“That avowal is the first step towards rendering it such one day,” said Daly, grasping his hand in both his own. “Now to my request: you can obtain this leave, can you?”
“Yes, yes; how can I make it of any service to you?”
“Simply thus: I have offered, and Darcy has accepted, a humble cottage on the northern coast, as a present asylum for the family. The remote and secluded nature of the place will at least withdraw them from the impertinence of curiosity, or the greater impertinence of vulgar sympathy. A maiden sister of mine is the present occupant, and I wish to communicate the intelligence to her, that she may make any preparations which may be necessary for their coming, and also provide herself with some other shelter. Maria is as great a Bedouin as myself, and with as strong a taste for vagabondage; she 'll have no difficulty in housing herself, that's certain. The only puzzle is how to apprise her of the intended change: there is not a post-office within eight or ten miles of the place, nor, if there were, would she think of sending to look for a letter; there 's nothing for it but a special envoy: will you be the man?”
“Most willingly; only give me the route, and my instructions.”
“You shall have both. Come and dine with me here at five—order horses to your carriage for eight o'clock, and I'll take care of the rest.”
“Agreed,” said Forester; “I'll lose no time in getting ready for the road—the first thing is my leave.”
“Is there a difficulty there?”
“There shall be none,” said Forester, hurriedly, as he seized his hat, and, bidding Daly good-bye, hastened downstairs and into the street. “They 'll refuse me, I know that,” muttered he, as he went along; “and if they do, I'll pitch up the appointment on the spot; this slight service over, I'm ready to join my regiment.” And so saying, he turned his steps towards the Castle, resolved on the course to follow.
Meanwhile Daly, after a brief consultation with the lawyer, sat down to write to his sister. Simple and easy as the act is to many—far too much so, as most men's correspondence would testify—letter-writing, to some people, is an affair of no common difficulty. Perhaps every one in this world has some stumbling-block of this kind ever before him: some men cannot learn chess, some never can be taught to ride, others, if they were to get the world for it, could not carve a hare. It would be unfair to quote newly introduced difficulties, such as how to bray in the House of Commons, the back step in the polka, and so on; the original evils are enough for our illustration.
Bagenal Daly's literary difficulties were manifold; he was a discursive thinker, passionate and vehement whenever the occasion prompted, and as unable to control such influences when writing as speaking; and, with very liberal ideas on the score of spelling, he wrote a hand which, if only examined upside down, might have passed for Hebrew, with an undue proportion of points; besides these defects, he entertained a thorough contempt for all writing as an exponent of men's sentiments. His opinion was, that speech was the great prerogative of living men, all other modes of expression being feeble and miserable expedients; and, to do him justice, he conformed, as far as in him lay, to his own theory, and made his writing as like his speaking as could be. Brevity was the great quality he studied, and for this reason we venture to present the epistle to our readers:—