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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85d4405 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55798 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55798) diff --git a/old/55798-8.txt b/old/55798-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 10e75ff..0000000 --- a/old/55798-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9335 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of False Evidence, by E. Phillips Oppenheim - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: False Evidence - -Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim - -Release Date: October 24, 2017 [EBook #55798] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FALSE EVIDENCE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - - - - -[Frontispiece: "They sprang after me, but started back with a quick -exclamation, for they looked into the black muzzle of my father's -revolver." (Chapter XXXVII.)] - - - - - FALSE - EVIDENCE - - - BY - - E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM - - _Author of - "Anne, the Adventuress," "The Traitors," "Conspirators," etc._ - - - - WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED, - LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO. - 1911. - - - - - _This Book, written by the Author some years ago, - is now issued in Library form for the first time._ - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAP. - - PROLOGUE - - I. MY APOLOGY - II. THE FIRST CLOUD - III. "THE BOY MUST BE TOLD" - IV. "A MYSTERIOUS MEETING" - V. "ON BOSSINGTON HEADLAND" - VI. AN INTERRUPTED ADDRESS - VII. "I AM TOLD" - VIII. "MY VOW" - IX. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT - X. THE FIRST MOVE - XI. COLONEL DEVEREUX'S LAND AGENT - XII. AT DEVEREUX COURT - XIII. COLONEL SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX, BART. - XIV. THE BEGINNING OF DANGER - XV. A FIGHT FOR LIFE - XVI. MY CONVALESCENCE - XVII. A MOONLIGHT RIDE - XVIII. A STRANGE INTERVIEW - XIX. MARIAN SURPRISES ME - XX. AMONGST THE BULRUSHES - XXI. RUPERT DEVEREUX - XXII. FACE TO FACE - XXIII. IN THE PICTURE GALLERY - XXIV. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR - XXV. "COUSINS!" - XXVI. I "GIVE WARNING" - XXVII. SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX'S APPEAL - XXVIII. GOOD-BYE TO DEVEREUX COURT - XXIX. I AM TEMPTED - XXX. LIAR AND COWARD - XXXI. MY FATHER AND I - XXXII. THE BRIGANDS' HOME - XXXIII. AT PALERMO - XXXIV. VISITORS FROM ROME - XXXV. WE ENTERTAIN AT THE VILLA - XXXVI. MR. BURTON LEIGH - XXXVII. CUT DOWN - XXXVIII. AN OMINOUS NOTE - XXXIX. "MY FATHER'S RESOLUTION" - XL. A HORRIBLE MISTAKE - XLI. "TWO YEARS AFTER" - XLII. A TRAITOROUS LOVE - XLIII. EXPIATION - XLIV. "HERO" - - - - -FALSE EVIDENCE - - -PROLOGUE - -The last sally had been made and repulsed, the last shot fired; the -fight was over, and victory remained with the white men. And yet, -after all, was it a victory or a massacre? If you were a stay-at-home, -and read the report from the telegrams in your club, or in the -triumphant columns of the daily papers, especially those on the side of -the Ministry, you would certainly have pronounced it the former. But -if you had been there on the spot, and had seen the half-naked, -ill-armed natives, with the fire of patriotism blazing in their eyes -and leaping in their hearts--had seen them being shot down in rows by -the merciless guns of the English batteries--another view of the matter -might have presented itself to you. It might have occurred to you that -these men were fighting on their own soil for their freedom and their -country, and that the spirit which was blinding their eyes to the -hopelessness of resistance, and urging them on to resist the stranger's -progress with such passionate ineffectiveness, was after all, a natural -and a poetic one. But, after all, this has nothing to do with my story. - -The battle was over, and it was morning. Far away in the east a dull -red light had arisen from over the tops of the towering black -mountains, and an angry sun was sullenly shining on the scene of -carnage. It was a low hillside, once pleasant enough to look upon, but -at that moment probably the most hideous sight which the whole universe -could have shown. The silvery streams, which had trickled lazily down -to the valley below, now ran thick and red with blood. The luxuriant -shrubs and high waving ferns were trampled down and disfigured, and, -most horrible sight of all, everywhere were strewn the copper-coloured -forms of the beaten natives. There they lay apart and in heaps in all -imaginable postures, and with all imaginable expressions on their hard, -battered faces. Some lay on their sides with their fingers locked -around their spears, and the rigid frown and convulsed passion of an -undying hatred branded on their numbed features. Others less brave had -been shot in the back whilst flying from the death-dealing fire of the -European guns, and lay stretched about in attitudes which in life would -have been comical, but in death were grotesquely hideous; and over the -sloping fields the misty clouds of smoke still lingered and curled -upwards from the battered extinct shells which lay thick on the ground. - -High above the scene of devastation, on a rocky tableau at the summit -of the range of hills, were pitched the tents of the victors. A little -apart from these, conspicuous by the flag which floated above it, were -the general's quarters; and underneath that sloping roof of canvas a -strange scene was being enacted. - -Seated amongst a little group of the superior officers, with a heavy -frown on his stern face, sat the general. Before him, at a little -distance, with a soldier on either side, stood a tall, slight young -man, in the uniform of an officer, but swordless. His smooth face, as -yet beardless, was dyed with a deep flush, which might well be there, -whether it proceeded from shame or indignation. For he was under -arrest, and charged with a crime which, in a soldier, is heinous -indeed--it was cowardice. - -It was a court-martial before which he stood arraigned, although a -hastily improvised one. But soldiers have prompt ideas of justice, and -General Luxton was a martinet in all matters of discipline. -Disciplinarian though he was, however, he liked little the task which -was now before him. - -He looked up from the papers, which were stretched out on the rickety -little round table, with a sudden movement, and bent his frowning gaze -upon the accused. The young man returned his gaze steadily, but the -colour in his cheeks grew deeper. - -"Herbert Devereux, you stand accused of a crime which, in your -profession, nothing can palliate or excuse. Have you anything to say -for yourself?" - -"There will be no need for me to say anything, sir," was the prompt -reply. "It is true that I turned my back upon the enemy, but it was to -face a greater danger. The man whose life I saved can disprove this -cruel charge against me in a moment. I admit that, from your point of -view, appearances are suspicious, but you have only to learn from my -half-brother, Rupert Devereux, why I quitted my post, and what I -effected by so doing, to absolve me at least from all suspicion of -cowardice, however much I may be to blame as a matter of discipline." - -General Luxton appeared surprised, a little relieved. - -"I hope so," he said, not unkindly. "Roberts, send an orderly to -Lieutenant Devereux's tent, and command his presence at once." - -The man withdrew, and there was a few minutes' delay. Then the -entrance to the tent was lifted up, and a tall, dark young man, with -thin but decided features, and flashing black eyes, stepped forward. -He was handsome, after a certain type, but his expression was too -lifeless and supercilious to be prepossessing. - -General Luxton looked up and nodded. - -"Lieutenant Devereux, your half-brother, who stands accused of -cowardice in the face of the enemy, appeals to you to give evidence on -his behalf. Let us hear what you saw of him during the recent -fighting." - -Eagerly, and with a confident light in his fair young face, the -prisoner turned towards the man to whom these words were addressed. -But slowly and deliberately the latter turned his back upon his -half-brother without noticing his glance of appeal, and with a scornful -light in his eyes. There was a slight murmur, and an interchange of -looks amongst the few who were present at this significant action. - -"I do not know, General Luxton," he said, slowly, "what the prisoner -can expect me to say likely to benefit him. He can scarcely be so mad -as to expect me to shield him in this matter on account of our -relationship, or to preserve the honour of our name, and yet I do not -see why else he should have appealed to me. I saw very little of the -affair, and would rather not have seen that. I was riding to you, sir, -with a message from Colonel Elliott; and, as I passed trench 4, I saw -the prisoner suddenly leave his company and run towards me. He passed -several yards to the left, and as he seemed to be hurrying along -aimlessly, I called to him. He made no answer, but----" - -"LIAR!" - -The word seemed hurled out with such a passionate intensity that every -one started. General Luxton looked up angrily. - -"Silence, sir! You will have an opportunity of saying what you have to -say presently. Proceed, Devereux." - -"As I was saying," Rupert Devereux continued calmly, without appearing -to have noticed the interruption, "he made no answer, but seemed to -wish to avoid me. As the message with which I was entrusted was an -important one, I rode on and left him hurrying towards the rear." - -With a sterner air even than he had at first assumed, General Luxton -turned towards the unfortunate young man who stood before him. He was -standing as though turned to stone, with wide-open eyes, staring at the -man who had just spoken, attitude and expression alike bespeaking an -overpowering bewilderment. - -"You are at liberty to ask the witness any questions," the General -said, shortly. - -For a moment there was a dead silence. Then the words came pouring out -from his quivering lips like a mountain torrent. - -"Rupert, what have you said? What does this mean? Good God, are you -trying to ruin me? Did I not run to your assistance because you were -beset by those three blackguards? Didn't I kill two of them and save -your life? You can't have forgotten it! Why are you lying? Hilton -saw it all, and so did Fenwick. Where are they? My God, this is -horrible!" - -The deep flush had gone from his cheeks, and left him pale as death. -Great beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead, and there was -a wild look in his deep blue eyes. But the man to whom he made his -passionate appeal kept his back turned and heeded not a word of it. -Instead of answering he addressed the General. - -"General Luxton," Rupert said, calmly, "the accused, in denying the -truth of my statement, mentions the names of two men whom he admits -were witnesses of this lamentable occurrence. Might I suggest that -they be called to give their version?" - -The General nodded assent, and the thing was done. But Hilton was the -only one who answered the summons, and on reference to a list of the -killed and wounded it was found that Fenwick was reported missing. - -"John Hilton, the accused has appealed to you to give evidence on his -behalf. Let us hear what you saw of him during the recent fighting." - -The man, an ordinary-looking private, stepped forward and saluted. - -"I only saw him for a moment, sir," he said, slowly, and with a marked -reluctance. "I was riding behind Lieutenant Devereux when I saw him -leave his company and pass us a few yards to the left. It struck me -that he looked very pale, and I thought that perhaps he was wounded." - -"He did not leave his company to come to your master's assistance, -then?" - -"Certainly not, sir. We were not in any need of it. None of the enemy -were near us." - -"Thank you. You can go, Hilton." - -The man saluted and went. - -There was a dead silence for a full minute. Then there came a -passionate, hysterical cry from the prisoner-- - -"_Liar! Liar!_ General Luxton, upon my honour, either my brother and -this man are under some hallucination or they have entered into a -conspiracy against me. Before God Almighty I swear that I only left my -post because several of the enemy had crept down from the hill behind -and had attacked my brother and his servant. I killed one of them, and -the blood of the other is still on my sword. Why, Rupert, you know -that you called out, 'Thanks, Herbert, you have saved my life.' Those -were your very words!" - -The man appealed to shook his head slowly and as though with great -reluctance. The sigh seemed to madden the prisoner, and he made a -sudden movement forward as though to spring at him. - -"Oh, this is horrible!" he cried. "Where is Fenwick? He saw it all. -Let him be called." - -General Luxton glanced again at the list before him and looked up. - -"You are unfortunate in your selections," he said, dryly. "The -evidence of Hilton and your brother, to whom you appealed, only -strengthens the case against you. Fenwick is missing. Herbert -Devereux," he went on sternly, "the charge against you has been proved. -I, myself, at a most critical moment, saw you desert your post when it -was the centre of attack, and it fell to another's lot to lead your men -on to the pursuit. The reasons which you have brought forward to -account for your unwarrantable action have been clearly disposed of. -You are most certainly guilty of a crime for which, amongst soldiers, -there is no pardon. But you are young, and I cannot forget that you -are the son of one of the most distinguished officers with whom it has -been my good fortune to be associated. For his sake I am willing to -make some allowance for you--on one condition you may retain your -commission, and, I trust, retrieve this well-nigh fatal mistake in the -future. To the crime of cowardice you have added the crime of lying; -for that your account of the attack upon your half-brother and your -rescue is a pure fabrication I cannot doubt. The peculiar curve in the -defile behind trench 4 unfortunately hid you from the field of battle -and prevents further evidence as to the occurrence which, you say, took -place. But that your story is false no one can possibly doubt. The -place has been carefully examined, and there are no dead bodies within -a hundred yards. It seems, from your appeal to your half-brother, that -you expected him to shield you at the expense of his honour. This lie -and false statement of yours you must retract if you hope for any mercy -from me." - -There was a convulsive agony in the boy's white, strained face as he -drew himself up, and looked half piteously, half indignantly at his -judge. But when he tried to speak he could not, and there was a minute -or two's dead silence whilst he was struggling to obtain the mastery -over himself. All expected a confession, and General Luxton removed -his eyes from the prisoner, and bent close over his papers, that none -might read the compassion which was in his heart, and which was -reflected in his face. - -The words came at last; and shrill and incoherent though they were, -there was a ring of genuine dignity in them. - -"General Luxton, I have been guilty neither of cowardice nor falsehood. -I swear before God, on the sword which my father himself put into my -hands before I left England; by everything that is most holy to me I -swear that my account of this awful occurrence is true. Ask the men of -whom I was in command when I caught sight of--of him"--and he pointed -with a trembling finger and a gesture than which nothing could have -been more dramatic to his half-brother--"ask them whether I bore myself -like a coward when those spears were whistling around us, or when we -were fighting hand-to-hand after the first repulse. God knows that I -did not. I left my post to encounter a greater danger still. Bitterly -do I regret that I ever did so; but it is the only indiscretion of -which I am guilty. I swear it." - -General Luxton raised his head, and what there had been of compassion -in his face was either gone or effectually concealed. - -"You have sworn enough already," he said, sternly. "Herbert Devereux, -I am bitterly disappointed in you. I was willing to spare your father -the disgrace which I fear will kill him; but you cut away the ground -from under my feet. You are most certainly proved guilty of gross -cowardice in the face of the enemy found guilty, not upon the evidence -of one man, but of two, and one of those your own relative. -Circumstances, too, are strong against you, so are the probabilities. -Most undeniably and conclusively you are found guilty; guilty of -cowardice, guilty of falsehood. You will remain under arrest until I -can find an opportunity of sending an escort with you to the Hekla. -Your commission is forfeited to the Queen, whose uniform you have -disgraced." - -Never a sign of guilt in the prisoner's countenance. Proudly and -indignantly he looked his General straight in the face, his cheeks red -with a flush, which was not of shame, and the wild fury in his heart -blazing out of his eyes. - -"It is not I who have disgraced the Queen's colours; but he--he who has -fabricated and sworn to a false string of lies. Rupert, in your heart -alone is the knowledge of why you have done this thing. But some day -you shall tell me--or die." - -There was something intensely dramatic in the passionate bitterness -which vibrated in the shrill boyish tone, and, as though moved by a -common impulse, every one in the tent followed that threatening -gesture. But the face of Rupert Devereux was little like the face of a -guilty man. He looked somewhat agitated, and a good deal pained; but -although he was the cynosure of all eyes, he turned never a shade the -paler, nor flinched once from the passionate fire which was leaping -from the eyes of the young prisoner. He seemed as though about to make -some reply; but the General raised his hand. - -"Remove the prisoner." - -There was a sudden commotion, for, with a deep, despairing groan, and -arms for a moment lifted high above his head, he had staggered -backwards and sunk heavily to the ground in a dead swoon. What wonder! -He was but a boy after all. - - * * * * * - -"Herbert! Why, Herbert! Good God! where did you spring from? Are you -invalided?" - -The moonlight was streaming in through the high oriel windows of the -long picture-gallery, glittering upon the armour and crossed weapons -which hung upon the walls, and casting fantastic rays down the polished -oak floor. Colonel Sir Francis Devereux dropped the cigar which he had -been peacefully smoking, and brought to a sudden halt his leisurely -perambulation of this his favourite resort. Before him, with drooping -head, with sunken cheeks, and with deep black rims under his eyes, -stood his son Herbert, who, only a few months ago, had departed on his -first campaign, a happy, careless young sub. Was it, indeed, his son, -or was it a ghost that had stolen upon him out of the gloomy shadows of -the vast gallery? - -"Invalided! Would to God that I was dead!" broke from the boy's -quivering lips. "Father, I have brought disgrace upon you--disgrace -upon our name." And he stretched out his hands towards the long line -of pictured warriors, who seemed to be frowning down upon him from the -wall. "Disgrace that you will never forgive, never pardon." - -Like a statue of stone the proud old soldier stood while he listened to -his son's story. Then, with a half-smothered groan, he deliberately -turned his back upon him. - -"Father," he pleaded, "listen to me. Before heaven I swear that I am -innocent. Rupert lied. Why, I don't know, but he lied. I never felt -fear." - -His father turned half round. - -"You have been put on your defence. General Luxton would never have -found your father's son guilty of cowardice had there been room for -doubt. The charge was proved against you in court-martial." - -"But, father, it was because they believed Rupert and his man. The -only two other men who saw the struggle are dead." - -Colonel Devereux turned away and buried his face in his hands. - -"A Devereux guilty of cowardice!" he groaned. "My God! that it should -have been my son!" - -Then with a sudden movement he turned round. His son had sunk upon his -knees before him, and the moon was throwing a ghastly light upon his -haggard, supplicating face. - -"Out of my sight, and out of my heart for ever, Herbert Devereux!" -cried his father, his tones vibrating with a passionate contempt. "You -have brought disgrace upon a stainless name. Curse you for it, though -you be a thousand times my son. You shall not sleep under this roof -again. Begone! Change your name, I command you! Forget that you are -a Devereux, as I most surely shall. Turn linen-draper, or -man-milliner, or lawyer, what you will so that I never see or hear from -you again. Begone, and curse you." - -Scathing and vibrating with scorn though the words were, they seemed to -touch a chord in the boy's heart, not of humiliation, but of righteous -anger. He sprang to his feet, and held himself for a moment as proudly -as any of his armoured ancestors who looked down from the walls upon -father and son. - -"I will go, then," he cried, firmly. "It is right that I should go. -But, after all, it is false to say that I have disgraced your name. It -is Rupert who has done this." - -He turned and walked steadily away, without a backward glance. Out of -the swing doors on to the broad staircase, he passed along noble -corridors, between rows of marble statues, down into the mighty -dome-like hall, and out of the house which he had loved so well. And -the servants, who would have pressed forward to welcome him, hung back -in fear, for there was that in his face which they shrunk from looking -upon. Out into the soft summer night he stepped, heedless of their -wondering glances, and down the broad avenue he hurried, never pausing -once to breathe in the balmy night wind, heavy with the odour of -sweet-smelling flowers, or to listen to the nightingale singing in the -low copse which bordered the gardens. Through a low iron gate he -stepped into the park, and walked swiftly along, never glancing to the -right or to the left at the strange shadows cast by the mighty -oak-trees on the velvety turf, or at the startled deer, who sprung up -on every side of him and bounded gracefully away, or at the rabbits who -were scampering about all around in desperate alarm; once he had loved -to watch and to listen to all these things; but now he felt only a -burning desire to escape from them, and to find himself outside the -confines of the home which he was leaving for ever. And not until he -had reached the last paling, and had vaulted into the broad, white -road, did his strength desert him. Then, faint and weary, and -heartsick, he sank down in a heap on the roadside, and prayed that he -might die. - - * * * * * - -A cloudless summer morning, with the freshness of dawn still lingering -in the air. A morning which seemed about to herald in one of Nature's -perfect days, on which to be sad were a crime, and to have troubles -absurd. Already the dreamy humming of bees was floating in the -atmosphere, and the lark had given place to noisier, if less musical, -songsters. It was a glorious morning. - -Over the low, iron gate of an old-fashioned garden a girl was leaning, -her head resting lightly upon her hand, gazing across the pleasant -meadows to the dark woods beyond, with a soft, far-away look in her -grey eyes--for she was thinking of her lover. She was dressed in a -blue print gown, which hung in simple folds around her straight, slim -figure, and she had carelessly passed the long stalk of a full-blown -red rose within her waistband. It was a very pleasant view that she -was admiring; but any casual spectator would have declared that she was -the most charming object in it. - -And there was a spectator, although not a casual one. Suddenly, like a -ghost, the figure of her dreams stood before her. Pale, haggard, and -dishevelled-looking, he seemed to have risen out of the very ground; -and it was very little to be wondered at that, at first, she shrunk -back alarmed. - -"Herbert! Herbert! can it really be you?" - -He never answered her; but, as the first surprise began to fade away, -she moved forward, and would have thrown herself into his arms. But he -stopped her. - -"Keep back, Marian," he cried, hoarsely; "keep away from me! I have -come to bid you good-bye." - -A swift, sudden fear drove the colour from her cheeks, and chilled her -through and through; but she faltered out an answer. - -"Good-bye, Herbert! What do you mean? Oh, tell me what has happened, -quick!" - -"The one thing worse than death, Marian--disgrace!" - -And then, with his face turned away, and his eyes resting wearily on -the picturesque landscape, he told her his story. - - * * * * * - -The last word had left his quivering lips, and he stood as though in a -dream. The worst was over. He had told his father, and he had told -her. It seemed like the end of all things to him. - -Suddenly a pair of white arms were thrown around his neck, and a great -red rose was crushed to pieces against his waistcoat. - -"Herbert! oh, Herbert! how dreadful! Don't look like that, you -frighten me!" - -He was striving to free himself, but she would not let him go. - -"Dearest, you don't understand! This is ruin to me. My father has -turned me from the house, commanded me to bear another name, disowned -me. Be brave, Marian, for we must part. I am here only to tell you -this, and to bid you farewell." - -Still she would not let him go. - -"You will do nothing of the sort, sir. I'll not be thrown over in that -fashion," she said, struggling to smile through her tears. "And, -Herbert, oh, Herbert! how ill you look! You've been out all night." - -He did not deny it, but again he strove to disengage himself. But she -would have none of it. - -"Bertie, dearest," she spoke cheerfully, though her eyes were still -swimming with tears, "you mustn't think that you're going to get rid of -us in this way. You've just got to come in to breakfast with me, and -afterwards we'll tell Grannie all about it. Come along, sir, I insist." - -He braced himself up for resistance, but he had still to learn that -against a woman's love a man's will can prevail nothing. At first he -was firm, then wavering, and finally he was led in triumph across the -smooth lawn and along the winding path to the French windows of the -morning-room. But when he found himself face to face with the kind old -lady who had loved him as her own son, and saw the tears trickle down -her withered, apple-red cheeks as she listened to the tale which Marian -poured out, he felt that he had passed the limits of self-endurance. -For more than twenty-four hours he had neither eaten nor drunk, and he -was sick at heart. Gradually Marian felt the arm, which she had drawn -tightly through hers, grow heavier and heavier until at last as she -finished her tale with a little tremulous burst of indignation, he sank -back in the arm-chair, and slowly fainted. But through the mist which -closed in upon him he saw nothing but kindly pitying faces bending over -his, and heard Grannie's gentle whisper-- - -"I believe you, Herbert," and more emphatic but none the less earnest -were her words, whose sweet, tear-stained face, so close to his, was -the last he saw when unconsciousness was closing in upon him. - -"So do I, Bertie, I hate Rupert," and sweeter than the most -heart-stirring music were the faltering words she added-- - -"And I love you better than ever. Oh, Grannie, Grannie, he has -fainted!" - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MY APOLOGY - -Fortune is the strangest mistress a man ever wooed. Who courts her she -shuns, who deserves her she passes over, and on him who defies her and -takes no pains to secure her she lavishes her favours. I am one of -those to whom she has shown herself most kind. Many years ago I vowed -my life away to one purpose, and that partly an immoral one. It was a -purpose which held my life. I swore to seek no end apart from it, and -I put away from my thoughts all joys that were not included in its -accomplishment. And yet, having kept my oath, I still possess in the -prime of life everything which a man could wish for. I am rich, and -well thought of amongst my fellows. I am married to the woman whom I -love, and life is flowing on with me as calmly and peacefully as the -murmuring waters of a woodland stream in the middle of summer. And, -above all, my heart is at ease, for I have kept my vow. - -She is a strange mistress, indeed! Nothing have I sought or deserved -of her, yet everything I have. Whilst he who was far above me in his -deservings, and whose sufferings none save myself thoroughly -understood, passed through a gloomy life, buffeted by every wind, -stranded by every tide of fortune; misunderstood, wronged, falsely -accused, and narrowly escaped remaining in men's minds only as a -prototype of a passionate, unforgiving, Quixotic man. - -That the world may know him as he was, and form a better judgment as to -his character, I have gathered together the threads of my life -indissolubly connected with his, and have turned them inside out. I -have never indulged myself with the feminine luxury of a diary, but -with a surer progress than of pen over paper has the record of my -strange life been written into my mind; and so I tell it just as it all -comes back to me, not as a professed story-teller, with harmonious -dates and regular evolution of plot, and neatly paged chapters, but in -a bolder way, leaving much to be guessed at, and some things untold. -If there be any of whom I have occasion to speak still amongst the -living (my life has so contracted of late that many have passed out of -its horizon), let them remember for what purpose I write, and for his -sake forbear to complain. If the sword were the pen, then would mine -be the pen of a ready writer, and I might be able to touch lightly on -their shortcomings, and gild over the black spots on my own life. But -enough of excuses. I take up my pen a blunt Englishman, an athlete -rather than a scholar, to write a plain story which shall serve not as -a eulogy, but as a justification of the man to whom many years of my -life have been ungrudgingly given. Let all those who may feel disposed -to cavil at the disconnectedness of my loosely jointed story, remember -this, and be silent. