“As to the peerage, I can tell you nothing. I believe there is rather a prejudice against sending Irishmen up to the Lords; and it is scarcely ever done with lawyers. In regard to writing to Baron Lendrick, I hardly know what to say. He is a man of great ability, but of even greater vanity, and it should be a cleverly worded epistle that would not ruffle some one of his thousand sensibilities. If you feel, however, adroit enough to open the negotiation, do so by 'all means;' but don't make me responsible for what may come of it if the rejoinder be not to your taste. For myself, I 'd rather poke up a grizzly bear with my umbrella than I 'd provoke such a man to an exchange of letters.”
To get back to Cagliari as soon as possible, and relieve Tom of that responsibility which seemed to weigh so heavily upon him, was Fossbrooke's first resolve. He must see Sewell at once, and finish the business; and however unpleasant the step might be, he must seek him at the Priory, if he could not meet him elsewhere. He wished also to see Beattie,—he wanted to repay the loan he had made him. The doctor, too, could tell him how he could obtain an interview with Sewell without any intrusion upon the Chief Baron.
It was evening before Fossbrooke could make his visit to Beattie, and the doctor had just sat down to dinner with a gentleman who had arrived by the mail-packet from England, giving orders that he was not to be disturbed on any score.
“Will you merely take in my name,” said Sir Brook, “and beg, with my respects, to learn at what hour to-morrow Dr. Beattie would accord me a few minutes.” The butler's hesitation was mildly overcome by the persuasive touch of a sovereign, and he retired with the message.
Before a minute elapsed, Dr. Beattie came out, napkin in hand, and his face beaming with delight. “If there was a man in Europe I was wishing for this moment, it was yourself, Sir Brook,” said he. “Do you know who is dining with me? Come in and see.—No, no, I 'll not be denied.”
A sudden terror crossed Fossbrooke's mind that his guest might be Colonel Sewell, and he hung back, muttering some words of apology.
“I tell you,” repeated the doctor, “I'll take no refusal. It's the rarest piece of luck ever befell, to have chanced upon you. Poor Lendrick is dying for some news of his son and daughter.”
“Lendrick! Dr. Lendrick?”
“To be sure,—who else? When your knock came to the door, I was telling him that I heard you were in Dublin, and only doubted it because you had never called on me; but come along, we can say all these things over our soup. Look whom I have brought you, Tom,” cried Beattie, as he led Sir Brook into the room,—“here's Sir Brook Fossbrooke come to join us.” And the two men grasped hands in heartiest embrace, while Fossbrooke, not waiting for a word of question, said, “Both well and hearty. I had a telegram from Tom this morning.”
“How much I owe you!—how much, how much!” was all that Lendrick could say, and his eyes swam as he said it.