When Linton had determined within himself to make Cashel “his own,” his first care was to withdraw him from the daily society of the Kennyfecks, by whose familiar intercourse a great share of influence was already enjoyed over their young guest. This was not so easy a task as he had at first imagined. Cashel had tasted of the pleasant fascination of easy intimacy with two young and pretty girls, eagerly bent on being agreeable to him. He was in all the full enjoyment of that rare union, the pleasure of being at home and yet an honored guest; and it was only when Linton suggested that late hours and irregular habits were but little in accordance with the decorous propriety of a family, that Cashel yielded, and consented to remove his residence to a great furnished house in “Stephen's Green,” where some bygone Chancellor once held his state.

Linton well knew that if “Necessity” be the mother of invention, “Propinquity” is the father of love; that there is nothing so suggestive of the tender passion as that lackadaisical state to which lounging at home contributes, and the chance meetings with a pretty girl. The little intercourse on the stairs going down to breakfast, the dalliance in the conservatory, the chit-chat before dinner, are far more formidable than all the formal meetings under the blaze of wax-lights, and amid the crush of white satin.

“If I leave him much longer among them,” said he to himself, “he 'll marry one of these girls; and then adieu to all influence over him! No more ÉcartÉ,—no more indiscriminate purchases of everything I propose,—no more giving 'the odds against the field.' A wife and a wife's family are heavy recognizances against a bachelor friend's counsels.”

Cashel was really sorry to leave the house where his time had passed so pleasantly. The very alternation of his interest regarding the two sisters had kept his mind in a state of pleasant incertitude, now seeing something to prefer in this, now in that, while at the same time suggesting on their part greater efforts to please and amuse him. If Mr. Kennyfeck deemed Cashel's removal a very natural step, and one which his position in some sort demanded, not so his wife. She inveighed powerfully against the dangerous intimacy of Linton, and the ruinous consequences such an ascendancy would lead to. “You should tell Mr. Cashel who this man is,” said she, imperiously.

“But that is exactly what nobody knows,” meekly responded Mr. Kennyfeck.

“Pshaw! every one knows all about him. You can tell him how he ruined young Rushbrook, and in less than two years left him without a shilling.”

Mr. Kennyfeck shook his head, as though to say that the evidence was by no means conclusive on that count.

“Yes, you may affect not to believe it,” said she, angrily, “but did n't George Lawson see the check for eight thousand paid to Linton at La touche's bank, and that was one evening's work.”

“There was a great deal of high play, I 've heard, among them.”

“Oh, indeed! you've heard that much,” said she, scornfully; “probably, too, you've heard how Linton paid seventy thousand pounds for part of the Dangwood estate,—he that had not sixpence three months previous. I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, that you have labored to very little purpose to establish this young man's claim if you are to stand by and see his property portioned among sharpers. There! don't start and look so frightened; there 's nobody listening, and if there were, too, I don't care. I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, that if it weren't for your foolish insufficiency Cashel would propose for Olivia. Yes! the thing is plain as possible. He fell in love with her the very night he arrived; every one saw it. Jane Lyons told me how it was remarked the day the company dined here. Leonard told all over Dublin how she chose the diamonds, and that Cashel distinctly referred to her before buying them. Then they were seen together driving through the streets. What more would you have? And now you suffer all this to be undone for the selfish objects of Mr. Linton; but I tell you, Mr. Kennyfeck, if you 're a fool, I am not!”

“But really I don't see—”

“You don't see! I'm sure you do not. You'd see, however, if it were a case for an action in the courts,—a vulgar appeal to twelve greasy jurors,—you 'd see then. There is quite enough for a shabby verdict! But I regard the affair very differently, and I tell you frankly, if I see Cashel draw off in his attentions, I 'll send for my cousin O'Gorman. I believe you can assure your young client that he 'll find there's no joking with him.”

Now this was the “most unkindest cut of all;” for if report spoke truly, Mr. Kennyfeck had himself experienced from that gentleman a species of moral force impulsion which left the most unpleasant reminiscences behind.

“I beseech you to remember, Mrs. Kennyfeck, that this agency is one of the best in Ireland.”