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE FIRST CLOUD - -About a mile seaward from Porlock, separated from it by a narrow strip -of the most luxuriant meadowland in Devonshire, lies the village of -Bossington. Perhaps it were better called a hamlet, for at the time -when I knew anything about it (which, let the tourist remember, is many -years ago) it consisted but of six or seven cottages, a farmhouse, and -a half-ruined old manor-house, for the privilege of living in which my -father paid ten pounds a year, or some such trifling sum, to the -neighbouring clergyman whose property it was. - -But what the place lacked in size was certainly atoned for--and more -than atoned for--by the beauty of its situation. High above it, like a -mighty protecting giant, rose Bossington Headland, covered always with -a soft, springy turf, and glowing in midsummer with the brilliant -colouring of rich purple heather and yellow gorse. Often have I stood -on its highest point, and with my head bared to the strong fresh -breeze, watched the sun rise over the Exmoor Hills and Dunkerry Beacon, -and waited until it shed its first warm gleams on the white cottages -and queer old church-tower of Porlock, which lay clustered together in -picturesque irregularity at the head of the little bay. And almost as -often have I gazed upon the same scene from the same spot by the less -distinct but more harmonious light of the full harvest moon, and have -wondered in which guise it seemed the fairest. - -Behind Bossington lay Allercombe Woods, great tree-covered hills -sloping on one side down to the road which connected, and still -connects, Porlock with Minehead and the outside world, and on the -other, descending precipitously to the sea; so precipitously indeed -that it seemed always a wonder to me how the thickly growing but -stunted fir-trees could preserve their shape and regularity. The -descent from Bossington Headland into Porlock was by a steep winding -path through Allercombe Woods, and many a time I have looked through -the thin coating of green leaves upon the fields which stretched like a -piece of patchwork below down to the sea, and wondered whether any -other country in the world (I had never been out of Devonshire then) -could be more beautiful than this. - -Within a stone's throw of where the blue sea of our English Bay of -Naples rippled in on to the firm white sands, was the tumble-down old -building in which we lived. What there had been of walls had long -before our time been hidden by climbing plants and ivy, and in -summer-time the place from a distance somewhat resembled a gigantic -nosegay of cottage roses, jessamine, and other creeping flowers. There -was but a small garden and no ground, for Bossington Headland rose -precipitously close to the back of the house, and in front there was no -space for any. A shed served as a stable for one or two Exmoor ponies, -and also as a sleeping-place for the lanky, raw-boned Devonshire lad -whom we kept to look after them. - -There were but few habitable rooms in our mansion, but they were -sufficient, for our household was a small one. My father, mother, -sister, myself, and a country servant comprised it. We never had a -visitor, save occasionally the clergyman from Porlock. We never went -anywhere. We knew no one, and at seventeen years of age an idea which -had been developing in me for a long time, took to itself the tangible -shape of words. - -"Father," I said to him one evening when we were sitting out upon our -little strip of lawn together, he smoking, I envying him for being able -to smoke, "do you know that I have never been out of Devonshire--never -been further than Exeter even, and I am eighteen years old?" - -It was long before he answered me, and when, at last, he turned round -and did so, I was distressed to see the look of deep anxiety in his -worn, handsome face, and the troubled light in his clear eyes. - -"I know it, my boy," he said, pityingly. "I have been expecting this. -You are weary of the country." - -I stood up, with my hands in my pockets, and my back against the -latticed wall of the house, gazing over the sparkling, dancing sea, to -where, on the horizon, the stars seemed to stoop and meet it. Was I -tired of this quiet home? I scarcely knew; country sports and country -sights were dear to me, and I had no desire to leave them for ever. I -thought of the fat trout in the Exford streams, and the huntsman's -rallying call from "t'other side Dunkerry," and the wild birds that -needed so much getting at and such quick firing, and of the deep-sea -fishing, and the shooting up the coombes from Farmer Pulsford's boat, -and of the delight of shipping on a hot summer's day and diving deep -down into the cool bracing water. Why should I wish to leave all this? -What should I be likely to find pleasanter in the world of which, as -yet, I knew nothing? For a moment or two I hesitated--but it was only -for a moment or two. The restlessness which had been growing up within -me for years was built upon a solid foundation, and would not be -silenced. - -"No, I'm not tired of the country, father," I answered, slowly. "I -love it too much ever to be tired of it. But men don't generally live -all their lives in one place, do they, without having any work or -anything to do except enjoy themselves?" - -"And what should you like to be?" my father asked, quickly. - -I had long ago made up my mind upon that point, and was not slow to -answer-- - -"I should like to be a soldier," I declared, emphatically. - -I was very little prepared for the result of my words. A spasm of what -seemed to be the most acute pain passed across my father's face, and he -covered it for a moment with his hands. When he withdrew them he -looked like a ghost, deathly pale in the golden moonlight, and when he -spoke his voice trembled with emotion. - -"God forbid that you should wish it seriously!" he said, "for it is the -one thing which you can never be!" - -"Oh, Hugh, you do not mean it really; you do not wish to go away from -us!" - -I turned round, for the voice, a soft and gentle one, was my mother's. -She was standing in the open window with a fleecy white shawl around -her head, and her eyes, the sweetest I ever saw, fixed appealingly upon -me. I glanced from one to the other blankly, for my disappointment was -great. Then, like a flash, a sudden conviction laid hold of me. There -was some great and mysterious reason why we had lived so long apart -from the world. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -"THE BOY MUST BE TOLD" - -That was quite an eventful night in our quiet life. Whilst we three -stood looking at one another half fearfully--I full of this strange, -new idea which had just occurred to me--we heard the latch of our -garden gate lifted, and Mr. Cox, the vicar of Porlock and my instructor -in the classics, followed by no fewer than four large-limbed, -broad-shouldered, Porlock men, entered. - -They made their way up the steep garden path, and my father, in no -little surprise, rose to greet them. With Mr. Cox he shook hands and -then glanced inquiringly at his followers, who, after touching their -hats respectfully, stood in a row looking supremely uncomfortable, and -each betraying a strong disposition to retire a little behind the -others. Mr. Cox proceeded to explain matters. - -"You are pleased to look upon us as a deputation," he said, pleasantly, -waving his hand towards the others, "of which I am the spokesman. We -come from the Porlock Working Men's Conservative Club." - -My father bowed, and bidding me bring forward a garden seat, requested -the deputation to be seated. Then he called into the house for Jane to -bring out some jugs of cider and glasses, and a decided smile appeared -on the somewhat wooden faces of the deputation. I was vastly -interested, and not a little curious. - -When the cider had been brought and distributed, and a raid made upon -the tobacco jar, Mr. Cox proceeded with his explanation. - -"We have come to ask you a favour, Mr. Arbuthnot," he said. "We are -going to hold a political meeting in the school-room at Porlock next -week. A gentleman from Minehead is going to give us an address on the -land question which promises to be very interesting, and Mr. Bowles -here has kindly promised to say a few words." - -The end man on the seat here twirled his hat, and, being nudged by his -neighbour, betrayed his personality by a broad grin. Finally, to -relieve his modesty, he buried his face in the mug of cider which stood -by his side. - -"The difficulty we are in is this," continued Mr. Cox; "we want a -chairman. I have most unfortunately promised to be in Exeter on that -day and shall not be able to return in time for the meeting, or else we -would not have troubled you. But as I shall not be available, we -thought that perhaps you might be induced to accept the office. That -is what we have come to ask you." - -My father shook his head. - -"It is very kind of you to think of me," he said, hesitatingly, "but I -fear that I must decline your offer. Politics have lost most of their -interest for me--and--and, in short, I think I would rather not." - -"I hope you will reconsider that," Mr. Cox said, pleasantly. "It will -be a very slight tax upon you after all. You need only say a very few -words. Come, think it over again. We really are at our wit's end or -we would not have troubled you. - -"There is Mr. Sothern," my father protested. - -"He is in bed ill. An attack of pleurisy, I think." - -"Mr. Brown, then?" - -"A rank Radical." - -"Mr. Jephcote?" - -"Away." - -"Mr. Hetton?" - -"Gone to London for a week." - -"Mr. Smith, then?" - -"Will be at Exeter cattle fair." - -My father was silent for a moment or two. Then he suggested some more -names, to each of which there was some objection. - -"You do seem to have been unfortunate," he declared, at last. "To tell -you the truth, Mr. Cox," he added, thoughtfully, "I scarcely know what -to say. I had made up my mind, for certain private reasons, never to -have anything to do with public life in any shape or form." - -"This isn't a very formidable undertaking, is it?" Mr. Cox urged, -smiling. - -"It isn't. But the principle is the same," my father answered. -"However, leave it in this way if you like. Give me until to-morrow -evening to think the matter over, and in the meantime see if you can't -find some one else. I'm afraid I can't say more than that." - -The deputation thought that nothing could be fairer than this, and -nothing more satisfactory except an unqualified assent. I think my -father imagined that having promised so much they would take their -departure. But nothing of the sort happened. Perhaps they found the -cider too good, or perhaps they were tired after their day's work and -the walk from Porlock. At any rate, there they sat for more than an -hour, taking occasional gulps at their cider, and puffing incessantly -at their blackened pipes with a stolid vacuous look on their honest -faces, whilst my father and Mr. Cox talked a little aside in a low -tone. I fancied that I was the subject of their conversation, but -though I strained my ears in the attempt to catch some part of it, I -was unsuccessful. Once or twice the sound of my name reached me, but -directly I leaned forward they dropped their voices, so that I could -hear no more. I have always believed, however, that my father was -asking advice from Mr. Cox concerning me, and that Mr. Cox was urging -him to send me to the University. But I never knew for certain, for -events were soon to occur which swept out of my mind all minor -curiosity. - -At last Mr. Cox rose to go, and the deputation, with manifest -reluctance, did the same. My father courteously accompanied them to -the garden gate, and shook hands with them all, thanking them for their -visit. When he returned there was a slight sparkle in his eyes, and an -amused smile on his lips. So monotonous was our life, that even such -an event as this was welcome, and I could tell from his manner that he -was pleased at the request which had been made to him, and disposed to -accept it. I determined to encourage him in it. - -"Governor," I remarked, leaning over the wall and watching the -retreating forms of our visitors, "I hope we're not going to have many -political deputations here, especially if they're all going to be as -thirsty as this one was. Did you ever see such fellows for cider! We -shan't have a drop left for the hot weather if you encourage this sort -of thing. But you'll do what they want you to, won't you? I should! -It'll be capital fun, and I'm sure you'd make a rattling speech. -You're up on the land question, too. I heard you giving it to old -Simpson the other morning." - -My father smiled, and stood by my side watching them make their way -down the coombe. - -"I shall have to consult your mother about it," he said. "I almost -think that I may venture it," he added, in a lower tone and -thoughtfully, as though to himself. - -"Venture it! What could there be adventurous in it," I wondered, "to a -well-read, scholarly man such as I knew him to be!" But I did not dare -to ask. - -Presently he turned to me with a much graver look in his face. - -"Hugh!" he said, "these people interrupted our conversation. There is -something which I must say to you at once. I do not wish you to become -a soldier. When you feel that you can stay here no longer, and that -this country life is too quiet for you, you must choose some other -profession. But a soldier you can never be." - -I was bitterly disappointed, and not a little curious, and an idea -which had often occurred to me swept suddenly into my mind with renewed -strength. - -"Father, may I ask you a question?" - -He hesitated, but did not forbid me. - -"I have heard it said down in the village--every one says that you must -once have been a soldier. You walk and hold your head like one, -and--father, what is the matter?" I broke off all at once, for his -face had become like a dead man's, and he had sunk heavily on to the -seat. - -I would have sprung to his side, but my mother was there before him. -She had passed one arm around his neck, and with the other she motioned -me to go into the house. - -"It isn't your fault, Hugh," she said, "but you mustn't ask your father -questions; they distress him. Leave us now." - -I turned heavily away, and went up-stairs to my room. About an hour -afterwards, when I pushed open my window before getting into bed, there -stole into my room together with the sweet scent of jessamine and -climbing roses the sound of subdued voices. - -"He must be told," I heard my father say solemnly. "God give me -strength." - -Then the voices ceased for a while, but I still lingered, and presently -they began again, but in a more cheerful key. - -I moved away and got into bed, but I left the window open as I always -did, and some fragments of their conversation still reached me. - -"I am sure that you need have no fear, Herbert. No one in these parts -can have the slightest idea of ... I hope you will ... It will be a -change ... Now promise." - -I could hear nothing of my father's reply, but from its tone he seemed -reluctant, though wishful. Then the voices dropped again, and I think -that I must have dozed for some time. But suddenly I awoke and sat up -in bed startled, for my father's voice was ringing in through the -window. - -"You are right, Marian; you are right. I will do my duty. The boy -must be told. The time has come when I must dig up my trouble again. -The boy must be told." - -Then I heard them enter the house (leaving the door wide open, as was -our common practice), and come up to their rooms. Afterwards there was -silence, but there was no more sleep for me that night. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -"A MYSTERIOUS MEETING" - -On the morrow my father, not a little to my surprise, appeared to be in -a particularly cheerful tome of mind. At breakfast time he remarked -that the day looked well for fishing, and asked me whether I would not -like to go. Of course I consented willingly, and William, our man, or -rather boy-of-all-work, was sent down to Mr. Cox, with whom I used -generally to read in the morning, with my father's compliments and my -excuses. - -What sport we had all day long! We waded knee deep, sometimes waist -high, down the Badgeworthy stream, following its gleaming course past -Lorna's bower, past waterslide, which I never looked upon without -thinking of John Ridd's description, and round the green hills of the -Doone valley as far as the bend of the stream. - -It was a long ride home, and across a desolate country. I think that I -should have gone to sleep in the saddle I was so tired, but for the -stern necessity of picking our way carefully along what was nothing -better than a sheep-walk. I remember that night-ride well. - -Suddenly my father pulled his pony almost on its haunches, and -instinctively William and I did the same. - -"Listen!" he cried. - -I bent down and listened intently. - -"I hear nothing," I remarked, gathering up my reins, for I was -desperately hungry and cold. - -My father held up his hand to bid me stay, and then turning towards the -inland stretch of moor, shouted, "Hulloa there! Hulloa! Hulloa!" We -listened, and, to my surprise, we heard almost immediately an answering -shout, faint and evidently a long way off, but distinctly a man's hail. - -It was scarcely safe to leave the track, so we stopped where we were, -and all three shouted. And, sure enough, in less than five minutes we -heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and a tall, stately-looking man -came riding out of the mist mounted on a fine bay horse which seemed to -have been up to its girths in a morass, and which was trembling in -every limb. - -"I'm uncommonly glad to see you, gentlemen, whoever you are," he -exclaimed, riding up to us. "For close upon three hours have I been -trying to come upon a path, or a road, or a track, or something that -led somewhere, and have only succeeded in losing myself more -completely. Curse these mists! How far am I from Luccombe Hall?" - -To my surprise my father made no answer, and when I looked towards him -he was sitting bolt upright in his saddle, with his eyes riveted upon -the stranger. So I answered his question. - -"If you mean Sir Frederick Lawson's place, it's about nine miles off. -We are going that way." - -The stranger thanked me heartily, and moved his horse to the side of -mine. And then happened the strangest thing which I had ever seen. My -father, who was the most courteous and gentlest-mannered man I ever -came near, rose suddenly in his stirrups, and, without a word, struck -the stranger full in the mouth with the back of his hand. - -It seemed for a moment as though he must fall from his horse; but by a -great effort he recovered himself, and, with the blood streaming from -his mouth, grasped his riding-whip and dug spurs into his horse as -though to spring at my father. What followed was the strangest part of -all. Although his assailant was within a yard of him, with his heavy -riding-whip lifted high in the air to strike, my father never moved a -muscle, but simply sat still as a statue upon his pony. But at the -last moment, when the whip was quivering in the air, he quietly raised -his hand and lifted his hat from his head. There he sat motionless, -with the faint moon which had just struggled out from a bank of clouds -shining on his handsome, delicate face, and with his clear, firm eyes -fixed steadily upon the stranger. Like a _tableaux vivant_, burnt into -my memory, I shall carry that scene with me until I die. - -The moment my father removed his hat his would-be assailant evidently -recognised him. His whip dropped heavily to the ground, and into his -ghastly face there leaped such an expression of horrified surprise as -my pen could never dissect and set down in words. - -"My God! Herbert! Is this possible!" - -"Keep back, keep away from me," muttered my father in a low suppressed -tone, as though he were striving to control some violent passion. -"Keep out of my reach lest I do you a mischief. Thank God, we are not -alone. Speak! What are you doing here?" - -The fierce restraint which he seemed to be putting upon his words made -them come forth slowly with a monotonous sing-song which sounded more -terrible than the wildest outburst. I was shivering all over with -dread of what might come of this. - -The stranger answered hoarsely, and I could tell that he, too, had felt -the peculiar effect of my father's strange tone. - -"I am staying with Sir Frederick Lawson at Luccombe Hall for a few days -only. I had no----" - -My father raised his hand. - -"Swear on what remains of your honour--swear by anything that is -dearest to you--that you do not seek to discover my dwelling-place, or -the name under which I choose to live. Swear that you never mention -this meeting to living man or woman." - -The stranger raised his hat. - -"I swear," he said. - -There was a dead silence for a full minute. Then my father gathered up -his reins, and motioned us to ride on. - -"You are fortunate as ever, Rupert Devereux," were his last words as he -turned to follow us, "for, sure as there is a God above us, if I had -met you here alone to-night, nay, if any other had been with me than my -son, I should have killed you." - -We rode home almost in silence, and, though I listened often, I never -once heard the sound of horse's hoofs behind us. Whoever this man -might be whom we had so strangely met, he evidently preferred to risk -losing his way again, rather than chance another meeting with us. - -As we walked our ponies down Porlock Hill, and came in sight of -Bossington Headland, standing gloomily out into the sea, my father -called William to him. - -"William," he said, shortly, "I desire that you keep strictly to -yourself what happened to us just now. If I hear of your mentioning so -much as a word of it, you will leave my service at once." - -William touched his hat awkwardly, but sincerely. - -"There bean't no fear of me, maester," he answered. "I bean't no -gossip, I bean't, and I never zeed no zense in talkin' 'bout other -folks' avvairs; zepecially yer betters. I'll no mention that ther'er -chap to no one." - -My father nodded, and not another word was spoken until we had passed -through Porlock and our ponies had freshened up into the home canter. -Then he leaned over and spoke to me. - -"I need say nothing to you, my boy; I know your mother must hear about -this from me, and from me only." - -"I promise, father," I answered simply, having hard work to keep my -voice from trembling, for I was still excited and uneasy; and something -made me suddenly hold my hand out to him as a pledge of my silence. -Many a time since I have been glad that I did so, for he seemed to take -it kindly. - -"God bless you, my boy!" he said, and I could almost have fancied that -there were tears in his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -"ON BOSSINGTON HEADLAND" - -A very demon of unrest laid hold of me that night. I ought to have -been sleepy, for we had had a long fatiguing day in the open air, but, -as a matter of fact, I was nothing of the sort. I have always been a -rigid materialist, but never since that night have I been without some -faint belief in that branch of superstition known as presentiments. - -I had led a strange life for a boy of my age. I had never been to -school, and I had no companions of my own station save my father. As -regards my education, that had been entrusted to Mr. Cox, our nearest -clergyman. He did his best with me, poor man; but he must have found -it terrible work, for I was anything but brilliant. There was another -part of my education, the part undertaken by my father, in which I was -not so backward, and, with all due respect to the classics, I found it -of infinitely more use to me in my after life. I could ride, fish, -shoot, fence, box, or row as well as most men, and, though I was -slight, I was tall and strong, as who would not have been leading the -healthy life which we did? - -It had never troubled me that I had no friends of my own age. Indeed, -I never had need of any, for when I had finished for the day with Mr. -Cox, or on holidays--which came not unfrequently--my father was always -ready to do anything I desired; and what better companion could I have -had? He was a better shot and a far better fencer than I, and, at a -distance, no one would have taken him for more than my elder brother. -He was over six feet in height, and as slim and upright as a dart. His -slight moustaches and hair were, indeed, grey, but they were the only -signs of age, save, perhaps a weary, troubled look which sometimes came -into his face and dwelt there for days. But a good hand-gallop or an -hour or two shooting from a boat round the coombe, used generally to -drive that away; and then his blue eyes would flash as eagerly and his -interest in the sport would be as strong as ever mine was. But, though -we were out in all weathers, sometimes for the whole day together, it -seemed as though neither sun nor wind could do more than very slightly -tan his clear, delicate skin; and his hands, although they were as -tenacious and strong as a bargeman's, remained almost as white and -shapely as a lady's. I used to think him the handsomest man in the -world, and I have certainly never seen a handsomer. To be told that I -was growing like him was to make me supremely happy--and people often -told me so in those days. - -No wonder that I grew to love him with more even than an ordinary -filial love. The ties between us were so various, that it would have -been strange had it not been so. To the love of a son for his father, -was added the love which springs from constant companionship whilst -engaged with kindred tastes in following a common object. My mother, -too, claimed a large share of my affection, and so did Marian, my -sister. But neither of them came anywhere near him in my heart. - -I was not of a speculative nature, but gradually it had begun to dawn -upon me that we were somehow different from other people--that there -must be some reason for the absolute and unbroken solitude in which we -lived, and the events of the last two days had now made this certain. -"The boy must be told." What was it that I must be told? I had -thought that I should have known this very evening, for just as I was -going to bed my father had called me to him. - -"Hugh," he had said kindly, "you were saying something last night about -never having been away from this place. You were quite right. You -must not live here always. There has been a reason, a very grave -reason, for our having lived here so long and in such solitude. You -must be told that reason." - -I could see that he was agitated, and a vague yet strong sense of -trouble filled me. - -"Do not tell me now, father," I cried; "do not tell me at all if it -distresses you. I will ask no more questions. I will be content to -live on here always as we are doing now." - -He shook his head slowly. - -"No, Hugh, my boy, you must be told. It is my duty to tell you. But -not to-night. I have gone through enough to-day," and he sighed. - -I thought of that terrible scene on the moor, of my father's wild words -and passionate action, and I asked him no questions. But when I left -him for the night and went to bed, there was in my heart a strong sense -of some approaching trouble. I tossed about from side to side in my -bed till sleep became hopeless. Then I rose, and, hastily putting on -my clothes, slipped out of the house. - -Even outside I found it warm and oppressive. The sky was black with -clouds, and without the moon's softening light the sea looked sullen -and uninviting. The air seemed heavy, and, even when I stood on the -headland after half-an-hour's climbing, there was no cool breeze to -reward me, and, though I had thought myself hard and in good condition, -the perspiration came streaming from every pore in my body, and I found -myself panting for breath. - -I stood upright, and tried to look around me, but everything was -wrapped in a thick pall of darkness. I had never known so dark a -night, and, after standing there for a moment or two, I grew afraid to -move lest I should make a false step. To the right of me I could hear -the wind moaning amongst the pine-trees of Allercombe Wood, which the -slightest breeze, when in a certain direction, always seemed to cause, -and, many hundred feet below, there was the roar of the sea, unusually -loud for such a quiet night, as it swept round the sharp corners of the -headland. - -Never had I stood there before on such a night, or with such a heavy -heart. I wished that I had not come, and yet I was afraid to go. The -darkness had closed in upon me till I could almost feel it, and knowing -that a single step in the wrong direction might cost me my life, I -dared not move. Suddenly the heaviness of the atmosphere was -explained. The sky above me seemed to be rent aside to let out a great -blaze of vivid light which flashed, glittering and fiercely brilliant, -right across the arc of the heavens, sinking at last into the horizon -of the sea, which it showed me for a moment with a lurid light, green -and disturbed. Almost on its heels came the thunder, and I trembled as -I listened. It seemed as if the hills were one by one splitting open -with a great crash all around me, and the ground on which I stood -shook. Again the lightning was scattered all over the inky sky, giving -me ghastly peeps at sections of the patch-worky landscape below, and -once it flashed down the conductor of Porlock steeple, showing me the -little town as distinctly as I had ever seen it. A gale sprung up with -marvellous suddenness; the moaning of the pine-trees became an angry -shrieking, and the roar of the sea far away below became a deafening -thunder. Black clouds and grey mists came rolling along, sometimes -enveloping me, and sometimes passing so close above my head that I -could feel their moisture, and, by stretching out my hand, could almost -have touched them. Every now and then above the storm I could hear the -piteous bleating of the mountain sheep, as they rushed frantically -about seeking in vain for shelter which the bare hillside could not -afford them. For the rain was coming down in sheets, blinding, driving -sheets, and already the swollen mountain streams were making themselves -heard above all the din, as they swept down into the Porlock valley. - -Before the storm had even commenced to die away I had thrown myself -face downwards on the wet grass, and was praying. A strange idea had -flashed into my mind, and had suddenly become a conviction. This storm -had somehow associated itself in my mind with the sudden sense of -gloomy depression which had laid hold of me, and driven me out into the -black night. As one ended, so would the troubles which the other -foretold. It was a strange idea, but it was stranger still what a -mastery it gained over me. I dared not look up lest I should still see -a threatening sky and an angry see. If such had been the case, I am -convinced that I should have been strongly tempted to have thrown -myself from the cliffs into the arms of certain death. But when at -last I summoned up courage to rise, and gaze fearfully around, it was a -very different sight upon which my eyes dwelt. So strangely different -that at first it seemed almost as though the hideous storm which had -been raging so short a while ago must surely have been a wild -nightmare. The dark line of the Exmoor hills was betopped with a -gorgeous bank of rosy-coloured clouds, and the sun which had just -escaped from them was shining down from a clear sky, gilding and -transforming the whole landscape like some great magician. The white -cottages of Porlock seemed basking in its pleasant warmth, whilst the -fields between it and the sea seemed to be stretching themselves out -smiling and refreshed. Here and there, scattered about amongst them, -and on the white sands, were long sparkling streaks of silver, which -bore witness of the violence of the rainfall; and the tops of the -pine-trees, amongst which the wind was no longer playing strange -pranks, seemed encrusted with a glittering mass of diamonds, which shot -forth their rays in every direction; and strangest of all seemed the -altered aspect of the sea. It stretched away below me like a great -lake, with only the gentlest ripple disturbing its placid surface, a -mighty playground for myriads of dancing, sparkling sunbeams to revel -and disport themselves upon. Never had I seen the hills so green or -the sea such an exquisite deep, clear blue. Everything seemed to speak -of peace and calm and happiness after suffering. It struck an -answering chord in my heart, and I could have cried out with joy. The -hideous depression seemed rolled away from me, and I could breathe -freely again. My spirits leaped up within me, and I threw my hat into -the air and shouted for joy till Allercombe Wood rang with the echoes. -Then I turned away and strode down the narrow winding path, suddenly -conscious that I was stiff and wet and tired. If I had known then when -and how I should next stand on Bossington Point, should I ever have -come down? I cannot tell. