“'That letter, Mary, have you written it? Well, burn it Throw it into the fire at once.'
“I did so; but I cannot conceal from you the deep interest he has taken in your fortunes,—a feeling which the dread of offending has possibly sentenced him to cherish in secret. At least, so I read his change of intention.”
“I had hoped he knew me better,” said Cashel, in whose voice a feeling of disappointment might be traced. “It is the misfortune of men like myself to make the most unfavorable impression, where alone they are anxious for the opposite. Now, it may seem very uncourteous, but I am less than indifferent what the fair company yonder think of me; and yet I would give much to stand high in Mr. Corrigan's esteem.”
“And you do so, believe me,” cried she, her eagerness moved by the evident despondency of his manner; “he speaks of you with all the interest of a father.”
“Do not say so,” cried Cashel, in a voice tremulous with anxiety; “do not say so, if you mean not to encourage hopes I scarcely dare to cherish.”
His look and manner, even more than his words, startled her, and she stared at him, uncertain what reply to make.
“I never knew a father, nor have I ever tasted a mother's affection. I have been one of whom fortune makes a plaything, as if to show how much worldly prosperity can consort with a desolate condition, and a heart for which none have sympathy. I had hoped, however, to attach others to me. I had joined in pursuits that were not mine, to endeavor to render myself companionable. I fell in with habits that were uncongenial, and tastes that I ever disliked; but without success. I might be 'the dupe.' but never 'the friend.' I could have borne much—I did bear much—to win something that resembled cordiality and esteem; but all in vain! When I lived the wild life of a Columbian sailor, I deemed that such men as I now associate with must be the very types of chivalry, and I longed to be of them, and among them. Still, the reproach lies not at their door. They stepped not out of their sphere to act a part,—I did; mine was all the sycophancy of imitation. The miserable cant of fashion formed all my code. But for this, I might have won good men's esteem; but for this, I might have learned what duties attach to fortune and station such as mine; and now I see the only one, from whom I hoped to gain the knowledge, about to leave me!”
“This despondency is ill-judging and unfair,” said Mary, in a kind tone. “You did, perhaps, choose your friends unwisely, but you judge them unjustly too. They never dreamed of friendship in their intercourse with you; they only thought of that companionship which men of the same age and fortune expect to meet in each other. If less worldly wise, or more generous than themselves, they deemed that they once had paid for their skill and cleverness; and so should you. Remember, that you put a value upon their intimacy which it never laid claim to, and that they were less false than were you self-deceived.”
“Be it so,” said Cashel, hastily. “I care little where the delusion began. I meant honestly, and if they played not on the square with me, the fault be theirs; but that is not what I would speak of, nor what brought me here to-day. I came to throw my last stake for happiness.” He paused, and took her hand in his. “I came,” said he,—and his lips trembled as he spoke,—“I came to ask you to be my wife!”
Mary withdrew her hand, which he had scarcely dared to press, and leaned upon the chimney-piece without speaking. It rarely happens that such an announcement is made to a young lady quite unexpectedly; such was, however, the case here: for nothing was she less prepared! Cashel, it is true, had long ceased to be indifferent to her; the evenings of his visits at the cottage were sure to be her very happiest; his absences made dreary blanks. The inartificial traits of his character had at first inspired interest; his generous nature, and his manly leaning to right, had created esteem of him. There were passages of romantic interest in his former life which seemed so well to suit his bold and dashing independence; and there was also an implicit deference, an almost humility, in the obedience he tendered to her grandfather which spoke much for one whom sudden wealth and prosperity might be supposed to have corrupted. Yet, all this while, had she never thought of what impression she herself was making.