Although I certainly should have preferred that Father Tom had continued his functions as charioteer now that we were approaching the house, common humanity, however, compelled me to spare him, and I flogged and chucked the old beast with all my might up the rising ground towards the house. I had but just time to see that the building before us was a large embattled structure, which, although irregular and occasionally incongruous in detail, was yet a fine specimen of the castellated Gothic of the seventeenth century. Ma.s.sive square towers flanked the angles, themselves surmounted by smaller turrets, that shot up into the air high above the dark woods around them. The whole was surrounded by a fosse, now dry, and overgrown with weeds; but the terrace, which lay between this and the castle, was laid out as a flower-garden, with a degree of taste and beauty that to my mind at least bespoke the fostering hand of Louisa Bellew. Upon this the windows of a large drawing-room opened, at one of which I could mark the tall and stately figure of Sir Simon, as he stood, watch in hand, awaiting our arrival. I confess, it was not without a sense of shame that I continued my flagellations at the moment. Under any circ.u.mstances, our turn-out was not quite unexceptionable; but when I thought of my own position, and of the good priest who sat beside me mopping his head and face with a huge red cotton handkerchief, I cursed my stars for the absurd exposure. Just at this instant the skirt of a white robe pa.s.sed one of the windows, and I thought--I hope it was but a thought--I heard a sound of laughter.
"There, that will do. Phoebus himself couldn"t do it better. I wouldn"t wish my worst enemy to be in a pair of shafts before you."
Muttering a curse on the confounded beast, I pulled short up and sprang out.
"Not late, Nicholas, I hope?" said the priest to a tall, thin old butler, who bore a most absurd resemblance to his master.
"Your reverence has a minute and a half yet; but the soup"s on the table." As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a small bit of looking-gla.s.s, in a wooden frame, and with a pocket-comb arranged his hair in a most orderly and decorous manner; which being done, he turned gravely round and said, "Are ye ready, now, gentlemen?"
The priest nodded, and forward we went. Pa.s.sing through a suite of rooms whose furniture, however handsome once, was now worm-eaten and injured by time, we at length reached the door of the drawing-room, when the butler, after throwing one more glance at us to a.s.sure himself that we were in presentable array, flung the door wide open, and announced, with the voice of a king-at-arms--
"The Reverend Father Loftus, and Mr. Hinton."
"Serve!" said Sir Simon, with a wave of his hand. While, advancing towards us, he received us with most polished courtesy. "You are most welcome to Kilmorran, Mr. Hinton. I need not present my daughter."
He turned towards the priest, and the same moment I held Miss Bellow"s hand in mine. Dressed in white, and with her hair plainly braided on her cheek, I thought she looked handsomer than I had ever seen her. There was an air of a.s.sured calmness in her manner that sat well upon her lovely features, as, with a tone of winning sweetness, she seconded the words of her father, and welcomed me to Kilmorran.
The first step in the knowledge of the female heart is to know how to interpret any constraint or reserve of manner on the part of the woman you are in love with. Your mere novice is never more tempted to despair than at the precise moment his hopes should grow stronger; nor is he ever so sanguine as when the prospect is gloomy before him. The quick perceptions of even a very young girl enable her to perceive when she is loved; and however disposed she may feel towards the individual, a certain mixture of womanly pride and coquetry will teach her a kind of reserve towards him. Now, there was a slight dash of this constrained tone through Miss Bellow"s manner to me; and little experience as I had had in such matters, I knew enough to augur favourably from it. While doing the honours of her house, a pa.s.sing timidity would seem every now and then to check her advances, and I could remark how carefully she avoided any allusion, however slight, to our past acquaintance.
