Amid all the plans for pleasure which engaged the attention of the great house, two subjects now divided the interest between them. One was the expected arrival of the beautiful Miss Leicester,—“Mr. Cashel's babe in the wood,” as-Lady Janet called her,—the other, the reading of a little one-act piece which Mr. Linton had written for the company. Although both were, in their several ways, “events,” the degree of interest they excited was very disproportioned to their intrinsic consequence, and can only be explained by dwelling on the various intrigues and schemes by which that little world was agitated.

Lady Janet, whose natural spitefulness was a most catholic feeling, began to fear that Lady Kilgoff had acquired such an influence over Cashel that she could mould him to any course she pleased,—even a marriage. She suspected, therefore, that this rustic beauty had been selected by her Ladyship as one very unlikely to compete with herself in Roland's regard, and that she was thus securing a lasting ascendancy over him.

Mrs. Leicester White, who saw, or believed she saw, herself neglected by Roland, took an indignant view of the matter, and threw out dubious and shadowy suspicions about “who this young lady might be, who seemed so opportunely to have sprung up in the neighborhood,” and expressed, in confidence, her great surprise “how Lady Kilgoff could lend herself to such an arrangement.”

Mrs. Kennyfeck was outraged at the entrance of a new competitor into the field, where her daughter was no longer a “favorite.” In fact, the new visitor's arrival was heralded by no signs of welcome, save from the young men of the party, who naturally were pleased to hear that a very handsome and attractive girl was expected.

As for Aunt Fanny, her indignation knew no bounds; indeed, ever since she had set foot in the house her state had been one little short of insanity. In her own very graphic phrase, “She was fit to be tied at all she saw.” Now, when an elderly maiden lady thus comprehensively sums up the cause of her anger, without descending to “a bill of particulars,” the chances are that some personal wrong—real or imaginary—is more in fault than anything reprehensible in the case she is so severe upon. So was it here. Aunt Fanny literally saw nothing, although she heard a great deal. Daily, hourly, were the accusations of the whole Kennyfeck family directed against her for the loss of Cashel. But for her, and her absurd credulity on the statement of an anonymous letter, and there had been no yacht voyage with Lady Kilgoff—no shipwreck—no life in a cabin on the coast—no——In a word, all these events had either not happened at all, or only occurred with Livy Kennyfeck for their heroine.

Roland's cold, almost distant politeness to the young ladies, was marked enough to appear intentional; nor could all the little by-play of flirtation with others excite in him the slightest evidence of displeasure. If the family were outraged at this change, poor Livy herself bore up admirably; and while playing a hundred little attractive devices for Cashel, succeeded in making a very deep impression on the well-whiskered Sir Harvey Upton, of the—th. Indeed, as Linton, who saw everything, shrewdly remarked, “She may not pocket the ball she intended, but, rely on't, she 'll make a 'hazard' somewhere.”

Of all that great company, but one alone found no place in her heart for some secret wile; this was Miss Meek, who, sadly disappointed at the little influence of her royalty, had ceased to care much for in-door affairs, and spent her mornings “schooling” with Charley, and her evenings listening to sporting talk whenever two or three “fast men” got together in the drawing-room.

The evening that preceded Miss Leicester's intended arrival had been fixed for the reading of Mr. Linton's comedy,—a little dramatic piece, which, whether he had stolen wholesale from the French, or only borrowed in part, none knew; but various were the rumors that it would turn out to be a very satirical composition, with allusions to many of those who were to sit in judgment over it. How this supposition originated, or with whom, there is no saying, nor if well-founded in any respect, for Linton had never shown his sketch to any one, nor alluded to it, save in the most vague manner.

Each, however, looked to see his neighbor “shown up;” and while one said, “What a character could be made of old Sir Andrew, with his vulgarity, his deafness, and his gluttony!” another thought that Downie Meek, in his oily smoothness, his sighings, and his “dear me's,” would be admirable,—all the ladies averring that Lady Kilgoff would be a perfect embodiment of Lady Teazle as Sir Peter suspected and Joseph intended her to be.

Fears for individual safety were merged in hopes of seeing others assailed, and it was in something like a flutter of expectancy that the party assembled in the drawing-room before dinner. Great was their surprise to find that Mr. Linton did not make his appearance. The dinner was announced, but he never came, and his place vacant at the foot of the table was the continual suggester of every possible reason for his absence. If Lady Kilgoff could not divest herself of a certain terror,—vague and meaningless, it is true,—the dread she felt proceeded from knowing him to be one whose every act had some deep purpose; while others were then canvassing his absence in easy freedom, she took the first opportunity of asking Cashel whether he were in the secret, or if it were really true that Linton had not communicated, even with him, about his departure.

