Phineas Redux

had done, knowing that he had made himself subject to the law, and expecting every minute that constables would enter the room to seize him. He had seen his enemy’s hat lying on the floor, and, when nobody would come to fetch it, had thrown it down the stairs. After that he had sat waiting for the police, with the pistol, still loaded in every barrel but one, lying by his side⁠—hardly repenting the attempt, but trembling for the result⁠—till Macpherson, the landlord, who had been brought home from chapel, knocked at his door. There was very little said between them; and no positive allusion was made to the shot that had been fired; but Macpherson succeeded in getting the pistol into his possession⁠—as to which the unfortunate man put no impediment in his way, and he managed to have it understood that Mr. Kennedy’s cousin should be summoned on the following morning. “Is anybody else coming?” Robert Kennedy asked, when the landlord was about to leave the room. “Naebody as I ken o’, yet, laird,” said Macpherson, “but likes they will.” Nobody, however, did come, and the “laird” had spent the evening by himself in very wretched solitude.

On the following day the cousin had come, and to him the whole story was told. After that, no difficulty was found in taking the miserable man back to Loughlinter, and there he had been for the last two months in the custody of his more wretched mother and of his cousin. No legal steps had been taken to deprive him of the management either of himself or of his property⁠—so that he was in truth his own master. And he exercised his mastery in acts of petty tyranny about his domain, becoming more and more closefisted in regard to money, and desirous, as it appeared, of starving all living things about the place⁠—cattle, sheep, and horses, so that the value of their food might be saved. But every member of the establishment knew that the laird was “nae just himself,” and consequently his orders were not obeyed. And the laird knew the same of himself, and, though he would give the orders not only resolutely, but with imperious threats of penalties to follow disobedience, still he did not seem to expect compliance. While he was in this state, letters addressed to him came for a while into his own hands, and thus more than one reached him from Lord Brentford’s lawyer, demanding that restitution should be made of the interest arising from Lady Laura’s fortune. Then he would fly out into bitter wrath, calling his wife foul names, and swearing that she should never have a farthing of his money to spend upon her paramour. Of course it was his money, and his only. All the world knew that. Had she not left his roof, breaking her marriage vows, throwing aside every duty, and bringing him down to his present state of abject misery? Her own fortune! If she wanted the interest of her wretched money, let her come to Loughlinter and receive it there. In spite of all her wickedness, her cruelty, her misconduct, which had brought him⁠—as he now said⁠—to the verge of the grave, he would still give her shelter and room for repentance. He recognised his vows, though she did not. She should still be his wife, though she had utterly disgraced both herself and him. She should still be his wife, though she had so lived as to make it impossible that there should be any happiness in their household.

It was thus he spoke when first one and then another letter came from the Earl’s lawyer, pointing out to him the injustice to which Lady Laura was subjected by the loss of her fortune. No doubt these letters would not have been written in the line assumed had not Mr. Kennedy proved himself to be unfit to have the custody of his wife by attempting to shoot the man whom he accused of being his wife’s lover. An act had been done, said the lawyer, which made it quite out of the question that Lady Laura should return to her husband. To this, when speaking of the matter to those around him⁠—which he did with an energy which seemed to be foreign to his character⁠—Mr. Kennedy made no direct allusion; but he swore most positively that not a shilling should be given up. The fear of policemen coming down to Loughlinter to take account of that angry shot had passed away; and, though he knew, with an uncertain knowledge, that he was not in all respects obeyed as he used to be⁠—that his orders were disobeyed by stewards and servants, in spite of his threats of dismissal⁠—he still felt that he was sufficiently his own master to defy the Earl’s attorney and to maintain his claim upon his wife’s person. Let her return to him first of all!

But after a while the cousin interfered still further; and Robert Kennedy, who so short a time since had been a member of the Government, graced by permission to sit in the Cabinet, was not allowed to open his own postbag. He had written a letter to one person, and then again to another, which had induced those who received them to return answers to the cousin. To Lord Brentford’s lawyer he had used a few very strong words. Mr. Forster had replied to the cousin, stating how grieved Lord Brentford would be, how much grieved would be Lady Laura, to find themselves driven to take steps in reference to what they conceived to be the unfortunate condition of Mr. Robert Kennedy; but that such steps must be taken unless some arrangement could be made which should be at any rate reasonable. Then Mr. Kennedy’s postbag was taken from him; the letters which he wrote were not sent;⁠—and he took to his bed. It was during this condition of affairs that the cousin took upon himself to intimate to