now added to my admiration of Miss Barnett. When once slightly grazed by a love-dart, it is seldom that the wound is not repeated with more forcible and deadly aim. I looked forward to leaving Knockgriffin with the greatest despair, never having yet dared to breathe a syllable of my devotion to the object of it. The more I found how deeply my happiness for life was concerned in the issue of this attachment, the more I trembled at the bare idea of trying my fate. I could not think of remaining longer than a few days more at the Barnetts’, and it was not likely that I should be asked to Knockgriffin again. Sir Denis spoke of going to Harrowgate at the end of July, and after that he and his sister were to go to Paris; thus, in all probability, we might never meet again. My company would not be detached at Cashel for possibly more than a couple of months longer, and then Heaven only knew to what dismal point I might be banished. Very ardently I hoped that some good fortune would come to help me in my misery.
“I am going now to give my last orders respecting the Cappamoyne tenants,” said Sir Denis, one day after breakfast. “I prefer speaking to them myself, to deputing Doheny to go among them: he is too timid in giving my directions; and besides, it is scarcely fair, perhaps, to employ him on such a business. One should not impose too much upon an agent.”
Miss Barnett’s cheek changed colour rapidly as her brother spoke. She was first red, then pale, and again flushed with a feverish glow over her face; but she did not make any remark.
“If I were you, Barnett, I’d see the tenants hanged before I’d speak to one of them,” said Nugent, emphatically. “Take my advice, and leave the matter to Doheny: he knows how to come round those sort of fellows better than you do; and by the time you’re safe on the continent they’ll all be ejected peaceably. They know Doheny must obey your orders, and they’ll not be half so enraged with him as with yourself.”
“I will not expose him to more risk than is absolutely necessary,” returned Barnett, firmly. “It would be the act of a dastard to go off from Knockgriffin and leave him to encounter all the wrath of the Cappamoyne people alone. I must wait here till I see the cottages demolished, and”
“Then you’re a madman!” exclaimed Nugent, almost losing command of his temper.
“Decidedly you are foolhardy, Barnett,” said Sir Percy, who was looking thoughtfully on the ground. All the time I was looking at Miss Barnett, who suddenly raised her eyes and caught my earnest gaze. She had the aspect of a person nerving herself for a terrible trial.
“Will any one come out with me to Cappamoyne?” asked Sir Denis at length, gaily.
“Not a foot I’ll go,” said Nugent, bluntly, while he still looked almost fierce.
“I shall be engaged for the next two hours with business letters,” observed Sir Percy, after some hesitation. “But really, Barnett, you seem altogether too daring.”
“Never mind me, Stedmole,” interrupted Sir Denis. “I have made up my mind on that point. What say you to a walk, Captain Stapleton, or are you engaged also!” And I thought a rather quizzical smile played on my host’s face as he turned to address myself.
“I shall be most happy to accompany you,” said I, and as I spoke I observed that Miss Barnett’s eyes met mine again; and this time they expressed a feeling of interest and approbation that made my heart beat quicker than before.
Stedmole coughed, and drummed for a second on the table with his fingers. I thought he looked annoyed, as he hurried from the room a few moments afterwards.
Barnett and I were soon on the way to the devoted homesteads of about fifteen small householders, called cottiers in Ireland; and my companion beguiled our walk with much pleasant chat, pointing out here and there what he wished to be done towards improving his estate. Occasionally I ventured, far his sister’s sake, to remonstrate with him upon the danger of exposing himself to the anger of so many wild people; but he met all my efforts with arguments that he considered unanswerable.
“I would as soon be dead at once as always living in a state of dread,” he said, gravely. “Unless I choose to part with my family property, I must remain occasionally in Tipperary; and what would be the use of having a property at all if I dared not plan any reasonable improvement on it? If we allowed ourselves to be terrified into a meek acquiescence with all the requirements of our tenantry in this county we might soon expect to become the ejected ourselves. We should tremble at the idea of asking for rent or oven at issuing orders to our workmen. I must have my own way with my own property; and if I am shot for it, of course there will be an end to me and my plans.”
“Consider what a blow it would be to your sister if anything should befall you,” murmured I.
“Oh yes! poor Louisa would feel it much; but just look at those terrible little cabins