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -AN INTERRUPTED ADDRESS - -Imagine a long, bare-looking apartment with white-washed walls and -generally cheerless appearance, in one corner of which had been pushed -aside black boards, piles of maps, and other evidences of the -school-room. Seated on benches which reached to the entrance door was -a very fair sprinkling of the Porlock labourers and tradespeople, whose -healthy red faces were shining with soap and expectation, and whose -whole appearance denoted a lively and creditable desire to be -enlightened on the very important subject which they had come to hear -discussed. If any one was interested in the land question surely they -were, for they all lived either upon it or by it, except a few whose -nautical garb betrayed another occupation, and whose presence was the -subject of a great dead of good-humoured chaff before the proceedings -opened. - -"Eh, Bill," cried one of the land toilers whom I knew well, for he -worked at Farmer Smith's up at Bossington, "what dost want know about -t'land, eh? This'll noa teach thee to catch fishes." - -"Never thee moind aboot that, Joe," was the good-humoured answer, "we -want noabody to teach us how to catch fish, we don't. I ha' come t' -hear what the bloke from Minehead's got to zay 'bout you poor de'ils o' -landsmen just out o' curiosity like." - -"Coom, Bill, I like that," returned the first speaker. "Poor de'ils, -indeed! Bean't we as well off as you vishers, eh!" - -"Noa, of course you bean't. How can yer be when every voot of land yer -tread on belongs to your maesters? Why, we can go sailing away vor -days on the zea, lads, and we've as much roight theer as any voine -gentleman in his steam yacht. T' zea belongs to us zall, yer zee, and -we as goes vishing ha' got as much roight theer as any one. I reckon -we've got the best o' you landsmen theer, eh, Bill. Ha, ha, ha!" - -To my deep regret this interesting discussion was here brought to a -sudden termination by the appearance of my father, the lecturer, and -the committee upon the platform. Instantly there was a deep silence, -for country audiences, in that respect, are far better bred than town -ones, in the midst of which my father, in a few kindly, well-chosen -words, introduced the lecturer to them. - -When he resumed his chair there was a burst of applause (Devonshire men -are generous with their hands and feet), at the conclusion of which the -lecturer, a retired linen-draper from Minehead, stepped forward. Of -course his doing so was the signal for another little round of -cheering, during which he stood rustling his papers about, edging down -his cuffs, and making desperate efforts to appear at his ease, which he -most certainly was not. At last he made a start, and in less than five -minutes I found myself devoutly wishing that he would look sharp and -finish. The land question may be an immensely interesting one--no -doubt it is; but when it consists in having long strings of depressing -statistics hurled mercilessly at you by a nervous little ex-vendor of -calico, who made a point of dropping his h's, you can very soon have -enough of it. Before long I saw my father politely stifle a yawn--a -piece of delicacy which I, not being upon the platform, did not think -it necessary to imitate. The audience behaved admirably. The painful -efforts written on the faces of most of them to appear intelligently -interested were quite affecting, and at exactly the proper moments they -never failed to bring in a little encouraging applause. I'm quite sure -there wasn't one of them who understood a word of what the man was -saying, but they were evidently charitably inclined to put this down to -their own stupidity rather than to the incompetence of the lecturer. - -He had been droning on for about half-an-hour, when a slight commotion -caused by the noisy entrance of some late-comers led me to turn my -head. Instantly my spirits rose, for I foresaw a row. The new-comers -were all Luccombe men, and between the men of Luccombe and the men of -Porlock there existed a deadly enmity. They were rivals in sport and -also in politics, for whilst Luccombe boasted a Radical club, Porlock -was distinctly Conservative. The arrival of these Luccombites, -therefore, was most promising, for they certainly had not come out of -compliment to their neighbours, and I took an early opportunity of -changing my seat for one nearer the back of the room, so as to be in -the fun in case there should be any. - -It certainly seemed as though something would come of it. There were -several strangers amongst the new-comers, and one of them in particular -attracted my attention. He was a big, white-faced man, with -continually blinking eyes and stupid, vacuous face, and every now and -then he gave vent to his feelings by a prolonged animal cry which -afforded the most exquisite amusement to his companions, and never -failed to produce the utmost consternation in the lecturer's startled -face. I don't know why it was so, but I took a violent dislike to that -man the moment I saw him. He was so ugly, so like an animal, besides -which he was evidently half drunk. He seemed of a different species -altogether to the broad-shouldered, ruddy-faced, good-humoured -Devonshire men by whom he was surrounded, and a very inferior species -too. - -After a while my attention was distracted from him to the other -Luccombites, who were evidently bent upon breaking up the meeting. The -lecturer was by no means the sort of man to defy the uproar, and insist -upon finishing what he had to say. After a very mild protest, the -meekness of which caused a howl of derision from the peace-breakers, he -brought his lecture to an abrupt close and sat down. - -Then my father rose, and spoke a few stern reproving words which had an -infinitely better effect. But I was too occupied in watching the -extraordinary behaviour of the white-faced man from Luccombe to listen -to them. He had half risen to his feet, and was leaning over the back -of one of the benches with his eyes and mouth wide open, staring with a -stupidly-bewildered look at my father. Suddenly he turned round to his -companions. - -"Say, lads, should you like to see me shut that joker up?" - -I felt hot with indignation, but I kept still. - -"Ay, Jack, or Thomas, or whatever your name is," answered one of the -Luccombites, "give him a cock-a-doodle-do." - -The man smiled an ugly, sickly smile. - -"I'll do better nor that," he muttered. "Listen, you 'ere," and, -leaning forward, he shouted out one word at the top of his voice--"Yah! -coward!" - -I saw my father reel backwards as though he were shot, and the word he -was uttering died away upon his lips. For a moment I hesitated whether -to rush to him or at the man who had yelled out that word. But one -glance at his ugly, triumphant face decided me. With two rapid strides -I was across the room, and my hand was on his collar. - -"Come on!" I shouted, "come along!" - -He turned his fishy eyes up at me in amazement. - -"What d'ye want? What d'ye mean?" he called out. "Let me go, you -young cub, you! You're choking me." - -"I'll do worse than choke you before I've done," I cried, passionately. -"Come outside and fight, you great beast," and I dragged him half -across the floor, for he was striving to free himself and shaking like -a jelly-fish. - -The audience had sat quite still in their places until now, only half -realising what was going on. But at my words it seemed suddenly to -dawn upon them, and they crowded around us with a full appreciation of -my intended action. - -"Let him be, Maester Hugh; we'll bring him along," they cried heartily, -for there was not one whom I did not know. "We won't let him go, no -fear. Who be 'e to call Maester Arbuthnot names?" - -The man whom I jealously released shook himself sulkily and slouched -along in the middle of the crowd towards the door. - -"I don't want to be let go," he sneered. "If the boy wants a whipping -I'll give it 'im. Most like he's a coward like his father though, and -won't stand up to it." - -My blood was boiling, but I would not answer; there were others to -speak for me, though. - -"You'd best keep that d---- tongue of yours fro' wagging in yer ugly -mouth," cried Jim Holmes the blacksmith. "The lad's i' the right to -stand up for his father, and, boy or no boy, he's like to make a -jelly-bag o' you. Bring him on to the green, lads." - -They brought him on to the green, and quickly formed a ring. The -policeman, who was present as a delighted spectator, and who never -dreamt of interfering, was good enough to hold my coat and waistcoat, -whilst my adversary, unable to find any one willing to perform the same -kind office for him, had to deposit his on the ground. He seemed in no -hurry to declare himself ready, but at last the word was given, and we -stood face to face. Even then he held up his hand for a minute's -longer grace, and stared at me as though I were a ghost. - -"My God!" he muttered to himself, "it's Mr. Herbert's own self! It's -just as he looked at me in the tent;" and he stared at me as though -frightened, yet fascinated. - -Then we began. Of course I am not going to describe the fight. If we -had been alone I should probably have killed him. As it was, they held -me off by sheer force when they thought that he had had enough, and -there was life still in him when I turned away, followed by an -enthusiastic little crowd. But not much. - -I went straight to the school-room. It was deserted, and the gas was -turned down. From one of the loiterers outside I heard that my father -had gone home, and hastily bidding good-night to the little crowd who -still hung about my heels, I followed in the same direction. - -I had thought that I should have overtaken my father, and at every turn -of the lane I looked forward to catching sight of him. But I was -disappointed, and when I at last reached home without having done so, I -began to feel nervously uneasy. I did not at once enter the house, but -looked in at the window. My mother and Marian were alone, working. I -looked through into the hall. Neither his hat nor coat were there. He -could not have yet returned. And when I realised this I stepped back -on to the lawn, pale and shivering, for a horrible foreboding had laid -hold of me. What could have become of him? Where could he have gone? -I could not imagine, I dared not conjecture. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -"I AM TOLD" - -"Maester Hugh!" - -I had been leaning against a tree on the lawn, afraid to enter the -house, yet knowing that there was nothing else for me to do. At the -sound of a voice close to my elbow I turned quickly round, and found -myself face to face with our solitary man-servant, a raw country yokel -with the garb and manners of a ploughboy. - -"Maester Hugh, dost thee want t' master?" - -"Ay, William, have you seen him?" I cried. - -"That I have, Maester Hugh, and it zeemed to me that he had gone off -'is chump like. He coom down the lane 'bait quater of an hour ago, and -insteat o' cooming t' house, blamed if he didna turn in at Varmer -Zmith's gate, and be a gone up theer," and the boy pointed to the dark -outline of the headland which towered up above us. - -I sprang away from him, over the low wall, and up the steep winding -path, with a reckless speed which frightened William out of the very -few wits with which nature had endowed him, and bereft him of all -words. I had but one idea, to get to the top as quickly as possible, -and but one hope, that I might find him there when I arrived. I was a -trained climber, and I did that night what I had never done before--I -forsook the path and clambered right up the precipitous side of the -hill, helping myself with hands and feet, heedless that a slip must -cost me my life, and between my short, quick gasps for breath faltering -out a prayer that I might be in time. - -It was granted. As I reached the last ridge, and swung myself on to -the summit, grasping with my bleeding hands a friendly heather bush, I -saw my father kneeling on the ground close to the edge of the cliff, -with his coat and hat thrown on one side, and his arms stretched out to -the sea. In a moment I was beside him, and as my hand descended on his -shoulder and closed upon him with a firm grasp, I drew a long sigh of -relief. - -"Father, what does all this mean?" I cried. "What are you doing here? -Thank God that I have found you!" - -He started as though he were shot, and tried to shrink away from me. -But I would have none of it. I dropped on my knees by his side, and -locked my arm in his. - -"Father, tell me all about it," I pleaded. "Something terrible -happened a long while ago, and that man who was there to-night knew -about it. Am I not right? Tell me all about it; I am not afraid to -hear." - -He shivered from head to foot, and his face looked ghastly cold. I -reached out my hand for his coat, and made him put it on. - -"Hugh, my poor boy, I had meant to tell you this, but I never dreamt -that this would come. I thought that I was safe here--away from every -one." - -"Let me know it," I begged. - -"Ay, listen. When I was not much older than you are, I entered the -army." - -I could not keep back the exclamation which rose to my lips. Had I not -always thought that he had been a soldier? - -"At my first battle I unwisely deserted my post to save the life of the -man whom we saw on Exmoor last night, and whose servant was at the -meeting this evening. After the fighting was over I was charged with -running away. I thought lightly of it, and appealed at once to the man -whose life I had saved to come forward and clear me. He came forward -with his servant, but, to my horror, they both deliberately perjured -themselves. They swore that they had only seen me running away, and I -was found guilty, guilty of cowardice--was cashiered, ruined disgraced -for life, and, but for your mother, I should have killed myself." - -The tears were swimming in my eyes, and I tightened my grasp upon his -arm. - -"Father, why did he do it?" - -He sprang to his feet, his eyes ablaze with fury and his voice shaking-- - -"That he might oust me from my home and my father's heart--the cur--and -take my position. We were half-brothers, and I was the elder. My -father loved me and cared little for Rupert. He was jealous,--ah! I -can see it all now,--and seized this opportunity of ruining me and -getting rid of me for ever. He succeeded. Every one believed me -guilty. My father turned me out of the house, bade me change my name, -and forget that I was a--one of a noble family. From, that day to this -I have never looked upon his face or seen my old home. Your mother -alone believed in me, refused to desert me, and, but for that, I must -have died. Oh, God, it has been cruel!" - -He covered his face with his hands, and great sobs burst from him. My -heart was beating with a passionate pity, but I could not tell how to -comfort him. - -"Father, you know that I do not believe this thing," I cried. "Tell me -the name of the man who has sworn to this wicked lie." - -"The same as your own and mine. Devereux. Rupert Devereux. Curse -him! On his head be the sin of this thing, if sin there be! Good-bye, -my boy; good-bye, Hugh!" - -He had made a sudden movement to the edge of the cliff, and it was only -by a stupendous effort that I caught hold of him in time. - -"Father, what would you do?" I cried. "Are you mad?" - -I caught hold of him by the waist, and dragged him back from his -perilous position. He submitted without protesting--without speech of -any sort. Looking into his face a great fear came upon me. Were my -words prophetic, and was he indeed going mad? There was a dreamy, -far-away look in his glazed eyes, a look which frightened me more than -a wilder one would have done, and his face was like the face of a -corpse. Then, with a deep groan, his knees would have given way from -under him, but that I still held him up. He was unconscious. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -"MY VOW" - -How we reached home that night I could never exactly tell. I know that -I half carried, half supported him down the narrow path, and at last -managed to reach the door of our house. But it was no easy task, and -for some minutes I stood there panting and exhausted before I could -bring myself to summon any one. Then my mother, who had been sitting -up anxiously, heard us, and came hurrying out full of eager inquiries. -But I had no strength left to answer her, and when she saw my father's -state she ceased her questioning, for she knew at once what had -happened. - -For three whole days and nights he was only partially conscious. Then -he fell into a heavy sleep, which the doctor whom we had summoned from -Minehead assured us was his salvation; and so it turned out, for on the -fourth day he recovered consciousness, and within a week he was up, and -looked much as usual, save for the worn, troubled look in his eyes, and -the deeper lines on his forehead. - -On the first afternoon when he was allowed to talk, my mother was alone -with him for several hours. Then she came out, and fetched me in from -the garden and took me to him. - -"Hugh, my boy," he said slowly, looking up from his desk, "we are -making our plans for the future. We are going to leave here at once." - -I was not surprised, and I was certainly not displeased. For although -I loved our country home and the quaint homely people by whom we were -surrounded, I could never look upon Bossington Headland again without a -shudder, when I remembered how nearly it had witnessed a terrible -tragedy. - -"Your mother and I thought of travelling abroad for a while," he went -on. "I shall never be able to settle down anywhere again. But with -you it is different. You ought to go to college and choose a -profession. Whether you do so or not must depend upon one thing. I -myself shall never resume the name which I am supposed to have -disgraced, but if you choose to do so there is nothing to prevent you. -You will have to bear a certain amount of odium, but it is not every -one who will visit my disgrace upon you. You will be poor, but -although my father will never leave either of us a penny he cannot -prevent the title coming to me, and eventually to you. The entailed -estates which go with the title are very small, and I hear that he has -purposely mortgaged them up to the hilt, so that nothing should ever -come to me from them. But if you choose to bear your rightful name you -will claim a place amongst one of the oldest and most honourable -families in the country, you can go to college, and somehow or other we -will find the money to start you in one of the professions, but not in -the army." - -"And if I choose to bear still the name I have always done?" - -"Then you will not be able to go to college, or to enter any of the -professions," my father answered. "You can do neither under an assumed -name." - -I walked up and down the room for a minute or two thinking. My mind -was soon made up. - -"I will not bear any name that you do not," I declared, firmly. "If my -grandfather thinks that you are not worthy to bear the name of -Devereux, neither will I, unless the time shall come when he and the -whole world shall know the truth, and you shall take your name again: I -will never call myself anything else but Hugh Arbuthnot." - -My father stretched out his hand, and looked up at me with glistening -eyes. - -"Spoken like a man, Hugh," he said. "God grant that that day may come!" - -"Amen!" I added, fervently. "And come it shall!" - -But I did not tell him then the resolve which I had grafted into my -heart, I did not tell him then that I had sworn to myself that I would -roll this cloud away from his name, even if I wrung the confession from -my uncle's dying lips, and if success should be denied to me, I would, -at least, find some means of bringing down retribution on the head of -the man who had wrecked and embittered my father's life. By fair means -or foul I would gain my end. At eighteen years old I devoted and -consecrated my life to this purpose. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -AN UNEXPECTED VISIT - -During the next four years of my life there happened to me not one -single incident worth recording. Our home had been broken up, and we -had left Devonshire for ever. My father and mother were living abroad -at a small country town in the south of France, Marian was at a -boarding-school at Weymouth, and I--I was articled clerk to a very -respectable firm of land agents and surveyors in Exeter. - -To say that I was contented would be false, but, on the other hand, I -was not absolutely miserable. The out-of-door life suited me, and I -did not find the work unpleasant. But apart from that I was by no -means satisfied. Day and night I carried with me the pale, unhappy -face of my poor father, his proud spirit continually being lashed and -mortified by the disgrace which falsely rested upon him. I thought of -him wandering about in a foreign country, exiled from his proper place -in the world, from the society of his fellows, from all things which -men of his kind most esteem. I thought of him bearing always in his -mind those cruel words of his father's, "Out of my house and out of my -heart," and it seemed to me a disgrace that I should be leading a -humdrum life in a quiet country town, instead of throwing all my heart -and energies into the task which I had placed before me as a sacred -mission. But how was I to commence it? The combined income of my -father and mother was barely four hundred a year, out of which I -received one hundred, besides a trifling salary, which, however, was -soon to be increased. Out of this I had been able to save a little, -but not much. Nothing which would be of the slightest service to me in -commencing such a task as I had in view. And so I did not see what -move I could possibly make in the matter which was nearest to my heart, -although my present inaction was irksome, at times almost unbearably -irksome, to me. - -One night I was working late in my little sitting-room copying some -plans, when I heard steps on the stairs and the door was quietly -opened. I looked up in some surprise, for I never had visitors, and my -landlady would scarcely have entered without knocking. But when I saw -who it was standing on the threshold I dropped my compasses and sprang -up with an eager, welcoming cry. - -"Hugh, my boy!" and our hands were locked in a close grasp. Then all -of a sudden the joy of this unexpected meeting was dispelled, and my -heart sank cold within me. For from head to foot he was clothed in the -deepest mourning, and the tears were standing in his hollow eyes. - -"Something has happened!" I exclaimed, in a low voice. "Tell me! -Mother----" - -"Is dead!" - -Then he sank down upon my hard little horsehair sofa, and covered his -face with his hands, and I waited patiently, though with an aching -heart, for surely his sorrow was greater than mine. - -Presently he told me more--told me how she had caught a fever at a poor -"ouvrier's" cottage, which had never been looked upon as serious until -too late; and how she would not have either Marian or me sent for when -she knew that she was dying, but had written us each a dying message, -and had made him promise to bring the sad news to us himself, and not -trust it to a letter. But all this has little to do with my story, so -I pass it briefly over. - -He had told me all that there was to tell, and then I ventured to speak -to him of the future. I had hoped that he would have settled down in -England somewhere with Marian and me, but it was a hope which he very -soon dispelled. - -"Your mother's death," he said, in a low tone when I first began to -hint at my desire, "has left me free. I shall look to you to make a -home for Marian, and I shall make over to you for that purpose -three-quarters of my income. For myself I can never live in England. -There is one place, and one place only, which I could call home, and -there I cannot go. My life has been for a long time too sedentary a -one to be pleasing to me. I am a man of action, and I can never forget -that I was once a soldier. I must go where there is fighting." - -His words were a blow to me, and for a moment or two I did not answer -him. My heart was too hot for words, full of a burning indignation -against the cruel slander which was sapping away his life. -Notwithstanding the weary look in his eyes, and his wrinkled brow, he -was still the finest-looking man I had ever, or ever have, seen. -Handsome after the highest type of the patrician Englishman. He was -tall, and though slight, magnificently shaped, with long, firm limbs -and stately carriage. His features, though powerful and strongly -defined, were delicately carved and of the most refined type, and -though his hair and moustache were greyer even than when he had left -Devonshire, he was still in the prime of life. There was the _je ne -sais quoi_ of a soldier about him, the air of command and military -bearing. And yet there was nothing better for him to do with his life -than go and throw it away amongst foreigners, fighting in a cause for -which he could care nothing, and which glory and patriotism, the -highest incentives of the soldier, could never make dear to him. - -A curse upon that uncle of mine! I would have uttered it out loud, but -for fear of raising a storm which I should not be able to quell. So I -breathed it to myself, savagely, and none the less emphatically. - -"Let me go with you, father," I begged, "I am sick of this humdrum -life, and I cannot bear to think of you going wandering about the world -by yourself; I can fight, and could soon learn the drill." - -He shook his head--not vigorously, but decisively. - -"It is good of you to want to come, Hugh," he said, kindly, "but it is -quite out of the question. You have your sister to look after, and -besides," he added, with a smile, "I do not think my career as a -soldier of fortune will be a long one." - -"Father, don't talk like that!" I cried, passionately. "They say that -some time or other truth will always out, and I believe it! I believe -that the day will come when your innocence will be made clear!" - -He shook his head dejectedly, but not without emotion. - -"Little hope of that," he said, with a deep sigh. "Two men alone -amongst the living know the truth about that day, and, having once -perjured themselves, they are not likely to recant." - -"And those two are my uncle Rupert and his servant. What was the -servant's name?" - -"John Hilton, the man who was at the meeting at Porlock," my father -answered, with a shudder at the recollection of that terrible night. -"There was one other man who might have cleared me; but, as fate would -have it, when I appealed for his evidence it was discovered that his -name was on the missing list. He was either killed or taken prisoner." - - - - -"Who was he?" I asked. - -"Sergeant Fenwick. Without doubt he was killed, or he would have been -delivered over to us at the peace. No, unless Rupert confesses, and -one might as well expect the heavens to fall in, I shall die -dishonoured and nameless," my father concluded, bitterly. - -I stood up and drew a long breath. - -"Father," I cried in a low, intense tone, "have you never felt that you -must seek out this hound of a brother of yours, and hold him by the -throat until he has confessed, or until the breath is gone out of his -body? I should feel like that! I should want to stand face to face -with him and wring the truth from his lying lips." - -My father's eyes were sparkling, and his whole frame quivering with -compressed excitement. - -"Ah, Hugh, I have felt like that," he cried, "many and many a time. Do -you remember the night when we met him on the moor near Dunkerry? If I -had been alone that night I should have killed him. I know that I -should. It is for that reason that I dare not seek him out. If I -heard him utter that lie again, if I saw in his eyes one gleam of pity -for me whose life he has hopelessly wrecked, no power on earth could -keep me from strangling him, and so I do not seek to meet him. But if -chance throws him in my way again, when we are alone, God have mercy on -him and me!" - -There was a long silence between us. Then I asked him further -questions about his present plans. - -"You must not think me unkind, Hugh," he said gently, "but mine is a -very flying visit. I cannot breathe in this country. It chokes me! -Everything reminds me so of home! To-night, in half-an-hour's time," -he added, taking out his watch, "I leave here for Weymouth to see -Marian. To-morrow afternoon I leave England, most likely for ever." - -I tried entreaties, remonstrances, reproaches, but they were all in -vain. He shook his head to all. - -"I have called at London on my way here," he said, interrupting me in -the midst of my appeal, "and have made over my account at Smith's to -you. Here is the pass-book and a cheque-book. Mr. Malcolm, of 18, -Bucklersbury, is my solicitor, and will pay you three hundred a year. -If at any time you desire to re-invest the capital you can do so, for -it stands in your name. Hugh, God knows it is my bitter sorrow that I -can leave you nothing better than a tarnished name. But remember this: -I believe that if you were to go to your grandfather, and tell him who -you were, and that I had left England with a vow never to return, I -believe then that he would receive you, and would make you his heir. -So that----" - -"Father, what do you take me for?" I interrupted, passionately. "I -will live and die Hugh Arbuthnot, unless you before me bear the name -and title of the Devereuxs. Can you imagine that I would seek out my -grandfather and crave his recognition, whilst you were wandering about -in miserable exile excluded from it? Father, you cannot think so -meanly of me." - -He held out his hand without speaking, but the gesture was in itself -enough. Then he drew out his watch, and rose. - -"Hugh, my boy, good-bye, and God bless you! Where I am going I cannot -tell you, for I do not know myself. But I will write, and if at any -time you have news for me and do not know my address, put an -advertisement in the _Times_. Take care of Marian--and--and God bless -you." - - * * * * * - -He was gone, and save a dull, gnawing pain at my heart, and the letter -which lay on the table before me, there was nothing to remind me of his -recent presence. All through the long hours of the night I sat in my -chair with my head buried in my hands, and--I see no shame in -confessing it--many passionate tears falling on to my spoilt plans. -Then, when the grey streaks of dawn commenced to rise in the eastern -sky, and throw a ghastly light into my sitting-room, in which the gas -was still burning, I fell into a drowsy sleep. When I awoke the sun -was shining in a clear sky, and the cathedral bells were chiming the -hour. It was eight o'clock. - -I stood up half dazed. Then my eyes fell upon the letter which still -lay before me, and I remembered with a cold chill all that had -happened. I stretched out my hand for it, and tore it open. - -The handwriting was weak and straggling, and the words were few; but I -held it reverently, for it was a message from the dead. - -"Farewell, my dearest Hugh, for before this reaches you I shall be -dead. Take care of Marian always, and be good to her. With my last -strength, Hugh, I am tracing these words to lay upon you a solemn -charge. Your father is dying slowly of a broken heart. Year after -year I have watched him grow more and more unhappy, as the memory of -this cruel dishonour seems to grow keener and bitterer. He is pining -away for the love of his old home, his father, and the name which he -was once so proud to bear. Oh, Hugh, let it be your task, however -impossible it may seem, to bring the truth to light, and clear his name -and your own. Hugh, this is my dying prayer to you. With my last -strength I write these words, and I shall die at peace, because I know -that you will bear them ever in your heart, and carry them on with you -to the end. Farewell! My strength is going fast, and my eyes are -becoming dim. But thank God that I have been able to finish this -letter. Farewell, Hugh!