Cashel Byron's Profession

"I hope you won't consider it a liberty," said the stranger,

tremulously. "I'm Mrs. Skene."

Lydia became ominously grave; and Mrs. Skene reddened a little. Then

she continued, as if repeating a carefully prepared and rehearsed

speech, "It would be esteemed a favor if I might have the honor of a

few words in private with your ladyship."

Lydia looked and felt somewhat stern; but it was not in her nature

to rebuff any one without strong provocation. She invited her

visitor to enter, and led the way to the circular drawing-room, the

strange decorations of which exactly accorded with Mrs. Skene's

ideas of aristocratic splendor. As a professor of deportment and

etiquette, the ex-champion's wife was nervous under the observation

of such an expert as Lydia; but she got safely seated without having

made a mistake to reproach herself with. For, although entering a

room seems a simple matter to many persons, it was to Mrs. Skene an

operation governed by the strict laws of the art she professed, and

one so elaborate that few of her pupils mastered it satisfactorily

with less than a month's practice. Mrs Skene soon dismissed it from

her mind. She was too old to dwell upon such vanities when real

anxieties were pressing upon her.

"Oh, miss," she began, appealingly, "the boy!"

Lydia knew at once who was meant. But she repeated, as if at a loss,

"The boy?" And immediately accused herself of insincerity.

"Our boy, ma'am. Cashel."

"Mrs. Skene!" said Lydia, reproachfully.

Mrs. Skene understood all that Lydia's tone implied. "I know,

ma'am," she pleaded. "I know well. But what could I do but come to

you? Whatever you said to him, it has gone to his heart; and he's

dying."

"Pardon me," said Lydia, promptly; "men do not die of such things;

and Mr. Cashel Byron is not so deficient either in robustness of

body or hardness of heart as to be an exception to THAT rule."

"Yes, miss," said Mrs. Skene, sadly. "You are thinking of the

profession. You can't believe he has any feelings because he fights.

Ah, miss, if you only knew them as I do! More tender-hearted men

don't breathe. Cashel is like a young child, his feelings are that

easily touched; and I have known stronger than he to die of broken

hearts only because they were unlucky in their calling. Just think

what a high-spirited young man must feel when a lady calls him a

wild beast. That was a cruel word, miss; it was, indeed."