effort at fierceness.
“Perhaps it 's on the lower story?” asked Onslow.
“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't, then!” was the answer.
“We wish to see him, my good man,” said Jekyl; “or, at least, to send a message to him.”
“Sure! I know well enough what ye want,” said Andy, with a wave of his hand. “'T is n't the first of yer like I seen!”
“And what may that be?” asked Onslow, not a little amused by the blended silliness and shrewdness of the old man's face.
“Ay eh! I know yez well,” rejoined he, shaking his head. “Be off, then, and don't provoke the house! Away wid yez, before the servants sees ye.”
“This is a rare fellow,” said Onslow, who, less interested than his companion about the visit, was quite satisfied to amuse himself with old Andy. “So you 'll not even permit us to send our respects, and ask how your master is?”
“I'm certain you'll be more reasonable,” simpered Jekyl, as he drew a very weighty-looking purse from his pocket, and, with a considerable degree of ostentation, seemed preparing to open it.
The notion of bribery, and in such a cause, was too much for Andy's feelings; and with a sudden jerk of his hand, he dashed the purse out of Jekyl's fingers, and scattered the contents all over the landing and stairs. “Ha, ha!” cried he, wildly, “'t is only ha'pence he has, after all!” And the taunt was so far true that the ground was strewn with kreutzers and other copper coins of the very smallest value.
As for Onslow, the scene was too ludicrous for him any longer to restrain his laughter; and although Jekyl laughed too, and seemed to relish the absurdity of his mistake, as he called it, having put in his pocket a collection of rare and curious coins, his cheek, as he bent to gather them up, was suffused with a deeper flush than the mere act of stooping should occasion. It was precisely at this moment that Kate Dalton made her appearance.
“What is the matter, Andy?” asked she, turning to the old man, who appeared, by his air and attitude, as if determined to guard the doorway.
“Two spalpeens, that want to take the master; that's what it is,” said he, in a voice of passion.
“Your excellent old servant has much mistaken us, Miss Dalton,” said Jekyl, with his most deferential of manners. “My friend, Captain Onslow,” here he moved his hand towards George, who bowed, “and myself, having planned a day's shooting in the 'Moorg,' have come to request the pleasure of Mr. Dalton's company.”
“Oh, the thievin' villains!” muttered Andy; “that's the way they 'll catch him.”
Meanwhile Kate, having promised to convey their polite invitation, expressed her fears that her father's health might be unequal to the exertion. Jekyl immediately took issue upon the point, and hoped, and wondered, and fancied, and “flattered himself” so much, that Kate at last discovered she had been drawn into a little discussion, when she simply meant to have returned a brief answer; and while she was hesitating how to put an end to an interview that had already lasted too long, Dalton himself appeared.
“Is it with me these gentlemen have their business?” said he, angrily, while he rudely resisted all Andy's endeavors to hold him back.
“Oh, my dear Mr. Dalton,” said Jekyl, warmly, “it is such a pleasure to see you quite restored to health again! Here we are Captain Onslow, Mr. Dalton thinking of a little excursion after the woodcocks down the Moorg Thai; and I have been indulging the hope that you 'll come along with us.”
The very hint of an attention, the merest suggestion that bordered on a civility, struck a chord in old Dalton's nature that moved all his sympathies. It was at once a recognition of himself and his ancestry for generations back. It was a rehabilitation of all the Dal tons of Mount Dalton for centuries past; and as he extended a hand to each, and invited them to walk in, he half felt himself at home again, doing the honors of his house, and extending those hospitalities that had brought him to beggary.
“Are you serious about the shooting-party?” whispered Onslow to Jekyl, as he walked forward.
“Of course not. It's only a 'Grecian horse,' to get inside the citadel.”
“My daughter, Miss Dalton; Mr. Jekyl Miss Kate Dalton. Your friend's name, I believe, is—”
“Captain Onslow.”
Lady Hester started at the name, and, rising, at once said,
“Oh, George, I must introduce you to my fair friends. Miss Dalton, this gentleman calls me 'mamma;' or, at least, if he does not, it is from politeness. Captain Onslow Mr. Dalton. Now, by what fortunate event came you here?”
“Ought I not to ask the same question of your Ladyship?” said George, archly.
“If you like; only that, as I asked first—”
“You shall be answered first. Lady Hester Onslow, allow me to present Mr. Albert Jekyl.”
“Oh, indeed!” drawled out Lady Hester, as, with her very coldest bow, she surveyed Mr. Jekyl through her glass, and then turned away to finish her conversation with Ellen.
Jekyl was not the man to feel a slight repulse as a defeat; but, at the same time, saw that the present was not the moment to risk an engagement. He saw, besides, that, by engaging Dalton in conversation, he should leave Lady Hester and Onslow at liberty to converse with the two sisters, and, by this act of generosity, entitle himself to gratitude on all sides. And, after all, among the smaller martyrdoms of this life, what self-sacrifice exceeds his who, out of pure philanthropy, devotes himself to the “bore” of the party. Honor to him who can lead the forlorn hope of this stronghold of weariness. Great be his praises who can turn from the seductive smiles of beauty, and the soft voices of youth, and only give eye and ear to the tiresome and uninteresting. High among the achievements of unobtrusive heroism should this claim rank; and if you doubt it, my dear reader, if you feel disposed to hold cheaply such darings, try it, try even for once. Take your place beside that deaf old lady in the light auburn wig, or draw your chair near to that elderly gentleman, whose twinkling gray eyes and tremulous lip bespeak an endless volubility on the score of personal reminiscences. Do this, too, within earshot of pleasant voices and merry laughter, of that tinkling ripple that tells of conversation flowing lightly on, like a summer stream, clear where shallow, and reflective where deep! Listen to the wearisome bead-roll of family fortunes, the births, deaths, and marriages of those you never saw, and hoped never to see, hear the long narratives of past events, garbled, mistaken, and misstated, with praise and censure ever misapplied, and then, I say, you will feel that, although such actions are not rewarded with red ribbons or blue, they yet demand a moral courage and a perseverance that in wider fields win high distinction.
Albert Jekyl was a proficient in this great art; indeed, his powers developed themselves according to the exigency, so that the more insufferably tiresome his companion, the more seemingly attentive and interested did he become. His features were, in fact, a kind of “bore-ometer,” in which, from the liveliness of the expression, you might calculate the stupidity of the tormentor; and the mercury of his nature rose, not fell, under pressure. And so you would have said had you but seen him that evening, as, seated beside Dalton, he heard, for hours long, how Irish gentlemen were ruined and their fortunes squandered. What jolly times they were when men resisted the law and never feared a debt! Not that, while devouring all the “rapparee” experiences of the father, he had no eye for the daughters, and did not see what was passing around him. Ay, that did he, and mark well how Lady Hester attached herself to Kate Dalton, flattered by every sign of her unbought admiration, and delighted with the wondering homage of the artless girl. He watched Onslow, too, turn from the inanimate charms of Nelly's sculptured figures, to gaze upon the long dark lashes and brilliant complexion of her sister. He saw all the little comedy that went on around him, even to poor Nelly's confusion, as she assisted Andy to arrange a tea-table, and, for the first time since their arrival,