--From your loving MOTHER." - -Word by word I read it steadfastly through to the end, and then, my -heart throbbing with the fire of a great purpose, I threw open the -window and looked out. Below me stretched the fair city of Devon, -smiling and peaceful, basking in the early morning sunshine, and the -air around was still ringing with the music of the cathedral chimes. -Little it all matched with my mood, for my whole being was vibrating -with an agony of hate, and with the fervour of a great resolution. -With the letter clutched in my hands, I stretched them forth to the -blue, cloudless sky, and swore an oath so fearful and blasphemous that -the memory of it even now makes me shudder. But I kept it, and thank -God, _without sin_. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE FIRST MOVE - -My first plans were not easy to form. I was like a blind man groping -for some object which has slipped from his fingers, and not knowing in -which direction to search for it first. I had a great and solemn -purpose before me, a purpose which was my first consideration in life, -and which nothing but death would cause me to relinquish. But I did -not know how to start upon it. - -I was in London when the idea occurred to me, save for which this story -might never have been written. It was simple enough, and very vague. -Nothing more or less than to try to procure employment near the -Devereux estates, which I knew were somewhere in Yorkshire. - -My idea was no sooner conceived than I put it into operation. I went -to the firm of agents to whom my late employers had given me a letter -of introduction, and inquired whether they knew of any vacancy in -Yorkshire, either in a land agent's office or on an estate. One of the -clerks ran through a long list, and shook his head. - -"Nothing so far north," he declared, shutting up the book. "Two or -three in Leicestershire, if that would do." - -I shook my head, and, thanking him, turned away disappointed. At the -door he called me back as though a sudden thought had struck him. - -"Just wait one moment, will you?" he said, jumping down from his stool. -"There was a letter from Yorkshire this morning which I haven't seen -yet. I'll fetch it from the governor's room and see what it's about." - -I took a seat, and he vanished into the inner office. Presently he -reappeared smiling. - -"Lucky thing I noticed the postmark of this letter," he remarked. -"Strikes me it's just what you want. Listen," and he read it out: - -"'Devereux Court, Yorkshire. - -"'Colonel Sir Francis Devereux----" - -"Hullo! what's the matter with you?" he broke off suddenly. - -I mastered myself with a quick effort. - -"I'm all right," I answered, a little hoarsely. "It's a trifle hot in -here, that's all. Go on." - -He began again-- - -"'Colonel Sir Francis Devereux is in want of a young man to act under -his present agent and collaborate with him in the management of his -estate. Applicant must have some knowledge of farming and surveying, -and must be a gentleman. Credentials and unexceptionable references -required. Salary £250 a year and a cottage, rent free.' - -"There, Mr. Arbuthnot, how would that do for you?" - -"Nothing could suit me better," I exclaimed--so eagerly that the young -man looked at me surprised. "To whom have I to apply?" - -He consulted the letter again. - -"Mr. Benson, solicitor, 19, Bedford Row, has authority to engage you. -You had better go and see him, I should think." - -I thanked him and hurried out. So nervous was I lest some one else -should precede me and secure the better chance that I jumped into a -stray hansom and was driven straight to Mr. Benson's office. There I -was informed, to my great satisfaction, that Mr. Benson was in, and -disengaged, and in a few minutes I was shown into his room. - -He was sitting at his desk when I entered, a short, clean-shaven, -grey-haired man, with a keen but not unkindly face. He motioned me to -a seat, and kept his eyes fixed steadfastly upon me whilst I explained -my mission. - -When I had finished he took out a bunch of keys from his pocket, and -carefully unlocked a small drawer in his desk. For a full minute he -seemed to be examining something there, glancing up at me more than -once. Then he took it and passed it across the table to me. - -"Do you recognise that, Mr. Arbuthnot?" he asked, quietly. - -Recognise it? How could I help it? It was a photograph--and the -photograph of my father. - -I leaned back in my chair, agitated and disappointed. Mr. Benson -watched me for awhile in silence. - -"I see that you are in mourning, Mr. Devereux," he said suddenly, -noticing it for the first time. "Your father is well, I hope?" - -I pulled myself together, and answered him-- - -"I am in mourning for my mother, Mr. Benson. I can't say that my -father is well, but he is not ill that I know of." - -The lawyer was sitting with his head resting upon his elbow, and his -eyes fixed upon the photograph. - -"Poor Mr. Herbert--poor Mr. Herbert!" he said to himself, in a low tone. - -Something, perhaps his sympathetic tone, prompted me to ask him a -question. - -"Mr. Benson, you knew my father. Do you believe that he was a coward?" - -The lawyer looked up at once. - -"I do not," he said, firmly. "I never did, and never will." - -The words were the sweetest I had ever heard in my life. I jumped up -with tears standing in my eyes, and wrung his hand heartily. - -"Thank you for those words, Mr. Benson," I exclaimed, warmly. "I can't -tell you how glad I am to hear them. But don't call me by the name of -Devereux again, please. I won't hear it, I won't even own it." - -He nodded approvingly, but made no direct reply. Then, in answer to -his questions, I told him as much of our history as I myself knew. - -"And with regard to your application to me, to-day," he remarked, after -a short pause, "it seems a strange one under the circumstances." - -I hesitated, and then I told him everything--told him of my father's -breaking heart, of my mother's last letter to me, and of my vow. He -listened patiently, and with every sign of strong interest. - -"Yours is a noble purpose," he said, when I had concluded, "and though -I fear that it is hopeless, I shall throw no obstacle in your way. -What I can do for you I will. You can go to Devereux, and I shall -write Sir Francis, telling him that you are admirably suited for the -work, and, from my own knowledge, that you are a gentleman. -Fortunately Sir Francis is rather near-sighted, and as he obstinately -refuses to wear glasses there is not the fear of his recognising you -that there would otherwise be. But I'm rather afraid of Mr. Rupert. -Fortunately he's not often at Devereux." - -"I must chance all that," I declared. "After all, a resemblance is -very different from actual recognition. I shall try to hit upon some -way of altering my appearance a little." - -"You have my best wishes for your success," declared the lawyer, -rising. "Write me, Mr. Arbuthnot--Mr. Hugh, I may call you. I shall -be always pleased to hear how you are getting on; and if you need -advice or a friend at any time, come to me. Good-morning." - -I left him feeling almost light-hearted. To have met a man who -believed in my father was like a strong invigorating tonic to me. That -afternoon I telegraphed to Marian to come to me at once, and set about -making the few preparations necessary for our expected move into -Yorkshire. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -COLONEL DEVEREUX'S LAND AGENT - -As yet I have said nothing of my sister Marian. It is necessary for me -now to do so. They say that a man can never describe or appreciate his -own sister, and, on the whole, I am not disinclined to lend some -credence to this statement. I know that Marian was beautiful, for many -people have told me so, but to give a detailed description of her as -she was then I should find an impossible task. I know that her -beauty--prettiness always seemed to me the more appropriate term--was -of the order evolved by the combination of a trim, shapely figure, good -features and complexion, plenty of fair hair, and soft grey eyes (the -latter a heritage from her mother), which knew equally well how to -gleam with mischief, or to flash with a tenderer and more dangerous -light. I feel some diffidence in using the term, but I am bound to -here place on record my conviction that when she left school and, in -obedience to my telegram, joined me in London, my sister Marian was -more or less inclined to be a flirt. - -Of the shadow which rested upon my father's name she knew nothing, nor -did she know that the name we bore was an assumed one, or anything of -the purpose which had induced me to fix our temporary residence in -Yorkshire. I judged her to be of too light a nature to be trusted with -a great secret--besides, she would doubtless be happier not knowing. - -Three days we spent together in London making purchases and -superintending the packing up and forwarding of our few belongings. -Then there came a note from Colonel Devereux, short but polite, -intimating that the sooner I could find it convenient to assume my new -position the better. On the next day Marian and I travelled down to -Yorkshire. - -It was dusk when we arrived at the little wayside station at which we -had been directed to alight. Directly I had helped Marian out of the -carriage, and we stood together on the platform, a tall, bland-looking -man, dressed in the soberest black, hurried up to us and took off his -hat. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot?" - -I admitted that his surmise was correct, and presumed that he had come -from Devereux. - -"Just so, sir. Colonel Devereux desired me to present his compliments, -and if you find that the cottage is not yet habitable, rooms can be -prepared for you at the Court." - -"Very kind, I'm sure," I answered, watching with satisfaction our last -box safely thrown out from the van. "We're quite prepared to rough it -for a day or two, however, and I have no doubt that we shall be able to -manage. Have you brought anything down for the luggage?" - -"Certainly, sir. Bring them this way, John," he added to the porter, -and led us through the little booking office out into the road, where a -small shapely brougham, drawn by a pair of magnificent dark bays, was -waiting. - -"I thought it better to bring a brougham, sir," he explained, "as the -young lady might find it chilly driving across the moor. Londoners -mostly finds it so. There's no need to wait for the luggage, sir. The -cart's here for that, and I've given orders for them to bring it on. -I'll have to intrude upon you inside, sir, as far as the cottage, as my -master's orders is that I don't leave you until I see you in a fair way -to be comfortable. I'd have come down on the box, but the Colonel is -so mighty particular about little things that it's more than I dare do -to let a carriage leave the yard without a man on the box, even at -night. This is Knighton, this village, sir. From the top of the next -hill you'd be able to see a good part of Devereux Court if it were only -light enough." - -I let him talk on uninterrupted, for I was too full of a nervous -internal excitement to be able to talk. I was amongst the scenes--in a -few minutes I should be in sight of the very house--where my father had -spent his boyhood. That thought was enough to engross me--to drive -every other from my mind, and for once I was devoutly thankful for -Marian's ceaseless chatter, which spared me from all necessity of -speech. - -We dashed through a tiny village, and up a steep hill. "Dashed" is -rather a clap-trap word, perhaps, but it is not far from correctly -expressing the rate of our progress. The roads were in good order, it -was not yet dark; the thoroughbred horses were eager to get home, and -quivering with impatience, and the coachman seemed to be of the same -mind. And so I could see but very little of the country. A -heather-covered moor, varied by occasional patches of pasture land, -bordered the road on either side, but in front things seemed to be -different. I could just distinguish the dim outline of a low range of -hills, and we seemed to be approaching a wood. Suddenly the carriage -came to a halt, but it was only for a moment. A pair of great iron -gates were rolled open before us, and we proceeded along a smoother -road as swiftly as before. - -"Are we nearly there?" asked Marian, looking behind at the grey stone, -thatched lodges, which were as large as moderate-sized houses. - -Colonel Devereux's servant shook his head, and smiled in the light of -his superior knowledge. - -"Bless you, no, miss; we're only just inside the park. It's six miles -from the lodge gates to the House" (the capital may seem superfluous, -but I'm quite sure that the man meant it), "and five and a half to the -cottage." - -Marian's grey eyes were wide open in earnest now. - -"Oh, dear me! Did you hear that, Hugh? The park six miles from the -house! This must be a very big place." - -"Big!" Our companion's face grew quite solemn in its impressiveness. -"There ain't such another place in Yorkshire, nor yet in England, -barring three. Devereux Court, to my mind, is the finest building I -ever set eyes on. Why, it's the show place of the county, and we gets -no end of visitors from all parts to look at it." - -"Colonel Devereux is a very fortunate man," I remarked. - -The man's manner grew a shade more confidential, and I listened with -more eagerness than I dared show. - -"Well, he should be, sir; but I doubt whether he thinks himself so. -You see, his family ain't turned out exactly well. He married twice, -and each wife died within two years of her marriage, and, strangely -enough, each left him a son. Of course, when they grew up they both -wanted to be soldiers. They do say, sir, that every Devereux for -twelve generations has been a soldier. A bloodthirsty race they must -be! But, as I was saying, they both became soldiers, and went out -together in the same regiment for their first campaign. Well, they say -that one of 'em, Mr. Herbert his name was, the elder of the two, and -the old Colonel's favourite and heir, disgraced himself. Anyway, he -was found guilty of cowardice, and turned out of his regiment. It very -near killed the Colonel, and he's never been the same man since. He's -taken a mortal dislike to his other son, Mr. Rupert, and, though he -makes no secret of it that he's left him all his estates and property, -he never lets him come down here scarcely." - -"But the title! He can't leave that to his second son," I said. "That -must go to the one whom you say disgraced himself." - -"It just that that's troubling the Colonel more than anything," replied -the man. "He says it makes him wild to think that the title of -Devereux of Devereux must be borne by a coward, and that his picture -gallery and grand old house must go to him, too. At times I have heard -him pray that his son may be dead, and have died childless; and yet, -hard old man though he is, it's easy to see, from the way he talks -about him sometimes, that he's as fond of him as ever, though he'd -never confess it. But I'm afraid I'm tiring you, sir. Family -histories are not very interesting to strangers." - -To strangers! I could scarcely keep a sardonic smile from my lips as I -echoed the words in my thoughts. - -"Not at all," I answered, as lightly as I could; "but I was going to -ask you, who is there living with Sir Francis now?" - -"Well, there's no one living regularly with him, sir, except you count -old Mrs. Platts, who really ain't much more than a housekeeper, though -I believe she's a sort of distant connection. But, just now, there's -Miss Maud Devereux, Mr. Rupert's daughter, and a friend of hers -stopping here. Here we are at the cottage, Mr. Arbuthnot." - -The carriage had pulled up, and a tall footman was standing by the side -of the open door. I helped Marian out, and looked around. A little -distance in front there was a low wire fencing, and about fifty yards -further back, with a dark plantation of fir-trees immediately behind -it, was a long, low, grey stone house, with gabled roof and -old-fashioned windows. As we approached, the door was thrown open, and -two smiling, countrified-looking servants, with neat caps and aprons, -stood in a flood of light to welcome us. - -We stepped into the hall, and Marian and I looked at one another in -astonishment. This was all very different to what I had expected, and -my first thought was that the few odds and ends of furniture which I -had sent down would be of very little use in such a place as this. But -our greatest surprise was to come, for when one of our pleasant-looking -servants threw open the door of the dining-room, the room was already -furnished, and in a fashion which, made us gaze around in astonishment. -Instead of bare boards, which we had half expected, our feet sank into -a thick Turkey carpet, and the furniture, solid and handsomely carved, -matched the black oak panelling which skirted the walls. A bright fire -was burning in a marble grate, and the table, covered with a snow-white -cloth, and many things more substantial, was glittering with cut-glass, -flowers, and heavy plate, on which were the Devereux arms. - -I looked at Colonel Devereux's servant in an amazement which seemed to -amuse him immensely. - -"What has become of the furniture I sent down?" I asked. - -"It is in the lumber room, sir," was the man's quiet reply. "Colonel -Devereux's strict orders were that the place should be furnished for -you from attic to cellar, and there's furniture enough up at the Court -which no one ever sees, enough to furnish a score of such places as -this. I hope I may say that you are satisfied, sir?" - -"Satisfied? It's quite too lovely," declared Marian, sinking into a -low chair. "Isn't it, Hugh?" - -"Colonel Devereux has been very kind," I assented, thoughtfully, for I -was not too sure that I was altogether pleased. - -"And I was to tell you, miss," continued the man, backing towards the -door, "that the servants here, and also your man, sir," turning towards -me, "receive their wages from the steward. You'll pardon my mentioning -this, but it was the housekeeper's strict orders. Good-night, miss; -good-night, sir. Colonel Devereux will see you to-morrow morning at -eleven, if you'll be so good as to come up to the Court. Good-night, -sir." - -This time he really went, and we were left for a moment alone. I am -obliged to confess that the first thing my madcap sister did was to -waltz round the room, and wind up by throwing herself into my arms. - -"Isn't this perfectly delightful, Hugh, and isn't the Colonel an old -dear? I declare I could kiss him! And I am so hungry, and everything -looks so nice. Do ring the bell, Hugh." - -There was no need, for before she had finished speaking one of our -buxom servants had entered with the tray, and the other was waiting to -show us our rooms, which we found no less comfortable. Everything was -totally different to what I had expected, and for Marian's sake I was -pleased. But for my own I could not help regretting that I should be -forced to accept favours from the man who believed my father to be a -coward and a liar and whose cruel words "Out of my house and out of my -heart for ever," he carried always with him in weary exile. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -AT DEVEREUX COURT - -At six o'clock on the following morning I was up and in the park. I -had prepared myself for much, but what I saw exceeded everything. It -is not part of my _rôle_ as story-teller to attempt long descriptions. -I am not an artist or a descriptive writer, and were I to attempt to -play the part of either I should most certainly fail. But the park and -mansion of Devereux were one day bound to be mine, even though they -brought me pauperdom, and despite the sorrow and bitter grief which -were bound up in this recollection, a curious thrill, in which there -was something of pleasure, passed through me as I looked upon them for -the first time by daylight. - -The cottage--such a term was surely a misnomer, for it was three times -as large as the habitable part of our Devonshire home--stood at the -extremity of the park nearest the house. Only a wire ring-fence -separated the gardens from the soft springy turf of the park, which, -studded with giant oak-trees, a revelation to me after the -comparatively stunted growths of Devonshire, stretched away in one -direction as far as I could see. Bordering it on one side, close -behind the cottage, and curving round as though to form a fitting -background for Devereux Court, was a low range of hills, some crowned -with thick plantations of black fir, and others purple with the -declining glory of the autumn heather. But the house was the grandest -sight of all. A great architect might have learnedly protested against -its want of any distinct style and its general want of outline, but he -would have admired it all the same. It was one of those houses which -no one can describe, save by making use of such adjectives as -picturesque, romantic, majestic. It was all these and more. The style -of every age seemed represented by the successive enlargements of every -century. Every Devereux of Devereux had added something to it, until a -century ago, and every one seemed to have had different notions of -architecture. There was something in it of the castle, something of -the mediæval abbey, something of the Italian villa, and something of -the Venetian palace. It was a magnificent medley, a striking mass of -architectural incongruity--altogether the finest building that I had -ever seen. It excited me to look upon it, and at the same time it -depressed me. Its frowning battlements and gloomily majestic -weather-beaten towers seemed to breathe out and help me to better -understand the spirit which had fired the words of the stern, proud, -old soldier, who had bidden my father leave his home for ever, and bear -another name than the name of Devereux. For the first time I began to -look forward to the inevitable interview with my grandfather with -something akin to apprehension. - -At breakfast time Marian's lively chatter drove all such thoughts out -of my head. And before they had had time to crowd in on me again, a -man from the stables was announced, with whom I went to examine the two -horses placed at my disposal. - -I loved horses, and it seemed as though Sir Francis Devereux was -determined to do everything _au prince_. Besides a stout useful cob, -there was an animal with which I fell in love the moment I saw it. The -man uncovered him gingerly, and took particular care to keep out of -reach of his heels. - -"I was to tell you, sir," he said, confidentially, as he came out of -the box, "that if you wished to change this 'ere animal--the Black -Prince they call un--for one a wee bit less spirity, that you was to -come up to the stables and choose for yourself. There ain't no vice -about 'im, but he's got a mouth like iron and the devil's own temper." - -"I think I shall manage him," I answered confidently. "Who's been in -the habit of riding him?" - -"Well, sir, Miss Maud rode him for a bit, but he used to pull her arms -out very near, and he gave her one nasty fall, so Sir Francis he's made -her leave off." - -"I should think so," I answered. - -The Black Prince, fine animal though he was, was certainly not a lady's -mount. - -"Well, she's a rare plucky 'un is Miss Maud, and a fine seat, too," -remarked the man, leisurely chewing a wisp of straw. "You think he'll -do for you, sir, then?" - -"I think so," I answered. - -Then, glancing at my watch, and seeing that it was but nine o'clock, it -struck me that I might as well give him a trial at once, and in -half-an-hour's time I was careering across the park, my spirits rising -at every bound the Black Prince made, and my cheeks glowing with the -rapid progress through the sharp morning air, and with the strain of -keeping him in hand. What pleasure is there within the reach of man so -great as a gallop across an open country, with the fresh morning breeze -blowing strong in your teeth, and your mount a perfect one? When I got -back to the cottage, just before eleven, and after seeing Marian start -off for a walk, set out for Devereux Court, all my apprehensions had -vanished, and I was only eager to stand face to face with its master. - -I had not far to go. Up a steep ascent, across a bridge, through some -more iron gates, and I stood upon the open stretch of gravel in front -of the main entrance, which was supported by four massive white stone -pillars. A man-servant was waiting within the glass doors, which were -promptly opened before me, and on telling him my name, I was led across -the vast hall, which seemed to me, from its great height, the stained -windows, and its size, like the interior of a richly decorated church, -into the library. I had never been in such a room before, nor have I -ever since, but the man gave me little time to admire it, for, opening -the door of a small ante-room at its furthest extremity, which had a -far more habitable appearance, he bade me wait whilst he informed Sir -Francis of my arrival. - -The room seemed to open upon the gardens, for, though the Venetian -blinds were drawn, I could hear distinctly the voices of two girls -playing tennis just outside. - -"Love, love 15, love 30, love 40. Maud, you're a great deal too lazy -for tennis this morning!" - -The girl's triumphant voice floated into the room so clearly that at -first I was surprised. Then, by the gentle swaying to and fro of the -blind, I saw that the window was open. - -The charge seemed not to be made without foundation, to judge from the -languid drawl of the answering voice. - -"I believe I am, Olive. It really is too exhausting without some men -to look after the balls. Suppose we have a rest for a minute or two." - -There was a laughing assent, and then I heard light footsteps coming -towards the window. I thought at first that they were going to enter; -but just outside they halted and seemed to subside into a seat. - -There was a moment's silence, during which I withdrew as far as -possible from the window. But I was still within easy reach of their -voices, as I very soon learnt, not a little to my discomfort. - -"I wonder what the new young man's like at the cottage. Have you seen -him, Maud?" - -I started, and drew further back into my corner. - -"I really don't know," was the very uninterested reply. "By the bye, -though, I did see a stranger in the park, yesterday. Perhaps it was -he." - -"What was he like? Fancy not telling me, when you knew I was dying to -hear. Is he tall or short, dark or fair?" - -A scornful inflection had crept into the languid drawl of the answering -voice. But it was far from an unpleasant voice to listen to:--"I only -saw him for a moment, but I remember that he was short, and had red -hair, and wore glasses. I don't think even you would flirt with him, -Olive." - -This was dreadful. I was six foot four, and my eyesight was keener -than most men's. She must have mistaken some one else for me! But -what was I to do? I tried a nervous little cough, but they took no -notice. - -"Oh! I'm so disappointed. I had made up my mind that he was -good-looking, and would do to flirt with, at any rate, until the -shooting brings some men down. Goodness gracious, what was that?" - -Rendered desperate by the mention of my name, I had essayed a more -determined cough. Now that it had been heard my best course was to -reveal myself at once. So I walked to the window and drew up the blind. - -Two girls started to their feet at once, and stood looking at me in -startled postures, one dark, of medium height, decidedly pretty, and -with a gleam of mischief in her large eyes; the other tall and slim, -fair, and stately as a young princess, with a cold, questioning look in -her blue eyes, and a slight frown on her proud, delicate face. -Something told me that this was Rupert Devereux's daughter. And the -thought checked the smile which I had found some difficulty in -repressing. - -"I am afraid I startled you?" I said. "I am waiting in here to see -Colonel Devereux, and as I heard my name mentioned I thought it as well -to let you know that I was here." - -For the life of me I could not meet the laughing gaze of those -mischievous black eyes without a smile. They seemed to be looking me -over from head to foot, with an air of decided interest, and finally -they looked up into mine, as though satisfied with their inspection. - -"Did you hear what we were saying, Mr. Arbuthnot?" she asked eagerly, -with a bewitching little smile. - -"How could I help it? I coughed once before, but you did not hear me." - -I glanced for the first time at Maud Devereux, and she inclined her -head slightly, as though to intimate that she accepted my explanation. - -"It is of no consequence," she said, a little coldly; "we were to blame -for talking nonsense. I'm ready for another set now, Olive." - -She turned and moved slowly away to the tennis-court without another -look at me; but the other girl lingered for a moment. - -"I'm so sorry for what I said, Mr. Arbuthnot," she remarked. "Of -course I didn't mean it, but it is so dull here that one is bound to -talk nonsense sometimes." - -I bowed, and I am afraid that there was a decided twinkle in my eyes as -I answered, "Pray, don't apologise. You can't imagine how grateful I -am for the red hair and other etceteras which are to save me from a -broken heart." - -She had the grace to blush a little at last, and it made her look -uncommonly pretty. - -"You're too bad, Mr. Arbuthnot. Good-bye." - -And, with a parting glance and smile, she picked up her racket and -moved away across the lawn towards Maud Devereux, who had never once -looked round. - -I let the blind fall again, and turned back towards my chair. I had -hardly reached it before the door opened, and I stood face to face with -my grandfather, Colonel Sir Francis Devereux. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -COLONEL SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX, BART. - -For a second everything swam before my eyes, and it always seemed to me -afterwards a miracle that I recovered myself sufficiently to accept his -outstretched hand, and mutter some intelligible response to his -courteous speech of greeting. For the stately, white-haired, -military-looking man who had entered the room was so like my father -that I had very nearly called him by name. - -At the sound of my voice he started slightly, and, adjusting an -eye-glass, looked at me steadily. Then he, too, seemed to receive -something of a shock, for he turned abruptly away towards the window, -and I could see that his long white fingers were shaking. - -"I must ask your pardon, Mr. Arbuthnot," he said, suddenly looking -round and scanning me over again. "The fact is, your appearance -recalled some one to my mind whom--whom I have not seen for many years." - -I bowed silently. I understood his emotion better than, he imagined, -and my heart was warming to him in consequence of it. - -"You are welcome to Devereux, sir," he went on, cordially. "I hope you -find your quarters fairly comfortable." - -I began to thank him for the generosity of his arrangements, but he -stopped me at once. - -"If you are satisfied, that is well. I hope you will like the place," -he went on, after a moment's pause, "for I think that you will suit me. -Mr. Andrews will explain what your duties will be on the estate. I -don't think you'll find them particularly arduous. You shoot, I hope, -and hunt, and fish? H'm, I thought so. I'm glad to hear it. I wanted -some one who would be able to show my guests, when I have any, what -there is to do about the place, and who won't mind a day amongst the -stubble with an old man now and then," he added, pleasantly. "Have you -seen anything of the place yet?" - -I told him of my early ride, and that all the impressions I had as yet -received of the country and its surroundings were pleasant ones. He -was delighted to hear it, he told me. - -"And your sister. Does she think that she will be able to make herself -at home here?" - -I assured him that there was very little doubt about that. She had -been used to the country all her life. - -We talked for awhile of the estate, and the share of its management -which would fall to my lot. There was much that wanted doing, he said, -and I was glad to hear it, for though I had come here with another -ultimate object, I had no desire to spend my time in idleness. We -talked for a long while, he seeming anxious to keep me there, and -asking many personal questions which I found it not altogether easy to -answer. But at last the luncheon bell rang out, and then he let me go. - -"I should like to show you round the place myself," he said, as we -walked down the hall together. "Be ready at three o'clock, and I will -call for you. We will ride, of course." - -Just as we passed the foot of the great oak staircase which descended -into the centre of the hall, we came face to face with the two girls -who had been playing tennis. Sir Francis stopped at once. - -"Ah, Maud, dear, let me introduce you to Mr. Arbuthnot. Mr. Arbuthnot, -this is my niece, Miss Devereux, and her friend, Lady Olive Parkhurst." - -My cousin bowed very slightly, and scarcely paused in her progress -across the hall. But Lady Olive lingered to throw a saucy glance at me -over her shoulder. - -"You two men have wasted a delightful morning gossiping," she said, -lightly. "Maud and I have been dying with curiosity to know what it's -all been about." - -Miss Devereux was standing in one of the doorways a little way off, -with the slightest possible frown of impatience on her face, and -looking decidedly supercilious at her friend's remark, although she did -not take the trouble to contradict it. They had both changed their -morning gowns for riding habits, and though Lady Olive, with her trim, -dainty figure and coquettish smile, looked sufficiently charming, I -could not help my eyes dwelling the longest on Maud Devereux. Fair, -proud, and cold, with slim yet perfectly graceful figure, she reminded -me of Tennyson's Princess. It was only for a moment that I looked at -her, but her eyes chanced to meet mine, and the frown on her statuesque -young face deepened, as though to admire her even were a liberty. I -turned away at once, and moved a step nearer the door. - -"We have wasted a beautiful morning, certainly," Sir Francis remarked; -"but we are going to make up for it this afternoon. Mr. Arbuthnot and -I are going to ride together on a tour of inspection. Would you young -ladies care to join us?" - -Lady Olive leaned forward with a beaming smile. - -"I should like it immensely," she declared. - -"You forget, Olive, that we are going to call on the Annerleys this -afternoon," remarked Maud Devereux, in a cold tone of disapprobation. -"Luncheon is quite ready, uncle." - -Lady Olive gathered up her skirts, and, nodding to me with a comical -grimace, took Sir Francis's arm. - -"Good-morning, Mr. Arbuthnot. I'm so sorry we can't come. I should -like to see how you manage the Black Prince." - -"You will have plenty of other opportunities," Sir Francis remarked. -"Good-morning, Arbuthnot; be ready about three o'clock." - -And so ended my first visit to Devereux Court. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE BEGINNING OF DANGER - -Before a month had passed I began to feel quite settled at the cottage. -My duties, though many, lay within my capacity, and were such as I -found pleasure in undertaking. It was impossible for me not to see -that Sir Francis Devereux had taken a great and, to others, an -unaccountable fancy to me; and occasionally he made such demands upon -my time that I found it hard to get through my work. But I never -grudged him an hour that I could honestly spare, for every day the -prejudice which I had felt against him grew less, and I began to -heartily like and pity him. Perhaps this change in my feelings towards -him arose chiefly from the fact that he was obviously an unhappy man. -The sorrow which was embittering my father's life and clouding mine had -laid its hand with almost equal bitterness upon him. And was it not -natural? For more than twenty years he had never looked upon the face -or heard of the son whom he had loved better than any one else in the -world. The heir of Devereux, for all he knew, might have sunk to the -lowest depths of vice and degradation, and yet for all that, he must -bear the title and, if he chose, take up his abode in the home where -his ancestors had lived with honour for many centuries, and at the very -best there was a deep blot which nothing could ever efface. The -descendant of a long race of mighty soldiers had been publicly -pronounced a coward; and yet some day or other, by the inevitable law -of nature, he would become the representative of his family. To the -stern old soldier I knew well that the thought was agony, and I longed -to reassure and comfort him, as I most certainly could have done. But -the time was not yet come. - -Naturally I saw a good deal of Maud Devereux and Lady Olive, much more -of the latter than the former, for she appeared to have taken a violent -fancy for Marian, and was often at the cottage. Conceit was never -amongst my failings, but of course I could not help noticing that the -times she chose for coming were those on which I was most likely to be -at home, and generally when I returned from my day's work I found -Marian and her gossiping over the fire, or if I was early, indulging in -afternoon tea. She seemed determined to flirt with me, and I, willing -to be amused, let her have her own way. We were both perfectly aware -that the other was not in earnest, and we both--I particularly--took -care not to lapse into the sentimental stage. On the whole we managed -to amuse one another very well. - -With Maud Devereux I made but little progress--in fact I feared -sometimes that she even disliked me. She was always the same--cold, -unbending, and apparently proud. It seemed impossible to win even a -smile from her, and the more friendly Lady Olive and I became the more -she seemed to stand aloof. Once or twice, when I had found myself -riding by her side, or alone with her for a minute, I had fancied that -her manner was changing a little. But before I could be sure of it, -Lady Olive would bear down upon us and challenge me to a race, or make -some mocking speech. - -Why should it matter to me? I could not tell; yet always at such times -I knew that I wished Lady Olive a little further away. Cold and -disdainful though she was, a minute with her was more to me than hours -with Lady Olive. And yet she was the daughter of the man whom I hated -more than any living thing, and on whom I had sworn to be revenged -should I fail in the great object of my life. - -One evening, when, tired and dusty and stiff, after many hours' riding, -I walked into Marian's little drawing-room to beg for a cup of tea -before changing my things, I had a great surprise. Instead of Lady -Olive, Maud Devereux was leaning back in an easy chair opposite my -sister. Maud, with the proud wearied look gone from her cold blue -eyes, and actually laughing a soft, pleasant laugh at one of my -sister's queer speeches. I stepped forward eagerly, and there was -actually a shade of something very like embarrassment in her face as -she leaned forward and held out her hand. - -"You are surprised to see me, Mr. Arbuthnot," she said; "I wanted -Olive, and thought this the most likely place to find her." - -"We haven't seen her to-day, have we, Hugh?" Marian remarked. - -I assented silently, and spoke of something else. I did not want to -talk about Lady Olive just then. - -For more than half-an-hour we sat there sipping our tea, and chatting -about the new schools which Sir Francis was building in the village, -the weather, and the close approach of cub-hunting. I could scarcely -believe that it was indeed Maud Devereux who sat there in my easy -chair, looking so thoroughly at home and talking so pleasantly. As a -rule, the only words I had been able to win from her were cold -monosyllables, and the only looks half-impatient, half-contemptuous -ones. - -At last she rose to go, and I walked with her to the gate. It was -almost dusk, and I felt that under the circumstances I might offer to -walk up to the house with her. But I felt absolutely timid about -proposing what with Lady Olive would have been a matter of course. - -I did propose it, however, and was not a little disappointed at the -passive indifference with which my escort was accepted. But what I -should have resented from Lady Olive I accepted humbly from her. - -Side by side we walked through the park, and I could think of nothing -to say to her, nothing that I dared say. With Lady Olive there would -have been a thousand light nothings to bandy backwards and forwards, -but what man living would have dared to speak them to Maud Devereux? -Not I, at any rate. - -Once she spoke; carelessly as though for the sake of speaking. - -"What spell holds Mr. Arbuthnot silent so long? A penny for your -thoughts!" and I answered thoughtlessly. - -"They are worth more, Miss Devereux, for they are of you. I was -thinking that this was the first time I had walked alone with you." - -"I am not Lady Olive," she said, coldly. "Be so good, Mr. Arbuthnot, -as to reserve such speech for her." - -She quickened her pace a little, and I could have bitten my tongue out -for my folly. But she was not angry for long, for at the gate which -led from the park into the ground she paused. - -Devereux Court, with its lofty battlements and huge stacks of chimneys, -towered above us--every window a burnished sheet of red fire, for the -setting sun was lingering around it, and bathing it with its last -parting rays as though loth to go. - -"What a grand old place it is!" I said, half to myself; "I shall be -sorry to leave it." - -She turned round quickly, and there was actually a shade of interest in -her tone. - -"You are not thinking of going away, are you, Mr. Arbuthnot? I thought -you got on so well with my uncle." - -"Ay, too well," I answered bitterly, for I was thinking of my father -and hers. "There is a great work which lies before me, Miss Devereux, -and I fear that I shall do little towards it down here. Life is too -pleasant altogether--dangerously pleasant." - -"And yet you work hard, my uncle says," she observed; "too hard, he -says, sometimes. You look tired to-night." - -I might well, for I had ridden over thirty miles without a rest; but I -would have ridden another thirty to have won another such glance from -her sweet blue eyes. - -"A moment's pleasure is worth a day's work," I said, recklessly, "and I -have had nearly an hour's." - -She opened the gate and passed through at once with a gesture of -contempt. - -"If you cannot remember, Mr. Arbuthnot, that I am not Lady Olive, and -that such speeches only appear ridiculous to me, I think you had better -go home," she said, coldly. - -I looked down--tall though I was, it was not far to stoop--into her -slightly flushed face, and through the dusky twilight I could see her -eyes sparkling with a gleam of indignation. She was right to say that -I had better go home--nay, I had better never have started. What had -come over me that I should find my heart throbbing with pleasure to be -alone with the daughter of the man whom I hated? It was treachery to -my father, and, as the thought of him wandering about in his weary -exile rushed into my mind, a sudden shame laid hold of me. I drew -myself up, and strode along in silence, speaking never another word -until we reached the gate leading on to the lawn. Then I opened it, -and raising my cap with a half-mechanical gesture, stood aside to let -her pass. - -"Good-evening, Mr. Arbuthnot." - -"Good-evening, Miss Devereux." - -It might have been merely a fancy, but it seemed to me that she -lingered for a second, as though expecting me to say something else. -And though I was gazing fixedly over her head, I knew well that her -eyes were raised to mine. But I stood silent and frowning, waiting -only for her to pass on, and so she went without another word. - -I watched her, fair and stately, walking with swift, graceful steps -along the gravel path. Then I turned my back upon the spot where she -had vanished, and, leaning against the low iron gate, let my face fall -upon my folded arms. - -Of all the mental tortures which a man can undergo, what is there worse -than the agony of self-reproach? To be condemned by another's judgment -may seem to us comparatively a light thing--but to be condemned by our -own, what escape or chance of escape can there be from that! And it -seemed to me as though I were arraigned before the tribunal of my own -conscience. As clearly as though indeed he stood there, I saw before -me the bowed form, and unhappy face of my poor father, looking -steadfastly at me out of his sad blue eyes, with the story of his weary -suffering life written with deep lines into his furrowed face. And -then I saw myself standing at the window of my rooms in Exeter, with an -oath ringing from my lips, and a passionate purpose stirring my heart, -and last of all I saw myself only a few minutes ago walking by her side -with stirred pulses and bounding heart--by her side, whose father, -curse him! was the man above all others whom I should hate--for was it -not his lying word which had driven Herbert Devereux from his home, and -blasted a life more precious to me than my own! At that moment a -passionate longing came upon me to stand face to face with him, the man -whom we had met in the moonlight on Exmoor, and tear the truth from his -lying throat. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot!" - -I started violently and turned round pale and agitated with the rage -which was burning within me. Maud Devereux stood before me--Maud, with -the pride gone out from her exquisite face, and the warming light of a -kindly sympathy shining out of her glorious eyes. - -"I startled you, Mr. Arbuthnot?" - -"I must confess that you did, Miss Devereux. I thought that I was -alone." - -I had drawn myself up to my full height, and was looking steadily at -her, determined that neither by word nor look, would I yield to the -charm of her altered manner. It was I now who was proud and cold; she -who was eager and a little nervous. - -"I had a message to deliver to you, and I forgot it," she said, -hurriedly. "I was to ask you to dine with us to-night." - -"Does Sir Francis particularly wish it?" I asked. "Because, if not, as -I have had a long day, and am rather tired----" - -She interrupted me, speaking with a sudden hauteur, and with all the -coldness of her former manner. - -"I don't know that he particularly wishes it, but he has brought Lord -Annerley home with him to talk over the Oadby Common matter, so you had -better come." - -Lord Annerley was the eldest son of a neighbouring landowner between -whom and myself, as the agent of Sir Francis Devereux, there had arisen -a friendly dispute as to the right of way over a certain common, and I -knew at once that I must not miss the opportunity of meeting him. - -"Very good, Miss Devereux," I answered, "I will go home and change my -things at once." - -"Without speaking to me?" - -I turned abruptly round. Lady Olive had come softly over the smooth -turf, and was looking up into my face with a mischievous smile. - -"How cross you both look!" she exclaimed; "have you been quarrelling?" - -"Quarrelling! Scarcely," I answered, laughing lightly. "Miss Devereux -and I have no subject in common which we should be likely to discuss, -far less to quarrel about. Wherever did you get such beautiful -chrysanthemums, Lady Olive?" - -She buried her piquant little face in the mass of white and bronze -blooms, and then divided them. - -"From the south garden. Aren't they lovely! See, Mr. Arbuthnot, I -want you to take half of them to your sister if you don't mind. I -don't think you have any cut yet, and the colours of these are so -exquisite. Which do you like the better, Maud, the white or the -bronze?" - -"The white, of course," she answered, scarcely looking at them. "I -don't care for the other colour at all." - -"And I prefer it," Lady Olive went on, filling my outstretched hands. -"Mr. Arbuthnot, did I gather correctly from what you were saying when I -came up that you dine with us to-night?" - -"I am to have that happiness, Lady Olive," I answered; "and, if I don't -hurry off now, I'm afraid I shall be late." - -"Then don't stop another moment," she laughed. "But, Mr. Arbuthnot----" - -I halted resignedly and turned round. - -"Well?" - -"Oh, nothing, only Maud and I expect you to show us this evening whose -taste you choose to follow." - -"In what respect?" I asked. - -"Why, chrysanthemums, of course! Maud has chosen white, I have chosen -bronze. We shall both look out eagerly to see whose colours you wear -in your buttonhole to-night, If you wear a white one, I sha'n't speak -to you all the evening. Mind, I warn you." - -"What nonsense you talk, Olive!" said Maud, carelessly, but with a -slight flush rising into her cheeks. "As if it could make the -slightest possible difference to me which colour Mr. Arbuthnot prefers -in chrysanthemums!" - -There was a distinct vein of contempt in her concluding sentence, and -Lady Olive, noticing it, looked at us both in surprise. - -"It is my positive conviction," she declared, with mock seriousness, -"that, notwithstanding Mr. Arbuthnot's high-flown repudiation, you two -have been quarrelling." - -Maud Devereux turned impatiently away, with a scornful shrug of her -shoulders, and walked slowly towards the house. Lady Olive started to -follow her, but at the gate she paused. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, come here, I want to speak to you." - -I retraced my steps, of course, and stood by her side. - -"Well?" - -She stood on tiptoe and whispered--quite an unnecessary proceeding, for -Maud was a dozen yards away. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, what have you and Maud been quarrelling about?" - -I turned round so abruptly that our heads knocked together and my -moustache brushed her cheek. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot!" - -"It wasn't my fault," I assured her, truthfully. - -"Sure!" - -She was looking up at me with a half-coquettish, altogether inviting -smile. - -"Quite. Shall I show you how it happened?" I asked, stooping down till -my face was very close to hers. - -"What colour chrysanthemum are you going to wear this evening, Mr. -Arbuthnot?" she asked, rather irrelevantly. - -"Can you ask? Bronze, of course." - -"Well, then--yes--I think you may show me--just so that it sha'n't -happen again, you know," she added, with laughing eyes. - -And so I showed her, just as a matter of precaution, and received for -my reward a not very hard box on the ears, and a saucy, mock-angry -backward glance as she broke away from, me and hurried after Maud. -Then I strode across the park, angry with myself, yet fiercely -exultant, for I knew that Maud had been lingering in the shrubbery -alone, and had seen us. She would know now, if she did not before, -that the grief which she must have read in my face when she had -returned so unexpectedly was none of her causing, else had I never let -my lips rest for a second on Lady Olive's cheek. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -A FIGHT FOR LIFE - -In less than an hour I was back at Devereux Court. The gong was -booming through the hall as I reached the drawing-room, and the little -party had already risen to their feet. Maud's hand was resting on the -coat-sleeve of a man scarcely as tall as herself, with a fair, -insipid-looking face and weak eyes--whom I knew at once must be Lord -Annerley. Sir Francis, who was suffering from a bad attack of gout, -was leaning half on his stick, half on Lady Olive's bare, white -shoulder; but, at my entrance, he withdrew his hand, and she stepped -back, rubbing her arm with a comical air of relief. - -"Just in time, Arbuthnot! Come and give me your arm, there's a good -fellow. Annerley, this is Mr. Arbuthnot, my agent." - -Lord Annerley returned my greeting with a slightly patronising air, and -then we walked across the hall to the dining-room, Sir Francis leaning -heavily on my shoulder. - -Maud had noticed me only by the merest inclination of her stately head, -and during dinner-time she never addressed a single observation to me, -her attention seeming wholly absorbed by her companion. Lady Olive, -although at first she rattled on in her usual style, seemed always -watching for an opportunity to join in their conversation, and when at -last she found it seemed almost to forget my existence. They talked of -people whom I did not know, and subjects in which I had no interest, -but I was well content to be left alone. I was in no mood for talking, -and to answer Sir Francis's few inquiries was quite enough for me. - -We were about half-way through dinner when suddenly Sir Francis held up -his finger and cried "Hush!" - -Every one stopped talking, and I who had also heard the sound sprung to -my feet. It came again in a second or two, three sharp reports from -the direction of the park. - -"Poachers, by G--d!" exclaimed Sir Francis, angrily, "and in the home -spinneys, too! The cheeky rascals!" - -I was half-way across the room before he had finished speaking. - -"Take care of yourself, my boy," he called out earnestly. "You'll find -my revolver in the top drawer of my cabinet in the library. See that -it's loaded. By Jove, I wish my foot was right! Annerley, I don't -know whether you care about a row as much as I did when I was a -youngster; but if you do, pray go with Arbuthnot. My niece will excuse -you." - -Lord Annerley did not seem to find that keen prospect of pleasure in -the affray, which was doubtless proceeding, that Sir Francis would -certainly have done, for as I hurried from the room I heard him mutter -something about his boots being rather thin. An irresistible impulse -made me glance for a moment into Maud's face whilst he was elaborately -excusing himself, and I was satisfied. A slight but distinctly -contemptuous expression had stolen into it. - -I was scarcely a moment in the library, for the revolver was in its -place and loaded. As I hurried down the hall, Sir Francis hobbled out -of the drawing-room. - -"Arbuthnot," he called out anxiously after me, "I've just remembered -Atkins and Crooks are both away to-night; I gave 'em a holiday; so old -Heggs and his son must be alone in the home spinneys. Those damned -rascals must have known of it. I'll send the men after you, but run, -or you'll be too late!" - -There was no need to tell me to run. Holding my revolver clenched in -my right hand, I dashed across the gardens toward the park, leaping -over the flower-beds, and using my left hand to vault over locked gates -and fences. I had scarcely reached the park when I heard the almost -simultaneous report of three or four guns, and immediately afterwards, -the moon shining in a cloudless sky showed me the figure of a man leap -from one of the dark belts of plantation at the head of the slope, and -make for the open country. My first impulse was to strike off to the -right hand and intercept him; but before I had gone half-a-dozen yards -out of my way, I changed my intention, for from the interior of the -plantation came a hoarse, despairing cry for help, followed by another -gunshot. - -I was a good runner, and I strained every nerve to reach the spinneys. -But when at last, panting but eager, I dashed up the slope, and leaped -over the low stone wall, a fear came upon me that I was too late. - -At first it was too dark to see anything, for the moon's light could -not penetrate through the thickly-growing black fir-trees. But close -in front of me I could hear the sound of muttered curses and the -trampling of feet upon the dried leaves and snapping twigs. A dozen -hasty strides forward, and I burst through the bushes into a small -clearing, and found myself in the thick of the struggle. - -On the ground, only a few feet from me, lay Heggs, groaning heavily, -with his leg doubled up under him. Close by his son was struggling -desperately with two powerfully-built, villainous-looking men, and on -the ground were stretched the forms of two others, one, an -under-keeper, writhing about in pain, and the other, whose face was -unknown to me, lying quite still, and evidently insensible. Two other -men were hastily filling a bag with their spoil, one holding it open, -and the other collecting the birds from a broken net on the ground and -throwing them in. - -The sound of my rapid approach naturally changed the situation. The -two men struggling with young Heggs relapsed their grasp for a moment -to look round, and with a great effort he wrenched himself free, and -stood back panting. The others who were filling the bag started up as -though to run, but seeing I was alone hesitated, and one of them -snatching up a gun commenced hastily to load. But his companion, who -appeared to be the leader, yelled to him with an oath to put it down. - -"Put your barker down, you fool!" he shouted. "We shall have the whole -blooming lot down here if we got using them any more. It's only one of -the fine birds from the Court! We'll soon settle him." - -One of the men who had been filling the bag sprang up, and, holding his -gun by the barrel, rushed at me. Suddenly he stopped and cowered back, -for he looked full into the dark muzzle of my revolver. I would have -spared him, but the odds were too desperate. There was a sharp report, -and the arm which held his weapon sunk helplessly to his side. He -staggered back with a howl of pain, and then, turning away, bounded -into the thicket. - -"You are at my mercy," I cried to the others. "Stay where you are, or -I shall fire." - -An oath was the only answer, and then two of the men rushed at me, -whilst another, turning away to escape, was seized by young Heggs, who -had been leaning, panting, against a tree. The desperate struggle -which followed I could never describe in detail. One of my assailants -I should certainly have shot through the heart, _but that in the sudden -shock of recognising him_ my hand swerved and the bullet only grazed -his cheek. Backwards and forwards, amongst the bushes and on the -ground, we struggled and fought. But for my Devonshire training in -boxing and wrestling, I must have been overpowered at once, for the men -who had attacked me were fighting like wild beasts for their -liberty--biting, kicking, and dealing out sledge-hammer blows, any one -of which had it struck me would have sent me down like a log. Heggs -could render me no assistance, for, wearied with his long struggle, he -was overmatched himself, and in desperate straits. Suddenly there came -the sound of voices, and feet clambering over the low stone wall. With -a giant effort the taller of the two men with whom I had been -struggling flung me backwards amongst the bushes, and bounded away, -leaping the wall and scudding away across the park. But in my fall I -never relaxed my grasp upon the other man, and together we rolled over -and over in a fierce embrace, his teeth almost meeting in my hand, -which held him firmly by the throat. - -It was all over, for help had come. Nearly dozen of the servants and -stablemen from the Court poured into the enclosure, some taking up the -pursuit, some making preparations to carry Heggs and the other wounded -man up to the house, some tying together the hands, and zealously -guarding my prisoner, and all plying me with eager questions. My -recollection of all that directly followed is obscure. I remember -staggering across the park up to the Court, and meeting Sir Francis, -anxious yet thankful, in the courtyard. Then faint and giddy, the -blood pouring from a wound in my head down my shirt-front, and my -clothes torn and soiled, I sank down upon a couch in the hall, whilst -Sir Francis, with his own hand, strove to force some brandy down my -throat. A deadly, sickening unconsciousness was creeping over me; -there was a singing in my cars, and a buzzing in my head. But although -every one and everything around me seemed to my reeling senses confused -and chaotic, one person I saw as vividly as my eyes could show her to -me. First standing in the open doorway, then close to my side. I saw -her with white, pitying face, and an agony of terror in her dimmed blue -eyes, gazing at my shirt-front soaked with blood, and asking eagerly, -with quivering lips, where I was hurt. And my last effort was to force -a ghastly smile and to utter reassuring words, which died away -half-uttered and altogether incomprehensible upon my lips. Then black -darkness surged in upon me, blotting her out from my sight, and I -swooned. