The Absentee [134]
affair on which he had spoken to him some time before, and which materially concerned Sir Terence's interest. The next morning, when the carriage was at the door, and Sir Terence was just taking leave of his friend Lord Clonbrony, and actually in tears, wishing them all manner of happiness, though he said there was none left now in London, or the wide world, even, for him--Lord Colambre went up to him, and said, 'Sir Terence, you have never inquired whether I have done your business?'
'Oh, my dear, I'm not thinking of that now--time enough by the post--I can write after you; but my thoughts won't turn for me to business now no matter.'
'Your business is done,' replied Lord Colambre.
'Then I wonder how you could think of it, with all you had upon your mind and heart. When anything's upon my heart, good morning to my head, it's not worth a lemon. Good-bye to you, and thank you kindly, and all happiness attend you.'
'Good-bye to you, Sir Terence O'Fay,' said Lord Clonbrony; 'and, since it's so ordered, I must live without you.'
'Oh! you'll live better without me! my lord; I am not a good liver, I know, nor the best of all companions for a nobleman, young or old; and now you'll be rich, and not put to your shifts and your wits, what would I have to do for you?--Sir Terence O'Fay, you know, was only THE POOR NOBLEMAN'S FRIEND, and you'll never want to call upon him again, thanks to your jewel, your Pitt's-di'mond of a son there. So we part here, and depend upon it you're better without me--that's all my comfort, or my heart would break. The carriage is waiting this long time, and this young lover's itching to be off. God bless you both!--that's my last word.'
They called in Red Lion Square, punctual to the moment, on old Mr. Reynolds, but his window-shutters were shut; he had been seized in the night with a violent fit of the gout, which, as he said, held him fast by the leg. 'But here,' said he, giving Lord Colambre a letter, 'here's what will do your business without me. Take this written acknowledgment I have penned for you, and give my grand-daughter her father's letter to read--it would touch a heart of stone--touched mine--wish I could drag the mother back out of her grave, to do her justice--all one now. You see at last I'm not a suspicious rascal, however, for I don't suspect you of palming a false grand-daughter upon me.'
'Will you,' said Lord Colambre, 'give your grand-daughter leave to come up to town to you, sir? You would satisfy yourself, at least, as to what resemblance she may bear to her father; Miss Reynolds will come instantly, and she will nurse you.'
'No, no; I won't have her come. If she comes, I won't see her-- shan't begin by nursing me--not selfish. As soon as I get rid of this gout, I shall be my own man, and young again, and I'll soon be after you across the sea, that shan't stop me; I'll come to--what's the name of your place in Ireland? and see what likeness I can find to her poor father in this grand-daughter of mine, that you puffed so finely yesterday. And let me see whether she will wheedle me as finely as Mrs. Petito would. Don't get ready your marriage settlements, do you hear, till you have seen my will, which I shall sign at--what's the name of your place? Write it down there; there's pen and ink; and leave me, for the twinge is coming, and I shall roar.'
'Will you permit me, sir, to leave my own servant with you to take care of you? I can answer for his attention and fidelity.'
'Let me see his face, and I'll tell you.' Lord Colambre's servant was summoned.
'Yes, I like his face. God bless you!--Leave me.'
Lord Colambre gave his servant a charge to bear with Mr. Reynolds's rough manner and temper, and to pay the poor old gentleman every possible attention. Then our hero proceeded with his father on his journey, and on this journey nothing happened worthy of note. On his first perusal of the letter from Grace, Lord Colambre had feared that she would have left Buxton with Lady Berryl before he could reach it; but, upon recollection, he
'Oh, my dear, I'm not thinking of that now--time enough by the post--I can write after you; but my thoughts won't turn for me to business now no matter.'
'Your business is done,' replied Lord Colambre.
'Then I wonder how you could think of it, with all you had upon your mind and heart. When anything's upon my heart, good morning to my head, it's not worth a lemon. Good-bye to you, and thank you kindly, and all happiness attend you.'
'Good-bye to you, Sir Terence O'Fay,' said Lord Clonbrony; 'and, since it's so ordered, I must live without you.'
'Oh! you'll live better without me! my lord; I am not a good liver, I know, nor the best of all companions for a nobleman, young or old; and now you'll be rich, and not put to your shifts and your wits, what would I have to do for you?--Sir Terence O'Fay, you know, was only THE POOR NOBLEMAN'S FRIEND, and you'll never want to call upon him again, thanks to your jewel, your Pitt's-di'mond of a son there. So we part here, and depend upon it you're better without me--that's all my comfort, or my heart would break. The carriage is waiting this long time, and this young lover's itching to be off. God bless you both!--that's my last word.'
They called in Red Lion Square, punctual to the moment, on old Mr. Reynolds, but his window-shutters were shut; he had been seized in the night with a violent fit of the gout, which, as he said, held him fast by the leg. 'But here,' said he, giving Lord Colambre a letter, 'here's what will do your business without me. Take this written acknowledgment I have penned for you, and give my grand-daughter her father's letter to read--it would touch a heart of stone--touched mine--wish I could drag the mother back out of her grave, to do her justice--all one now. You see at last I'm not a suspicious rascal, however, for I don't suspect you of palming a false grand-daughter upon me.'
'Will you,' said Lord Colambre, 'give your grand-daughter leave to come up to town to you, sir? You would satisfy yourself, at least, as to what resemblance she may bear to her father; Miss Reynolds will come instantly, and she will nurse you.'
'No, no; I won't have her come. If she comes, I won't see her-- shan't begin by nursing me--not selfish. As soon as I get rid of this gout, I shall be my own man, and young again, and I'll soon be after you across the sea, that shan't stop me; I'll come to--what's the name of your place in Ireland? and see what likeness I can find to her poor father in this grand-daughter of mine, that you puffed so finely yesterday. And let me see whether she will wheedle me as finely as Mrs. Petito would. Don't get ready your marriage settlements, do you hear, till you have seen my will, which I shall sign at--what's the name of your place? Write it down there; there's pen and ink; and leave me, for the twinge is coming, and I shall roar.'
'Will you permit me, sir, to leave my own servant with you to take care of you? I can answer for his attention and fidelity.'
'Let me see his face, and I'll tell you.' Lord Colambre's servant was summoned.
'Yes, I like his face. God bless you!--Leave me.'
Lord Colambre gave his servant a charge to bear with Mr. Reynolds's rough manner and temper, and to pay the poor old gentleman every possible attention. Then our hero proceeded with his father on his journey, and on this journey nothing happened worthy of note. On his first perusal of the letter from Grace, Lord Colambre had feared that she would have left Buxton with Lady Berryl before he could reach it; but, upon recollection, he