“So much the more reason to have the principal your son-in-law.”

“I 'd have you to reflect how little success coercion is like to have with a person of Mr. Cashel's temper.”

“Peter is the best shot in Ballinasloe,” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, sententiously.

Mr. Kennyfeck nodded a full assent, but seemed to hazard a doubt as to the efficiency of such skill.

“I repeat, sir, I'll send for him. Peter knows pretty well what ought to be done in such matters, and it's a comfort to think there is some spirit on one side of the family, at least.” Whether to afford a practical illustration, albeit negatively, or that he dreaded a continuance of the controversy, Mr. Kennyfeck feigned a business appointment, and retired, leaving his spouse to ponder over her threat, and resolve with herself as to the advantage of Peter's alliance.

While this conjugal discussion engaged papa and mamma, Cashel was endeavoring to explain to the fair daughters the reasons for his departure, affecting to see that the multiplicity of his engagements and duties required a step which he owned was far from agreeable to his feelings.

“I suspected how soon you would weary of us,” said Olivia, in a half whisper.

“We ought to have remembered, Livy,” said the elder sister, “how little would our claims upon Mr. Cashel appear when confronted with those of a higher station in the world.”

“I assure you, you wrong both yourselves and me. I never—”

“Oh, I 'm certain you never imagined this step. I can well believe that if it were not for advice—not very disinterested, perhaps—you would have still condescended to regard this as your home.”

“If I suspected that this removal would in the least affect the sentiments I entertain for my kind friends here, or in any way alter those I trust they feel for me, I 'd never have adopted, or, having adopted, never execute it.”

“We are really very much to blame, Mr. Cashel,” said Olivia bashfully, “in suffering our feelings to sway you on a matter like this. It was only too kind of you to come here at first; and perhaps even yet you will come occasionally to see us.”

“Yes, Mr. Cashel, Livy is right; we are very selfish in our wishes, and very inconsiderate besides. Your position in the world requires a certain mode of living, a certain class of acquaintances, which are not ours. It is far better, then, that we should resign ourselves to an interruption, than wait for an actual broach of intimacy.”

Cashel was totally at a loss to see how his mere change of residence could possibly imply a whole train of altered feelings and relations, and was about to express his astonishment on that score when Linton's phaeton drove up to the door, according to an appointment they had made the day before, to breakfast with the officers of a regiment quartered a short distance from town.

“There is your friend, Mr. Cashel,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with a marked emphasis on the word. Cashel muttered something about a rendezvous, and took up his hat, when a servant entered to request he would favor Mr. Kennyfeck with a brief interview before going out.

“Are we to see you at dinner to-day?” said Olivia, languidly.

“I hope so. Mrs. Kennyfeck has been kind enough to ask me, and I hope to have the pleasure.”

“Will Mr. Linton give leave?” said Miss Kennyfeck, laughing; and then, seeing a cloud on Cashel's brow, added, “I meant, if you had made no appointment with him.”

“I 'm self-willed enough to follow my own bent generally,” said he, abruptly, and left the room.

“You owe that gentleman a heavy grudge, Livy,” said Miss Kennyfeck, as she approached the window and looked out.

“Who do you mean, dear?”

“Mr. Linton. Were it not for him, I half think you might have succeeded.”

“I really cannot comprehend you,” said the younger, with well-assumed astonishment.

“Of course not, my dear. Still, it was a difficult game, even if left all to yourself. He was always likely to smash the tackle at the moment when almost caught. There, don't look so puzzled, dear; I was only following out a little reverie,—that's all.”

Meanwhile Cashel hastily descended the stairs, not over good-humoredly commenting on Mr. Kennyfeck's ill-chosen moment for a business conversation. “I can only stay a few minutes, or rather seconds,” cried he, as he opened the door of the study; and then checked himself as he perceived a short, stout elderly man, of venerable appearance, who rose respectfully from his chair as he came in.

“Doctor Tiernay, Mr. Cashel,” said Kennyfeck, presenting the stranger. “I have taken the liberty to delay you, sir, since it would be a great convenience if you could accord this gentleman a brief hearing at present; he has come above a hundred miles to crave it, and must leave Dublin by the afternoon mail.”