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -MY CONVALESCENCE - -For three days and nights I lay at Devereux Court in danger of my life, -but at the end of that time the concussion of the brain from which I -was suffering suddenly abated, and I commenced to make rapid strides -towards recovery. Everything that skill and kindness could do for me -was done. Marian was my principal nurse, but often in the afternoons -Lady Olive and Maud would come and sit with me, whilst more than once I -woke up to find Sir Francis Devereux himself by my side. - -As soon as I was well enough to talk I asked eagerly whether any of the -other poachers had been taken. Sir Francis shook his head, and looked -severe. - -"Not one of them," he declared in a vexed tone. "I scarcely have -patience to speak about it at the police-office, it seems so -scandalous. A thick-head set of muffs they must be!" - -How surprised he would have been if any one had told him his answer was -a great relief to me--and yet it was so. There was one man among that -gang of poachers whom I did not wish to be caught. - -"And was Heggs much hurt?" I asked. - -Sir Francis shook his head. - -"The old man was cut about a bit, but not seriously injured. -Richard--that's the son, you know--came off very easily, and was able -to tell us all about it. Can't say much about it, Arbuthnot, my boy, -for the doctor has given orders that there's to be no talking; but you -behaved splendidly, just as I should like my own son to have behaved," -he added, in a somewhat husky tone. - -"What's become of the man they caught?" I asked. - -"Remanded without bail until you can give evidence, which you won't be -able to do just yet," was the reply. "And now you're not to talk any -more. Not another word, sir," he added, sharply, in a tone of command -which he often used, and which came naturally from him, as it does from -any born soldier. And, of course, I obeyed. - -The short period of my illness was made as pleasant for me as kindness -and every luxury could make it. Marian was given a room close to mine, -and Sir Francis had also insisted upon sending for a trained nurse from -York Infirmary. All night she sat up with me, although it was quite -unnecessary, for all symptoms of the brain fever, which the doctor had -feared was impending, had disappeared, and I invariably slept well. -And all day Marian was with me, whilst Lady Olive and, more rarely, -Maud Devereux paid me occasional visits. My most regular daily -visitor, though, was Sir Francis himself. Every afternoon I woke up -from my doze to see his tall, stately figure moving softly about the -room, or sitting in the high-backed chair by my side. And sometimes I -found him with his eyes fixed upon me, watching me with a half-curious, -half-tender light softening his fine, stern face. Then I knew that he -was thinking of my father, and I found it hard to refrain from clasping -his hand and telling him who I was, and the whole truth about that -miserable day so many years ago. But I remembered that he had heard it -from my father, and called him a liar. I remembered that to his -soldierly notion the court-martial was a court infallible, a tribunal -which could not err, and I kept my mouth closed. - -To others, the obvious fancy which Sir Francis had taken for me seemed -inexplicable. I alone could guess--nay, knew, the reason. Marian and -Lady Olive sometimes jested with me about it, but Maud never referred -to it. In those days of my convalescence it seemed to me almost as -though her wild face, when I had lain fainting in the hall, must have -been a dream. She was kind, but in a proud, languid way; she talked to -me, but in a monotonous, measured manner, and with a cold gleam in her -deep blue eyes. She moved about my room with the stately grace of a -princess, but of a princess who is stooping to perform a conscientious -duty which she finds very wearisome. And yet, when she was there all -was glaring light, and my heart was beating with the pleasure of her -presence, and, when she was gone, the room seemed dark, and cold, and -cheerless, and the light went out of my eyes and from my heart. - -During those long days of forced inaction many thoughts troubled me. -Not a single line had I heard from my father since our parting at -Exeter, and his worn, suffering face haunted me day and night, and -filled me with a vague self-reproach. True, little time had gone by -yet, and I had already moved one step forward towards the -accomplishment of my sworn purpose. But--Maud Devereux was she not the -daughter of the man whom we had met on Exmoor, the daughter of my Uncle -Rupert, the man who had blasted my father's life, and thrown a long -shadow over my own! It was a thought which made me toss about restless -and uneasy, and filled me with a vague discontent. I never asked -myself why--I doubt whether I knew, but all the same the feeling was -there. - -One afternoon, just as I was getting a little stronger and able to move -about, Sir Francis Devereux gave me the opportunity which I had often -coveted. He alluded indirectly to his son. Summoning up all my -courage I asked him a question. - -"Will your son--Mr. Rupert Devereux, isn't it--be down before the -shooting is all over, Sir Francis?" I asked. - -His face changed at once. From the courteous, sympathising friend he -became the stiff, dignified aristocrat. His lips were set firmly -together, and there was a decided contraction of his black-grey -eyebrows. Altogether he looked as though he had suddenly remembered -that I was a comparative stranger, and only his land agent, from whom a -personal question of any sort was a decided impertinence. - -"Certainly not," he answered, curtly; "my son never visits Devereux." - -"And yet it will be his some day," I could not help remarking. - -"It will not be his some day. Devereux Court, at my death, will pass -into the hands of another son of mine, or his heir. Would to God it -could crumble into dust first!" the old man added, with a sudden burst -of bitterness. - -I could not tell what answer to make, so I remained silent. But I -suppose my face must have told him that I was eager to hear more. He -rose, and walked up and down the room several times, my eyes anxiously -following every movement. How like he was to my father! Age had -wonderfully little bent his figure. There was the same grace of limb -and carriage that I had often admired in my father when we had been -striding side by side across the heather-covered moors, the same long, -finely-carved features, and the same look of trouble stamped on the -brow. But in my father's case it was developed somewhat differently. -It had filled his eyes with a weary, long-suffering look, which seemed -to speak of absolute despair, and unvarying, hopeless grief. There was -more of bitterness and concentrated irritation in Sir Francis's face. -It seemed as though the sorrow would not settle into his being, but was -continually lashing him into acute and active wretchedness. Which was -the harder to bear, I wonder? - -Suddenly Sir Francis stopped short in the middle of the room, and -turned round to me. - -"Arbuthnot, my boy," he said, kindly, "I'll tell you about my two sons -if you care to hear the story, in a few words." - -"There is nothing I should like so well to hear, Sir Francis," I -answered, in a low tone. He drew near to me and sat down. - -"I've taken a strange fancy to you, Arbuthnot," he said, slowly; "I -feel that I should like you to know an old man's sorrow." - -His voice was very low indeed, and it seemed to me that his eyes were -dim. Then he began speaking in short sentences, as was his wont, but -with less than his usual curtness. - -"I have been married twice, and by each wife I had a son. Herbert was -the name of the elder, Rupert of the younger. Herbert's mother was the -daughter of an English nobleman, and he grew up as fine a young -Englishman as ever walked on God's earth, and a Devereux to the -backbone. Rupert's mother was a Spanish lady, and he resembled her -rather than me. Perhaps you will not be surprised when I tell you -that, although I concealed it as much as possible, Herbert was the son -I loved. - -"I made them both enter the army directly they were old enough. Ours -is a fighting family, and from the days of the Conqueror there has -always been a Devereux ready to fight for his country. There, in the -picture gallery, you may see them all, a magnificent race--ay, though I -call them so--of knights and cavaliers and generals. Never has there -been a battle fought in English history but a Devereux has borne arms -in it. I myself was at Inkermann, and led my regiment on into -Sebastopol. A glorious time it was." - -He stopped for a moment with sparkling eyes, and a pleased smile on his -lips, as though enjoying keenly the recollection. Then his face -clouded over again, and his head drooped. The change was so complete -and such a sad one that my heart ached for him, and I turned my head -away. He continued in an altered tone. - -"Well, I made them both soldiers, and when the time come for them to go -abroad and see active service I parted with them without a pang. In -less than six months Herbert, my eldest son, Herbert Devereux, -returned, disgraced, turned out of his regiment--a coward." - -Never had I heard anything so pathetic as the pang with which he seemed -to part with this last word. His voice was shaking, and there was a -hot colour in his checks. Suddenly he turned his back upon me, and I -heard a sob. - -"Did you believe it?" I asked, excitedly. "Was it proved? Was there -no shadow of doubt?" - -He shook his head. "None. My oldest friend was bound to pronounce him -guilty in open court-martial. It was the bitterest duty he ever -performed, he told me long afterwards. But a soldier's duty stands -high above all personal feelings. Had I been in his place I should -have pronounced the same verdict that he did, though my heart had -snapped in two." - -"On whose evidence was he convicted?" I asked. - -Sir Francis groaned. - -"On his own brother's. It was Rupert's word which convicted him, -Rupert's word which has pulled down into the dust the name which -through centuries and centuries has stood as high in honour and -chivalry as any name in Europe. God forgive him! He only did his -duty, but I cannot bear to look upon his face. Not that he wants to -come here! He is a foreigner, and he lives in a foreign country. He -is only half my son! It is Herbert whom I loved." - -"And where is he--Herbert?" I asked, fearfully. - -"Dead, I hope," he answered, sternly. "Since the day when I heard of -this disgrace I have never looked upon his face. I never wish to look -upon it again. For five-and-twenty years no one has dared to mention -his name in my presence. I have cursed him." - -"But if he lives, he is your eldest son, Devereux will be his?" - -A passionate fire leaped into Sir Francis's face. - -"Never. If I thought that he lived and would come here when I died, I -would fire Devereux Court, though I perished in it. I would cram it -full to the windows with dynamite, and leave not one stone standing -upon another, sooner than he should enter its doors the head of the -Devereuxs. You don't understand this feeling perhaps, Arbuthnot," he -went on, in a lower voice, which was still, however, vibrating with an -intense passion; "some day I will take you into the picture gallery -with me, and then perhaps you will understand it a little better." - -"I understand it now, Sir Francis," I told him: "but--but you are sure -that your son Herbert was guilty? Think of the difference which his -disgrace made to Rupert. It made him your heir, virtually your only -son. If he was of a jealous disposition--Spanish people are, they -say--the opportunity of getting rid of Herbert for ever and taking his -place might have tempted him." - -I am convinced that the idea which I falteringly suggested to Sir -Francis Devereux had never in the vaguest way presented itself to him -before. Nor was this wonderful. Courteous and polished man of the -world though he was, his nature had preserved all the innate and -magnificent simplicity of the ideal soldier. Falsehood and meanness -were so utterly beneath him that he never looked for them in others. -They represented qualities of which he knew nothing. Any one could -have cheated him, but if by chance detected, the crime would have -seemed to him unpardonable, and from him they would never have won -forgiveness. Herbert, the son whom he loved, had told him a lie--a -court-martial of his fellow-soldiers had determined that it was so--and -the crime had seemed to him scarcely less black than the cowardice. He -had never doubted it for one reason, because the decision of a -court-martial was to him infallible, and for another, because the idea -of falsehood in connection with his other son had never been suggested -to him, and save from another's lips could never have entered into his -mind. - -I watched the lightning change in his face eagerly. A ray of sudden -startling hope chased the first look of astonishment from his face, but -it was replaced in its turn by a heavy frown and a tightening of the -lips. - -"We are not a race of liars," he began, sternly. - -"But, if Rupert lied, Herbert was neither liar nor coward," I -interrupted. - -He looked at me in such a way that I could say no more. - -"There was another witness beside Rupert----" - -"Rupert's servant," I faltered, but he took no notice. - -"And I should never dream of doubting the court-martial's decision. -I've told you this story, Arbuthnot--I don't know why exactly; but I -forbid you ever to mention it to me again. Ah, Miss Marian, you see I -have been keeping your brother company for a long while this afternoon." - -He had risen to his feet with old-fashioned courtesy as my sister -entered the room, and had held a chair for her by my sofa. Then, after -a few more pleasant words, he nodded kindly to me and went. If he had -stayed five minutes longer I might have told him all. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A MOONLIGHT RIDE - -Before a month had passed I was able to get about, and was soon as well -and strong as ever. I gave my evidence before a full bench of the -county magistrates, identified the man in custody, and gave -descriptions in all cases but one sufficiently clear of the men who -were still at large. The local papers had made a great stir about the -whole affair, and when the court was over most of the magistrates came -up to shake hands with me, and I found myself quite a celebrity. For a -full month afterwards invitations to dinner and shooting parties came -pouring in upon me, and Lady Olive was never tired of chaffing me about -my reputed achievements. But the more friendly Lady Olive became, both -with Marian and myself, the less we saw of Maud Devereux. I told -myself that I was glad of it, but I was a hypocrite. More than once -lately I had reined in my cob, and from a distance watched her riding -home from a day's hunting, with Lord Annerley by her side, and had -cursed him under my breath for an insolent puppy. Since the night when -he had dined at Devereux Court he seemed to have taken a strong dislike -to me. I had met him afterwards and nodded, and in return had received -an insolent stare. At first I had been tempted to lay my riding-whip -across his face, but I quoted Tennyson to myself instead and laughed-- - - "Scorn'd, to be scorn'd by one that I scorn, - Is that a matter to make me fret? - That a calamity hard to be borne? - Well, he may live to hate me yet." - - -And Lord Annerley did live to hate me, and before very long too, for -one afternoon as I was riding home in the dusk I met Maud and him face -to face at one of the entrances to the park. She bowed to me coldly, -but Lord Annerley looked straight between his horse's ears without even -acknowledging my salutation. Instantly she turned round to me. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot." - -I pulled the Black Prince on his haunches, and brought him round to her -side. - -"Are you not going our way? It is a long way round by the road unless -you want to call in the village!" - -I was too surprised to think of any excuse, so I turned my horse's head. - -"Yes, I suppose the park's the shorter way. I ought to have remembered -it for the Black Prince's sake," I remarked. "I'm afraid he's rather -done up." - -"I thought that you two had met," she said, turning to her companion. -"Lord Annerley, you know Mr. Arbuthnot, do you not?" - -He turned stiffly round towards me, with an angry flush on his cheek. - -"Oh--ah--yes. How d'ye do, Arbuthnot?" - -I sat bolt upright in my saddle, and looked steadily at Lord Annerley -without returning his insolent greeting. - -"My name is Arbuthnot, certainly," I said, coldly, "but your lordship -will pardon my observing that I am not accustomed to hear it taken such -liberties with." - -I raised my hat to Miss Devereux, and digging spurs into Black Prince's -side rode on ahead. But I had scarcely gone a quarter of a mile before -I heard a single horse's hoofs close behind, and looking round saw Maud -riding up to me alone. I reined in at once and waited for her. - -She joined me without a word, and we walked our horses side by side in -silence. There was a change in her face which puzzled me; a faint -tinge of pink was colouring her cheeks, and a peculiar smile, half of -amusement, half of satisfaction, parted slightly her lips. Her eyes -she kept averted from me. - -"Where is Lord Annerley?" I asked, suddenly. - -"Gone home," she answered, demurely. - -"I'm afraid I've spoilt your ride," I said. "I'm sorry." - -"Not at all," she answered, still without looking at me. "You spoilt -his, I think." - -I answered nothing. I dared not. I felt that there was safety for me -only in silence. And so we rode on, our horses' feet sinking silently -into the short, green turf as we cantered slowly through the park. -From behind the dark plantations on our right the moon had risen into a -clear sky, and every now and then the Black Prince started and shied -slightly at the grotesque shadows cast by the giant oak-trees under -which we rode. Where they were thickest a few bats flew out and -wheeled for a minute or two round our heads before disappearing in the -opposite thickets. - -"Are you afraid to talk to me, Mr. Arbuthnot, or can't you think of -anything to say?" Maud suddenly asked. - -The words which I intended to speak died away on my lips. A subtle -power seemed to be struggling with my will and intoxicating my senses. -I answered blindly-- - -"I am afraid to talk to you, Miss Devereux, because I have too much to -say." - -She turned round and looked at me, her deep blue eyes full of a -half-inviting, half-mocking light which nearly drove me mad. She, at -any rate, was quite at her case. - -"Are you going to try and flirt with me, Mr. Arbuthnot?" she asked, -lightly. "I am not Lady Olive." - -Just then the Black Prince shied as we rode across the shadow of a -gigantic oak-tree, and we were so close together that our horses' heads -nearly touched. One of her shapely hands was hanging carelessly down, -toying with her whip, and, scarcely knowing what I did, I caught hold -of it and held it to my lips. She drew it away, but she might have -drawn it away a second sooner had she chosen. - -"You are a presumptuous boy," she said, looking at me with a curious, -half-puzzled light in her glorious eyes. "If you don't behave yourself -I shall begin to be sorry that I sent Lord Annerley away. He wouldn't -have done such a stupid thing as that, I'm sure." - -"He'd better not," I said, fiercely. She laughed mockingly. I would -have given anything to have been able to keep back the words which were -fast rising from my swelling heart to my lips, but I seemed to have -lost all control over myself. A fatal, irresistible impulse was luring -me on. "Maud----" - -"_Mr._ Arbuthnot," with a stress upon the Mr. - -I leaned over to her, and strove to look into her face, but she kept it -turned from me. "Maud, dearest!" - -She turned round suddenly, with a curious contradiction of expressions -in her face. Her eyes still seemed to mock me with a delusive -tenderness, but her lips were close set, and her head thrown proudly -back. - -"That is quite enough, Mr. Arbuthnot! Must I remind you again that I -am not Lady Olive? I have never studied the art of flirting, and I -don't think I'll begin with you. You're far too accomplished." - -In vain I tried to analyse the look she threw me as she struck her -horse sharply, and rode away from me. It was contemptuous and tender, -angry and laughing, serious and mocking. I dug spurs into Black -Prince's side; but he was done up, whilst she was on her second horse. -It was not until we were actually in the shrubbery grounds that I -caught her up. - -"One word, Miss Devereux," I begged, riding up to her side, "you are -not angry with me?" - -She looked into my eager face and laughed a low mocking laugh, which -maddened me to listen to. The moon was shining full upon her loose -coils of fair hair and exquisite profile, bathing her in its silvery -light, and making her look like a marvellous piece of statuary, -perfectly beautiful, but cold as marble. My heart sank as I looked -into her face, and I turned away in despair. - -"Maud, you are a flirt," I cried. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot," she replied, impressively, "people who live in glass -houses shouldn't throw stones." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -A STRANGE INTERVIEW - -The sun had gone down behind a bank of angry, leaden-coloured clouds, -which were fast spreading over the whole surface of the sky. Only here -and there a stunted, half-grown, and leafless oak-tree stretched out -its naked branches towards the darkening sky, and within a yard or two -of me there was a miserable apology for a cottage. - -No one, save they had known otherwise, would have taken it for anything -but a cowshed of the rudest form. It was built of boards dipped in -black tar, windowless, chimneyless, save for a hole in the roof through -which a small piece of dilapidated stove piping had been thrust, and -without the merest pretence of a garden. It stood, or rather leaned, -against one side of a sharp slope in the moor, and fifty yards from the -rude sheep-track which did duty as a road, and even in the daytime -there was no other human habitation within sight, or any sign of one. - -With my arm in the bridle of the Black Prince, I led him down the -slope, and, grasping my riding-whip by the stock, knocked sharply at -what I concluded to be the door. I heard the quick sound of a man's -startled curse, and then there was a dead silence. I knocked again, -but no one answered. Then I kicked at the loose planks till the place -seemed as though it would tumble down like a pack of cards. - -"What d'ye want?" a woman's shrill voice cried through the open chinks. -"Who be you?" - -"I want your husband," I answered. - -"Well, he bean't here, 'e bean't coom home." - -"It's a lie!" I shouted back. "Tell him I shall not go away until I -have seen him, though I kick this place about your ears. Is he afraid? -Tell him I am alone." - -She withdrew muttering, and I fastened Black Prince as securely as I -could against the wall. Suddenly the door was opened, and stooping -low, with my heavy riding-whip grasped firmly in my right hand, I -stepped inside. - -At first I could see nothing, but just as I was cautiously feeling in -my pockets for a match, the red flames of a wood fire, which was -smouldering on the hearth, leaped up and showed me the bare walls and -miserable interior of the tumble-down hovel, showed me, too, the figure -of a tall, evil-looking man grasping a thick cudgel in his hand, and -peering through the gloom at me with a sort of threatening -inquisitiveness. - -"What d'ye want wi' me?" the man began, suspiciously. Then suddenly he -dropped his cudgel and staggered back against the frail wall, with his -arms stretched out as though to keep me off. - -"God, it's Muster Herbert! It's Muster Herbert's ghost. What d'ye -want? What d'ye want? What d'ye want here wi' me? Speak, can't you!" -he cried out in a tone of hysterical dread. - -"Don't be a fool, John Hilton," I said, contemptuously. "I am Hugh -Devereux, son of the man against whom you swore a lie twenty-five years -ago, and I have come here to ask you a few questions." - -He kept his eyes fixed upon me in a sort of sullen fascinated stare. - -"First tell me why you swore that lie? It was Rupert Devereux who made -you." - -The man's brute courage was returning to him slowly. He picked up his -cudgel and began to beat the side of his legs with it. - -"You know how to command, young sir," he said, sneeringly. "Suppose I -say I won't answer your d--d questions?" - -"I don't think you'll be so foolish," I said. "If you don't want to -find yourself in gaol for poaching, before the week's out, you'll do -exactly as I tell you." - -He swore savagely, and turned his ugly face full upon me. - -"So you was the d--d young swell that came busting in upon us when we -was just a-settling things off nice and comfortable t'other night, was -you! I've a good mind----" - -He had advanced a step or two towards me, and his fingers had closed -firmly round his cudgel. - -"Put that piece of timber down, John Hilton," I said, firmly; "you've -tried conclusions with me once at Porlock, and you got the worst of it. -So you will again if you try the same game. Drop it. Do you hear?" - -I took a quick step forward, and raised my riding-whip. He hesitated, -and then threw it savagely down. - -"Curse it, what d'ye want to know?" - -"It was Rupert Devereux who made you tell that lie before the -court-martial?" - -"Ay, 'twas him, right enough. I'll tell yer all about it. Muster -Rupert Devereux ain't nothink to me! He comes to me that morning t' -moment the bugle had sounded, and we was in the tents. 'Hilton,' he -said to me, 'would yer tell a lie to be made a rich man for the rest of -your life?' 'In coors I would,' said I. 'Then when you're summoned -before General Luxton to-morrow,' says he, 'tell him that you saw -nothing of my brother during the fight. Forget that he ran out to help -us against those two black varmint. Do that, and I'll allow you two -hundred pounds a year as long as you live.' 'I'm your man,' said I. -'That's right,' says he, and turns on his heel and walks back again. -That were 'ow it war," he wound up defiantly. - -I had hard work to keep my hands off him, but I did. - -"And your two hundred pounds a year?" I asked, glancing around and at -the bold-looking, slatternly woman who sat crouched on a stool watching -us. "What's become of that? I presume you don't live here from -choice?" - -He broke into a volley of horrible curses. - -"I should think I don't," he broke out. "I'll tell 'e how that ---- -served me. I was maybe a bit of a fool; anyways, I was a bit -strong-headed, and when we got back to England I would live wi' 'im as -his servant, though he didn't like it, and said I was too rough and -clumsy, and so I war. But I got into his ways a bit, and live wi' 'im -I would, for I didn't nohow feel safe about getting the coin, he war -always moving about so. Often we had rows, and he used to say as he'd -send me a-packing; but I only laughed at 'im. But that 'ere night, -down at Porlock, yer remember it, he got to hear what I'd done, and he -sent for me. 'Hilton,' he said, 'here's a month's wages, and you can -go to the devil. I've done wi' you.' ''Ow about our little secret, -mister?' I said, for I didn't think as he was noways in earnest, and he -says, 'You're a fool. Hilton. You think you've got me in your power, -but it's the stupidest mistake you ever made in your life. You can go -and tell your secret to any one you like, and I wish you joy of those -who'll believe yer.' And I saw then as I wor done, for of coors no one -would believe me. They all said as it wor a bit o' spite because he'd -given me the sack and so I went down, down, down, and here I am." - -"A poacher," I remarked. - -"I didn't say nowt about that," he answered, sullenly. "Wot more do -yer want wi' me?" - -"A little family history, that's all. Whom did your master marry?" - -"Miss Saville, or some such name. She war a clergyman's daughter, and -she died soon after the second child were born." - -"The second child! There is a daughter living at Devereux Court -now--is the other one a son?" - -The man nodded sullenly. - -"And where is he?" - -"How the devil should I know! He war at college when I left Muster -Rupert; ain't 'eard of 'im since! - -"Or of Rupert Devereux?" - -"No, I ain't 'eard of 'im. D'ye think I reads the sassiety papers down -'ere to know where all the fine folks is, 'cos I don't." - -I was silent for a few minutes, thinking. Of what use was this -fellow's confession to me now that I had got it? Who would believe the -word of such a disreputable vagabond against the word of Rupert -Devereux? Still, I would have his confession--some day it might be -useful. - -"Have you a candle?" I asked. - -The woman rose from her seat for the first time, and after groping -about for a moment or two produced a few inches of tallow dip I struck -a match, and, righting it, thrust it in the neck of a black bottle -which she silently handed me. Then, in as few words as possible, I -wrote down the substance of Hilton's confession and handed it to him, -with the pencil, to sign. - -"If it only does 'im the harm I wish it will," he muttered, "it'll do. -Now, mister," he went on, turning towards me half threateningly, half -whiningly, "wot I wants to know is this--Be yer going to peach on me -for that poaching job, and how in thunder's name did yer know where to -find me?" - -"By accident, the latter," I answered. I saw you come out of this den -months ago, when I was riding across the moor to Silverbridge. I -thought it was a chance resemblance then, but when I saw you in the -wood I knew you. John Hilton, I am not going to denounce you as one of -that gang of poachers; on the other hand, I have purposely refrained -from handing in your description. But you have an account to settle -with me. - -He grasped his cudgel again. - -"What do you mean?" he muttered. - -"I shall show you," I answered. I turned aside to the woman, who sat -watching us with a weary, indifferent stare. - -"How long is it since you had anything to eat?" I asked. - -"Yester forenoon," she moaned. "Him there"--she pointed to her -husband--"he daredna go owt, and I ain't got no money, nor nowt to -sell. We be starving." - -I put my hand in my pocket and gave her half-a-sovereign. - -"Take that, and go and get something at once," I said. - -She started to her feet, and her fingers closed eagerly over the coin. -Then she drew her shawl around her and hurried to the door. - -"I'll be back inside o' an hour, Jack," she called out to her husband. -"We'll 'a some supper to-night; I'll go to Jones's"--and she hurried -away. - -I turned to the man, who stood looking hungrily after his wife. - -"John Hilton, I said that I had an account to settle with you. I have. -It is through your damnable conspiracy and lying that my father is -wandering about in a foreign land a miserable man; that I am here -compelled to bear a false name and occupy a false position. If you -think that I have forgiven you this because I gave your wife money and -do not cause you to be arrested as a poacher, you are mistaken. I -don't want your miserable life. I wouldn't take it if I had the -chance. But I am going to give you the soundest horsewhipping you ever -had in your life." - -He shrunk back. He was a coward at heart, but he had plenty of bravado. - -"Now, look 'ere, young mister," he said, savagely, "you've given my -missus money when we wanted it, lad, and I don't want to hurt you. But -you're only a stripling, and if you lay 'ands on me I sha'n't take it -quiet, I can tell you. Now keep off." - -He was a tall man, but I was a taller; and though I was slim, my -out-of-door life had hardened my muscles till they were like iron. But -had I been less his superior in strength, the passionate hatred and -disgust which leaped up within me when I remembered what this man had -done would have helped me to have gained my end. As it was, he was -utterly helpless in my grasp, and I had wrenched his cudgel from him in -a moment. All round the little room he struggled and writhed; whilst -holding him by the collar with one hand I dealt him fierce, quick blows -with my thonged riding-whip. Then, throwing him from me, panting and -helpless, into the furthest corner of the room, I strode out of the -shaking tenement to where my horse was neighing impatiently outside. -He made no attempt to follow me, and in a few minutes I had given Black -Prince the rein, and we were flying across the moor homewards. