Tony Butler

"I'm not so sure of that, Mrs. Butler. Tony was up in London and he called to see Dolly. You remember that he told in his letter to you how the puir la.s.sie's hair was cut short--"

"I remember it all, Dr. Stewart; but what has all that to do with all this dreadful scene at night in the garden?" The doctor shook his head mournfully, and made no reply. "If you mean, Dr. Stewart, that it was my Tony that brought about all these disasters, I tell you I will not--I cannot believe it. It would be better to speak your mind out, sir, than to go on shaking your head. We're not altogether so depraved that our disgrace is beyond words."

"There 's nothing for anger here, my dear old friend," said he, calmly, "though maybe there's something for sorrow. When you have spoken to your son, and I to my daughter, we 'll see our way better through this th.o.r.n.y path. Good-bye."

"You are not angry with me, doctor?" said she, holding out her hand, while her eyes were dimmed with tears,--"you are not angry with me?"

"That I am not," said he, grasping her hand warmly in both his own. "We have no other treasures in this world, either of us, than this lad and this la.s.sie, and it's a small fault if we cling to them the more closely. I think I see Tony coming to meet you, so I'll just turn home again." And with another and more affectionate good-bye, they parted.

CHAPTER XXVIII. AT THE MANSE

In no small perturbation of mind was it that Mrs. Butler pa.s.sed her threshold. That a word should be breathed against her Tony, was something more than she could endure; that he could have deserved it, was more than she could believe. Tony, of whom for years and years she had listened to nothing but flatteries, how clever and ready-witted he was, how bold and fearless, how kind-hearted, and how truthful,--ay, how truthful! and how is it then, asked she of herself, that he has told me nothing of all this mischance, and what share he has had in bringing misfortune upon poor Dolly?

"Is Master Tony at home, Jenny?" said she, as she entered.

"Yes; he's reading a letter that has just come wi' the post."

The old lady stopped, with her hand on the handle of the door, to draw a full breath, and regain a calm look; but a merry laugh from Tony, as he sat reading his letter, did more to rally her, though her heart smote her to think how soon she might have to throw a shadow across his suns.h.i.+ne.

"Who's your letter from, Tony?" said she, dryly.

"From Skeffy; he 'll be here to-morrow; he's to arrive at Coleraine by six in the morning, and wants me to meet him there."

"And what's the other sealed note in your hand?"

"This?--this is from another man,--a fellow you've never heard of; at least, you don't know him."

"And what may be his name, Tony?" asked she, in a still colder tone.

"He's a stranger to you, mother. Skeffy found the note at my hotel, and forwarded it,--that's all."

"You were n't wont to have secrets from me, Tony," said she, tremulously.

"Nor have I, mother; except it may be some trifling annoyance or worry that I don't care to tease you about. If I had anything heavier on my mind, you may trust me, I 'd very soon be out with it."

"But I 'm not to hear who this man is?" said she, with a strange pertinacity.

"Of course you are, if you want to hear; his name is there, on the corner of his note,--Robt M'Gruder,--and here's the inside of it, though I don't think you 'll be much the wiser when you 've read it."

"It's for yourself to read your own letter, Tony," said she, waving back the note. "I merely asked who was your correspondent."

Tony broke the seal, and ran his eye hastily over the lines. "I 'm as glad as if I got a hundred pounds!" cried he. "Listen to this, mother:--

"'Dear Sir,--When I received your note on Monday--'

"But wait a bit, mother; I must tell you the whole story, or you 'll not know why he wrote this to me. Do you remember my telling you, just at the back of a letter,

"Yes, perfectly."

"Well, I wish I hadn't gone, that's all. Not that it was n't jolly, and the fellows very pleasant and full of fun, but somehow we all of us took too much wine, or we talked too much, or perhaps both; but we began laying wagers about every imaginable thing, and I made a bet,--I 'll be hanged if I could tell what it was; but it was something about Dolly Stewart. I believe it was that she was handsomer than another girl. I forgot all about her hair being cut off, and her changed looks. At all events, off we set in a body, to M'Gruder's house. It was then about two in the morning, and we all singing, or what we thought was singing, most uproariously. Yes, you may shake your head. I 'm ashamed of it now, too, but it was some strange wine--I think it was called Marcobrunner--that completely upset me; and the first thing that really sobered me was seeing that the other fellows ran away, leaving me all alone in the garden, while a short stout man rushed out of the house with a stick to thrash me. I tried to make him hear me, for I wanted to apologize; but he wouldn't listen, and so I gave him a shake. I didn't strike him; but I shook him off, roughly enough perhaps, for he fell, and then I sprang over the gate, and cut off as fast as I could. When I awoke next morning, I remembered it all, and heartily ashamed I was of myself; and I thought that perhaps I ought to go out in person and beg his pardon; but I had no time for that; I wanted to get away by that day's packet, and so I wrote him a few civil lines. I don't remember them exactly, but they were to say that I was very sorry for it all, and I hoped he 'd see the thing as it was,--a stupid bit of boyish excess, of which I felt much ashamed; and here's his answer:--

"'Dear Sir,--When I received your note on Monday morning, I was having leeches to my eye, and could n't answer it.

