“Do they suspect the purpose or the companion of her flight?” I inquired.
“The purpose!—poh, poh! that’s plain enough; I have not heard yet who was the gallant gay—but I forgot to tell you, by the by, the old fellow—old Sir Arthur—put himself into such a devil of a frenzy, when he found it out, that he got a sort of a fit—a devilish bad fit, I am told. Poor old fellow! he is a deuced deal too purple and bull-necked to stand excitement. I should not be a bit surprised if he’s done for—regularly done for. There goes Dr. Robertson’s carriage—egad, direct to Stephen’s-green, too; I venture an even guinea, he’s going straight to shave and blister old Chadleigh. You know he’s their family physician—a great oddity, a perfect character. I’m told Lady Chadleigh, poor woman! used to say, whenever—by the way, it’s odd how things run in the blood—there’s Miss Chadleigh just taking after her mother, a runaway already.”
Here he broke off, for, seeing a friend at the other side of the street, he hastened across to tell the news to a fresh listener, and leaving me opportunity enough, for we had just reached the corner of Kildare-street, and for many reasons, I had no wish that he should see me enter Jennings’ lodgings.
What I had just heard, satisfied me that the catastrophe, whatever it might be, was certainly not far distant; and with a degree of anxiety proportioned to the imminence of the event, in which I could not help feeling the profoundest interest, I knocked at the hall-door, and was promptly shown upstairs, and found myself vis-à-vis with Captain Jennings.
I found him in his dressing-gown and slippers. He looked pale and anxious, but had quite recovered his coolness and self-possession by this time.
“I feel that I have taken a great liberty, in giving you so much trouble,” he continued, after the usual salutations had been interchanged, and I had taken a chair; “but, with the exception of Doctor Robertson, with whom my acquaintance is just as slight as with you, I have no other gentleman to apply to in this most unhappy affair”—(here he slightly shrugged his shoulders, with an air of chagrin and discontent, which somehow impressed me more than all that had yet passed, with a conviction of that callous selfishness which I believed to be the basis of his character)—“You and Doctor Robertson are alone acquainted with the particulars of this business, and you will, I trust, forgive the preference which makes me, not, perhaps, unnaturally, select you, rather than him, as the depository of the only confidence I have to make.”
He said this in his most engaging and conciliatory manner; but, as I bowed in acknowledgment of the preference, I felt my original dislike of him rather increased than abated.
“I offer no defence whatever for my conduct; God knows I blame myself as severely as anybody else can possibly do,” he continued, with a contrite shake of the head; “I ran blindly into extreme temptation, and have compromised, not only myself, but a young lady, whom I would gladly die to extricate from the unfortunate position into which I have unguardedly led her.”
Equivocal as had been his agitation that morning, it was, at all events, genuine; but now he had recalled all the artificial graces of his manner. I saw in the polished ease of his remorse, and in the studied melancholy of his compassion, something indescribably repulsive and abominable.
“Without further tasking your patience,” he resumed, at the same time taking a paper from his desk, “I have to entreat your consent to become the depository of this paper. It is a piece of evidence which may throw an important light upon this affair; the copy of a document, which I keep in my possession, and which you will, perhaps, oblige me by retaining in yours; the nature of it you will see at a glance, and I have endorsed upon it the name and address of the party whose testimony it is, so that, if need be, there can be no difficulty in applying it properly. All I ask of you is, to guard it equally from destruction, and from the eyes of all others, but yourself; and that, whenever I write to you to that effect, you will kindly hand it to my law-agent in town, whom I will name to you, whenever it becomes necessary to employ one. Will you kindly undertake this commission?”
I could hardly decline an office, as it seemed, so easily performed. I so little liked the applicant himself, however, that a slight, and not very gracious hesitation, preceded my acceptance of its duties. He thanked me, however, profusely; and I had risen for the purpose of taking my departure, when a vehicle of some kind stopped at the hall-door, and a thundering double-knock announced the arrival of a visitor.
“Tell them I’m dressing,” said Jennings to the servant, who appeared at the room-door; and, in the next moment, the summons at the hall-door was answered.
“Captain Jennings is dressing for the evening,” I heard the servant say, in reply to the inquiry of the footman who had knocked.
This intimation, however, had not the desired effect, for the steps of the carriage were let down with a sharp clang, and, almost at the same moment, I heard a different voice, that, I presumed, of the visitor in person, demand—
“Is your master at home?”
The same answer was repeated, and the applicant for admission replied in a sharp decisive tone—
“Ha! dressing for the evening, very good; then he is at home?”
“But, sir, I beg pardon; he positively cannot see anybody at present,” urged the man.
“He shall certainly see me,” retorted the visitor, in the same tone. “I know the way—don’t mind.”
From the moment the clatter of the carriage-steps smote my ear, my mind unaccountably misgave me, and a foreboding of impending collision and mischief, filled me with an almost painful suspense. My instinctive apprehensions did not deceive me.
