Cashel's was not a nature to dwell upon a grievance, and he would have, at once and forever, forgotten the late scene with Linton if it were not coupled in his mind with suspicions derived from various different sources. This made him silent and reserved as he walked along, and so palpably inattentive to all his companion's efforts at agreeability that Linton at last said, “Well, Cashel, if you can dispense with sleep, you certainly seem to take the compensation in dreaming. Here have I been retailing for you the choicest bits of gossip and small-talk, not only without the slightest gratitude, but even without common attention on your part!”

“Very true,” said Cashel; “the reproach is quite just, and no man can be more agreeable at the expense of his friends than yourself.”

“Still harping on my daughter, eh?” cried Linton. “I never thought you the man to misconstrue a jest; but if you really are offended with my folly—”

“If I really were offended,” said Cashel, almost sternly, “I should not leave it to be inferred from my manner.”

“That I am sure of,” cried Linton, assuming an air of frankness; “and now, since all that silly affair is forgotten—”

“I did not say so much,” interrupted Cashel. “I cannot forget it; and that is the very reason I am annoyed with myself, with you, and with all the world.”

“Pooh! nonsense, man; you were not used to be so thin-skinned. Let us talk of something else. Here are all our gay friends assembled: how are we to occupy and amuse them?”

Cashel made no reply, but walked on, seemingly lost in thought.

“By the way,” said Linton, “you've told me nothing of your adventures. Haven't you had something very like a shipwreck?”

“The yacht is lost,” said Cashel, dryly.

“Actually lost!” echoed the other, with well-assumed astonishment. “How fortunate not to have had the Kennyfeck party on board, as I believe you expected.”

“I had the Kilgoffs, however,” rejoined Roland.

“The Kilgoffs! you amaze me. How did my Lord ever consent to trust his most precious self on such an enterprise?”

Cashel shrugged his shoulders, without uttering a word in reply.

“But come, do condescend to be a little more communicative. How, and when, and where did the mishap occur?”

“She foundered on the southern coast some time after midnight on the 15th. The crew and passengers escaped by the boats, and the craft went to pieces.”

“And the Kilgoffs, how did they behave in the moment of peril?”

“My Lord seemed insensible to all around; Lady Kilgoff with a dignified courage quite admirable.”

“Indeed!” said Linton, slowly, while he fixed his eyes on Cashel's face, where an expression of increased animation now displayed itself.

“She has a fine generous nature,” continued Cashel, not heeding the remark. “It is one of the saddest things to think of, how she has been mated.”

“She is a peeress,” said Linton, curtly.

“And what of that? Do your aristocratic distinctions close the heart against every high and noble sentiment, or can they compensate for the absence of every tie that attaches one to life? Is not some poor Indian girl who follows her wild ranchero husband through the dark valleys of Guiana, not only a happier, but a better wife than your proud peeress?”

Linton shook his head and smiled, but did not reply.

“I see how my old prejudices shock you,” said Cashel. “I only grieve to think how many of them have left me; for I am sick—sick at heart—of your gay and polished world. I am weary of its double-dealing, and tired of its gilded falsehood. Since I have been a rich man, I have seen nothing but the servile flattery of sycophancy, or the insidious snares of deeper iniquity. There is no equality for one like myself. The high-born wealthy would treat me as a parvenu, the vulgar rich only reflect back my own errors in broader deformity. I have known no other use of wealth than to squander it to please others; I have played high, and lost deeply; I have purchased a hundred things simply because some others wished to sell them; I have entertained and sat among my company, waiting to catch and resent the covert insult that men pass upon such as me; and will you tell me—you, who know the world well—that such a life repays one?”

