To treat with Tiernay, then, realized every advantage he could think of. It offered the prospect of better terms, an easier negotiation; and it presented one feature of inestimable merit in his eyes,—it afforded the means of gratifying his hatred against Cashel, without the vengeance costing him anything. This thought, for a while, left him incapable of entertaining every other. Cashel reduced to poverty—humiliated to the position of an adventurer who had obtained a property under false pretences—was a picture he could never weary of contemplating. What a glorious consummation of revenge, could he have involved one other in the ruin!—if Laura had been the companion of his fall! But that scheme had failed; a friendship—a perilous one, 't is true—had sprung up where Linton had sowed the seeds of a very different passion; and nothing remained but to involve them both in the disgrace and ruin which a separation and its consequences could inflict. “Even this,” thought be, “will now be no trifling penalty,—the 'millionnaire' Roland Cashel would have conferred an éclat on the fall, that would become ludicrous when associated with the name of a mere adventurer.”
If thoughts of these vengeances afforded the most intense pleasure to his vindictive mind, there came, ever and anon, deep regrets at the loss of that greater game for which he had planned and plotted so anxiously. That noble fortune which he had almost held within his grasp; that high station from which he would have known how to derive all its advantages; the political position he had so long ambitioned,—were now all to flit from before his eyes like the forms of a dream, unreal and impossible.
So intently had he pursued these various reasonings, that he utterly forgot everything of his late interview with Tom Keane; and when the remembrance did flash upon him, the effect was almost stunning. The crime would now be useless, so far as regarded Linton's own advantage. Mary Leicester could never be his wife; why, then, involve himself, however remotely, in a deed as profitless as it was perilous? No time should be lost about this. He must see Keane immediately, and dissuade him from the attempt. It would be easy to assure him that the whole was a misconception,—a mistake of meaning. It was not necessary to convince, it was enough to avert the act; but this must be done at once.
So reflecting, Linton took his way to the gate-lodge, which lay a considerable distance off. The space afforded much time for thought, and he was one whose thoughts travelled fast. His plans were all matured and easy of accomplishment. After seeing Keane, he would address a few lines to Tiernay, requesting an interview on the following morning. That night, he resolved, should be his last at Tubbermore; the masquerade had, as may be conjectured, few charms for one whose mind was charged with heavier cares, but still it would give him an occasion to whisper about his scandal on Lady Kilgoff, and, later on, give him the opportunity of searching Cashel's papers for that document he wished to obtain.
On reaching the gate-lodge, under pretence of lighting his cigar he entered the house, where, in all the squalid misery of their un tractable habits, Keane's wife sat, surrounded by her ragged children.
“Tom is at work, I suppose?” said he, carelessly.
“No, yer honer; he went out early this morning to look after a little place for us, as the master is goin' to turn us out.”
“I 'm sorry for that,” said he, compassionately; “land is dear, and hard to be got now-a-days. Why don't he go to America?”