LITMIR.BIZ

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to come and sit an hour with you, and I have only to beg that you will not permit me to trespass a moment longer than you feel disposed to endure me.”

      “Very kind of you – most considerate, sir,” said the old peer, bowing with an air of haughty courtesy.

      “You seem to gain strength every day, my Lord,” resumed Linton, who well knew there was nothing like a personal topic to awaken a sick man’s interest.

      “There is something here,” said the old man, slowly, as he placed the tip of his finger on the centre of his forehead.

      “Mere debility, nervous debility, my Lord. You are paying the heavy debt an overworked intellect must always acquit; but rest and repose will soon restore you.”

      “Yes, sir,” muttered the other, with a weak smile, as though, without fathoming the sentiment, he felt that something agreeable to his feelings had been spoken.

      “I have been impatient for your recovery, my Lord, I will confess to you, on personal grounds; I feel now how much I have been indebted to your Lordship’s counsel and advice all through life, by the very incertitude that tracks me. In fact, I can resolve on nothing, determine nothing, without your sanction.”

      The old man nodded assentingly; the assurance had his most sincere conviction.

      “It would seem, my Lord, that I must – whether I will or no – stand for this borough, here; there is no alternative, for you are aware that Cashel is quite unfit for public business. Each day he exhibits more and more of those qualities which bespeak far more goodness of heart than intellectual training or culture. His waywardness and eccentricity might seriously damage his own party, – could he even be taught that he had one, – and become terrible weapons in the hands of the enemy. I was speaking of Cashel, my Lord,” said Linton, as it were answering the look of inquiry in the old man’s face.

      “I hate him, sir,” said the old peer, with a bitterness of voice and look that well suited the words.

      “I really cannot wonder at it,” said Linton, with a deep sigh; “such duplicity is too shocking – far too shocking – to contemplate.”

      “Eh! what? What did you say, sir?” cried the old man, impatiently.

      “I was remarking, my Lord, that I have no confidence in his sincerity; that he strikes me as capable of playing a double part.”

      A look of disappointment succeeded to the excited expression of the old man’s face; he had evidently expected some revelation, and now his features became clouded and gloomy.

      “We may be unjust, my Lord,” said Linton; “it may be a prejudice on our part: others would seem to have a different estimate of that gentleman. Meek thinks highly of him.”

      “Who, sir? I didn’t hear you,” asked he, snappishly.

      “Meek, – Downie Meek, my Lord.”

      “Pshaw!” said the old man, with a shrewd twinkle of the eye that made Linton fear the mind behind it was clearer than he suspected.

      “I know, my Lord,” said he, hastily, “that you always held the worthy secretary cheap; but you weighed him in a balance too nice for the majority of people – ”

      “What does that old woman say? Tell me her opinion of Cashel,” said Lord Kilgoff, rallying into something like his accustomed manner. “You know whom I mean!” cried he, impatient at Linton’s delay in answering. “The old woman one sees everywhere, – she married that Scotch sergeant – ”

      “Lady Janet MacFarline – ”

      “Exactly, sir.”

      “She thinks precisely with your Lordship.”

      “I’m sure of it; I told my Lady so,” muttered he to himself.

      Linton caught the words with eagerness, and his dark eyes kindled; for at last were they nearing the territory he wanted to occupy.

      “Lady Kilgoff,” said he, slowly, “does not need any aid to appreciate him; she reads him thoroughly, the heartless, selfish, unprincipled spendthrift that he is.”

      “She does not, sir,” rejoined the old man, with a loud voice, and a stroke of his cane upon the floor that echoed through the room; “you never were more mistaken in your life. His insufferable puppyism, his reckless effrontery, his underbred familiarity, are precisely the very qualities she is pleased with, – ‘They are so different,’ as she says, ‘from the tiresome routine of fashionable manners.’”

      “Unquestionably they are, my Lord,” said Linton, with a smile.

      “Exactly, sir; they differ as do her Ladyship’s own habits from those of every lady in the peerage. I told her so; I begged to set her right on that subject, at least.”

      “Your Lordship’s refinement is a most severe standard,” said Linton, bowing low.

      “It should be an example, sir, as well as a chastisement. Indeed, I believe few would have failed to profit by it.” The air of insolent pride in which he spoke seemed for an instant to have brought back the wonted look to his features, and he sat up, with his lips compressed, and his chin pro-traded, as in his days of yore.

      “I would entreat your Lordship to remember,” said Linton, “how few have studied in the same school you have; how few have enjoyed the intimacy of ‘the most perfect gentleman of all Europe;’ and of that small circle, who is there could have derived the same advantage from the privilege?”

      “Your remark is very Just, sir. I owe much – very much – to his Royal Highness.”

      The tone of humility in which he said this was a high treat to the sardonic spirit of his listener.

      “And what a penance to you must be a visit in such a house as this!” said Linton, with a sigh.

      “True, sir; but who induced me to make it? Answer me that.”

      Linton started with amazement, for he was very far from supposing that his Lordship’s memory was clear enough to retain the events of an interview that occurred some months before.

      “I never anticipated that it would cost you so dearly, my Lord,” said he, cautiously, and prepared to give his words any turn events might warrant. For once, however, the ingenuity was wasted; Lord Kilgoff, wearied and exhausted by the increased effort of his intellect, had fallen back in his chair, and, with drooping lips and fallen jaw, sat the very picture of helpless fatuity.

      “So, then,” said Linton, as on tiptoe he stole noiselessly away, “if your memory was inopportune, it was, at least, very short-lived. And now, adieu, my Lord, till we want you for another act of the drama.”

      CHAPTER IV. MORE KENNYFECK INTRIGUING

      We ‘ll have you at our merry-making, too.

Honeymoon.

      If we should appear, of late, to have forgotten some of those friends with whom we first made our readers acquainted in this veracious history, we beg to plead against any charge of caprice or neglect. The cause is simply this: a story, like a stream, has one main current; and he who would follow the broad river must eschew being led away by every rivulet which may separate from the great flood to follow its own vagrant fancy elsewhere. Now, the Kennyfecks had been meandering after this fashion for some time back. The elder had commenced a very vigorous flirtation with the dashing Captain Jennings, while the younger sister was coyly dallying under the attentions of his brother hussar, – less, be it remembered, with any direct intention of surrender, than with the faint hope that Cashel, perceiving the siege, should think fit to rescue the fortress; “Aunt Fanny” hovering near, as “an army of observation,” and ready, like the Prussians in the last war, to take part with the victorious side, whichever that might be.

      And now, we ask in shame and sorrow, is it not humiliating to think, that of a party of some thirty or more, met together to enjoy in careless freedom the hospitality of a country house, all should have been animated with the same spirit of intrigue, – each bent on his own deep game, and, in some one guise or other

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