“Without it be Mr. Cashel's pleasure to detain me,” said the doctor, submissively.

“He is a tenant of your Tubbermore estate, sir,” resumed Kennyfeck, “a very near neighbor.”

“I regret that I am pressed for time at this moment, sir,” said Cashel, drawing on his gloves impatiently; “but I believe it is the less consequence, inasmuch as I really know nothing—absolutely nothing—and you, Mr. Kennyfeck, know everything about that property, and are by far the best person to hear and decide upon this gentleman's proposition, whatever it be.”

“It is a case that must be decided by yourself, sir,” said the doctor. “It is neither a matter of law nor right, but a simple question of whether you will do an act of great kindness to the oldest tenant on your property,—a man who, now overtaken by years and sickness, may not perhaps be alive at my return to hear of your benevolence.”

“It is about this renewal, sir,” interposed Kennyfeck, who saw Cashel's increasing impatience to be away. “Mr. Corrigan's lease expires on the 25th.”

“He is now struck by paralysis,” interrupted the doctor; “and his only prayer is to be suffered to die beneath the roof where he has lived for fifty years.”

“A tenant at will,” interposed Kennyfeck.

“Gracious Heaven! how could he suppose I should dream of dispossessing him?” cried Cashel. “Of course, sir, the house is his own so long as he pleases to hold it. Tell him so. Mr. Kennyfeck will tell him from me that he need not give the matter another thought. I am sincerely grieved that it should have already caused him so much anxiety.”

“Ah, sir,” cried the doctor, while two very dubious drops twinkled in his eyes, “you are indeed worthy of the good fortune that has befallen you. My poor old friend will bless you, with a prouder heart in his belief in human nature than even his gratitude could suggest. Farewell, sir, and may you long live to be as happy as you know how to make others.”

With an impulse of irrepressible warmth the old man seized Cashel's hand in both his own, and pressed it cordially, when the door suddenly opened, and Linton, dressed in a riding costume, appeared.

“What, Roland, at business so early. Do you know you 're an hour behind time?”

“I do; but I couldn't help it In fact, this was unexpected—”

“It was an act of benevolence, sir, detained Mr. Cashel,” interrupted the doctor. “I believe no appointment can be broken with a safer apology.”

“Ho! ho!” said Linton, throwing up his eyebrows, as if he suspected a snare to his friend's simplicity. “Which of the missions to convert the blacks, or what family of continuous twins are you patronizing?”

“Good-bye, sir,” said the doctor, turning towards Cashel. “I'd ask your pardon for the liberty I have already taken with you, if I were not about to transgress again.” Here he looked Linton fully in the face. “Mr. Cashel has done a kind and worthy action this morning, sir; but if he does many more such, and keep your company, he is not only a good man, but the strongest principled one I ever met with.”

As the last word was uttered, the door closed after him, and he was gone.

“So then, I 'm the Mephistopheles to your Faust,” said Linton, laughing heartily; “but what piece of credulous benevolence has cost you this panegyric and me this censure?”

“Oh, a mere trifle,” said Cashel, preparing to leave,—“a simple grant of renewal to an old tenant on my estate.”

“Only that,” said Linton, affecting the coolest indifference, while by a keen glance at Kennyfeck he revealed a profound consciousness of his friend's simplicity.

“Nothing more, upon my honor; that little cottage of Tubber-beg.”

“Not that fishing lodge beside the river, in an angle of your own demesne?” asked Linton, eagerly.

“The same. Why, what of it?”

“Nothing, save that your magnanimity is but one-sided, since only so late as Thursday last, when we looked over the map together, you gave me that cottage until such time as you should include the farm within the demesne.”

“By Jupiter, and so I did!” exclaimed Cashel, while a flush of shame covered his face and forehead; “what a confounded memory I have! What is to be done?”

“Oh, never fret about it,” said Linton, taking his arm, and leading him away; “the thing is easily settled. What do I want with the cottage? The old gentleman is, doubtless, a far more rural personage than I should prove. Let us not forget Aubrey's breakfast, which, if we wait much longer, will be a luncheon. The ladies well, Mr. Kennyfeck?” This was the first time he had noticed that gentleman.

