The Last Call: A Romance (Vol. 2 of 3). Dowling Richard
way connected with the great event of that week. Yet, still it had been noised abroad that Lavirotte had telegraphed to a Miss Harrington in London, and here now had arrived an old man and a young girl with unfamiliar accents. The shrewd people of Glengowra made a connection between these facts, and came, in about ten minutes, to the conclusion that the young girl was Miss Harrington. In the back room of the Confectionery Hall, a man who had come out by the same train with the newly-arrived pair brought all news and surmises concerning them; and here, out of gratitude for small mercies, the company were for a time solaced by the fact that no one could offer a rational explanation of who the old man was. When Crawford and Dora were safely inside Maher's hotel, the old man asked to be shown to a private sitting-room. "For," said he to Dora, "I have been so long accustomed to the solitude of St. Prisca's Tower, that I cannot endure the company or curious gaze of strangers." He had no means of knowing up to this that Lavirotte's illness was not a natural one, or that he and his grand-daughter were the subjects of peculiar interest to the good folk of Glengowra. He rang the bell, and when the waiter came, said: "I should very much like to see the landlord, if you think he would oblige me by coming here." In a few minutes the proprietor entered the room. The old man lost no time in stating his case. He said: "We have come a long journey, and are tired. We are both deeply interested in a gentleman who is now lying ill here, Mr. Lavirotte, and are most anxious to know his present condition." The landlord looked from one to the other in some perplexity. "May I ask," said he, "the nature of the interest you take in Mr. Lavirotte?" The old man smiled, and said: "An Irishman's answer." "An Irishman's answer," said Maher, "is often kindly meant." He glanced significantly, first at the old man, and then at the young girl. "Perhaps you know," said Crawford, "that Mr. Lavirotte telegraphed to a lady in London, in whose affairs he is interested?" "I wrote out the message myself." He paused a moment. "Have I the honour of seeing Miss Harrington?" "This is Miss Harrington." "And you are, sir-?" He paused here. "Her grandfather." "May I ask you, sir," said Maher, "to step out with me for a moment?" "Oh, sir, he is worse," cried the girl, looking appealingly at the old man. Maher turned quickly upon her, saying: "I pledge you my word of honour, Miss Harrington, that, on the contrary, Mr. Lavirotte is much better; and that he has continued to improve ever since I telegraphed to you." "Then," said the girl, "his illness must have been sudden." "Rather sudden. If you, sir," he continued, turning to the grandfather, "will accompany me just down to the strand, I should feel greatly obliged. Miss Harrington will, if you approve of it, remain in this room until we come back, with my most emphatic assurance that Mr. Lavirotte is out of danger and getting on very well." Maher did not wish the girl to meet even a chambermaid, lest the whole of the story might reach her at the one time, and give her a most painful and unnecessary shock. The substance of the conversation between the two clerks at the back of the Confectionery Hall had by this time become public property; and, of course, the hotel proprietor was one of the first men to hear all news. Jaded as the old man was, he rose with alacrity, and accompanied Maher. As soon as they were in the open air Crawford turned on his companion, and said: "I am sure, sir, your intention is kindly. There is kindliness in your manner and face; but I hope you are not, through some benevolent motive, deceiving that child we have left behind." "I-deceiving her!" cried the landlord. "I am not deceiving her." "I do not understand," said the old man, "what you mean by laying such emphasis on the word I." "I mean, sir, that although I am not deceiving her now (Lavirotte is really getting better), someone else may be deceiving her." "You perplex and disturb me," said the old man. "I have no clue whatever to your meaning. Pray, if you would be kind, be plain." "I take it for granted, sir, that you know Mr. Lavirotte." "I know Mr. Lavirotte, but not very well." For a moment or two the landlord was silent. His position was one of great delicacy and difficulty. He now held a profound hatred for Lavirotte, and the look of that gentle, confiding young girl had touched him keenly. He pitied her. "I hope, sir," he said, "if I am bold enough to ask you a few questions, you will be so kind as not to fancy it is through curiosity." "I will do anything," said the old man, "if you will only go on." "There is a rumour here, which may be true or false, that Mr. Lavirotte met Miss Harrington in London, and that they were good friends there." "I see what you are driving at. They are engaged to be married." "Precisely. You have not