“Now, let me write the credit side of the account,” said Linton, laughing, and affecting a manner of easy jocularity. “You are young, healthy, and high-spirited, with courage for anything, and more money than even recklessness can get rid of; you are the most popular fellow among men, and the greatest favorite of the other sex, going; you get credit for everything you do, and a hundred others that men know you could, but have not done; you have warm, attached friends,—I can answer for one, at least, who 'll lay down his life for you.” He paused, expecting some recognition, but Cashel made no sign, and he resumed: “You have only to propose some object to your ambition, whether it be rank, place, or a high alliance, to feel that you are a favorite with fortune.”

“And is it by knowing beforehand that one is sure to win that gambling fascinates?” said Roland, slowly.

“If you only knew how the dark presage of failure deters the unlucky man, you 'd scarce ask the question!” rejoined Linton, with an accent of sorrow, by which he hoped to awaken sympathy. The stroke failed, however, for Cashel took no notice of it.

“There goes one whose philosophy of life is simple enough,” said Linton, as he stopped at a break in the holly hedge, beside which they were walking, and pointed to Lord Charles, who, mounted on a blood-horse, was leading the way for a lady, equally well carried, over some sporting-looking fences.

“I say, Jim,” cried Frobisher, “let her go a little free at them; she 's always too hot when you hold her back.”

“You don't know, perhaps, that Jim is the lady,” whispered Linton, and withdrawing for secrecy behind the cover of the hedge. “Jim,” continued Linton, “is the familiar for Jemima. She's Meek's daughter, and the wildest romp—”

“By Jove! how well she cleared it. Here she comes back again,” cried Cashel, in all the excitement of a favorite sport.

“That 's all very pretty, Jim,” called out Frobisher, “but let me observe it's a very Brummagem style of thing, after all. I want you to ride up to your fence with your mare in hand, touch her lightly on the flank, and pop her over quietly.”

“She is too fiery for all that,” said the girl, as she held in the mettlesome animal, and endeavored to calm her by patting her neck.

“How gracefully she sits her saddle,” muttered Cashel; and the praise might have been forgiven from even a less ardent admirer of equestrianism, for she was a young, fresh-looking girl, with large hazel eyes, and a profusion of bright auburn hair which floated and flaunted in every graceful wave around her neck and shoulders. She possessed, besides, that inestimable advantage as a rider which perfect fearlessness supplies, and seemed to be inspired with every eager impulse of the bounding animal beneath her.

As Cashel continued to look, she had taken the mare a canter round a large grass field, and was evidently endeavoring, by a light hand and a soothing, caressing voice, to calm down her temper; stooping, as she went, in the saddle to pat the animal's shoulder, and almost bending her own auburn curls to the counter.

“She is perfect!” cried Roland, in a very ecstasy. “See that, Linton! Mark how she sways herself in her saddle!”

“That comes of wearing no stays,” said Linton, dryly, as he proceeded to light a cigar.

“Now she's at it. Here she comes!” cried Cashel almost breathless with anxiety; for the mare, chafed by the delay, no sooner was turned towards the fence once more, than she stretched out and dashed wildly at it.

It was a moment of intense interest, for the speed was far too great to clear a high leap with safety; the fear was, however, but momentary, for, with a tremendous bound, the mare cleared the fence, and, after a couple of minutes' cantering, stood with heaving flanks and swelling nostril beside the other horse.

“You see my misfortune, I suppose?” said the girl, addressing Frobisher.

“No. She 's not cut about the legs?” said he, as he bent down in his saddle and took a most searching survey of the animal.

“No, the hack is all right But don't you perceive that bit of blue cloth flaunting yonder on the hedge?—that is part of my habit. See what a tremendous rent is here; I declare, Charley, it is scarcely decent” And to illustrate the remark, she wheeled her horse round so as to show the fringed and jagged end of her riding-habit, beneath which a very finely turned ankle and foot were now seen.

“Then why don't you wear trousers, like everybody else?” said Frobisher, gruffly, and scarce bestowing even a passing glance at the well-arched instep.

“Because I never get time to dress like any one else. You order me out like one of your Newmarket boys,” replied she, pettishly.

“By Jove! I wish any one of them had got your hand.”