The austerity of Sir Simon"s manner at his first visit, as well as the remarks of my friend the priest, had led me to suspect that our dinner-party would prove cold, formal, and uncomfortable; indeed, the baronet"s constrained and measured courtesy in the drawing-room gave me but little encouragement to expect anything better. Most agreeable, therefore, was my disappointment to find that before the soup was removed he had thawed considerably. The stern wrinkles of his haughty face relaxed, and a bland and good-humoured smile had usurped the place of his former fixed and determined look. Doing the honours of his table with the most perfect tact, he contrived, while almost monopolising the conversation, to appear the least obtrusive amongst us; his remarks being ever accompanied by some appeal to his daughter, the priest, or myself, seemed to link us in the interest of all he said, and make his very listeners deem themselves entertaining and agreeable.
Unfortunately, I can present but a very meagre picture of this happy gift; but I remember well how insensibly my prejudices gave way, one by one, as I listened to his anecdotes, and heard him recount, with admirable humour, many a story of his early career. To be sure, it may be said that my criticism was not likely to be severe while seated beside his beautiful daughter, whose cheek glowed with pleasure, and whose bright eye glistened with added l.u.s.tre as she remarked the impression her father"s agree-ability was making on his guests. Such may, I doubt not, have increased the delight I felt; but Sir Simon"s own claims were still indisputable.
I know not how far I shall meet my reader"s concurrence in the remark, but it appears to me that conversational talent, like wine, requires age to make it mellow. The racy flavour that smacks of long knowledge of life, the reflective tone that deepens without darkening the picture, the freedom from exaggeration either in praise or censure, are not the gifts of young men, usually; and certainly they do season the intercourse of older ones, greatly to its advantage. There is, moreover, a pleasant flattery in listening to the narratives of those who were mixing with the busy world--its intrigues, its battles, and its byplay--while we were but boys. How we like to hear of the social everyday life of those great men of a bygone day, whose names have become already historical; what a charm does it lend to reminiscence, when the names of Burke, Sheridan, Grattan, and Curran start up amid memories of youthful pleasure; and how we treasure every pa.s.sing word that is transmitted to us, and how much, in spite of all the glorious successes of their after days, do we picture them to ourselves, from some slight or shadowy trait of their school or college life!
Sir Simon Bellow"s conversation abounded in features of this kind. His career had begun and continued for a long time in the brightest period of Ireland"s history--when wealth and genius were rife in the land, and when the joyous traits of Irish character were elicited in all their force by prosperity and happiness. It was then shone forth in all their brilliancy the great spirits whose flashing wit and glittering fancy have cast a sunlight over their native country that even now, in the twilight of the past, continues to illumine it. Alas! they have had no heritors to their fame; they have left no successors behind them.
I have said that Miss Bellew listened with delight to all her father"s stores of amus.e.m.e.nt--happy to see him once more aroused to the exertion of his abilities, and pleased to watch how successfully his manner had won over us. With what added loveliness she looked up to him as he narrated some circ.u.mstances of his political career, where his importance with his party was briefly alluded to; and how proudly her features glowed, as some pa.s.sing sentiment of high and simple patriotism would break from him! At such moments, the resemblance between them both became remarkably striking, and I deemed her even more beautiful than when her face wore its habitual calm and peaceful expression.
Father Loftus himself seemed also to have undergone a change--no longer indulging in his accustomed free-and-easy manner, seasoning his conversation with droll allusions and sly jokes. He now appeared a shrewd, intelligent reasoner, a well-informed man of the world, and at times evidenced traits of reading and scholarship I was nowise prepared for. But how vain is it for one of any other country to fathom one half the depth of Irish character, or say what part is inapplicable to an Irishman! My own conviction is that we are all mistaken in our estimate of them; that the gay and reckless spirit, the wild fun, and frantic, impetuous devilment are their least remarkable features, and in fact only the outside emblem of the stirring nature within. Like the lightning that flashes over the thunder-cloud, but neither influences the breaking of the storm nor points to its course, so have I seen the jest break from lips pale with hunger, and heard the laugh come free and mellow when the heart was breaking in misery. But what a mockery of mirth!
When we retired to the drawing-room, Sir Simon, who had something to communicate to Father Tom, took him apart into one of the deep window recesses, and I was left for the first time alone beside Miss Bellew.
