By sunrise the next morning, all that remained of the threatened attack on Fort Peak, were the smouldering ashes of some wood fires—­eighty muskets piled in the fort—­and the yellow ochre, and red stripes that still adorned the countenance of the late Indian chief,—­but now snoring Lieutenant Maurice Malone.

CHAPTER XLVII.

The courier’s passport.

A second night succeeded the long dreary day of the diligence, and the only one agreeable reflection arose in the feeling that every mile travelled, was diminishing the chance of pursuit, and removing me still further from that scene of trouble and annoyance that was soon to furnish gossip for Paris—­under the title of “The Affaire O’Leary.”

How he was ever to extricate himself from the numerous and embarrassing difficulties of his position, gave me, I confess, less uneasiness than the uncertainty of my own fortunes.  Luck seemed ever to befriend him—­me it had always accompanied far enough through life to make its subsequent desertion more painful.  How far I should blame myself for this, I stopped not to consider; but brooded over the fact in a melancholy and discontented mood.  The one thought uppermost in my mind was, how will Lady Jane receive me—­am I forgotten—­or am I only remembered as the subject of that unlucky mistake, when, under the guise of an elder son, I was feted and made much of.  What pretensions I had, without fortune, rank, influence, or even expectations of any kind, to seek the hand of the most beautiful girl of the day, with the largest fortune as her dowry, I dare not ask myself—­the reply would have dashed all my hopes, and my pursuit would have at once been abandoned.  “Tell the people you are an excellent preacher,” was the advice of an old and learned divine to a younger and less experienced one—­“tell them so every morning, and every noon, and every evening, and at last they will begin to believe it.”  So thought I. I shall impress upon the Callonbys that I am a most unexceptionable “parti.”  Upon every occasion they shall hear it—­as they open their newspapers at breakfast—­as they sip their soup at luncheon—­as they adjust their napkin at dinner—­as they chat over their wine at night.  My influence in the house shall be unbounded—­my pleasures consulted—­my dislikes remembered.  The people in favour with me shall dine there three times a-week—­those less fortunate shall be put into schedule A. My opinions on all subjects shall be a law—­whether I pronounce upon politics, or discuss a dinner:  and all this I shall accomplish by a successful flattery of my lady—­a little bullying of my lord—­a devoted attention to the youngest sister—­a special cultivation of Kilkee—­and a very “prononce” neglect of Lady Jane.  These were my half-waking thoughts, as the heavy diligence rumbled over the pave into Nancy; and I was aroused by the door being suddenly jerked open, and a bronzed face, with a black beard and moustache, being thrust in amongst us.