for some months past heard much of Mr. Lavirotte, have you?" "Absolutely nothing, except your telegram. Has he been ill all that time?" "No. He was not taken ill until a few hours before I sent that message to London." "What is the nature of his illness?" "He received an injury in a mysterious way, in a quarrel with another man, and neither he nor the other man will say anything about the quarrel, or the cause of it. But, of course, as in all cases of this kind, there is a general notion of what it was about. People say that jealousy led to it." "Jealousy of Miss Harrington? I did not understand there was any likelihood of his being jealous of her." "Nor is he, as far as rumour goes. The facts are that he attacked a young man in this place, and, after stabbing the young man, was rendered insensible himself, no one knows how." "Stabbing!" exclaimed the old man with horror. "Are you sure of that!" "There is no evidence he did. There is no doubt he did." "I am old," said Mr. Crawford, "and have lived a long time out of the ways of the world. I am slow, and do not understand. Out of pity to my infirmities, be simple with me. I know something very unpleasant is coming. Let me hear it at once." The two men had now reached the roadway that ran inside the storm wall. "It will rest you, sir, if we stand here and lean upon the wall. I will tell you everything I know in a few words. "The prettiest girl in this neighbourhood is a Miss Creagh. She is now in my house. One of the finest young fellows within twenty miles is Mr. Eugene O'Donnell. He is now lying in my house. He is the man Lavirotte stabbed. They were bosom friends. The story goes that about two months ago Lavirotte made love to Miss Creagh and was rejected. A little later O'Donnell made love, and was accepted. The wedding was to be in about a month, and to prevent it Lavirotte tried to murder young O'Donnell." "Good God!" said the old man, "what a dreadful story, and what a scoundrel he must be! It is the most horrible thing that ever came near me in all my life." "It is very bad, sir, indeed. You will now, sir, understand why I wished to speak to you alone. Shall we go back? I left orders that no one was to enter the private room, so that you can act now as you think best, and be quite certain that the young lady knows nothing of this most miserable affair. It is only right you should know that young O'Donnell is also doing very well, and no fears are felt about his recovery." In perfect silence the two men walked back to the hotel.
CHAPTER XXIII
Lionel Crawford did not go straight to the room where Dora was. He turned into the coffee-room, and there stood a while pondering. Though he was a visionary, a dreamer, a philosopher, he had, before he became immersed in his present studies and pursuits, been, comparatively speaking, a man of the world. For although he had never mingled much in society, he had a tolerable knowledge of what people said and did. What would people say of such conduct as Lavirotte's? They would call it abominable. What would people say of Lavirotte? They would call him a scoundrel. Here was a dilemma. If this strange, this unknown girl, were not to marry Lavirotte but the other man, there seemed on the face of it to be no reason why he might not still marry Dora. It was quite certain his grand-daughter had no hint that Lavirotte's affections had strayed from her. This liking for Miss Creagh might have been only the errant fancy of an hour-of a day-of a week. It might turn out that the landlord had exaggerated the position of Miss Creagh in the matter, and that the encounter had been the result of heated blood, arising from some other cause. If things had only run on smoothly, without this wretched interruption of the fight, how satisfactory all would be. Here was Lavirotte, the owner of the tower, and he, the seeker for the treasure, already bound together in a kind of business contract. And here, then, as a second bond of union between the two, had come Dora. His grand-daughter was to be the other's wife if things had not been disturbed. If Lavirotte and he had shared the treasure equally between them, and then these two young people were married, the whole of the enormous fortune hidden under St. Prisca's Tower would, when he died, be theirs. It would be a thousand pities that such a match should be broken off. The most ordinary prudence pointed at the absurdity of such a step. It would be his duty to his grand-daughter, Lavirotte, and himself, to take care that no such misfortune might befall. The agreement which existed between him and Lavirotte had never been reduced to writing. Neither of them had desired that it should. He knew that such an agreement would not be binding in law. If the finding and retaining of all the treasure was contrary to the law, no instrument embodying the disposal of all the property between him and Lavirotte would hold for one moment. It would be a cruel shame if, after