A few days after the conversation just related in the chapter before the last, while the Chief Baron was undergoing the somewhat protracted process of a morning toilet,—for it needed a nice hand and a critical eye to give the curls of that wig their fitting wave, and not to “charge” those shrunken cheeks with any redundant color,—Mr. Haire was announced.

“Say I shall be down immediately,—I am in my bath,” said the Chief, who had hitherto admitted his old friend at all times and seasons.

While Haire was pacing the long dinner-room with solemn steps, wondering at the change from those days when the Chief would never have thought of making him wait for an interview, Sir William, attired in a long dark-blue silk dressing-gown, and with a gold-tasselled cap to match, entered the room, bringing with him a perfumed atmosphere, so loaded with bergamot that his old friend almost sneezed at it. “I hurried my dressing, Haire, when they told me you were here. It is a rare event to have a visit from you of late,” said the old man, as he sat down and disposed with graceful care the folds of his rich drapery.

“No,” muttered the other, in some confusion. “I have grown lazy,—getting old, I suppose, and the walk is not so easy as it used to be five-and-twenty years ago.”

“Then drive, sir, and don't walk. The querulous tone men employ about their age is the measure of their obstinate refusal to accommodate themselves to inevitable change. As for me, I accept the altered condition, but I defy it to crush me.”

“Every one has not your pluck and your stamina,” said Haire, with a half-suppressed sigh.

“My example, sir, might encourage many who are weaker.”

“Any news of Lucy lately?” asked Haire, after a pause.

“Miss Lendrick, sir, has, through her brother, communicated to me her attachment to a young fellow in some marching regiment, and asked my permission to marry him. No, I am incorrect. Had she done this, there had been deference and respect; she asks me to forward a letter to her father, with this prayer, and to support it by my influence.”

“And why not, if he 's a good fellow, and likely to be worthy of her?”

“A good fellow! Why, sir, you are a good fellow, an excellent fellow; but it would never occur to me to recommend you for a position of high responsibility or commanding power.”

“Heaven forbid!—or, if you should, Heaven forbid I might be fool enough to accept it. But what has all this to do with marriage?”

“Explain yourself more fully, sir; you have assumed to call in question the parallelism I would establish between the tie of marriage and the obligation of a solemn trust; state your plea.”

“I 'll do nothing of the kind. I came here this morning to—to—I'll be shot if I remember what I came about; but I know I had something to tell you; let me try and collect myself.”

“Do, sir, if that be the name you give the painful process.”

“There, there; you'll not make me better by ridiculing me. What could it have been that I wanted to tell you?”

“Not, impossibly, some recent impertinence of the press towards myself.”

“I think not,—I think not,” said the other, musingly. “I suppose you 've seen that squib in the 'Banner.'”

“It is a paper, sir, I would not condescend to touch.”

“The fellow says that a Chief Baron without a court,—he means this in allusion to the Crown not bringing those cases of treason-felony into the Exchequer,—a Chief without a court is like one of those bishops in partibus, and that it would n't be an unwise thing to make the resemblance complete and stop the salary. And then another observes—”

“Sir, I do not know which most to deplore,—your forgetfulness or your memory; try to guide your conversation without any demand upon either.”

“And it was about those Celts, as they call these rascals, that I wanted to say something. What could it have been?”

“Perhaps you may have joined them. Are you a head-centre, or only empowered to administer oaths and affirmations?”

“Oh! I have it now,” cried Haire, triumphantly. “You remember, one day we were in the shrubbery after breakfast, you remarked that this insurrection was especially characterized by the fact that no man of education, nor, indeed, of any rank above the lowest, had joined it. You said something about the French Revolution, too; and how, in the Reign of Terror, the principles of the Girondists had filtered down, and were to be seen glittering like—”

“Spare me, Haire,—spare me, and do not ask me to recognize the bruised and battered coinage, without effigy or legend, as the medal of my own mint.”

“At all events, you remember what I'm referring to.”

“With all your efforts to efface my handwriting I can detect something of my signature,—go on.”

“Well, they have at last caught a man of some mark and station. I saw Spencer, of the head office, this morning, and he told me that he had just committed to Newgate a man of title and consideration. He would not mention his name; indeed, the investigation was as private as possible, as it was felt that the importance of such a person being involved in the project would give a very dangerous impulse to the movement.”

“They are wrong, sir. The insurrection that is guided by men of condition will, however dangerous, be a game with recognized rules and laws. The rebellion of the ignorant masses will be a chaos to defy calculation. You may discuss measures, but there is no arguing with murder!”

“That's not the way Spencer regarded it. He says the whole thing must be kept dark; and as they have refused to accept his bail, it's clear enough they think the case a very important one.”

“If I was not on the Bench I would defend these men! Ay, sir, defend them! They have not the shadow of a case to show for this rebellion. It is the most causeless attempt to subvert a country that ever was conceived; but there is that amount of stupidity,—of ignorance, not alone of statecraft, but of actual human nature, on the part of those who rule us, that it would have been the triumph of my life to assail and expose them. Why, sir, it was the very plebeian character of this insurrection that should have warned them against their plan of nursing and encouraging it. Had the movement been guided by gentlemen, it might have been politic to have affected ignorance of their intentions till they had committed themselves beyond retreat; but with this rabble—this rebellion in rags—to tamper was to foster. You had no need to dig pitfalls for such people; they never emerged from the depths of their own ignominious condition. You should have suppressed them at once,—stopped them before the rebel press had disseminated a catechism of treason, and instilled the notion through the land that the first duty of patriotism was assassination.”