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -MARIAN SURPRISES ME - -It was eighteen miles from John Hilton's hut to the park gates, across -a wild country, and I had had two hours' hard riding when, splashed -with bog mud from head to foot, I walked into Marian's little -sitting-room, which, it seemed to me, after the dark moor, had never -looked so cheerful and cosy. Marian herself was there, lounging in a -low wicker chair, with her fair hair scarcely so tidy as usual, and a -soft, pleased light in her grey eyes, and opposite her was a -visitor--our curate. She sprang up as I entered. - -"Hugh, how late you are! I waited dinner nearly two hours. Where have -you been?" - -I was tired, and hungry, and cold; and I shook hands with our visitor -without a superabundance of cordiality before dropping into an easy -chair in front of the fire. - -"A little business, that's all. Did you keep any dinner back?" - -"Of course I did." - -She rang the bell, and I sat still for a minute or two, expecting Mr. -Holdern to take his leave. But he did nothing of the sort. Presently -I rose. - -"I'll change my things, and have a wash, I think. You'll excuse me for -a few minutes," I said to Mr. Holdern, curtly. - -He consented readily, without making any movement to go. When I -descended into our little dining-room, about half-an-hour afterwards, -Marian was not there, though she came in almost directly. - -"That fellow Holdern not gone yet?" I asked, surprised. - -"N--no, Hugh, he's not gone yet," Marian answered, a little -consciously. "Now, I do hope that partridge isn't done up to nothing. -And how's the bread sauce? Rather thick, isn't it?" - -I couldn't quite make Marian out. She seemed almost nervous, and after -she had waited upon me, and poured out a glass of the claret which Sir -Francis had insisted upon sending down from the house, she stood by my -side with her arm round my neck, and looking uncommonly pretty. - -"Hadn't you better go in and talk with that fellow Holdern, if he won't -go?" I asked; "won't do to leave him in there all by himself." - -"Oh, he won't hurt," she answered, stroking my hair caressingly; "he's -been here ever since afternoon tea." - -"The deuce he has!" I exclaimed, setting down my glass, and looking up -at her surprised. "What does he want? A subscription?" - -"N--no. I don't think so, Hughie." - -Something of the truth commenced to dawn upon me, and, sitting back in -my chair, I caught Marian by the arms, and looked into her face. - -"Marian, you don't mean to say that the fellow's been making love to -you!" - -She was blushing all over her delicate little face, and she held up her -hands as though to hide it from me. - -"I--I'm afraid he has, Hughie, and--and----" - -"And what?" - -"And I've been letting him." - -"Oh, indeed!" I exclaimed, feebly. - -It wasn't a very impressive thing to say, but I was bewildered. - -Suddenly she threw herself into my arms and hid her face on my shoulder. - -"Oh, Hugh, you won't be angry, will you? say that you won't! He is so -nice, and I'm so happy." - -I don't know how most men would have felt in my position, but I must -confess that my first impulse was to go and punch Mr. Holdern's head. -But when I began to think the matter over a little it occurred to me -that this was scarcely the proper course to pursue--at any rate, it was -not the usual one. The more I thought of it the more natural it seemed -to me. I remembered now how often I had found Mr. Holdern sitting at -afternoon tea with Marian when I had come home about that time, and -what an interest she had been taking in parish matters lately. As far -as the man himself was concerned there was nothing against him; in -fact, I rather liked him. But to give him--a stranger--Marian, my -little sister, who had only just begun to keep house for me, the idea -was certainly not a pleasant one, and yet if she wished it, how could I -refuse her? - -"You're too young, you know, for anything of this sort, Marian," I -began, with an attempt at severity, which I'm sure she saw through. - -"I'm eighteen," came a piteous voice from the vicinity of my waistcoat. -"Lots of girls are engaged before they're eighteen." - -This was unanswerable. I tried another line. - -"And you want to leave me, then, Marian, already?" I said, with a -plaintiveness that was not all affected. - -The arms that were round my neck tightened their grasp, and a -tear-stained, dishevelled face was lifted piteously to mine. - -"I don't, Hugh! You know I don't. We only want to be engaged. We -don't want to be married." - -"Well, I suppose it's all right," I said, with a sigh. "Look here, -Marian, you run along in to Mr. Holdern, and leave me to think about it -while I finish my dinner." - -She unclasped her arms and looked at me radiantly. - -"Dear old Hugh! I knew you'd say yes." - -"But I haven't said anything of the sort," I protested, severely. -"Don't you run away with that idea, young lady. I shall have to hear -what Mr. Holdern's got to say for himself first," I added, frowning, -and assuming an air of paternal authority. But she saw through it, and -with a final kiss ran away laughing. - -Being a somewhat matter-of-fact young man, and keenly conscious of an -as yet unsatisfied hunger, I finished my dinner before I commenced to -think seriously over this unexpected incident. Then I leaned back in -my chair and considered it, and in a very few minutes I had come to the -conclusion that it was about the most fortunate thing that could have -happened. I had never intended my stay here to be a permanent one, and -whilst there were now no reasons why I should remain, there were -several strong ones why I should go. First, I could attain no nearer -now, by stopping, to the great object of my life; on the other hand, -every day I stayed here and remained under the fascination of Maud -Devereux's presence I stood in greater risk of forgetting my oath. -Then whilst here I had no opportunity of meeting Rupert Devereux, my -uncle, the man from, whom, if it came at all, must come my father's -justification. My father! - -I thought of him in his weary exile, and my heart ached. Not a line -had I heard from him since our parting, nor had I even the least idea -in what country of the world he was. If Marian left me, what was there -to prevent my finding him out and throwing in my lot with his? -Together we might accomplish what singly each might fail in. The more -I thought about it the more I liked the idea. - -Leave Devereux I must, though I had grown to love the place, and to -feel a strange affection for my stern old grandfather. Yet how could I -go on living here to feel every day the subtle fascination of Maud -Devereux's presence gaining a stronger hold upon me--Maud Devereux, the -daughter of the man who had wrecked my father's life and mine, the man -whom I had cursed in my heart? It seemed to me almost like treachery -towards him whom I loved so well, and whose wrongs I so bitterly -resented, that a glance from her blue eyes could madden or elate me, -and that the sound of her voice could set all my senses quivering. I -must go, I must turn my back upon her for ever and take up the work of -my life wherever it might lead me. This thing which had happened to -Marian made the way clear before me. - -I crossed over to our little drawing-room, and, entering without the -ceremony of knocking, found Marian and Mr. Holdern seated on chairs a -long way from one another, apparently engaged in a minute examination -of the ceiling. Marian took up her work and left us with a blushing -face, and Mr. Holdern, without any beating about the bush, stood up on -the hearthrug and began his tale. - -He was a pleasant-faced, agreeable young fellow, and there was an -honest look about his eyes and a straightforward manner which I liked, -and which convinced me of his sincerity. He had a private income, he -told me, and had recently been offered a very comfortable living about -twelve miles away. "Of course," he added, hesitatingly, "he felt some -diffidence in proposing to take Marian away from me, and thus leaving -me to live by myself--but, but, the long and short of it was, he wanted -to get married as soon as I could possibly spare her. They would not -be far away; indeed, if my prospective loneliness was an objection, I -could take up my abode with them. Anything so that I would give him -Marian, and give him her soon." - -I did not waste any time in affecting to consider the matter, but, -pledging him first to secrecy, I told him our history, what was our -rightful name, and my reasons for not bearing it. If I had had any -doubt before, I knew by his behaviour when I had finished my story that -he was a good fellow. He held out his hand and grasped mine, with the -tears standing in his eyes. - -"Mr. Devereux," he said, emphatically, "I don't know how to express my -sympathy for you. I heard of this sad affair when I was a very little -boy, and I have heard my father say many a time that he would never -believe Herbert Devereux to be a coward. I hope to God that you will -succeed in your quest." - -"I hope so," I echoed, fervently. "Marian knows nothing of this, Mr. -Holdern." - -"Nor need she ever," he answered. "I think you have been quite right -to keep it from her! There would have been no object gained in her -knowing, and women do not understand these things like men." - -"Do you know anything of Rupert Devereux?" I asked. - -He shook his head. "Very little. I have seen him once--a tall, dark -man, handsome, but very unlike the Devereuxs. I have heard him spoken -of as a Sybarite and a pleasure-seeker. He is seldom in England, I -believe." - -A Sybarite! A pleasure-seeker! I thought of him wandering at will -through the countries of the world, steeping his senses in every luxury -that money could buy, and living at ease and in comfort, and I thought -of my father, also a wanderer on the face of the earth, seeking neither -comfort nor pleasure nor ease, at war with the world and with himself, -with no joy in the present or hope for the future, seeking only for a -chance to throw his life away in the miserable quarrels of any -pettifogging country who would accept his sword! Mr. Holdern watched -me in silence while I walked up and down the room for a few minutes -almost beside myself with compressed passion. Then he walked up to me -and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Devereux," he said, earnestly, "I can -understand your feeling like this, but you must try and keep it under -control, or I'm afraid there will be trouble soon." - -"What do you mean?" I asked, turning round and facing him. - -He hesitated, and then answered slowly-- - -"I have just heard that young Francis Devereux, your cousin, is -expected down here for Christmas." - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -AMONGST THE BULRUSHES - -It wanted but three days to Christmas, and it had been a frost. Upon -the bare fields and the shivering landscape had fallen a hand of -iron--no gentle hoar-frost, making the fields and country look like a -glittering panorama, but a stern, merciless black frost which had come -in with the east wind, and lay upon the land like a cruel blight. -Agricultural work of all sort was at a standstill, and hunting was -impossible. The only thing to be done out of doors was to skate, and -that every one who owned a pair of skates was doing. - -There was a large party at Devereux Court, but I had contrived to see -very little of them. Two of Lady Olive's sisters, some former -schoolfellows of Maud Devereux's, Francis Devereux, and some town -friends, were all stopping there, and Maud was playing hostess while -Sir Francis kept himself partially shut up. Once or twice I had come -across them in the park, a laughing, chattering group, but I had passed -with a bow, and had chosen not to see Lady Olive's mute command to -stop. I had seen him, my cousin, and I hated him. What freak of -nature had made him the brother of such a sister?--this pale, -effeminate-looking man, with leaden eyes and insolent stare, and the -manners of a fop. "What did Sir Francis think of him," I wonder, "as -the future head of the family of Devereux?" Bah! It was a profitless -thought. - -Early in the morning I sallied out with Mr. Holdern and Marian for an -hour or two's skating; there was nothing else for me to do. There were -two lakes, and we chose the smaller that we might have it all to -ourselves. No sooner had we our skates on than the inevitable -happened. Hand in hand Marian and Holdern swept away together to the -farther end where the bulrushes were many and the ice was bad, and I -was left alone. - -I commenced to make the best of it by selecting a smooth piece of ice -and setting myself an impossible task in figure skating. Far away on -the other lake I could hear the hum of many skates and the sound of -merry voices, and it made me feel lonely and discontented. I would -like to have been with them, skating hand in hand with Maud--Maud whom -I had not spoken a single word to since our last ride home together; -Maud whose face was seldom absent from my thoughts; Maud whom, alas! I -loved. - -With an aching heart I left off my futile attempt to cut impossible -figures, and, lighting my pipe, commenced to make the circuit of the -lake, with long, swift strides. There was something exhilarating in -the rapid motion, in the desperate hastening over the smooth black ice, -and as I came round for the second time my cheeks began to glow and my -heart to grow lighter. Then suddenly it bounded with an unthinking -joy, for close above me was a chorus of gay, chattering tongues, and -one amongst them I could distinguish in a moment, although it was the -lowest of all. - -I struck away for the middle of the lake, meaning to make my escape, -but I was just a second or two too late. Lady Olive was calling to me, -and I was obliged to turn round. - -The whole group was standing on the bank, some carrying chairs, and -some sledges, and all, except Francis Devereux, skates. Lady Olive was -calling to me, so I was obliged to skate up to them. - -"Fancy your being here all by yourself, Mr. Arbuthnot! Do you know, we -were coming down to call on you, the whole lot of us, if we hadn't seen -you soon? Is it good ice? And come in closer, do; I want to introduce -you to my sisters." - -There was nothing for me to do but obey, and in a moment I found myself -being chatted to by two girls not very unlike Lady Olive herself; and -my hand had touched Maud's for a moment, and my eyes looked into hers. -Then some one introduced me to Mr. Francis Devereux, and I found myself -bowing slightly (I had kept my hands behind me, all the time -anticipating this, for God forbid that I should place the hand of -Rupert Devereux's son within my own) to my cousin, who looked out at me -superciliously from the depths of a fur coat, which had the appearance -of having been made for the Arctic regions. It was too cold to stand -still, and we all trooped on to the ice. There were many more men than -girls in the party, I was pleased to see, and very soon they were -scattered all over the lake in couples, and I, glad enough of it, was -left to myself. Maud alone had delayed putting on her skates, and was -sitting on a stump close to where I was standing filling my pipe, the -centre of a little group of men, amongst whom was Lord Annerley. As I -threw the match down, and turned round to start away again, my eyes met -hers for a moment, and she smiled slightly. Did she expect me, I -wonder, to join the little group of her admirers, and vie with them in -making pretty speeches, and compete with them for the privilege of -putting her skates on? Bah! not I. If she thought that I was her -slave, to be made happy or miserable by a glance from her blue eyes or -a kind word from her lips, I would show her that she was mistaken. If -she was proud, so was I; and drawing on my glove again, I skated over -to the other side of the lake, out of hearing and sight of her little -court. - -Soon Lady Olive came skating up to me alone, with her hands stuck -coquettishly into the pockets of her short fur-trimmed jacket, and her -bright little face glowing with pleasure and warmth. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, I think you're the most unsociable man I ever knew!" -she exclaimed. "My sisters are dying to skate with you, but you won't -ask them, and--and--so am I," she added, with a bewitching smile up at -me. - -Of course I could do nothing but take her little hands into mine and -skate away with her at once. We passed Maud again and again skating -with Lord Annerley, and the proud cold light in her eyes as she glanced -at us in passing half maddened me. Whenever we met her, Lady Olive, -out of wanton mischief, forced me to look down into her laughing -upturned face and bright eyes, and to do so without an answering smile -was impossible; and yet Lady Olive's brilliant chatter and mocking -speeches were very pleasant to hear and to respond to, reckless little -flirt though she was. - -She left me at last to skate with Lord Annerley's brother, who had just -driven up in a dog-cart with some more men, and then I went to look for -Marian and Holdern. Instead, I came face to face round a sharp corner -with Maud leaning back in a sledge and gazing idly into the bulrushes, -where one of her brother's friends was busy with a penknife. She -motioned me languidly to stop, and I obeyed her. - -"What have you done with Lady Olive?" she inquired, coldly. - -"Resigned her to a more fortunate man," I answered, circling round her -chair. - -"More fortunate! You haven't much to grumble at! You've been skating -with her more than an hour, haven't you?" - -"Really I don't know," I answered, lightly. "I took little notice of -the time." - -"It passed too pleasantly, I suppose?" - -"Perhaps so! I so seldom have any one to talk to," I could not help -answering. - -"It is your own fault. You have been avoiding us deliberately for the -last three weeks." - -I folded my arms and looked steadily away from her. - -"And if I have," I said, slowly, "I think you might congratulate me on -my wisdom and strength of mind." - -She laughed a little hesitating laugh, and, with her head thrown back -on the cushion of the sledge, fixed her eyes upon me. - -"Lady Olive is dangerous, is she?" - -I looked at her for a full minute without answering. From underneath -her sealskin turban hat her blue eyes were looking full into mine, and -a mocking smile was playing around her delicate lips. Surely she was -beautiful enough to drive any man mad. - -"No, Lady Olive is not dangerous to me," I answered, deliberately; "you -are." - -A curious change came over her face as she uttered the word. The -mocking smile became almost a tender one, and a delicate flush tinged -her soft cheeks. But the greatest change was in her eyes. For a -moment they flashed into mine with a light shining out of their blue -depths which I had never dreamt of seeing there, a soft, warm, almost a -loving light. - -"You are a silly boy," she said, in a low tone, and the colour -deepening all the while in her cheeks. "How dare you talk to me like -this?" - -Ah, how dared I? She might well have asked that if she had only known. - -"I don't know," I said, recklessly. "I shall say more if I stay here -any longer." - -"You? Ah, Captain Hasleton, how beautiful! However did you manage to -find so many?" - -Captain Hasleton shut up his penknife and commenced tying the bundle of -bulrushes together. - -"Ah, you may well ask that, Miss Devereux," he said, laughing; "it -would take too long to narrate all the horrors I have faced in -collecting them. First of all, endless frogs resented my intrusion by -jumping up and croaking all round me. Then I stood in constant peril -of a ducking. You should have heard the ice crack! And last, but by -no means least, I've cut my finger. Nothing but half-a-dozen waltzes -to-night will repay me." - -Maud laughed gaily. - -"Half-a-dozen? How grasping! I'll promise you two. That reminds me, -Mr. Arbuthnot," she added, leaning forward on her muff and looking up -at me, "we're going to dance to-night, and I've persuaded your sister -and Mr. Holdern to come up to dinner. You will come, won't you?" - -I said something conventional to the effect that I should be delighted, -and, raising my cap, was about to turn away. But she called me back. - -"How dreadfully tall you are, Mr. Arbuthnot! I have a private message -for your sister. Do you think that you could bring yourself within -whispering distance?" - -I stooped down till my heart beat to feel her soft breath on my cheek, -and I felt a wild longing to seize hold of the slender, shapely hand -that rested on my coat-sleeve. And these were the words which she -whispered into my ear, half mischievously, half tenderly-- - -"Faint heart never won--anything, did it? Don't, you silly boy! -Captain Hasleton will see you." - -And then she drew herself up and nodded, and with the hot colour -burning my cheeks, and with leaping heart, I watched Captain Hasleton -seize hold of the light hand-sledge and send it flying along the smooth -surface of the lake round the sharp corner and out of sight. Then I -turned and skated away in the opposite direction with those words -ringing in my ears and a wild joy in my heart. The cold east wind -seemed to me like the balmiest summer breeze, and the bare, desolate -landscape stretching away in front seemed bathed in a softening golden -light. For Maud loved me--or she was a flirt. Maud was a flirt--or -she loved me. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -RUPERT DEVEREUX - -If any one had told me that evening, as Marian and Holdern and I drew -near to the great entrance of Devereux Court, that I was entering it -for the last time for many years, I should probably have thought them -mad. And yet so it was, for that night was a fateful one to me. Into -foreign lands and far-away places I carried with me the memory of the -stately greystone front, the majestic towers, the half-ruined -battlements, the ivy-covered, ruined chapel, with its stained-glass -windows, and the vast hall towering up to the vaulted roof. Of -Devereux Court, of all these, I have said but little, for my story is -rather a chronicle of events than a descriptive one. But they had made -a great impression upon me, as was only natural; for would they not -some day, if I chose to claim them, be mine? - -We arrived rather early, and leaving Marian and Mr. Holdern in the -drawing-room with a few of the other guests who had already assembled, -I made use of my knowledge of the house to go and look for Maud, and I -found her--alone, in the conservatory, leading out of her little -morning-room. - -Surely God's earth had never held a more lovely woman. I stood looking -at her for a full minute without speaking. A rich ivory satin dress -hung in simple but perfectly graceful folds about her slim, exquisite -figure, and bands of wide, creamy old point lace filled in her square -bodice right up to her white throat. She wore no ornaments, no -flowers, save a single sprig of heliotrope nearly buried amongst the -lace. Her deep blue, almost violet, eyes had lost their cold, -disdainful gleam, and looked into mine kindly; but there was still the -half-mocking smile playing around her slightly parted lips. - -"And, pray, what right have you to come into my sanctum without -knocking, sir?" she asked, with a soft laugh, which did not seem to me -to speak of much anger; "and now that you are here, why do you stand -staring at me like a great stupid?" - -I drew a long breath, and took a step forward. - -"I came to beg for a flower, and----" - -"Well, there are plenty in the conservatory," she said, pointing to it. -"You may help yourself." - -I stood close to her, so close that the faint perfume from the morsel -of lace which she was holding in her hand reached me. - -"Only one flower will satisfy me," I said. "That sprig of heliotrope. -May I have it?" - -She laughed again, a low musical laugh, and the tinge of pink in her -cheeks grew deeper. - -"If nothing else will satisfy you I suppose you must." - -She unfastened it from the bosom of her dress, and her little white -fingers busied themselves for a moment with my buttonhole. So close -was her head, with its many coils of dazzlingly fair hair, to mine, -that, irresistibly tempted, I let my fingers rest upon it for a second -with a caressing touch. She looked up at me with a mock frown, which -her eyes contradicted. - -She did not speak, neither did I. But a sweet subtle intoxication -seemed to be creeping over my senses, and slowly, scarce knowing what I -did, I drew her into my arms, and her head rested upon my shoulder. -Then my lips touched hers in one long quivering kiss, which she not -only suffered, but faintly returned, and it seemed to me that life -could hold nothing sweeter than this. - -Only for a moment she lingered in my arms. Then, as though suddenly -galvanised into life and recollection, she gently disengaged herself, -and stood apart from me. - -Maud blushing--my princess blushing! I had pictured her to myself -often with a thousand different expressions dwelling in her cold, fair -face, but never thus! Yet how could she have looked more lovely! - -"Now I wonder what my father would have said if he had come in just -then!" she exclaimed, holding her fan in front of her face, and looking -at me with laughingly reproachful eyes over the top of its wavy -feathers. "Mind, you must be on your very best behaviour this evening, -and not attempt to talk to me too much. He hasn't seen me for five -years, and I don't want him to think me frivolous." - -"Your father! My God! is he here?" I gasped, leaning back against the -table, and clutching hold of it with nervous fingers. The room seemed -swimming round with me, and Maud's face alone remained distinct. - -"He's coming to-night," she said, looking at me in amazement. "What -difference can it make to you? Why, Mr. Ar---- Hugh, you are ill!" -she exclaimed, shutting up her fan and moving to my side. - -I held out my hand to keep her away. God forbid that Rupert Devereux's -daughter should rest in my arms again. - -"Coming here!" I muttered. "Coming here to-night!" The idea seemed -almost too much for me to realise. How could I sit at the same table -with him? How breathe the same air without letting him know of my -hate? And this was his daughter Maud--my Maud, my princess. The idea -seemed almost to choke me. - -The second dinner gong boomed out, and I raised myself at once. - -"I'm afraid I frightened you, M---- Miss Devereux. I won't stop to -explain now. They will be wanting you in the drawing-room." - -I opened the door for her, and she swept out and across the polished -oak and rug-strewn floor of the hall, lifting her eyes to mine for one -moment as she passed, full of a strange, sweet light. For a brief -while I lingered behind; then, with a great efforts regaining my -calmness, I followed her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -FACE TO FACE - -I sat between Lady Olive and her younger sister at dinner, and I have -no doubt that both found me very stupid and inattentive. I could -neither eat nor drink, talk nor laugh. Even Lady Olive gave me up at -last, and devoted her attention to Captain Hasleton, her neighbour on -the other side. It was not until dinner was nearly over that I was -able to rouse myself in the slightest degree, and by that time Lady -Olive had quite lost her temper with me. - -"Skating doesn't agree with you, Mr. Arbuthnot," she whispered, when at -last Maud had given the signal to rise. "I never knew any one so -provokingly stupid in all my life." - -I shrugged my shoulders deprecatingly. - -"I'm sorry, Lady Olive," I said, grimly, "but if you felt as I do for -five minutes you'd forgive me," which was perfectly true. - -She looked up at me with a pitying glance, and I suppose something in -my expression told her that I was suffering, for her piquant little -face clouded over at once. - -"I'm so sorry, Mr. Arbuthnot. You look as though you had a very bad -headache. Come to me in the drawing-room as soon as you can, and I'll -give you some sal volatile." - -I thanked her a little absently--perhaps without sufficient gratitude, -for she was a kind-hearted little woman, although she was such a -terrible flirt. But I was eager to watch Maud go by--eager even to be -brushed by her garments as she passed. - -She half stopped as she reached me. - -"I won't allow you to flirt with Lady Olive," she whispered, with a -bewitching little _moue_; then added out loud: "Come to us as soon as -ever you can, Mr. Arbuthnot. We want to commence dancing in good time." - -I bowed, and letting fall the curtain, turned back to the table. Sir -Francis motioned me to take the vacant place by his side, and filled my -glass himself from the decanter which stood at his elbow. - -"Hugh, my boy," he said, slowly--he had got into the habit of calling -me Hugh lately--"I'm upset!" - -I looked into his handsome old face, and saw that it was clouded over, -and there was a heavy frown on his brow. - -"I'm sorry, sir," I ventured to say. - -"Thanks. I knew you would be. I don't suppose a man ought to be sorry -because his son's coming to see him, ought he?" - -It depended upon the son, I thought. - -"Ay, it depends upon the son, of course," he said, thoughtfully, -stroking his long grey moustache. "There is nothing against Maud's -father, nothing at all. He's nothing like that young cub of his down -there," he went on, jerking his head to where Francis Devereux was -talking very loudly and drinking a good deal of champagne. "And yet I -don't want him here. I can't bear to see him in the place. It's a -damned funny thing." - -"If you feel like that, sir," I said, keeping my eyes fixed upon the -tablecloth, "depend upon it, it's your son's fault. He's done -something to deserve it." - -Sir Francis sat silent for a while, toying with his glasses. - -"He has done nothing," he said, half to himself, "and yet I hate the -sight of him, and he of me. It is twelve years since he set foot -within Devereux Court. Twelve years! I wonder what his fancy is for -coming now. Would to God he had stopped away!" - -"Sir Francis," exclaimed a voice from the lower end of the table, "a -promise to ladies is sacred. We were told that ten minutes was as long -as we could be allowed this evening, and we have pledged our words. -Have we your permission?" - -"Certainly, gentlemen." - -Sir Francis rose, and there was a general draining of glasses and a -stretching of masculine forms. Then we followed him across the hall -into the blue drawing-room. - -I should have made my way at once to Maud but a look in her eyes -checked me, and I turned aside and sat down in an empty recess. I had -scarcely commenced to turn over the pages of a book of engravings which -I had carelessly taken up, when I heard a voice at my elbow. - -"As usual, Mr. Arbuthnot, you make me come to you. It's too bad of -you." - -I put down the book with a start, and stood up. Lady Olive was at my -elbow. - -"Now, sit down again, and tell me how the headache is," she exclaimed, -sinking herself into the cushioned recess, and drawing her skirts aside -to make room for