Part 9 (1/2)

While speaking he proceeded with the readjustment of his toilet at the large mirror, an operation which appeared to const.i.tute the great object on which his mind was engaged, the affair of the squire's life or death coming in only parenthetically, or as a consideration of minor importance.

In height Sir Robert Whitecraft was fully six feet two; but being extremely thin and lank, and to all appearance utterly devoid of substance, and of every thing like proportion, he appeared much taller than even nature had made him. His forehead was low, and his whole character felonious; his eyes were small, deep set, and cunning; his nose was hooked, his mouth was wide, but his lips thin to a miracle, and such as always--are to be found under the nose of a miser; as for a chin, we could not conscientiously allow him any; his under-lip sloped off until it met the throat with a curve not larger than that of an oyster-sh.e.l.l, which when open to the tide, his mouth very much resembled. As for his neck, it was so long that no portion of dress at that time discovered was capable of covering more than one third of it; so that there were always two parts out of three left stark naked, and helplessly exposed to the elements. Whenever he smiled he looked as if he was about to weep. As the squire said, he was dreadfully round-shouldered--had dangling arms, that kept napping about him as if they were moved by some machinery that had gone out of order--was close-kneed--had the true telescopic leg--and feet that brought a very large portion of him into the closest possible contact with the earth.

”Are you succeeding, Sir Robert?” inquired the old man sarcastically, ”because, if you are, I swear you're achieving wonders, considering the slight materials you have to work upon.”

”Ah! sir,” replied the baronet, ”I perceive you are in one of your biting humors to-day.”

”Biting!” exclaimed the other. ”Egad, it's very well for most of your sporting acquaintances that you're free from hydrophobia; if you were not, I'd have died pleasantly between two feather beds, leaving my child an orphan long before this. Egad, you bit me to some purpose.”

”Oh, ay, you allude to the affair of 'Hop-and-go-constant' and 'Pat the Spanker;' but you know, my dear sir, I gave you heavy boot;” and as he spoke, he pulled up the lapels of his coat, and glanced complacently at the profile of his face and person in the gla.s.s.

”Pray, is Miss Folliard at home, sir?”

”Again I'm forgotten,” thought the squire. ”Ah, what an affectionate son-in-law he'd make! What a tender husband for Helen! Why, hang the fellow, he has a heart for n.o.body, but himself. She is at home, Sir Robert, but the truth is, I don't think it would become me, as a father anxious for the happiness of his child, and that child, an only one, to sacrifice her happiness--the happiness of her whole life--to wealth or ambition. You know she herself entertains a strong prejudice--no, that's not the word--”

”I beg your pardon, sir; that is the word; her distaste to me is a prejudice, and nothing else.”

”No, Sir Robert; it is not the word. Antipathy is the word. Now I tell you, once for all, that I will not force my child.”

”This change, Mr. Folliard,” observed the baronet, ”is somewhat of the suddenest. Has any thing occurred on my part to occasion it?”

”Perhaps I may have other views for her, Sir Robert.”

”That may be; but is such conduct either fair or honorable towards me, Mr. Folliard? Have I got a rival, and if so, who is he?”

”Oh, I wouldn't tell you that for the world.”

”And why not, pray?”

”Because,” replied the squire, ”if you found out who he was, you'd be hanged for cannibalism.”

”I really don't understand you, Mr. Folliard. Excuse me, but it would seem to me that something has put you into no very agreeable humor to-day.”

”You don't understand me! Why, Sir Robert,” replied the other, ”I know you so well that if you heard the name of your rival you would first kill him, then powder him, and, lastly, eat him. You are such a terrible fellow that you care about no man's life, not even about mine.”

Now it was to this very point that the calculating baronet wished to bring him. The old man, he knew, was whimsical, capricious, and in the habit of taking all his strongest and most enduring resolutions from sudden contrasts produced by some mistake of his own, or from some discovery made to him on the part of others.

”As to your life, Mr. Folliard, let me a.s.sure you,” replied Sir Robert, ”that there is no man living prizes it, and, let me add, you character too, more highly than I do; but, my dear sir, your life was never in danger.”

”Never in danger! what do you mean, Sir Robert? I tell you, sir, that the murdering miscreant, the Red Rapparee, had a loaded gun levelled at me last evening, after dark.”

”I know it,” replied the other; ”I am well aware of it, and you were rescued just in the nick of time.”

”True enough,” said the squire, ”just in the nick of time; by that glorious young fellow--a--a--yes--Reilly--w.i.l.l.y Reilly.”

”This w.i.l.l.y Reilly, sir, is a very accomplished person, I think.”

”A gentleman, Sir Robert, every inch of him, and as handsome and fine-looking a young fellow as ever I laid my eyes upon.”

”He was educated on the Continent by the Jesuits.”