show an intimacy with names and events, said,—
“Yes, sir, she is also here.”
Cashel became silent, his mind a very chaos of confused thought,—memories of his buccaneer life, its lawless habits, its wild companionship, its adventures of love and war, of play, of heroism, and of mad debauch. The villa and Maritaña were before him as last he saw her at the fountain; and from these he came to his fine and lordly friendships, with all their fictitious warmth; and he began to fancy how would his present society—the very guests at that moment beneath his roof—receive or recognize his old associates!
The deep pre-occupation of his look suggested to Tiernay's mind the notion that Cashel was overwhelmed by the intelligence he had just received, and drawing close to him, he said, in a whisper,—