Yesterday both eyes were closed, and it is only to-day that I can see to scratch these lines. If I had had a little more patience on the night I first met you, it would have been better for both of us. As it is, I receive all your explanation as frankly as it is given; and you 'll be lucky in life if n.o.body bears you more ill-will than--Yours truly,

'Robt. M'Gruder.

"'If you come up to town again, look in on me at 27 Cannon Street, City. I do not say here, as Mrs. M'G, has not yet forgiven the black eye.'"

"Oh, Tony! my own, dear, dear, true-hearted Tony!" cried his mother, as she flung her arms around him, and hugged him to her heart "I knew my own dear boy was as loyal as his own high-hearted father."

Tony was exceedingly puzzled to what precise part of his late behavior be owned all this enthusiastic fondness, and was curious also to know if giving black eyes to Scotchmen had been a trait of his father's.

"And this was all of it, Tony?" asked she, eagerly.

"Don't you think it was quite enough? I'm certain Dolly did; for she knew my voice, and cried out, 'Oh, Tony, how could you?' or something like that from the window. And that's a thing, mother, has been weighing heavily on my mind ever since. Has this unlucky freak of mine anything to do with Dolly's coming home?"

"We 'll find that out later on, Tony; leave that to me," said she, hurriedly; for with all her honesty, she could not bear to throw a cloud over his present happiness, or dash with sorrow the delight he felt at his friend's coming.

"I don't suspect," continued he, thoughtfully, "that I made a very successful impression on that Mrs. M'Grader the day I called on Dolly; and if she only connected me with this night's exploit, of course it's all up with me."

"Her husband bears you no grudge for it at all, Tony."

"That's clear enough; he's a fine fellow; but if it should turn out, mother, that poor Dolly lost her situation,--it was no great thing, to be sure; but she told me herself, it was hard enough to get as good; and if, I say, it was through me she lost it--"

"You mustn't give yourself the habit of coining evil, Tony. There are always enough of hard and solid troubles in life without our conjuring up shadows and spectres to frighten us. As I said before, I 'll have a talk with Dolly herself, and I 'll find out everything."

"Do so, mother; and try and make her come often over here when I'm gone; she'll be very lonely yonder, and you 'll be such good company for each other, won't you?"

"I 'll do my best, for I love her dearly! She has so many ways, too, that suit an old body like myself. She's so quiet and so gentle, and she 'll sit over her work at the window there, and lay it down on her knee to look out over the sea, never saying a word, but smiling a little quiet smile when our eyes meet, as though to say, 'This is very peaceful and happy, and we have no need to tell each other about it, for we can feel it just as deeply.'"

Oh, if she 'd only let Alice come to see her and sit with her, thought Tony; how she _would_ love her! Alice could be all this, and would, too; and then, what a charm she can throw around her with that winning smile!

Was there ever suns.h.i.+ne like it? And her voice--no music ever thrilled through _me_ as that voice did. "I say, mother," cried he, aloud, "don't say No; don't refuse her if she begs to come over now and then with a book or a few flowers; don't deny her merely because she's very rich and much courted and flattered. I pledge you my word the flattery has not spoiled her."

"Poor Dolly! it's the first time I ever heard that you were either rich or inn after! What 's the boy dreaming of, with his eyes staring in his head?"

"I 'm thinking that I 'll go into Coleraine to-night, so as to be there when the mail arrives at six in the morning," said Tony, recovering himself, though in considerable confusion. "Skeffy's room is all ready, isn't it?"

"To be sure it is; and very nice and comfortable it looks too;" and as she spoke, she arose and went into the little room, on which she and Jenny had expended any amount of care and trouble. "But, Tony dear,"

she cried out, "what's become of Alice Lyle's picture? I put it over the fireplace myself, this morning."

"And I took it down again, mother. Skeffy never knew Alice,--never saw her."

"It was n't for that I put it there; it was because she was a handsome la.s.sie, and it's always a pleasant sight to look upon. Just bring it back again; the room looks nothing without it."

"No, no; leave it in your own room, in which it has always been," said he, almost sternly. "And now about dinner to-morrow; I suppose we'd better make no change, but just have it at three, as we always do."