“And you would have defended these men?”

“I would have arraigned their accusers, and charged them as accomplices. I would have told those Castle officials to come down and stand in the dock with their confederates. What, sir! will you tell me that it was just or moral, or even politic, to treat these unlettered men as though they were crafty lawyers, skilled in all the arts to evade the provisions of a statute? This policy was not unfitted towards him who boasted he could drive a coach-and-six through any Act of Parliament; but how could it apply to creatures more ready to commit themselves than even you were to entrap them? who wanted no seduction to sedition, and who were far more eager to play traitor than you yourself to play prosecutor? I say again, I wish I had my youth and my stuff-gown, and they should have a defender.”

“I am just as well pleased it is as we see it,” muttered Haire.

“Of course you are, sir. There are men who imagine it to be loyal to be always on the side that is to be strongest.” He took a few turns up and down the room, his nostrils dilated, and his lips trembling with excitement. “Do me a favor, Haire,” said he at last, as he approached and laid his hand on the other's arm. “Go and learn who this gentleman they have just arrested is. Ascertain whatever you can of the charge against him,—the refusal of bail implies it is a grave case; and inquire if you might be permitted to see and speak with him.”

“But I don't want to speak with him. I'd infinitely rather not meet him at all.”

“Sir, if you go, you go as an emissary from me,” said the Chief, naughtily, and by a look recalling Haire to all his habitual deference.

“But only imagine if it got abroad—if the papers got hold of it; think of what a scandal it would be, that the Chief Baron of the Exchequer was actually in direct communication with a man charged with treason-felony. I would n't take a thousand pounds, and be accessory to such an allegation.”

“You shall do it for less, sir. Yes, I repeat it, Haire, for less. Five shillings' car-hire will amply cover the cost. You shall drive over to the head-office and ask Mr. Spencer if—of course with the prisoner's permission—you may be admitted to see him. When I have the reply I will give you your instructions.”

“I protest I don't see—I mean, I cannot imagine—it's not possible—in fact, I know, that when you reflect a little over it, you will be satisfied that this would be a most improper thing to do.”

“And what is this improper thing I am about to do? Let us hear, sir, what you condemn so decidedly! I declare my libellers must have more reason than I ever conceded to them. I am growing very, very old! There must be the blight of age upon my faculties, or you would not have ventured to administer this lesson to me! this lesson on discretion and propriety. I would, however, warn you to be cautious. The wounded tiger is dangerous, though the ball should have penetrated his vitals. I would counsel you to keep out of reach of his spring, even in his dying moments.”

He actually shook with passion as he said this, and his hands closed and opened with a convulsive movement that showed the anger that possessed him.

“I have never lectured any one; least of all would it occur to me to lecture you,” said Haire, with much dignity. “In all our intercourse I have never forgotten the difference between us,—I mean intellectually; for I hope, as to birth and condition, there is no inequality.”

Though he spoke this slowly and impressively, the Chief Baron heard nothing of it. He was so overwhelmed by the strong passions of his own mind that he could not attend to another. “I shall soon be called incorrigible as well as incompetent,” uttered he, “if the wise counsels of my ablest friends are powerless to admonish me.”

“I must be moving,” said Haire, rising and taking his hat. “I promised to dine with Beattie at the Rock.”

“Say nothing of what has taken place here to-day; or if you mention me at all, say you found me in my usual health.” Haire nodded.

“My usual health and spirits,” continued the Chief. “I was going to say temper, but it would seem an epigram. Tell Beattie to look in here as he goes home; there 's one of the children slightly ailing. And so, Haire,” cried he, suddenly, in a louder voice, “you would insinuate that my power of judgment is impaired, and that neither in the case of my granddaughter nor in that larger field of opinion—the state of Ireland—am I displaying that wisdom or that acuteness on which it was one time the habit to compliment me.”

“You may be quite right. I won't presume to say you 're not. I only declare that I don't agree with you.”

“In either case?”

“No; not in either case.”

“I think I shall ride to-day,” said the Chief; for they had now reached the hall-door, and were looking out over the grassy lawn and the swelling woods that enclosed it. “You lose much, Haire, in not being a horseman. What would my critics say if they saw me following the hounds, eh?”

“I 'll be shot if it would surprise me to see it,” muttered Haire to himself. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Haire. Come out and see me soon again. I 'll be better tempered when you come next. You 're not angry with me, I know.”

Haire grasped the hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially. “Of course I 'm not. I know well you have scores of things to vex and irritate you that never touch fellows like myself. I shall never feel annoyed at anything you may say to me. What would really distress me would be that you should do anything to lower your own reputation.”

The old Judge stood on the doorstep pondering over these last words of his friend long after his departure. “A good creature—a true-hearted fellow,” muttered he to himself; “but how limited in intelligence! It is the law of compensation carried out. Where nature gives integrity she often grudges intellect. The finer, subtler minds play with right and wrong till they detect their affinities.—Who are you, my good fellow? What brings you here?” cried he to a fellow who was lounging in the copse at the end of the house.

“I 'm a carman, your honor. I 'm going to drive the Colonel to the railway at Stoneybatter.”

“I never heard that he was about to leave town,” muttered the old Judge. “I thought he had been confined to bed with a cold these days back. Cheetor, go and tell Colonel Sewell that I should be much obliged if he would come over to my study at his earliest convenience.”

“The Colonel will be with you, my Lord, in five minutes,” was the prompt reply.