Darcy had as little time as inclination to waste on the topic, as the whole interval was occupied in law business with Gleeson, who arrived each morning with a chariot full of parchments, and almost worried the Knight to death by reciting deeds and indentures, to one word of which throughout he could not pay the least attention. He affected to listen, however, as he saw how much Gleeson desired it, and he wrote his name everywhere and to everything he was asked.
“By Jove!” cried he, at last, “I could have run through the whole estate with less fatigue of mind or body than it has cost me to keep a hold of it.”
Through all the arrangements, there was but one point on which he felt anxious, and the same question recurred at every moment, “This cannot compromise Lionel in any way?—this will lead to no future charge upon the estate after my death?” Indeed, he would not consent to any plan which in the slightest degree affected his son's interests, being determined that whatever his extravagances, the penalty should end with himself.
While these matters were progressing, old Hickman studiously avoided meeting the Knight; a sense of his discomfiture at the abbey—a fact he supposed must have reached Darcy's ears—and the conviction that his long-cherished game to obtain the property was seen through, abashed the old man, and led him to affect illness when the Knight called.
A pleasant letter which the post had brought from Lionel routed every other consideration from Darcy's mind. His son was coming over to see him, and bringing three or four of his brother officers to have a peep at “the West,” and a few days' hunting with the Knight's pack. Every line of this letter glowed with buoyancy and high spirits; schemes for amusement alternating with the anticipated amazement of his English friends at the style of living they were to witness at Gwynne Abbey.
“We shall have but eight days with you, my leave from the Prince will go no further,” wrote he; “but I know well how much may be done in that short space. Above all, secure Daly; I wish our fellows to see him particularly. I do not ask about the stable, because I know the horses are always in condition; but let Dan give the black horse plenty of work every day; and if the brown mare we got from Mulloch can be ridden by any one, she must have a saddle on her now. We hope to have four days' hunting; and let the woodcocks take care of themselves in the intervals, for we are bent on massacre.”
The postscript was brief, but it surprised Darcy more than all the rest.
“Only think of my spending four days last week down in Essex with a worthy kinsman of my mother's, Lord Netherby: a splendid place, glorious shooting, and the best greyhounds I ever saw run. He understands everything but horses; but I have taken on me to enlighten him a little, and have sent down four grays from Guildfords' yesterday,—better than any we have in the Prince's stables; he is a fine fellow, though I did n't like him at first; a great courtier in his way, but au fond warm-hearted and generous. Keep my secret from my mother, but he intends coming over with us. Adieu! dear father. Look to Forester, don't let him run away before we arrive. Cut Dublin and its confounded politics. Netherby says the ministers have an immense majority,—the less reason for swelling or decreasing it.
“Yours ever,
“Lionel Darcy.”