during the whole time. All his habits were those of the most unlimited self-indulgence; and his chief, if not his sole recreation for years, had consisted in compounding, during the whole day long, those astounding gastronomic combinations, which embraced every possible variety of wine and liqueur, of vegetable, meat, and confection; so that the fact of his existing at all, under the extraordinary regimen which he had adopted, was a triumph of the genius of digestion over the demon of dyspepsia, such as this miserable world has seldom witnessed. Nevertheless, that he did exist, and that too, apparently, in robust though unwieldy health, with the exception of his one malady, his constitutional gout, was a fact which nobody could look upon and dispute. With an imperiousness which brooked no contradiction, he compelled Mr. Audley to eat and drink very greatly more than he could conveniently contain—browbeating the poor little gentleman into submission, and swearing, in the most impressive manner, that he had not eaten one ounce weight of food of any kind since his entrance into the house; although the unhappy little gentleman felt at that moment like a boa constrictor who has just bolted a buffalo, and pleaded in stifled accents for quarter; but it would not do. Oliver French, Esq., had not had his humour crossed, nor one of his fancies contradicted, for the last forty years, and he was not now to be thwarted or put down by a little "hop-o'-my-thumb," who, though ravenously hungry, pretended, through mere perverseness, to be bursting with repletion. Mr. Audley's labours were every now and again pleasingly relieved by such applications as these from his merciless entertainer.
"Now, my good friend—my worthy friend—will you think it too great a liberty, sir, if I ask you to move the pillow a leetle under this foot?"
"None in the world, sir—quite the contrary—I shall have the very greatest possible pleasure," would poor Mr. Audley reply, preparing for the task.
"You are very good, sir, very kind, sir. Just draw it quietly to the right—a little, a very little—you are very good, indeed, sir. Oh—oh, O—oh, you—you booby—you'll excuse me, sir—gently—there, there—gently, gently. O—oh, you d——d handless idiot—pray pardon me, sir; that will do."
Such passages as these were of frequent occurrence; but though Mr. Audley was as choleric as most men at his time of life, yet the incongruous terms of abuse were so obviously the result of inveterate and almost unconscious habit, stimulated by the momentary twinges of acute pain, that he did not suffer this for an instant to disturb the serenity and goodwill with which he regarded his host, spite of all his oddities and self-indulgence.
In the course of the evening Oliver French ordered Mistress Martha to have beds prepared for the party, and that lady, with rather a vicious look, withdrew. She soon returned, and asked in her usual low, dulcet tone, whether the young lady could spare her maid to assist in arranging the room, and forthwith Flora Guy consigned herself to the guidance of the sinister-looking Abigail.
"This is a fine country, isn't it?" inquired Mistress Martha, softly, when they were quite alone.
"A very fine country, indeed, ma'am," rejoined Flora, who had heard enough to inspire her with a certain awe of her conductress, which inclined her as much as possible to assent to whatever proposition she might be inclined to advance, without herself hazarding much original matter.
"It's a pity you can't see it in the summer time; this is a very fine place indeed when all the leaves are on the trees," repeated Mistress Martha.
"Indeed, so I'd take it to be, ma'am," rejoined the maid.
"Just passing through this way—hurried like, you can't notice much about it though," remarked the elderly lady, carelessly.
"No, ma'am," replied Flora, becoming more reserved, as she detected in her companion a wish to draw from her all she knew of her mistress's plans.
"There are some views that are greatly admired in the neighbourhood—the glen and the falls of Glashangower. If she could stay a week she might see everything."
"Oh! indeed, it's a lovely place," observed Flora, evasively.
"That old gentleman, that Mr. Audley, your young mistress's father, or—or uncle, or whatever he is"—Mistress Martha here made a considerable pause, but Flora did not enlighten her, and she continued—"whatever he is to her, it's no matter, he seems a very good-humoured nice old gentleman—he's in a great hurry back to Dublin, where he came from, I suppose."
"Well, I really don't know," replied the girl.
"He looks very comfortable, and everything handsome and nice about him," observed Mistress Martha again. "I suppose he's well off—plenty of money—not in want at all."
"Indeed he seems all that," rejoined the maid.
"He's cousin, or something or another, to the master, Mr. French; didn't you tell me so?" asked the painted Abigail.
"No, ma'am; I didn't tell you; I don't know," replied she.
"This is a very damp old house, and full of rats; I wish I had known a week ago that beds would be wanting; but I suppose it was a sudden thing," said the housekeeper.
"Indeed, I suppose it just was, ma'am," responded the attendant.
"Are you going to stay here long?" asked the old lady, more briskly than she had yet spoken.
"Raly, ma'am, I don't know," replied Flora.
The old painted termagant shot a glance at her of no pleasant meaning; but for the present checked the impulse in which it had its birth, and repeated softly—"You don't know; why, you are a very innocent, simple little girl."
"Pray, ma'am, if it's not making too bold, which is the room, ma'am?" asked Flora.
"What's your young lady's name?" asked the matron, directly, and disregarding the question of the girl.
Flora Guy hesitated.
"Do you hear me—what's your young lady's name?" repeated the woman, softly, but deliberately.
"Her name, to be sure; her name is Miss Mary," replied she.
"Mary what?" asked Martha.
"Miss Mary Ashwoode," replied Flora, half afraid as she uttered it.
Spite of all her efforts, the woman's face exhibited disagreeable symptoms of emotion at this announcement; she bit her lips and dropped her eyelids lower than usual, to conceal the expression which gleamed to her eyes, while her colour shifted even through her rouge. At length, with a smile infinitely more unpleasant than any expression which her face had yet worn, she observed,—
"Ashwoode, Ashwoode. Oh! dear, to be sure; some of Sir Richard's family; well, I did not expect to see them darken these doors again. Dear me! who'd have thought of the Ashwoodes looking after him again? well, well, but they're a very forgiving family," and she uttered an ill-omened tittering.
"Which is the room, ma'am, if you please?" repeated Flora.
"That's the room," cried the stalwart dame, with astounding vehemence, and at the same time opening a door and exhibiting a large neglected bed-chamber, with its bed-clothes and other furniture lying about in entire disorder, and no vestige of a fire in the grate; "that's the room, miss, and make the best of it yourself, for you've nothing else to do."
In this very uncomfortable predicament Flora Guy applied herself energetically to reduce the room to something like order, and although it was very cold and not a little damp, she succeeded, nevertheless, in giving it an air of tolerable comfort by the time her young mistress was prepared to retire to it.
As soon as Mary Ashwoode had entered this chamber her maid proceeded to narrate the occurrences which had just taken place.
"Well, Flora," said she, smiling, "I hope the old lady will resume her good temper by to-morrow, for one night I can easily contrive to rest with such appliances as we have. I am more sorry, for your sake, my poor girl, than for mine, however, and wherever I lay me down, my rest will be, I fear me, very nearly alike."
"She's the darkest, ill-lookingest old woman, God bless us, that ever I set my two good-looking eyes upon, my lady," said Flora. "I'll put a table to the door;