This was the arrangement that gave Lady Eleanor the least trouble; and though the terms demanded were in reality exorbitant, they were acceded to without hesitation by those who never had had occasion to make similar compacts, and believed that the sum was a most reasonable one.
As is ever the case, the many wants and inconveniences of a restricted dwelling were far more placidly endured by those long habituated to every luxury than by their followers; and so, while Lady Eleanor and Helen submitted cheerfully to daily privations of one kind or other, Tate lived a life of everlasting complaint and grumbling over the narrow accommodation of the cabin, continually irritating old Molly by demands impossible to comply with, and suggesting the necessity of changes perfectly out of her power to effect. It is but justice to the faithful old butler to state, that to this line of conduct he was prompted by what he deemed due to his mistress and her high station, rather than by any vain hope of ever succeeding, his complaints being less demands for improvement than after the fashion of those “protests” which dissentient members of a legislature think it necessary to make in cases where opposition is unavailing.
These half-heard mutterings of Tate were the only interruptions to a life of sad but tranquil monotony. Lady Eleanor and her daughter lived as though in a long dream; the realities around them so invested with sameness and uniformity that days, weeks, and months blended into each other, and became one commingled mass of time, undivided and unmarked. Of the world without they heard but little; of those dearest to them, absolutely nothing. The very newspapers maintained a silence on the subject of the expedition under Abercrombie, so that of the Knight himself they had no tidings whatever. Of Daly they only heard once, at the end of one of Bicknell's letters, one of those gloomy records of the law's delay; that he said, “You will be sorry to learn that Mr. Bagenal Daly, having omitted to appear personally or by counsel in a cause lately called on here, has been cast in heavy damages, and pronounced in contempt, neither of which inflictions will probably give him much uneasiness, if, as report speaks, he has gone to pass the remainder of his days in America. Miss Daly speaks of joining him, when she learns that he has fixed on any spot of future residence.” The only particle of consolation extractable from the letter was in a paragraph at the end, which ran thus: “O'Reilly's solicitor has withdrawn all the proceedings lately commenced, and there is an evident desire to avoid further litigation. I hear that for the points now in dispute an arbitration will be proposed. Would you feel disposed or free to accept such an offer, if made? Let me know this, as I should be prepared at all events.”
Even this half-confession of a claim gave hope to the drooping spirits of Lady Eleanor, and she lost no time in acquainting Bicknell with her opinion that while they neither could nor would compromise the rights of their son, for any interests actually their own, and terminating with their lives, they would willingly adopt any arrangement that should remove the most pressing evils of poverty, and permit them to live united for the rest of their days.
The severe winter of northern Ireland closed in, with all its darkening skies and furious storms; scattered fragments of wrecked vessels, spars, and ship-gear strewed the rocky coast for miles. The few cottages here and there were closed and barricaded as if against an enemy, the roofs fastened down by ropes and heavy implements of husbandry, to keep safe the thatch; the boats of the fishermen drawn up on land, grouped round the shealings in sad but not unpicturesque confusion. The ever-restless sea beating like thunder upon that iron shore, the dark impending clouds lowering over cliff and precipice, were all that the eye could mark. No cattle were on the hills; the sheep nestling in the little glens and valleys were almost undistinguishable from the depth of gloom around; not a man was to be seen.
The little village of Port Ballintray, which a few months before abounded in all the sights and sounds of human intercourse, was now perfectly deserted. Most of the cottages were fastened on the inside; in some the doors, burst open by the storm, showed still more unquestionably that no dwellers remained; the little gardens, tended with such care, were now uprooted and devastated; fallen trellises and ruined porches were seen on every side; and even Mrs. Fumbally's, the pride and glory of the place, had not escaped the general wreck, and the flaunting archway, on which, in bright letters, her name was inscribed, hung pensively by one pillar, and waved like a sad pendulum, “counting the weary minutes over!”
While nothing could less resemble the signs of habitation than the aspect of matters without, within a fire burned on more than one hearth, and a serving-woman was seen moving from place to place occupied in making those arrangements which bespoke the speedy arrival of visitors.
It was long after nightfall that a travelling carriage and four—a rare sight in such a place, even in the palmiest days of summer—drew up at the front of the little garden, and after some delay a very old and feeble man was lifted out, and carried between two servants into the house; he was followed by another, whose firm step and erect figure indicated the prime of life; while after him again came a small man, most carefully protected by coats and comforters against the severity of the season. He walked lame, and in the shuddering look he gave around in the short transit from the carriage to the house-door, showed that such prospects, however grand and picturesque, had few charms for him.
A short interval elapsed after the luggage was removed from the carriage, and then one of the servants mounted the box, the horses' beads were turned, and the conveyance was seen retiring by the road to Coleraine.
The effective force of Mrs. Fum's furniture was never remarkable, in days of gala and parade; it was still less imposing now, when nothing remained save an invalided garrison of deal chairs and tables, a few curtainless beds, and a stray chest of drawers or two of the rudest fashion.