There was something of awkwardness in the situation; for as neither of us could allude to the past without evoking recollections we both shunned to touch on, we knew not well of what to speak. The window lay open to the ground, displaying before us a garden in all the richness of fruit and blossom; the cl.u.s.tering honeysuckle and the dog-rose hung in ma.s.ses of flower across the cas.e.m.e.nt, and the graceful hyacinth and the deep carnation were bending to the night-air, scented with the odour of many a flower. I looked wistfully without. Miss Bellew caught my glance; a slight hesitation followed, and then, as if a.s.suming more courage, she said--
"Are you fond of a garden? Would you like a walk?"
The haste with which I caught at the proposal half disconcerted her; but, with a slight smile, she stepped out into the walk.
How I do like a large, old-fashioned garden with its venerable fruit-trees, its shady alleys, its overgrown and tangled beds, in which the very luxuriance sets all effort of art at defiance, and where rank growth speaks of wild-ness rather than culture! I like those gra.s.sy walks, where the footstep falls unheard; those shady thickets of nut-trees, which the blackbird haunts in security, and where the thrush sings undisturbed. What a sense of quiet home-happiness there breathes in the leafy darkness of the spot, and how meet for reverie and reflection does it seem!
As I sauntered along beside my companion, these thoughts crowded on me.
Neither spoke; but her arm was in mine, our footsteps moved in unison, our eyes followed the same objects, and I felt as though our hearts beat responsively. On turning from one of the darker walks we suddenly came upon an elevated spot, from which, through an opening in the wood, the coast came into view, broken into many a rocky promontory, and dotted with small islands. The sea was calm and waveless, and stretched away towards the horizon in one ma.s.s of unbroken blue, where it blended with the sky. An exclamation of "How beautiful!" broke from me at once; and as I turned towards Louisa, I perceived that her eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a half blush was mantling her cheek.
"You are not, then, disappointed with the west?" said she, with animation.
"No, no! I did not look for anything like this; nor," added I, in a lower tone, while the words trembled on my lips, "did I hope to enjoy it thus."
She seemed slightly confused, but with woman"s readiness to turn the meaning of my speech, added--
"Your recovery from illness doubtless gives a heightened pleasure to everything like this. The dark hour of sickness is often needed to teach us to feel strongly as we ought the beauty of the fair world we live in."
"It may be so; but still I find that every sorrow leaves a scar upon the heart, and he who has mourned much loses the zest for happiness."
"Or, rather, his views of it are different. I speak, happily for me, in ignorance; yet it seems as though every trial in life was a preparation for some higher scale of blissful enjoyment; and that as our understandings mature in power, so do our hearts in goodness--chastening at each ordeal of life, till at last the final sorrow, death, bids us prepare for the eternity where there is no longer grief, and where the weary are at rest."
"Is not your view of life rather derived from the happy experience of this quiet spot than suited for the collisions of the world, where, as men grow older, their consciences grow more seared, their hearts less open?"
"Perhaps; but is not my philosophy a good one that fits me for my station? My life has been cast here; I have no wish to leave it. I hope I never shall."
"Never! Surely, you would like to see other countries,--to travel?"
"No, no! All the brilliant pleasures you can picture for me would never requite the fears I must suffer lest these objects should grow less dear to me when I came back to them. The Tyrol is doubtless grander in its wild magnificence; but can it ever come home to my heart with so many affections and memories as these bold cliffs I have gazed on in my infancy; or should I benefit in happiness if it did? Can your Swiss peasant, be his costume ever so picturesque, interest me one half as much as yonder poor fisherman, who is carrying up his little child in his arms from the beach? I know him, his home, his hearth; I have seen his grateful smile for some small benefit, and heard his words of thankfulness. And think you not that such recollections as these are all mingled in every glance I throw around me, and that every sunlit spot of landscape shines not more brightly in my heart for its human a.s.sociations? These may be narrow prejudices--I see you smile at me."
