The Cock and Anchor. Joseph Sheridan Le FanuЧитать онлайн книгу.
suspect Miss Ashwoode of any inclination to descend from the station to which her birth and fortune entitle her; and if I did suspect it, I should feel it to be my imperative duty to resist, by every means in my power, the indulgence of any such wayward caprice; but lest, after what I have said, any doubt should rest upon your mind as to the value of these obstacles, it may not be amiss to add that my daughter, Miss Ashwoode, is actually promised in marriage to a gentleman of exalted rank and great fortune, and who is, in all respects, an unexceptionable connection. I have the honour, sir, to wish you good-morning."
"The devil!" exclaimed the little gentleman, as soon as his utter amazement allowed him to take breath. A long pause ensued, during which he twice inflated his cheeks to their utmost tension, and puffed the air forth with a prolonged whistle of desolate wonder. Recollecting himself, however, he hastily arose, wished Sir Richard good-day, and walked down stairs, and out of the house, all the way muttering, "God bless my body and soul—a thousand pounds a year—the devil—can it be?—body o' me—refuse a thousand a year—what the deuce is he looking for?"—and such other ejaculations; stamping all the while emphatically upon every stair as he descended, to give vent to his indignation, as well as impressiveness to his remarks.
Something like a smile for a moment lit up the withered features of the old baronet; he leaned back luxuriously upon his sofa, and while he listened with delighted attention to the stormy descent of his visitor, he administered to its proper receptacle, with prolonged relish, two several pinches of rappee.
"So, so," murmured he, complacently, "I suspect I have seen the last of honest Mr. Audley—a little surprised and a little angry he does appear to be—dear me!—he stamps fearfully—what a very strange creature it is."
Having made this reflection, Sir Richard continued to listen pleasantly until the sounds were lost in the distance; he then rang a small hand-bell which lay upon the table, and a servant entered.
"Tell Mistress Mary," said the baronet, "that I shall not want her just now, and desire Mr. Henry to come hither instantly—begone, sirrah."
The servant disappeared, and in a few moments young Ashwoode, looking unusually pale and haggard, and dressed in a morning suit, entered the chamber. Having saluted his father with the formality which the usages of the time prescribed, and having surveyed himself for a moment at the large mirror which stood in the room, and having adjusted thereat the tie of his lace cravat, he inquired—
"Pray, sir, who was that piece of 'too, too solid flesh' that passed me scarce a minute since upon the stairs, pounding all the way with the emphasis of a battering ram? As far as I could judge, the thing had just been discharged from your room."
"You have happened, for once in your life, to talk with relation to the subject to which I would call your attention," said Sir Richard. "The person whom you describe with your wonted facetiousness, has just been talking with me; his name is Audley; I never saw him till this morning, and he came coolly to make proposals, in young O'Connor's name, for your sister's hand, promising to settle some scurvy chateaux, heaven knows where, upon the happy pair."
"Well, sir, and what followed?" asked the young man.
"Why simply, sir," replied his father, "that I gave him the answer which sent him stamping down stairs, as you saw him. I laughed in his face, and desired him to go about his business."
"Very good, indeed, sir," observed young Ashwoode.
"There is no occasion for commentary, sir," continued Sir Richard. "Attend to what I have to say: a nobleman of large fortune has requested my permission to make his suit to your sister—that I have, of course, granted; he will arrive here to-morrow, to make a stay of some days. I am resolved the thing shall be concluded. I ought to mention that the nobleman in question is Lord Aspenly."
The young man looked for a moment or two the very impersonation of astonishment, and then, burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
"Either be silent, sir, or this moment quit the room," said Sir Richard, in a tone which few would have liked to disobey—"how dare you—you—you insolent, dependent coxcomb—how dare you, sir, treat me with this audacious disrespect?"
The young man hastened to avert the storm, whose violence he had more than once bitterly felt, by a timely submission.
"I assure you, sir, nothing was further from my intention than to offend you," said he—"I am fully alive—as a man of the world, I could not be otherwise—to the immense advantages of the connection; but Lord Aspenly I have known so long, and always looked upon as a confirmed old bachelor, that on hearing his name thus suddenly, something of incongruity, and—and—and I don't exactly know what—struck me so very forcibly, that I involuntarily and very thoughtlessly began to laugh. I assure you, sir, I regret it very much, if it has offended you."
"You are a weak fool, sir, I am afraid," replied his father, shortly: "but that conviction has not come upon me by surprise; you can, however, be of some use in this matter, and I am determined you shall be. Now, sir, mark me: I suspect that this young fellow—this O'Connor, is not so indifferent to Mary as he should be to a daughter of mine, and it is more than possible that he may endeavour to maintain his interest in her affections, imaginary or real, by writing letters, sending messages, and such manœuvring. Now, you must call upon the young man, wherever he is to be found, and either procure from him a distinct pledge to the effect that he will think no more of her (the young fellow has a sense of honour, and I would rely upon his promise), or else you must have him out—in short, make him fight you—you attend, sir—if you get hurt, we can easily make the country too hot to hold him; and if, on the other hand, you poke him through the body, there's an end of the whole difficulty. This step, sir, you must take—you understand me—I am very much in earnest."
This was delivered with a cold deliberateness, which young Ashwoode well understood, when his father used it to imply a fixity of purpose, such as brooked no question, and halted at no obstacle.
"Sir," replied Henry Ashwoode, after an embarrassed pause of a few minutes, "you are not aware of one particular connected with last night's affray—you have heard that poor Darby, who rode with me, was actually brained, and that I escaped a like fate by the interposition of one who, at his own personal risk, saved my life—that one was the very Edmond O'Connor of whom we speak."
"What you allude to," observed Sir Richard, with very edifying coolness, "is, no doubt, very shocking and very horrible. I regret the destruction of the man, although I neither saw nor knew much about him; and for your eminently providential escape, I trust I am fully as thankful as I ought to be; and now, granting all you have said to be perfectly accurate—which I take it to be—what conclusion do you wish me to draw from it?"
"Why, sir, without pretending to any very extraordinary proclivity to gratitude," replied the young man—"for O'Connor told me plainly that he did not expect any—I must consider what the world will say, if I return what it will be pleased to regard as an obligation, by challenging the person who conferred it."
"Good, sir—good," said the baronet, calmly: and gazing upon the ceiling with elevated eyebrows and a bitter smile, he added, reflectively, "he's afraid—afraid—afraid—ay, afraid—afraid."
"You wrong me very much, sir," rejoined young Ashwoode, "if you imagine that fear has anything to do with my reluctance to act as you would have me; and no less do you wrong me, if you think I would allow any school-boy sentimentalism to stand in the way of my family's interests. My real objection to the thing is this—first, that I cannot see any satisfactory answer to the question, What will the world say of my conduct, in case I force a duel upon him the day after he has saved my life?—and again, I think it inevitably damages any young woman in the matrimonial market, to have low duels fought about her."
Sir Richard screwed his eyebrows reflectively, and remained silent.
"But at the same time, sir," continued his son, "I see as clearly as you could wish me to do, the importance, under present circumstances—or rather the absolute necessity—of putting a stop to O'Connor's suit; and, in short,