“Where is this gentleman at present.”
“Yonder,” said Tiernay, pointing to the cottage; “but he intends shortly returning to the inn at the village, where perhaps it would be better to meet him than here. If you 'll permit me, I 'll just step in and say as much, and then we can stroll that way together.”
Cashel consented, and his companion left him to do his errand. It was only as he stood alone, and had time for reflection, that he remembered his conversation with Kennyfeck in the morning, and learned that, with regard to ready money at least, he stood in a very different position from what he supposed. That there would be difficulties and legal obstacles innumerable made by Kennyfeck to any sale of property, he well knew; but he had made up his mind as to his course, and would not be thwarted. He had but space for these reflections, when Tiernay joined him, saying,—
“So far all is well. Hoare will follow us in a few minutes, and, for privacy' sake, I have made the rendezvous at my house.”
“And Corrigan,—how have you left him?” asked Cashel.
“Like one in a dream. He seems neither to know whether it be misfortune or the opposite which impends him. Were it not for Mary, his poor heart had given way long since. Ay, sir, there is more true heroism in one day of that humble life, than in the boldest deed of bravery even you have ever witnessed.”
Cashel did not speak, but, in the pressure of his arm against Tiernay's the other felt how the theme had touched him.
“You only know her by the graceful elegance of her manner, and the fascinations that, even to old men like myself, are a kind of sorcery; but I have seen her in every trial, where temper and mind, and heart and pride, are tested, and come through all victorious; draining the very wells of her own hopefulness to feed the exhausted fountain which age and disappointment had dried up; lending to manhood a greater courage than her own; ay, and more,—showing that her temper could resist the jarring influences of misfortune, and, like the bright moon above the storm-lashed clouds, soar on, glorious and lustrous ever. What are men made of?” cried he, energetically; “of what stuff are they formed, when such a girl as this can excite more admiration for her beauty than for traits of character that ennoble humanity?”
“You speak with all a lover's warmth, doctor,” said Cashel, half smiling, while in reality, the subject interested him deeply.
“And why not, sir? I do love her, and with an affection that only such beings inspire. It is creatures like her that redeem years of disappointment and worldly disgust. It is in watching the single-heartedness of that young girl that I, an old man, hackneyed and hardened as I am, become trustful and hopeful of others. Love her!—to be sure I love her. And so would you, if the poor fopperies amid which you live but left you one moment free to think and feel as your own head and heart would lead you. I hope you take no heed of my rude speech, sir,” said he, hastily; “but it is the fault of my craft to believe that sweet things are only 'Placebos,' given but to earn the fee and amuse the patient.”