"No, no! Trust me, I do not undervalue your reasons."
"Well, here comes Father Loftus, and he shall be judge between us.
We were discussing the advantages of contrasting our home with other countries----"
"Ahem! A very difficult point," said the priest, interrupting her, and drawing himself up with a great air of judicial importance. "_Ubi bene, ibi patria_--which may be rendered, "There"s potatoes everywhere." Not that I incline to the doctrine myself. Ireland is the only enjoyable country I know of. _Utamur creatura, dum possumus_--that means "a moderate use of creature comforts," Miss Louisa. But, troth, I"m so heated with an argument I had with Sir Simon, that I"m no ways competent---- Did I tell you he was waiting for his tea?"
"No, indeed you did not," said Miss Bellew, giving vent to a laugh she had been struggling against for the last few minutes; and which I did not at the moment know was caused by her perceiving the priest"s air of chagrin and discontent, the evident proofs of his being worsted by the old baronet, whose chief pleasure in life was to worry the father into a discussion, and either confuse or confute him. "My father seems in such good spirits to-night! Don"t you think so?" said she roguishly, looking over at the priest.
"Never saw him better; quite lively and animated, and"--dropping his voice to a whisper---"as obstinate as ever."
As we entered the house we found Sir Simon walking leisurely up and down the drawing-room, with his hands behind his back, his face radiant with smiles, and his eye gleaming with conscious triumph towards the corner where the priest stood tumbling over some books to conceal his sense of defeat. In a few minutes after we were seated round the tea-table; the little cloud was dispelled, and a happier party it was difficult to imagine.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII. ST. SENAN"S WELL
How shall I trace this, the happiest period of my life, when days and weeks rolled on and left no trace behind, save in that delicious calm that stole over my senses gradually and imperceptibly! Each morning saw me on my way to Castle Bellew. The mountain path that led up from the little strand was well worn by my footsteps; I knew its every turn and winding; scarcely a dog-rose bloomed along the way with which I had not grown familiar. And how each object spoke to my heart! For I was happy.
The clouds that moved above, the rippling tide that flowed beneath, the sunny sh.o.r.e, the shady thicket, were all to me as though I had known them from boyhood. For so it is, in our glad moments we cling to all things that surround us; and giving to external Nature the high colouring of our own hearts, we feel how beautiful is this world.
Yet was my mind not all tranquil; for often, as I hastened on, some pa.s.sing thought would shoot across me. Where is this to end? Can I hope ever to overcome the deep-rooted prejudices of my family, and induce them to receive amongst them as my wife the beautiful and artless daughter of the wild west? Or could I dare to expose her, on whom all my affections were centred, to the callous criticism of my fine lady-mother, and her fashionable friends in London? What right had I to stake Louisa"s happiness on such a chance--to take her from all the objects endeared to her by taste, by time, by long-hallowed a.s.sociations, and place her amid those among whom the very charm of her untarnished nature would have made her their inferior? Is it that trait of rebellious spirit that would seem to leaven every portion of our nature which makes our love strongest when some powerful barrier has been opposed to our hopes and wishes; or is it, rather, that in the difficulties and trials of life we discover those deeper resources of our hearts, that under happier auspices had lain dormant and unknown?
I scarcely know; but true it is, after such reflections as these I ever hurried on the faster to meet Louisa, more resolutely bent than ever, in weal or woe, to link my fortune with her own.
Though I returned each night to the priest"s cottage, my days were entirely spent at Castle Bellew. How well do I remember every little incident that marked their tranquil course! The small breakfast-parlour, with its old Tudor window looking out upon the flower-garden--how often have I paced it, impatient for her coming; turning ever and anon to the opening door, where the old butler, with the invariable habitude of his kind, continually appeared with some portion of the breakfast equipage!