“Quite well, Mr. Linton,” said he, bowing politely.

“Pray present my respects. By the way, you don't want a side-saddle horse, do you?”

“I thank you, we are supplied.”

“Whata pity! I 've got such a gray, with that swinging low cantering action Miss Kennyfeck likes; she rides so well! I wish she 'd try him.”

A shake of the head and a bland smile intimated a mild refusal.

“Inexorable father! Come, Cashel, you shall make the amende for having given away my cottage; you must buy Reginald and make him a present to the lady.”

“Agreed,” said Cashel; “send him over to-day; he's mine, or rather Miss Kennyfeck's. Nay, sir, really I will not be opposed. Mr. Kennyfeck, I insist.”

The worthy attorney yielded, but not without reluctance, and saw them depart, with grave misgivings that the old doctor's sentiment was truly spoken, and that Linton's companionship was a most unhappy accident.

“I must get into Parliament,” said Linton, as he seated himself beside Cashel in the phaeton, “if it were only to quote you as one of that much-belied class, the Irish landlord. The man who grants renewals of his best land on terms contracted three hundred years ago is very much wanted just now. What a sensation it would create in the House when they cry, 'Name, name,' and I reply that I am under a positive personal injunction not to name, and then Sharman Crawford, or one of that set, rises and avers that he believed the honorable and learned gentleman's statement to be perfectly unfounded. Amid a deluge of 'Ohs!' I stand up and boldly declare that further reserve is no longer possible, and that the gentleman whom I am so proud to call my friend is Roland Cashel, Esq., of Tubbennore. There 's immortality for you, for that evening at any rate. You 'll be toasted at Bellamy's at supper, and by the white-headed old gentlemen who sit in the window at the Carlton.”

“You'll not hint that I had already made a present of the lands when I displayed so much munificence,” said Cashel, smiling.

“Not a syllable; but I'll tell the secret to the Opposition, if you ever grow restive,” said Linton, with a laugh, in which, had Roland studied Lavater, he might have read a valuable lesson.

“A propos of Parliament, Kennyfeck persists in boring me about it, and that Mr. Downie Meek seems to have it at heart that I am to represent something or somebody, well knowing, the while, that I cannot possibly be supposed to understand anything of the interests whereon I should be called to vote and legislate.”

“That 's not so much consequence,” said Linton; “you 'd find a very strong section of the House very like yourself, but the thing would bore you; you would neither like the fatigue nor the slavery of it; and, positively, there is no excitement, save for the half-dozen who really contest the race. Meek, and others of the same stamp, will tell you that property should be represented in the Legislature. I agree fully with the sentiment, so it should. So also should a man's rents be collected, but that's no reason he should be his own agent, when he can find another, far more capable, ready for office.—Touch that off-side horse, he 'll skulk his collar when he can.—Now, if you have county or borough influence going a begging, send in your nominee, any fellow who 'll suit your views, and express your opinions,—myself, for instance,” said he, laughing, “for want of a better.—Those manes don't lie right; that near-sider's falls on the wrong side of the neck.—The great secret for any man situated as you are is to avoid all complications, political, social, and matrimonial. You have a glorious open country before you, if there be no cross-riding to spoil your run.”

“Well, I am not above taking advice,” said Cashel; “but really I must own that, from the little I've seen of the matter, it seems harder to go through life with a good fortune than without a shilling. I know that, as a poor man, very lately—”

“Come, come, you know very little of what poverty means; you 've been leading a gay life in a land where men do by one bold enterprise the work which costs years of slow toil in our tamer regions. Now, I should have liked that kind of thing myself. Ay, you may smile, that a man who devotes a large share of each day to the tie of his cravat, and the immaculate elegance of his boots, should venture to talk of prairie life and adventure. Take care! By Jove! I thought you were into that apple-stall.”

“Never say it twice,” cried Cashel, gayly. “I 'm beginning to feel confoundedly tired of this life here; and, if I don't find that it improves on acquaintance, I 'll take a run down west, just to refresh my spirits. Will you come with me?”

