“Perhaps, with your kind permission, I can give it some,” replied O'Reilly, drawing his chair close, and speaking in a low and confidential voice; “but in order to let my communication have the value I would wish it, may I bespeak for myself a favorable hearing and a kind construction on what I shall say? If by an error of judgment—”
“Ah!” said Darcy, sighing, while a sad smile dimpled his mouth—“ah! no man should be more lenient to such than myself.”
As if reassured by the kindly tone of these few words, O'Reilly resumed:—
“Some weeks ago my father waited upon Lady Eleanor Darcy with a proposition which, whether on its own merits, or from want of proper tact in his advocacy of it, met with a most unfavorable reception. It is not because circumstances have greatly altered in that brief interval—which I deeply regret to say is the case—that I dare to augur a more propitious hearing, but simply because I hope to show that in making it we were actuated by a spirit of honorable, if not of laudable, ambition. The rank and position my son will enjoy in this county, his fortune and estate, are such as to make any alliance, save with your family, a question of no possible pretension. I am well aware, sir, of the great disparity between a new house and one ennobled by centuries of descent. I have thought long and deeply on the interval that separates the rank of the mere country gentleman from the position of him who claims even higher station than nobility itself; but we live in changeful times: the Peerage has its daily accessions of rank as humble as my own; its new creations are the conscripts drawn from wealth as well as distinction in arms or learning, and in every case the new generation obliterates the memory of its immediate origin. I see you agree with me; I rejoice to find it.”
“Your observations are quite just,” said Darcy, calmly, and O'Reilly went on:—
“Now, sir, I would not only reiterate my father's proposal, but I would add to it what I hope and trust will be deemed no ungenerous offer, which is, that the young lady's fortune should be this estate of Gwynne Abbey, not to be endowed by her future husband, but settled on her by her father as her marriage portion. I see your meaning,—it is no longer his to give: but we are ready to make it so; the bond we hold shall be thrown into the fire the moment your consent is uttered. We prefer a thousand times it should be thus, than that the ancient acres of this noble heritage should even for a moment cease to be the property of your house. Let me recapitulate a little—”
“I think that is unnecessary,” said Darcy, calmly; “I have bestowed the most patient attention to your remarks, and have no difficulty in comprehending them. Have you anything to add?”
“Nothing of much consequence,” said O'Reilly, not a little pleased by the favorable tone of the Knight's manner; “what I should suggest in addition is that my son should assume the name and arms of Darcy—”
The noise of footsteps and voices without at this moment interrupted the speaker, the door suddenly opened, and Bagenal Daly entered. He was splashed from head to foot, his high riding-boots stained with the saddle and the road, and his appearance vouching for a long and wearisome journey.
“Good morrow, Darcy,” said he, grasping the Knight's hand with the grip of his iron fingers.—“Your servant, sir; I scarcely expected to see you here so soon.”