The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2

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Lever Charles James. The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2

CHAPTER I. SOME CHARACTERS NEW TO THE KNIGHT AND THE READER

CHAPTER II. A TALE OF MR. DEMPSEY’S GRANDFATHER

CHAPTER III. SOME VISITORS AT GWYNNE ABBEY

CHAPTER IV. A SCENE AT THE ASSIZES

CHAPTER V. MR. HEFFERNAN’S COUNSELS

CHAPTER VI. AN UNLOOKED-FOR PROMOTION

CHAPTER VII. A PARTING INTERVIEW

CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRE

CHAPTER IX. BOARDING-HOUSE CRITICISM

CHAPTER X. DALY’S FAREWELL

CHAPTER XI. THE DUKE OF YORK’S LEVEE

CHAPTER XII. THE TWO SIDES OF A MEDAL

CHAPTER XIII. AN UNCEREMONIOUS VISIT

CHAPTER XIV. A TÊTE-À-TÊTE AND A LETTER

CHAPTER XV. A DINNER AT COM HEFFERNAN’S

CHAPTER XVI. PAUL DEMPSEY’S WALK

CHAPTER XVII. MR. ANTHONY NICKIE, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW

CHAPTER XVIII. A CONVIVIAL EVENING

CHAPTER XIX. MR. DEMPSEY BEHIND THE SCENE

CHAPTER XX. MR. HEFFERNAN OUT-MANOEUVRED

CHAPTER XXI. A BIT OF B Y-P L A Y

CHAPTER XXII. A GLANCE AT MRS. FUMBALLY’S

CHAPTER XXIII. THE COAST IN WINTER

CHAPTER XXIV. THE DOCTOR’S LAST DEVICE

CHAPTER XXV. A DARK CONSPIRACY

CHAPTER XXVI. THE LANDING AT ABOUKIR

CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRENCH RETREAT

CHAPTER XXVIII. TIDINGS OF THE WOUNDED

CHAPTER XXIX. THE DAWN OF CONVALESCENCE

CHAPTER XXX. A BOUDOIR

CHAPTER XXXI. A LESSON FOR EAVES-DROPPING

CHAPTER XXXII. A LESSON IN POLITICS

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CHANCES OF TRAVEL

CHAPTER XXXIV. HOME

CHAPTER XXXV. AN AWKWARD DINNER-PARTY

CHAPTER XXXVI. AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE LAST STRUGGLE

CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION

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The Knight of Gwynne was far too much occupied in his own reflections to attend to his companion, and exhibited a total unconcern to several piquant little narratives of Mrs. Mackie’s dexterity in dealing the cards, of Mrs. Fumbally’s parsimony in domestic arrangements, of Miss Boyle’s effrontery, of Leonard’s intemperance, and even of Miss Daly’s assumed superiority.

“You ‘re taking the wrong path,” said Mr. Dempsey, suddenly interrupting one of his own narratives, at a spot where the two roads diverged, – one proceeding inland, while the other followed the line of the coast.

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“One difficulty preyed upon his mind, – what dress ought he to wear? Should he be in a court suit, or ought he rather to go in his robes as an alderman? It would never do to appear in a black coat, a light gray spencer, punch-colored shorts and gaiters, white hat with a strip of black crape on it, – mere Dodd and Dempsey! That wasn’t to be thought of. If he could only ask his friend M’Hale, the fishmonger, who was knighted last year, he could tell all about it. M’Hale, however, would blab. He ‘d tell it to the whole livery; every alderman of Skinner’s Alley would know it in a week. No, no, the whole must be managed discreetly; it was a mutual confidence between the Duke and ‘D. and D.’ ‘At all events,’ said my grandfather, ‘a court dress is a safe thing;’ and out he went and bespoke one, to be sent home that evening, for he could n’t rest till he tried it on, and felt how he could move his head in the straight collar, and bow, without the sword tripping him up and pitching him into the Duke. I ‘ve heard my father say that in the days that elapsed till the time mentioned for the interview, my grandfather lost two stone in weight. He walked half over the county Dublin, lying in ambush in every little wood he could see, and jumping out whenever he could see or hear any one coming, – little surprises which were sometimes taken as practical jokes, very unbecoming a man of his age and appearance.

“Well, ma’am, Wednesday morning came, and at six o’clock my grandfather was on the way to Ballyriggan, and at nine he was in the wood, posted at the very spot M’Claverty told him, as happy as any man could be whose expectations were so overwhelming. A long hour passed over, and another; nobody passed but a baker’s boy with a bull-dog after him, and an old woman that was stealing brushwood in the shrubbery. My grandfather remarked her well, and determined to tell his Grace of it; but his own business soon drove that out of his head, for eleven o’clock came, and now there was no knowing the moment the Duke might appear. With his watch in his hand, he counted the minutes, ay, even the seconds; if he was a thief going to be hanged, and looking out over the heads of the crowd for a fellow to gallop in with a reprieve, he could n’t have suffered more: his heart was in his mouth. At last, it might be about half-past eleven, he heard a footstep on the gravel, and then a loud, deep cough, – ‘a fine kind of cough,’ my grandfather afterwards called it. He peeped out; and there, sure enough, at about sixty paces, coming down the walk, was a large, grand-looking man, – not that he was dressed as became him, for, strange as you may think it, the Lord-Lieutenant had on a shooting-jacket, and a pair of plaid trousers, and cloth boots, and a big lump of a stick in his hand, – and lucky it was that my grandfather knew him, for he bought a picture of him. On he came nearer and nearer; every step on the gravel-walk drove out of my grandfather’s head half a dozen of the fine things he had got off by heart to say during the interview, until at last he was so overcome by joy, anxiety, and a kind of terror, that he could n’t tell where he was, or what was going to happen to him, but he had a kind of instinct that reminded him he was to jump out when the Duke was near him; and ‘pon my conscience so he did, clean and clever, into the middle of the walk, right in front of his Grace. My grandfather used to say, in telling the story, that he verily believed his feelings at that moment would have made him burst a blood-vessel if it wasn’t that the Duke put his hands to his sides and laughed till the woods rang again; but, between shame and fright, my grandfather did n’t join in the laugh.

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