“With my whole heart I join the proposal; but you are not serious; I know you are merely jesting in all this.”

“Perfectly serious. I am decidedly weary of seven o'clock dinners and morning calls. But here we are.”

As he spoke, they drove into the barrack-yard, where groups of lounging officers, in every variety of undress, were seen in all the insipid enjoyment of that cigar-smoking existence which forms the first article in our military code of education.

The gallant —th Light Dragoons were a “fast regiment,” and the inventors of that new locomotive on the road to ruin called a “mess breakfast,”—a meal where champagne flows with a profusion rarely seen at dinner, and by which men begin the day in a frame of mind that would not be very decorous even when concluding it. Cashel, being an honored guest, drank wine with every one, not to speak of participating in various little bibatory trios and quartets, so that when the entertainment drew to a close he was very far from that self-possession and command which, with all his high spirits, seldom deserted him.

A tremendous fall of rain, that showed no prospect of ceasing, had just set in, so that the party agreed to repair to the major's rooms, and make a pool at ÉcartÉ. After some talking about play in general, and some quizzing about not being able to bet a sum such as Cashel would care to play for, the game began.

Notwithstanding the apologies, the play was high, so much so, that Cashel, never a very shrewd observer, could not help remarking that several of the players could not conceal the anxiety the game inspired.

Roland himself joined less from inclination than fellowship, and far better pleased to be at liberty to chat with some of the others than to be seated at the table, he arose each time he lost, well content to pay for freedom by his gold. His natural indifference, added to a perfect carelessness about money, induced him to accept any bet that was offered, and these were freely proposed, since, in play parlance, “the run was against him;” so that, ere the trumpet-call announced the time to dress for the mess, he had lost heavily.

“You have no idea how much you have lost?” said Linton, in a low voice, and with a gravity of manner almost reproachful.

“Not the slightest,” said Cashel, laughing.

“I can tell you, then, for I have totted it up. This morning's work has cost you seven thousand some hundred pounds.”

“Indeed!” said Cashel, a flush rather of shame than displeasure mantling on his features. “I'll give it up in future.”

“No, no! not till you've had your revenge,” whispered Linton. “We 'll stay for the mess, and have at them again. The night is terrific, and no possibility of leaving.”

The mess followed, and although play was to succeed it, the party drank freely, and sat long over their wine; even Linton himself seemed to linger at the table, and leave it with regret.

As for Cashel, for the first time in his life he wished to play. No desire for money-getting, no mean passion for gain, suggested the wish, it was simply a piqued vanity at being beaten; a sense of indignity that his inferiority should seem to be implied, even in so trifling a matter, urged him on, and he was one of the first to vote for a return to ÉcartÉ.

Except Linton, there was not probably one who could be called a good player in the party; but luck, which has more than the mastery over skill, supplied the place of knowledge, and Cashel was the only heavy loser of the whole assembly. Stung by continued failure, too, he betted madly and foolishly, so that as the day was breaking, and the stir in the barrack-yard announced the approaching parade, his losses reached more than double what they had been in the morning.

“I say, lads!” said the major, as they all arose from the table, “one word before you go.” So saying, he turned the key in the door, and stood with his back against it. “Before any one leaves the room, each must promise on his honor not to mention a syllable of this night's business. We all know that we have been playing far higher stakes than ever we've been in the habit of. The report, if it get abroad, would ruin the regiment.”

“Oh, we all promise not a word shall be said about it,” cried out several voices together. “There's the second trumpet!” So saying, they hastened pell-mell to dress for the parade, while Cashel, taking Linton's arm, set out homewards.

“I say, Tom!” said Roland, after they had walked on for some time in silence, “I am somewhat ashamed of this exploit of mine, and would not for a great deal that Kennyfeck should know it. Is there no way of getting this money by loan?—for if I draw now—”

“Make your mind quite easy; I'll arrange that for you. Don't worry yourself about it. It's a bore, of course, to lose a round sum like that; but you can afford it, my boy, that's one comfort. If it had been me, by Jove, the half of it would have drained the well!” This said, he hastily changed the topic, and they walked along chatting of everything save the late party.