With pleasant and profitable reminiscences of burglary and abduction, Shemus Rhua entertained the fosterer on the road, until the worthy twain accomplished their journey in perfect safety, and ensconced themselves, as we mentioned before, in that safe and salubrious section of the Modern Babylon, supposed to be under the immediate protection of St. Patrick, and the especial surveillance of the police, vulgarly ycleped the Seven Dials. There we shall leave them to recover from the fatigues incident to a migration, au pied, from “the far west,” until, like giants refreshed, they should find themselves ready for a fresh start upon the world, to try, as the rat-catcher philosophically remarked, “their fortunes—any how.”
I need scarcely say that I availed myself of Mr. Hartley’s permission, and early in the forenoon presented myself at his hotel. As I had expected, he was from home; but Dominique conducted me to the presence of his young mistress; and, to judge from the kindness of my welcome, the visit was not disagreeable.
It was late when Mr. Hartley returned to dinner; and after the cloth had been removed, and Isidora had retired, he resumed a subject that he had casually mentioned to me before, namely, how far it would be prudent or possible to place myself in the presence of my grandfather, and try what impression my unexpected appearance might produce.
“I have made secret inquiries,” he said, “respecting Mr. Clifford’s habits, to find out how an interview could be achieved, but I have failed in obtaining any information but what is vague and unsatisfactory; but, as Clifford Hall is only twenty miles from town, you shall run down, Hector, and try whether fortune may not do more for you than I can. The domain adjoins the village of —————. There you will find a rustic inn; and there, also, you may probably glean some information that may direct your course of action afterwards. Thither, at present, it would be imprudent in me to venture; but you are unknown, and consequently you may venture safely. You will find your grand-sire under the double thrall of his steward and his Confessor. I shall sketch both for you.
“The former was born in the house, and reared and educated from charitable motives by the old gentleman, from his having become an orphan while an infant. Gradually, he rose from dependency to affluence; in time he managed the old man’s income; and report says, that he has secured a goodly fortune from the pilferings of the estate. It was whispered that he had secretly encouraged Mr. Clifford’s discarded boy in his wild and profligate career; and that, by the suppression of letters and numerous acts of villany beside, he contrived to snap the last link of natural affection between an angry father and a guilty son. Certainly, in the hour of young Clifford’s disgrace and destitution, he evinced the blackest ingratitude to one who, badly as he might have behaved to others, had showered favours on him when a boy, and trusted him afterwards with unlimited confidence. Such is Morley the steward; and now we will briefly sketch Daniels the confessor.
“He is a Jesuit; born, I believe, in England, but educated abroad; a deep designing zealot—bigoted to his own faith, and intolerant to all besides. The great object of his existence is to aggrandize the order he belongs to; and by the exercise of monastic influence on a mind always superstitious, and now imbecile from age, he trusts to alienate from natural heirs the noble estates of that weak old man, to whom he has become a ghostly counsellor. In short, Morley and Daniels act with a unity of purpose, but different end: the one, to build a fortune for himself; the other, to gratify a monk’s ambition, and raise himself to a commanding position in that order which he intends to aggrandize at the expense of your mother and yourself. You can easily understand that every obstacle will be placed in your way by individuals so deeply interested in preventing the old man from being reconciled to a child he once was so devotedly attached to; and whether you succeed or fail, matters cannot be more unpromising than they are. They say the fortunes of an Irishman carry him, at times, through difficulties which to other mortals would prove insuperable. Try yours, Hector—something may be gained—and, need I tell you?—nothing can be lost.”
I followed Mr. Hartley’s advice, and started next evening by a stage coach that passed the village he had named; and at dusk I alighted at a clean and comfortable public-house, intituled the Fox and Hounds.
The evening was sharp, and, as I had travelled outside, an introduction to a snug parlour and sparkling wood-fire was agreeable. I ordered supper and a bed; and, while the former was being prepared, considered in what manner, and by what means, I should endeavour to obtain an interview with Mr. Clifford. Mr. Hartley had recommended me to glean some intelligence from the landlord, should I find him inclined to be communicative; and, when the cloth had been removed and a correct assortment of fluids was placed upon the table, I desired “mine host” to be summoned to the presence.
When he appeared, I had no difficulty to ascertain at a glance that he had pursued in earlier life the honourable trade of arms, and, like myself, had been intended to supply “food for powder.” He was a tall, hale, hearty-looking veteran, and stout for his years, albeit Father Time had silvered his head and stooped his shoulders. Still maintaining that feeling of deference when in the presence of a superior, which military usage renders habitual, he drew himself up at the foot of the table, and respectfully inquired “what my honour wanted?”
“Nothing, my worthy host, but your company for half an hour. The evenings grow long, and I hate ‘to drink one hand against the other,’ as we say in Ireland. If I guess right, you have retired from a profession on which I have but entered recently.”