“I am no better informed than my friends here,” said Roland; “and, to say truth, I have given little thought about the matter. We have not, as you are aware, of late seen so much of each other as we used once; he has himself rather drawn off me, and I have left the interval between us to widen, without much regret.”

“Remember, however, what I told you: he can be a terrible enemy.”

Cashel smiled calmly as he said, “I have consorted with men whose vengeance never took longer to acquit than the time occupied in drawing a knife from the sleeve or a pistol from the girdle. I care very little for him whose weapon is mere subtlety.”

“It is this over-confidence makes me fear for you,” said she, anxiously; “for, I say again, you do not know him.”

“I wish I never had,” said Cashel, with an earnestness of voice and accent. “He has involved me in a hundred pursuits for which I feel neither taste nor enjoyment. To him I owe it that pleasure is always associated in my mind with mere debauch; and the only generosity he has taught me has been the spendthrift waste of the gaming-table.”

“Could you not find out something of him,—when he went, and in what direction?” said she, anxiously. “I cannot tell you why, but my heart misgives me about his departure.”

More in compliance with her scruples than that he deemed the matter worth a thought, Cashel left the room to make inquiries from the servants; but all he could learn was, that Mr. Linton arose before daybreak and left the house on foot, his own servant not knowing in what direction, nor having heard anything of his master's previous intention.

His intimacy with the family at the cottage left it possible that they might know something of his movements and Cashel accordingly despatched a messenger thither to ask; but with the same fruitless result as every previous inquiry.

While Cashel was following up this search with a degree of interest that increased as the difficulty augmented, he little knew how watchfully his every word and gesture was noted down by one who stood at his side. This was Mr. Phillis, who, while seeming to participate in his master's astonishment, threw out from time to time certain strange, vague hints, less suggestive of his own opinions than as baits to attract those of his master.

“Very odd, indeed, sir,—very strange; so regular a gentleman, too,—always rising at the same hour. His man says, he 's like the clock. To be sure,” added he, after a pause, “his manner is changed of late.”

“How do you mean?” asked Cashel, hurriedly.

“He seems anxious, sir,—uneasy, as one might say.”

“I have not perceived it.”

“His man says—”

“What care I for that?” said Cashel, impatiently. “It is not to pry into Mr. Linton's habits that I am here, it is to assure myself that no accident has happened to him, and that if he stand in need of my assistance, I shall not be neglecting him. Tell two of the grooms to take horses and ride down to Killaloe and Dunkeeran, and ask at the inns there if he has been seen. Let them make inquiry, too, along the road.” With these directions, hastily given, he returned to the drawing-room, his mind far more interested in the event than he knew how to account for.

“No tidings of Tom?” said Lord Charles Frobisher, lounging carelessly in a well-cushioned chair.

Cashel made a sign in the negative.

“Well, it's always a satisfaction to his friends to know that he 'll not come to harm,” said he, with an ambiguous smile.

“The country is much disturbed at this moment,” said the Chief Justice; “the calendar was a very heavy one last assize. I trust no marauding party may have laid hold of him.”

“Ah, yes, that would be very sad indeed,” sighed Meek; “mistaking him for a spy.”

“No great blunder, after all,” said Lady Janet, almost loud enough for other ears than her next neighbor's.

“If the night were moonlight,” said Miss Meek, as she opened a shutter and peeped out into the darkness, “I 'd say he was trying those fences we have laid out for the hurdle-race.”

“By Jove, Jim, that is a shrewd thought!” said Lord Charles, forgetting that he was addressing her by a familiar sobriquet he never used before company.

“You have a bet with him, Charley?” said Upton.

“Yes, we have all manner of bets on the race, and I 'll have one with you, if you like it,—an even fifty that Tom turns up 'all right and no accident,' after this bolt.”

“Ah, my Lord, you 're in the secret, then!” said Aunt Fanny, whose experiences of sporting transactions, derived from “the West,” induced her to suspect that a wager contained a trap-fall.

A very cool stare was the only acknowledgment he deigned to return to this speech, while Mrs. Kennyfeck looked unutterable reproaches at her unhappy relative.

“I call the present company to witness,” said Sir Harvey Upton, “that if Tom has to come to an untimely end, he has bequeathed to me his brown cob pony, Batter.”

“I protest against the gift,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “Mr. Linton told me, if he were killed in the steeplechase on Tuesday next, I should have Batter.”

