This seemed not very satisfactory to one side of the committee, and the question was asked, “how could it be lost?” The answer was one which Irish contrivance alone could have invented: “It fell into a pot of broth, and the dog ate it.” [Footnote: If not this identical answer, something like it was given on a disputed Irish election, before a Committee of the House of Commons.]
This protracted the contest for some time; but eventually, in spite of the dog's devouring knowledge so greedily, the Squire was declared duly elected and took the oaths and his seat for the county.
It was hard on Sackville Scatterbrain to lose his seat in the house and a peerage, nearly at once; but the latter loss threw the former so far into the shade, that he scarcely felt it. Besides, he could console himself with having buttered his crumbs pretty well in the marriage-market; and, with a rich wife, retired from senatorial drudgery to private repose, which was much more congenial to his easy temper.
But while the Squire's happy family circle was rejoicing in his triumph—while he was invited to the Speaker's dinners, and the ladies were looking forward to tickets for “the lantern,” their pleasure was suddenly dashed by fatal news from Ireland.
A serious accident had befallen Major Dawson—so serious, that his life was despaired of; and an immediate return to Ireland by all who were interested in his life was the consequence.
Though the suddenness of this painful event shocked his family, the act which caused it did not surprise them; for it was one against which Major Dawson had been repeatedly cautioned, involving a danger he had been affectionately requested not to tempt; but the habitual obstinacy of his nature prevailed, and he persisted in doing that which his son—and his daughters—and friends—prophesied would kill him some time or other, and did, at last. The Major had three little iron guns, mounted on carriages, on a terrace in front of his house; and it was his wont to fire a salute on certain festival days from these guns, which, from age and exposure to the weather, became dangerous to use. It was in vain that this danger was represented to him. He would reply, with his accustomed “Pooh, pooh! I have been firing these guns for forty years, and they won't do me any harm now.”
This was the prime fault of the Major's character. Time and circumstances were never taken into account by him; what was done once, might be done always—ought to be done always. The bare thought of change of any sort, to him, was unbearable; and whether it was a rotten old law or a rotten old gun, he would charge both up to the muzzle and fire away, regardless of consequences. The result was, that on a certain festival his favourite gun burst in discharging; and the last mortal act of which the Major was conscious, was that of putting the port-fire to the touchhole, for a heavy splinter of iron struck him on the head, and though he lived for some days afterwards, he was insensible. Before his children arrived he was no more; and the only duty left them to perform was the melancholy one of ordering his funeral.
The obsequies of the old Major were honoured by a large and distinguished attendance from all parts of the country; and amongst those who bore the pall was Edward O'Connor, who had the melancholy gratification of testifying his respect beside the grave of Fanny's father, though the severe old man had banished him from his presence during his lifetime.
But now all obstacle to the union of Edward and Fanny was removed; and after the lapse of a few days had softened the bitter grief which this sudden bereavement of her father had produced, Edward received a note from Dick, inviting him to the manor-house, where all would be glad to see him.
In a few minutes after the receipt of that note Edward was in his saddle, and swiftly leaving the miles behind him till, from the top of a rising ground, the roof of the manor-house appeared above the trees in which it was embosomed. He had not till then slackened his speed; but now drawing rein, he proceeded at a slower pace towards the house he had not entered for some years, and the sight of which awakened such varied emotions.