“To say nothing of the foot, Charley,” said she, roguishly, and endeavoring to arrange her torn drapery to the best advantage.

“No; that may do to astonish our friend Cashel, and make 'my lady' jealous. By the way, Jim, I don't see why you should n't 'enter for the plate' as well as the Kennyfeck girls.”

“I like you better, Charley,” said she, curveting her horse, and passaging him alternately from side to side.

“This is the second time to-day I have played the eavesdropper unconsciously,” said Roland, in a whisper, “and with the proverbial fortune of the listener in both cases.” And with these words he moved on, leaving Linton still standing opposite the opening of the hedge.

Cashel had not advanced many paces beneath the shelter of the tall hollies, when Frobisher accidentally caught sight of Linton, and called out, “Ha, Tom,—found you at last! Where have you been hiding the whole morning?—you that should, at least, represent our host here.”

Linton muttered something, while, by a gesture, he endeavored to caution Frobisher, and apprise him of Cashel's vicinity. The fretful motion of hie horse, however, prevented his seeing the signal, and he resumed,—

“One of my people tells me that Cashel came with the Kilgoffs this morning. I say, Tom, you'll have to look sharp in that quarter. Son, there—quiet, Gustave—gently, man!”

“He's too fat, I think. You always have your cattle too heavy,” said Linton, hoping to change the topic.

“He carries flesh well. But what is it I had to tell you? Oh, I remember now,—about the yacht club. I have just got a letter from Derwent, in which he says the thing is impossible. His remark is more true than courteous. He says, 'It's all very well in such a place as Ireland to know such people, but that it won't do in England; besides that, if Cashel does wish to get among men of the world, he ought to join some light cavalry corps for a year or so, and stand plucking by Stanhope, and Dashfield, and the rest of them. They 'll bring him out if he 'll only pay handsomely.'—Soh, there, man,—do be quiet, will you?—The end of it is, that Derwent will not put his name up. I must say it's a disappointment to me; but, as a younger brother, I have only to smile and submit.”

While Lord Charles was retailing this piece of information in no very measured tone, and only interrupted by the occasional impatience of his horse, Linton's eyes were fixed on Cashel, who, at the first mention of his own name, increased his speed, so as to suggest the fond hope that some, at least, of this unwelcome intelligence might have escaped him.

“You'll have to break the thing to him, Tom,” resumed Lord Charles. “You know him better than any of us, and how the matter can be best touched upon.”

“Not the slightest necessity for that, now,” said Linton, with a low, deliberate voice.

“Why so?”

“Because you have just done so yourself. If you had only paid the least attention to my signal, you 'd have seen that Cashel was only a few yards in front of me during the entire of your agreeable revelations.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Frobisher, as his head dropped forward in overwhelming confusion; “what is to be done?”

“Rather difficult to say, if he heard all,” said Linton, coolly.

“You 'd say it was a quiz, Tom. You 'd pretend that you saw him all the while, and only did the thing for joke's sake, eh?”

“Possibly enough I might,” replied Linton; “but you could n't.”

“How very awkward, to be sure!” exclaimed Frobisher. “I say, Jim, I wish you 'd make up to Cashel a bit, and get us out of this scrape. There's Tom ready to aid and abet you, if only to take him out of the Kilgoffs' way.”

“There never was a more propitious moment, Miss Meek,'” said Linton, passing through the hedge, and approaching close to her. “He's a great prize,—the best estate in Ireland.”

“The nicest stable of horses in the whole country,” echoed Frobisher.

“A good-looking fellow, too; only wanting a little training to make presentable anywhere.”

“That white barb, with the flea-bitten flank, would carry you to perfection, Jim.”

“He 'll be a peer one of these days, if he is only patient enough not to commit himself in politics.”

“And such a hunting country for you,” said Frobisher, in ecstasy.

“I tell you I don't care for him; I never did,” said the girl, as a flush of half-angry meaning colored her almost childish features.