How I started, as some distant door would shut or open, some far-off footstep sound upon the stair, and wonder within myself why she felt not some of this impatient longing! And when at last, tortured with anxiety and disappointment, I had turned away towards the window, the gentle step, the rustling dress, and, more than all, the indescribable something that tells us we are near those we love, bespoke her coming--oh, the transport of that moment! With what a fervid glow of pleasure I sprang to meet her, to touch her hand, to look upon her! How rapidly, too, I endeavoured to speak my few words of greeting, lest her father"s coming might interfere with even this short-lived period of happiness; and, after all, how little meaning were in the words themselves, save in the tone I spoke them!
Then followed our rambles through the large but neglected garden, where the rich blossoming fruit-tree scented the air, loaded with all the fragrance of many a wild flower. Now strolling onwards, silent, but full of thought, we trod some dark and shaded alley; now we entered upon some open glade, where a view of the far-off mountains would break upon us, or where some chance vista showed the deep-blue sunny sea swelling with sullen roar against the rocky coast. How often, at such times as these, have I asked myself if I could look for greater happiness than thus to ramble on, turning from the stupendous majesty of Nature to look into her eyes whose glance met mine so full of tender meaning, while words would pa.s.s between us, few and low-voiced, but all so thrilling; their very accents spoke of love!
Yet, amid all this, some agonising doubt would shoot across me that my affection was not returned. The very frankness of her nature made me fear; and when we parted at night, and I held my homeward way towards the priest"s cottage, I would stop from time to time, conning over every word she spoke, calling to mind each trivial circ.u.mstance; and if by accident some pa.s.sing word of jest some look of raillery, recurred to my memory, how have the warm tears rushed to my eyes, as with my heart full to bursting I muttered to myself, "She loves me not!" These fears would then give way to hope, as in my mind"s eye she stood before me, all beaming in smiles. And amid these alternate emotions, I trod my lonely path, longing for the morrow when we should meet again, when I vowed within my heart to end my life of doubt by asking if she loved me.
But with that morrow came the same spell of happiness that lulled me; and like the gambler who had set his life upon the die, and durst not throw, so did I turn with trembling fear from tempting the chance that might in a moment dispel the bright dream of my existence, and leave life bleak and barren to me for ever.
The month of August was drawing to a close, as we sauntered one fine evening towards the sea-sh.o.r.e. There was a little path which wound round the side of a bold crag, partly by steps, partly by a kind of sloping way, defended at the sides by a rude wooden railing, which led down upon the beach exactly at the spot where a well of clear spring-water sprang up, and tracked its tiny stream into the blue ocean. This little spring, which was always covered by the sea at high-water, was restored, on the tide ebbing, to its former purity, and bubbled away as before; and from this cause it had obtained from the simple peasantry the reputation of being miraculous, and was believed to possess innumerable properties of healing and consoling.
I had often heard of it but never visited it before; and thither we now bent our steps, more intent upon catching the glorious sunset that was glowing on the Atlantic than of testing the virtues of St. Senan"s Well, for so was it called. The evening, an autumnal one, was calm and still; not a leaf stirred; the very birds were hushed; and there was all that solemn silence that sometimes threatens the outbreak of a storm. As we descended the crag, however, the deep booming of the sea broke upon us, and between the foliage of the oak-trees we could mark the heavy rolling of the mighty tide, as wave after wave swelled on, and then was dashed in foam and spray upon the sh.o.r.e. There was something peculiarly grand and almost supernatural in the heavy swell of the great sea, rearing its white crest afar and thundering along the weather-beaten rocks, when everything else was calm and unmoved around; the deep and solemn roar, echoing from many a rocky cavern, rose amid the crashing spray that sent up a thin veil of mist, through which the setting sun was reflected in many a bright rainbow. It was indeed a glorious sight, and we stopped for several minutes gazing on it; when suddenly Louisa, letting go my arm, exclaimed, as she pointed downwards--
"See, see the swell beneath that large black rock yonder! The tide is making fast; we must get quickly down if you wish to test St. Senan"s power."