Part 20 (2/2)

I have been obliged to dwell even to tediousness on these traits of the Grinder; for if they be not borne in mind, his actions and motives will seem dest.i.tute of any satisfactory explanation. And I now return to the chamber where he sat with Crowther as they compared impressions together, and bartered suspicions about my father's marriage.

”Now that I begin to consider the matter in this light,” said Crowther, ”it is curious what an explanation it affords to many things that used to puzzle me formerly: all that coldness and reserve towards Carew that his neighbors showed; the way his former acquaintances fell off from him, one by one; and, lastly, those strange hints about him in the newspapers. I suppose we should see the meaning of every one of them now easily enough?”

f.a.gan made no reply; his mind was travelling along over the road it had entered upon, and would not be turned away by any call whatsoever.

”Yes,” muttered he to himself, ”the little cottage at Fallrach, in the Killeries,--that's the place! and the only thing now is to get him down there. I must go up and see how he gets on, Crowther. I 'm half afraid that he ought to see a surgeon.” And, so saying, he arose and left the room.

My father was still sleeping as he entered, but less tranquilly than before, with a feverish flush upon his face, and his lips dry and dark-colored.

With a noiseless hand, f.a.gan drew back the curtain, and, seating himself close to the bed, bent down to gaze on him. The uneasy motions of the sleeper denoted pain; and more than once his hand was pressed against his side, as if it was the seat of some suffering. f.a.gan watched every gesture eagerly, and tried, but in vain, to collect some meaning from the low and broken utterance. Rapidly speaking at intervals, and at times moaning painfully, he appeared to labor either under some mental or bodily agony, in a paroxysm of which, at last, he burst open his vest, and clutched his embroidered s.h.i.+rt-frill with a violence that tore it in fragments.

As he did so, f.a.gan caught sight of a handkerchief stained with blood, which, with cautious gesture, he slowly removed, and, walking to the window, examined it carefully. This done, he folded it up, and, enveloping it in his own, placed it in his pocket. Once more he took his place at the bedside, and seemed to listen with intense anxiety for every sound of the sleeper's lips. The fever appeared to gain ground, for the flush now covered the face and forehead, and the limbs were twitched with short convulsive motions.

At last, as the paroxysm had reached its height, he bounded up from the bed and awoke.

”Where am I?” cried he, wildly. ”Who are all these? What do they allege against me?”

”Lie down; compose yourself, Mr. Carew. You are amongst friends, who wish you well, and will treat you kindly,” said f.a.gan, mildly.

”But it was not of my seeking,--no one can dare to say so. f.a.gan will be my back to any amount,--ten thousand, if they ask it.”

”That will I,--to the last penny I possess.”

”There, I told you so. I often said I knew the Grinder better than any of you. You laughed at me for it; but I was right, for all that.”

”I trust you were right, sir,” said f.a.gan, calmly.

”What I said was this,” continued he, eagerly: ”the father of such a girl as Polly must be a gentleman at heart. He may trip and stumble, in his imitations of your modish paces; but the soul of a gentleman must be in him. Was I right there, or not?”

”Pray, calm yourself; lie down, and take your rest,” said f.a.gan, gently pus.h.i.+ng him back upon the pillow.

”You are quite right,” said he; ”there is nothing for it now but submission. MacNaghten, Harvey, Burton,--all who have known me from boyhood,--can testify if I were one to do a dishonorable action. I tell you again and again, I will explain nothing; life is not worth such a price,--such ignominy is too great!”

He paused, as if the thought was too painful to pursue; and then, fixing his eyes on f.a.gan, he laughed aloud, and added,--

”Eh, f.a.gan! that would be like one of your own contracts,--a hundred per cent!”

”I have not treated you in this wise, Mr. Carew,” said he, calmly..

”No, my boy! that you have not. To the last hour of my life--no great stretch of time, perhaps--I 'll say the same. You have been a generous fellow with me--the devil and yourself may perhaps know why,--I do not; nay, more, f.a.gan--I never cared to know. Perhaps you thought I 'd marry Polly. By George! I might have done worse; and who knows what may be yet on the cards? Ay, just so--the cards--the cards!”

He did not speak again for several minutes; but when he did, his voice a.s.sumed a tone of greater distinctness and accuracy, as if he would not that a single word were lost.

”I knew your scheme about the Papists, Tony; I guessed what you were at then. I was to have emanc.i.p.ated you!”

A wild laugh broke from him, and he went on,--

”Just fancy the old trumpeter's face, that hangs up in the dinner-room at Castle Carew! Imagine the look he would bestow on his descendant as I sat down to table. Faith! Old Noll himself would have jumped out of the canvas at the tidings. If you cannot strain your fancy that far, Tony, think what your own father would have said were his degenerate son to be satisfied with lawful interest!--imagine him sorrowing over the lost precepts of his house!”

”There; I'll close the curtains, and leave you to take a sleep,” said f.a.gan.

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