“But don't you care to be mistress of fifteen thousand a year, and the finest stud in Ireland?”

“Mayhap a countess,” said Linton, quietly. “Your papa would soon manage that.”

“I 'd rather be mistress of myself, and this brown mare, Joan, here,—that's all I know; and I'll have nothing to do with any of your plots and schemes,” said she, in a voice whose utterance was that of emotion.

“That's it,” said Frobisher, in a low tone to Linton; “there's no getting them, at that age, with a particle of brains.”

“They make up surprisingly for it afterwards,” replied Linton, dryly.

“So you 'll not consent, Jim?” said Frobisher, in a half-coaxing manner to the young girl, who, with averted head, sat in mingled sorrow and displeasure. “Well, don't be pettish about it; I 'm sure I thought it very generous in me, considering—”

She looked round at this moment, and her large eyes were bent upon him with a look which their very tears made passionately meaning.

“Considering what a neat finger you have on a young horse,” said he. And she turned abruptly away, and, as if to hide her emotion, spurred her mare into a bounding canter.

“Take care, Charley, take care what you 're doing,” said Linton, with a look of consummate shrewdness.

Frobisher looked after her for a minute or two, and then seemed to drop into a revery, for he made no reply whatever.

“Let the matter stop where it is,” said Linton, quietly, as if replying to some acknowledgment of the other; “let it stop there, I say, and one of these days, when she marries,—as she unquestionably will do, through papa Downie's means,—somebody of influence, she 'll be a steadfast, warm friend, never forgetting, nor ever wishing to forget, her childhood's companion. Go a little further, however, and you 'll just have an equally determined enemy. I know a little of both sides of the question,” added he, meditatively, “and it needs slight reflection which to prefer.”

“How are you going to amuse us here, Mr. Linton?” said she, cantering up at this moment; “for it seems to me, as old Lord Kilgoff says, that we are like to have a very dull house. People are ordering dinner for their own small parties as unsocially as though they were at the Crown Inn, at Brighton.”

“Yes, by the by,” said Frobisher, “I want to ask you about that. Don't you think it were better to dash a little bit of 'communism' through your administration?”

“I intend to send in my resignation as premier, now that the head of the State has arrived,” said Linton, smiling dubiously.

“I perceive,” said Frobisher, shrewdly, “you expect that the Government will go to pieces, if you leave it.”

“The truth is, Charley,” said he, dropping his voice to a low whisper, and leaning his hand on the horse's mane, “our friend Roland is rather too far in the category 'savage' for long endurance; he grows capricious and self-opinionated. The thin plating comes off, and shows the buccaneer at every slight abrasion.”

“What of that?” said Frobisher, languidly; “his book on Coutts' is unexceptionable. Come, Tom, you are the only man here who has a head for these things. Do exert yourself and set something a-going.”

“Well, what shall it be?” said he, gayly. “Shall we get the country people together, and have hack races? Shall we assemble the squires, and have a ball? Shall we start private theatricals? What says Miss Meek?”

“I vote for all three. Pray do, Mr. Linton,—you, who are so clever, and can do everything,—make us gay. If we only go on as we have begun, the house will be like a model prison,—on the separate and silent system.”

“As you wish it,” said Linton, bowing with assumed gallantry; “and now to work at once.” So saying, he turned towards the house, the others riding at either side of him.

“What shall we do about Derwent's letter, Tom?” asked Frobisher.

“Never speak of it; the chances are that he has heard enough to satisfy the most gluttonous curiosity. Besides, he has lost his yacht.” Here he dropped his voice to a low muttering, as he said, “And may soon have a heavier loss!”

“Is his pace too fast?” said Frobisher, who caught up the meaning, although not the words.

Linton made no reply, for his thoughts were on another track; then, suddenly catching himself, he said, “Come, and let us have a look at the stables; I've not seen our stud yet.” And they turned off from the main approach and entered the wood once more.

END OF VOL. I.