“That was a special reservation, Miss Kennyfeck,” said the Chief Justice; “so that if his death did not occur in the manner specified, the deed or gift became null and void.”

“I only know,” said Miss Meek, “that Mr. Linton said, as we came back from the hurdle-field,—'Remember, Batter is yours if—if—'” She hesitated and grew red, and then stopped speaking, in evident shame and confusion.

“If what? Tell us the condition; you are bound to be candid,” said several voices together.

“I'll tell you but I'll not tell any one else,” said the young girl, turning to Lady Kilgoff; and at the same instant she whispered in her ear, “if I were to be married to Mr. Cashel.”

“Well,” said her Ladyship, laughing, “and was the bribe sufficient?”

“I should think not!” replied she, with a scornful toss of the head, as she walked back to her seat.

“I winna say,” said Sir Andrew, “but I ha' a bit claim mysel to that bonnie snuff-box he ca'd a Louis-Quatorze; if ye mind, leddies, I asked him to mak' me a present o' it, and he replied, 'In my weell, Sir Andrew; I'll leave it ye in my weell.'”

“I foresee there will be abundance of litigation,” said the Chief Justice, “for the claims are both numerous and conflicting.”

“You 'll not be troubled with the next of kin, I believe,” said Lady Janet, in her most spiteful of voices.

“I say, my Lord Chief Justice,” said Frobisher, “let me have a travelling opinion from you, on a legal point. Wouldn't Linton's heirs, or representatives, or whatever they 're called, be bound to 'book up' if Ramekin is beaten in the handicap?”

“The law expressly declares such transactions without its pale, my Lord,” said the judge, rebukingly.

“Well, I can only say,” interrupted Upton, “that when we were in cantonments at Sickmabund, Jack Faris 'of ours' had a heavy stake in a game of piquet with the major, and just as he was going to count his point, he gave a tremendous yell, and jumped up from the table. It was a cobra capella had bitten him in the calf of the leg. Everything was done for him at once, but all in vain; he swelled up to the size of four, and died in about two hours. It was rather hard on old Cox, the major, who had two hundred pounds on it, and a capital hand; and so he made a representation to the mess, showing that he had seven cards to his point, with a quint in hearts; that, taking in the ace of clubs, he should count a quatorze, and, therefore, unquestionably win the game. The thing was clear as day, and so they awarded him the stakes. Cox behaved very handsomely, too; for he said, 'If Faris's widow likes to play the game out, I 'll give her the opportunity when we get back to England, and back myself, two to one.'”

“The Chevalier Bayard himself could not have done more,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with admirable gravity.

“I must say,” resumed the dragoon, “we thought it handsome, for old Cox was always hard up for money.”

“And what is to become of our theatricals, if Mr. Linton should have been so ill-natured as to drown himself?” said Mrs. White, in a most disconsolate tone; for she had already made terrible havoc in her wardrobe to accomplish a Turkish costume.

“Such a disappointment as it will be,” sighed Olivia Kennyfeck, who had speculated on a last effort upon Cashel in a Mexican dress, where, certes, superfluity should not be the fault.

“You can always make some compensation for the disappointment,” said Lady Kilgoff, “by a fancy ball.”

“Oh, delightful! the very thing!” exclaimed several together. “When shall it be, Mr. Cashel?”

“I am entirely at your orders,” said he, bowing courteously.

“Shall we say Tuesday, then?”

“Not Tuesday; we have the race on that morning,” said Frobisher; “and some of us, at least, will be too tired for a ball afterwards.”

“Well, Wednesday,—is Wednesday open?”

“Wednesday was fixed for a boat excursion to Holy Island,” said Cashel.

“You can't have Thursday, then,” exclaimed Lady Janet; “that is the only evening we ever have our rubber. I'll not give you Thursday.”

“Friday we are to have some people at dinner,” said Cashel; “and Saturday was to have been some piece of electioneering festivity for Linton's constituents.”

“What matter now?” said Mrs. White; “perhaps the poor dear man is in a better place. A very sad thought,” sighed she; “but such things are happening every day.”

“Ah, yes, very sad,” responded Meek, who never failed to perform echo to any one's lamentation.

“Ah, indeed!” chimed in Aunt Fanny, “cut off like a daisy.” And she wiped her eyes and looked solemn, for she believed she was quoting Scripture.

At last it was decided that the ball should come off on the earliest evening possible, irrespective of all other arrangements; and now the company formed in a great circle, discussing dresses and characters and costumes with an eager interest that showed how little Linton's fate had thrown a shadow over the bright picture of anticipated pleasure.