me. "See, I've brought you my favourite -smelling-salts, and I have some sal volatile in my pocket. I mustn't -doctor you before all these people, though! And now for the question -I'm dying to ask. Shall you be able to waltz?" - -"Come and see," I said, rising and offering her my arm, for an exodus -was already taking place from the room. "It's awfully good of you, -Lady Olive, to remember my headache," I added, gratefully. - -She tapped my fingers with her fan. - -"Don't make speeches, sir. What a grand old place this is, isn't it?" - -We were to dance in the armour gallery, and the whole party were making -their way there now. The magnificent staircase, bordered with massive -black oak balustrades, up which we were passing, descended into the -middle of the hall, and was supported by solid black marble pillars; -and the corridor, which ran at right angles to it, was lighted by -stained-glass windows, in front of each of which armoured knights were -grimly keeping watch. One corridor led into another, all of noble -dimensions, with high oriel windows, and lined by a silent ghostly -guard of steel-clad warriors and polished marble statues. A strange -contrast they seemed to the gay laughing procession of girls, in their -low-necked dinner dresses and flashing diamonds, and men in their mess -jackets and evening coats. Maud alone, moving with the slow, stately -grace of a princess of former days, seemed in keeping with our -surroundings. - -Soon the sound of violins reached us, and, pushing aside the heavy -curtains, we descended two steps and stood in the armour gallery. -Maud's imagination and many nimble fingers had been busy here, and at -first I scarcely knew the place. Fairy lights with various coloured -shades hung from the mailed gloves of many generations of Devereux, and -the black oak floor was shining with a polish beyond its own. But no -fairy lights or bracketed candles could dispel the gloom which hung -about the long lofty gallery, with its vaulted roof black with age, and -its panelled walls hung with the martial trophies of every age and -every land. And yet it was a gloom which seemed in keeping with the -place, and no one found it oppressive. - -I danced with Lady Olive, and then, as we stood talking in the shade of -one of my armoured forefathers, Captain Hasleton came up and claimed -her, and I was left alone. Nearly opposite me was Maud, standing like -an exquisite picture in the softened light of one of the stained-glass -windows. But I did not go to her at once. Several men were talking to -her, and she was answering them with the languid air of one who finds -it hard to be amused, and her blue eyes more than once travelled past -them and looked into mine indifferently, but still with a meaning in -them. At last I crossed the room and stood before her. - -"You promised me a waltz, I think, Miss Devereux. Will not this one -do?" - -She hesitated for a moment, and then she laid her hand on my -coat-sleeve, and we moved away. Without a word I passed my arm around -her waist, and we floated slowly up the room. It was one of -Waldteufel's wild, sad waltzes, now bursting into a loud flood of -music, now dying away into a few faint melodious chords. For many -years afterwards I never heard it played without longing to rush away -into solitude and recall those few minutes of exquisite happiness in -that strange, dimly-lit ball-room. - -All things come to an end, and so did that waltz. Maud promised me the -next but one, and was led away by Lord Annerley, and, to while away the -time, I took a lamp from a bracket on the wall, and, pushing aside the -heavy curtains, stepped into the picture gallery to look at my father's -portrait. - -It was not the first time by many that I had done so, for when I had -been shown over the court soon after my arrival my first visit had been -here. Bitterly indignant had I felt when, after I had looked for long -in vain for my father's picture, I had found it--with its face turned -against the wall. I had turned it round again during a moment or two -when Groves, the portly house-steward, had been otherwise engaged, and -since then it had not been disturbed, for Sir Francis no longer made -this his favourite lounging-place; indeed, he seldom came here at all. - -The sound of the music and of voices--some fresh ones I fancied--came -to me in a faint, indistinct hum through the drawn curtains, and for a -while I forgot all about them. I seemed in another world, amongst -these long rows of my frowning ancestors, beruffed ladies in quilted -gowns and dresses of strange device, armed knights, and beaux of a -later and more peaceful age with perukes, knee-breeches, and -snuff-boxes. But though I walked the whole length of the gallery, and -glanced leisurely at all of them, it was my father's picture at which I -lingered longest, and before which I was standing absorbed when the -drawing of the curtain and the sound of voices and feet entering the -gallery made me start round and very nearly drop the candle which I -held in my hand. - -"Why, Arbuthnot, what are you doing moping in here?" exclaimed Sir -Francis, in a tone of astonishment. "Why don't you go and dance?" - -I turned round with some excuse on my lips, but it died away when I saw -who were his companions. Walking by his side was a tall dark man, with -iron-grey hair, and pale, delicate face. On his arm was Maud, and, -glancing from one to another, I knew that this was her father, my Uncle -Rupert. Behind was my cousin Francis, with Lady Olive on his arm. It -was a strange meeting. - -"This is Mr. Arbuthnot, Rupert, whom I was telling you about just now," -Sir Francis went on, without appearing to notice my start, "Arbuthnot, -this is my son, Mr. Rupert Devereux." - -I bowed slightly, and my Uncle Rupert did the same, withdrawing the -hand which I had affected not to see. God forbid that my hand should -touch his, even in the most casual fashion. - -"Well, Arbuthnot, we----" - -Sir Francis broke off in his pleasant speech, with his eyes riveted on -the wall behind me. Slowly his face grew rigid with anger, and his -thick eyebrows were contracted in a stern frown. - -"Who has touched that picture?" he asked, in a cold, measured tone, -which I had never heard from him before. - -Rupert Devereux's eyes followed his father's shaking forefinger, and I -saw a change pass over his face also. His dark eyes filled with a -troubled, fearful light, and he shrank back a pace, as though to escape -from the sight of the handsome boyish face which laughed down on him -from the massive frame. To my eyes, inspired by knowledge, guilt was -written in his pale face as plainly as nature could write, and a -passionate anger which had lain sleeping within me for many weary -months leapt out, burning and fierce, kindled by his presence. I -forgot that I was Mr. Arbuthnot, the land agent; I forgot Maud's -presence; I forgot everything save that I stood face to face with the -man who had blighted my father's name and honour. That one maddening -thought alone held me, and it was only by a great effort that I -restrained myself from flying at his throat like a mad bull-dog. - -I don't think that Sir Francis noticed my agitation. In fact, I am -sure that he did not; for I was standing just outside the streak of -light which the moon, shining softly in through the diamond-paned -window, was casting upon the polished floor. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot," he said, firmly, "might I trouble you--or Francis, you -are nearest! Be so good as to turn that picture with its face to the -wall." - -Francis Devereux dropped Lady Olive's arm, and advancing, laid his -hands upon the frame. Then the devil broke loose within me, and -seizing him by the collar as though he had been a baby, I threw him on -his back upon the floor. - -"Dare to lay a finger upon that picture, you or any one else here," I -cried, passionately, "and I will kill you!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -IN THE PICTURE GALLERY - -It is strange that, although so many years have passed, that scene -remains as though written with letters of fire into my memory--vivid -and clear. Word for word, I can remember every sentence that was -spoken; and the different expressions on the face of each I could, if I -were a painter, faithfully reproduce. Sir Francis gazed at me -speechless in a sort of helpless apathy, Maud and Lady Olive looked -horrified and thunderstruck, and my Uncle Rupert, with face as pale as -death, was shaking from head to foot, with eyes riveted upon me in a -sort of fascinated bewilderment, as though I were one risen from the -dead. Sir Francis seemed to be the first to recover himself. - -"Arbuthnot! Arbuthnot!" he exclaimed; "what does this mean?" - -I pointed to my uncle, and he seemed to shrink back from my -outstretched hand. - -"Cannot you see?" he faltered, in a hollow tone. "Look at him and at -the picture." - -I had moved a step forward unconsciously, and was standing in the -centre of the broad stretch, of moonlight which was streaming in from -the high window. Sir Francis looked at me, and then gave a great start. - -"My God! Arbuthnot, boy! Who are you? Speak!" - -"Hugh Arbuthnot, son of Herbert Arbuthnot, who once called himself -Devereux," I answered, proudly, looking Sir Francis steadily in the -face; "and who would be a Devereux still," I added, "but for that man's -villainous lie." - -Rupert Devereux turned his head away, as though unable to meet the fire -which blazed from my eyes. Maud had sunk, half fainting, upon an -ottoman, and Lady Olive was by her side. Sir Francis stood gazing -fixedly at me, as though in a dream. - -"It can't be!" he muttered, hoarsely. "He could never have had such a -son as you. He was a coward!" - -"It's a lie!" I thundered--so vehemently that Sir Francis staggered -back aghast. "Rupert Devereux!" I cried, taking a quick stride to his -side, "can you, dare you look me in the face and tell me that my father -was a coward? You, who bribed John Hilton, your servant, into a -shameful conspiracy that you might step into his place! You, -you--speak, man, and tell me! Was Herbert Devereux a coward?" - -He was white to the lips with a fear not merely physical. His senses -seemed stupefied; and though I waited amidst a deathlike silence for a -full minute, he made me no answer. I turned my back upon him -contemptuously. - -"Sir Francis!" I cried. "He could lie to strangers and to you, but to -me he dare not. Before heaven, I swear that my father is an innocent -man, shamefully sinned against by him"--I pointed to my uncle. "Out of -a mean jealousy, and for the sake of being your heir, he did it--he -perjured himself. He to call himself a Devereux, and my father robbed -of his name and honour by such treacherous villainy! Don't you wonder -that I don't kill you?" I cried, turning round, a very tempest of -passion surging up within me. "God knows why I don't do it! Sir -Francis, I appeal to you. John Hilton has confessed to me that his -story was a lie. My father is as brave a soldier and a gentleman as -ever Devereux was. Tell me that you believe it. Let us make that man -confess, aye, even though we have to tear his guilty secret from his -heart!" - -Sir Francis had recovered himself entirely, and was again the -aristocratic immovable soldier. - -"Hugh, my boy, I believe you," he said, kindly. "Be my grandson, and I -shall thank God for it, and be proud of you. But you are mistaken -about your father. A court-martial never errs." - -The hope which had sprung up in my heart died away, and in its place -had leaped up a bitter hatred--hatred of Rupert Devereux, hatred of my -grandfather, hatred of Maud, of every one who refused to believe in my -father's innocence. I drew back from Sir Francis's outstretched hand, -and looked at him proudly. - -"Never, Sir Francis. I will not call myself your grandson, or take the -name of Devereux, until my father bears it too. I would sooner live -and die Hugh Arbuthnot." - -Then, without another look at one of them, without even a glance into -Maud's white face, I turned, and walked slowly out of the gallery and -out of the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -A MIDNIGHT VISITOR - -Like a man in a dream, I walked with unsteady footsteps down the -avenue, through the shrubbery, and across the park to the cottage. I -had forgotten my latch-key, and the servant who answered my ring -welcomed me with a little cry of relief. - -"John was just a-coming up to the house for you, sir," she exclaimed, -shutting the door again. "There's a strange woman wants to see you -most particular. She's been here more than an hour, a-fretting ever so -because you wasn't here." - -"Where is she?" I asked. - -"In your study, sir. I see'd as there was nothink about as she could -lay 'er 'ands on before I let her in." - -I had no doubt but that it was the wife of one of the tenants on the -estate, though why she should choose such a strange time for her visit -I could not imagine. But when I walked into the study I saw at once -that she was a stranger to me. And yet, no. I had seen her face -before somewhere. - -She rose nervously when I entered, and pulled her shawl closer around -her. - -"You'll excuse the liberty I've taken in coming, sir," she began, -hurriedly. "I 'a come to do yer a service. You doan't seem to -recollect me. I'm John Hilton's wife; him as you comed to see t'other -week." - -I recognised her at once, and became more interested. - -"You see, sir, it's like this," she went on. "My Jack, he's had one o' -his drinking fits on, and he's always mortal mischievous after one of -'em. He seems to 'a got a powerful sort o' a grudge agin' you, and -there's that piece o' paper as you wrote out, and he put 'is name to. -He says as 'ow he might get lagged for that if you showed it." - -"Well, has he sent you to try and get it away again?" I asked. - -"Not he! If he know'd as I'd come 'ere at all he'd half kill me." - -"Well, what is it, then?" I asked. - -"Well, it's just like this," she answered, slowly; "he's a-coming -himself to try and get it back agin." - -"Indeed! And when may I expect him?" I inquired, becoming suddenly -interested. - -"To-night." - -I leaned back in my chair, and laughed dryly. The woman must be mad. - -"'Tain't no laughing matter, master," she said, sullenly. "You'd 'a -laughed t'other side o' your mouth, I can tell 'e, if I hadn' 'a chosen -ter come and tell 'e. He ain't a-coming to ask you for it. He's -a-coming to take it, and to pay yer back something as yer gave 'im at -our cottage--him and a mate." - -I began to see what it all meant now, and to understand why the woman -had come. - -"And you've come here to put me on my guard, is that it?" I remarked. - -"Yes. Yer gave me money when I was starving, and I felt sort 'er -grateful. And when I 'eard them two blackguards a-planning how they'd -settle you I thought as they just shouldn't. If you puts a bullet in -that 'long Jem,' which is my man's pal, I shall thank yer for it. -Jack's bad enough, specially when he's just getting round from a spell -o' drinking, which he is now; but he's a sight worse. Cuss him. He's -always a-leading my Jack into something." - -"What time are they coming?" I asked, thoughtfully. - -"I 'eerd 'em say as they'd meet at Cop't Oak, which is a mile from -here, as soon as it were dark, and hide until you was all a-gone to -bed. I'm mortal afeard of their seeing me, although I shall go 'ome -t'other way." - -I pressed her to stay at the cottage for the night, but she stubbornly -refused. Her Jack would kill her if he found out that she had been -here, she declared. But before she went I made her drink a glass of -wine, and fill her pockets with the bread and food which I had ordered -in. - -This promised to be an exciting night for me altogether, I thought, as -I drew out my revolver from the cupboard and carefully loaded it. I -was not inclined altogether to believe or altogether to disbelieve this -woman's story, but at any rate there was no harm in being prepared. If -I had gone to bed, there would have been little sleep for me with my -head still throbbing with the vivid recollection of that terrible scene -in the picture gallery. I dared not think of it, I dared not let my -thoughts dwell for an instant on the inevitable consequences of what -had happened. The excitement of what might shortly take place kept me -from the full sickening realisation of the change which that evening's -events must make in my life, but underneath it all there was a dull -aching pain in my heart, for had I not lost Maud? - -Presently Marian and Mr. Holdern arrived. I had forgotten their very -existence, and directly the latter had taken his leave, Marian was full -of eager, agitated questions. Why had I left so suddenly? Had I -quarrelled with Sir Francis Devereux? What did it all mean? Maud had -gone to her room with white face and looking like a ghost, and Lady -Olive had not again entered the dancing-room. Sir Francis had -apologised to his guests with the agitation of one who had received a -great shock, and Rupert Devereux none of them had seen again; and I was -mixed up in it. What did it all mean? - -She threw herself into my arms, and when I saw the gathering tears in -her soft grey eyes, and her anxious, troubled look, I shrunk from the -task before me. - -"Not now, Marian; I will tell you to-morrow; wait until then," I -begged. But she would not wait. - -Then, with a great effort, I braced myself up, and told her everything. -She listened with ever-growing astonishment, and when I had finished -she slipped down from my knee and sank upon the hearthrug. - -"Poor papa!" she sobbed. "No wonder you hate that Rupert! Beast! Oh, -Hugh, Hugh, why could you not tell me before? I ought to have known," -she added, reproachfully. - -"It could have done no good," I answered. - -A wave of sudden anxiety passed across her face. - -"Oh, Hugh!" she sobbed. "Char---- Mr. Hold----" - -"Mr. Holdern knows all about it," I interrupted. "I thought it right -to tell him when he asked me for you." - -A great relief brightened her face, and she smiled through her tears. -Even a woman is selfish when she is in love. - -"I am glad he knows," she whispered, looking into the fire. "How -strange it all seems! Why our name is Devereux; you will be Sir Hugh -Devereux. Why, Hugh, Devereux Court will be yours some day!" - -"Never!" I answered, firmly; "until Sir Francis asks my father's -pardon, and receives him as a son, I shall never take the name of -Devereux or enter the Court. I have sworn it, Marian." - -"And it was noble of you to swear it, Hugh," she whispered, coming over -and kissing me. "They say truth always comes out some time or other. -Perhaps this will all come right some day." - -"For our father's sake, pray that it may do, Marian dear," I answered, -gravely. "And now run along to bed, I have some writing to do." - -She lingered by my side. - -"Hugh, what are you going to do now? You will leave here, I suppose?" - -"I must, Marian. Unless Sir Francis desires otherwise, I shall remain -here until he has found some one else to take my place, though it will -be as Hugh Arbuthnot, his agent, only, and into Devereux Court I will -not go again. It will be well for Rupert Devereux, too, that he keeps -out of my way," I added to myself. "When does Mr. Holdern want to -marry you, Marian?" I asked her suddenly, changing the subject. - -She blushed up to her eyes, and looked at me half pleased, half -reproachfully. - -"Hugh! How could you ask me like that? I--I don't quite know." - -"Because you'll have to go away with me, you know," I continued. "I -can't leave you behind." - -She looked serious enough now. - -"Of course you can't, Hugh. I don't think I ought to leave you at all. -You'll be alone if I do, with no one to look after you." - -I pretended to look serious, as though considering the matter, but her -piteous expression and quivering lips were irresistible, and I broke -into a reassuring laugh. - -"Not I, Marian! It is the best thing that could possibly have -happened. When I have no longer you to look after I shall go abroad, -wherever our father is, and share his lot. Country life is beginning -to get wearisome to me. I was meant to be a soldier, I think. Now, -Marian, you must really go to bed. I want to be alone." - -It was past twelve, and I was beginning to get anxious. But she still -lingered for a moment. - -"Hugh, I had almost forgotten, I have something for you, and a message." - -I bent over my desk, lest she should see the light which sprung into my -face. I did not wish even Marian to know my secret. - -"What is it?" I asked. "Be quick." - -"Why, she came to me like I've never seen her before, as lifeless and -sorrowful as anything, and said--'Tell your brother that I think he is -behaving nobly, and that I hope we shall always be friends.'" - -"She said that!" I exclaimed, starting round, "Maud said that!" - -My sister looked at me amazed. - -"Maud! I didn't say anything about Maud! She didn't even speak to me. -It was Lady Olive, and she sent you this." - -I stretched out my hand for the gold-topped cut-glass little -smelling-salts, which Marian was holding out for me and laid it down -before me. Disappointed though I was, it was a kindly act of Lady -Olive's, and I was just in that mood when a man appreciates such a one. -For a moment or two I felt very tenderly towards Lady Olive; for, -reckless little flirt though she was, she was generous and -warm-hearted, or she would never have done this. - -"It is very kind of her," I said, huskily. "Good-night, Marian!" - -"Good-night, Hughie. Don't sit up late, dear, and don't fret. It -makes me feel so selfish, Hugh, to think that I can't help being happy -because--because of Charlie, but I can't help it. I do love him so, -and he is so good to me." - -Then at last she went, and I was left alone. First of all I put a -heavy shade upon the lamp and placed it so that no one could possibly -see it from outside. Then I finished loading my revolver, and put a -life-preserver in my breast pocket. Going out on tip-toe into the -hall, I opened the passage door, and also left my own wide open, so -that if any one should attempt to enter the house from any room I must -hear them. This seemed to me to be all that I could do, and drawing my -easy chair into the corner of the room which faced both door and -windows, I sat down and waited patiently with my revolver on my knee. - -At first the time did not seem long. I had come to a crisis in my -life, and there was much for me to think about. In the twenties, -however dark and doubtful the future may be, there is always a certain -fascination connected with it--possibilities, however remote, which the -sanguine spirit of youth loves to peer into and investigate. And so I -sat and thought, and considered, and longed, without ever getting -sleepy, or feeling the spell of weariness. - -Two o'clock struck, and of a sudden a curious change came over me. I -became so violently restless that I could sit no longer in my chair. -Sober-minded people may scoff at such a statement, but I declare that -some irresistible impulse compelled me to go to the nearest window and -look cautiously out. - -The window was not one of the front ones, but was one which looked -sideways over a strip of garden, a thick privet hedge, into a dark -black fir plantation, through which ran a private pathway into the -gardens of the Court. At first I could see nothing; then suddenly the -blood died out from my cheeks, even from my lips, and I stood -transfixed, rooted to the spot--my limbs numbed and helpless as though -under the spell of some hideous nightmare. - -What my eyes looked upon my reason refused to credit. Turning from the -hand-gate of the plantation, without a hat, and with a wealth of golden -hair streaming down upon a swan's-down cloak, was--Maud! It was -impossible--it was ridiculous--it was beyond all credence. And yet my -straining, riveted eyes watched her walk slowly, with her usual -stately, even tread, down the grass-grown path between the plantation -and the hedge of the cottage garden, and disappear from sight. - -Though an earthquake had yawned at my feet I could not have moved. -Nothing but sound can break up such a spell as this sudden shock had -laid upon me. And the sound came, for suddenly there broke upon the -stillness of the night such a cry as I had never heard before--the -thrilling, agonised shriek of a woman in mortal fear. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -"COUSINS!" - -Like the shock from a galvanic battery did that sound breathe life into -my frozen limbs. Holding a chair before my face I literally burst -through the high French windows, crashing the glass and splintering the -framework into a thousand pieces. With the cry of a wild beast I -dashed across the lawn and leaped over the privet hedge. Maud, my -Maud, was scarcely a dozen yards from me, struggling in the grasp of -the man who had come to rob me of his confession, with his great hand -pressed against her wild, beautiful face to stop her cries. - -They heard me coming, and he half released her, and with his other hand -pointed a revolver at me. But passion must have lent me wings, for -before he could pull the trigger I had dashed it into the air, where it -exploded harmlessly, and with my clenched fist I struck him such a blow -as I had never struck before or since. He was a powerful man, with a -thick, bullet-shaped head, but he went down like a log, and well-nigh -never rose again. His companion, without a word, turned and ran across -the park like a hare, and I let him go. - -Maud was in my arms, sobbing hysterically, Maud with the moon shining -down on her blanched but exquisite face, and her white arms thrown -around my neck. If she were the daughter of a prince of hell she was -still the woman I loved; and I stooped and covered her cold face and -lips with passionate kisses. Then I caught her up in my arms, for she -was shivering, and ran with her to the house. - -Every one had been roused by the sound of my exit, and the report of -the revolver. Marian, with her dressing-gown loosely wrapped around -her, was standing trembling at the head of the stairs, and behind her -were the servants more frightened even than she. When she saw me cross -the hall with Maud's lifeless form (for her faint seemed almost the -faint of death) in my arms, she gave vent to one cry of blank amazement -and horror, and then hurried down to us. - -"Hugh, Hugh," she whispered, clinging to me as I laid my burden down on -the sofa, and fell on my knees by its side. "Maud here! Maud out in -the park at this time of night! What has happened, Hugh? What does it -all mean?" - -"Can't you see?" I muttered hoarsely, never withdrawing my eyes from -the white, cold face. "She has had a fright, and has fainted!" - -"But what on earth has brought her here--out at this time of night? -And in her slippers, too!" - -I was on the point of saying that I knew no more than she, but suddenly -the truth flashed into my mind. Maud had walked out in her sleep! I -had heard her say that for a long time she had been obliged to have her -maid in her room at night, and sleep with locked doors; and that when -Sir Francis lay dangerously ill not many years ago, nearly every night -when she had gone to bed thinking of him, she had risen in her sleep -and tried to make her way to his room. Then she must have been -thinking of me! A sudden thrill of joy passed through me at the -thought, and Marian looked at me in stupefied bewilderment to see the -smile which for a moment parted my lips. - -"She must have come out in her sleep, Marian," I whispered. "There -were some men hanging about outside--poachers I suppose--and they have -frightened her. Get some brandy, quick! and tell one of the girls to -light a fire. We must have some hot water." - -She hurried away, and the door had scarcely closed when Maud changed -her position slightly, and her lips moved. I bent my ear close over -her, and this is what I heard: - -"Hugh! Hugh!" - -My heart throbbed with a great joy. Suddenly I stooped down and kissed -her half-open lips passionately. Then I drew back and stood upright, -for I saw that she was fast recovering consciousness. - -First her breathing became deeper and less fitful. Then, with a little -sigh, she opened her eyes and raised herself a little on her elbow. - -She looked around in blank bewilderment. Then her eyes fell upon me, -and the hot colour rushed into her cheeks. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot! Why, where am I? How did I come here? and those men," -she added, with a shudder, "those fearful men; was it all a dream?" -She raised her hand to her forehead and looked at me appealingly. I -hardened my voice as much as possible, and avoided meeting her eyes. - -"I think I can explain to you what has happened," I said. "You must -have got up in your sleep, and walked down through the copse. There -were some men outside; I believe they were going to try and break in -here, and one of them must have caught hold of you, for when I heard -your scream and ran out, you were struggling in his grasp. I knocked -him down, and the other one ran away. Then I carried you here, and -here you are. Marian has just gone out to fetch some brandy." - -Womanlike, her first thought was of her appearance, and she sat up and -looked at herself eagerly. Evidently she had fallen asleep before -preparing to retire, for the only change in her dress since the evening -was that she had exchanged her dinner-gown for a long white -dressing-robe, and let down her hair. Nevertheless, she blushed as she -sat up, and looked at me, pushing back the waves of hair from her face. - -"I remember falling asleep in the easy chair," she said, slowly, "and -after that everything seems like a horrid dream. Those men's fearful -faces, and you--oh, how fierce you looked! But it all seems very -indistinct." - -Then Marian came in, and she turned to her smiling. - -"Miss Arbuthnot, I'm afraid you'll think this a very unceremonious -morning call. You didn't know I was a sleep-walker, did you?" - -Marian put down the decanter she was carrying with a little cry of -relief. - -"Oh, dear, I'm so glad to see you all right again. What an awful -adventure you've had!" - -Maud smiled placidly. She was her old self again, stately and composed. - -"It might have been a great deal worse but for your brother," she -acknowledged; "I wonder if they've found out at the Court. They'll be -getting a little anxious if they have." - -"Unless I'm very much mistaken they've found out," I answered. -"Listen." - -I went out and threw open the hall door. Clearly enough we could hear -the alarm bell at the Court clanging out with shrill, quick strokes, -and the whole of the park seemed dotted with men carrying lanterns, -looking like will-o'-the-wisps, and making the soft night air echo with -their hoarse shouts. Two figures were rapidly approaching the cottage, -and I hailed them. - -"Have you seen anything of Miss Devereux?" called out Groves, the head -butler. "She's out in the park somewhere a-walking in her sleep." - -"She is here," I answered, and then I went in and told Maud that they -had come for her. - -Marian left us to find a warmer cloak and thicker shoes, and for a -moment we were together. She turned to me at once with a sweet, sad -smile on her lips, and a look of regret shining out of the azure depths -of her dim eyes. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, I had quite forgotten, in all this excitement, what -happened in the picture gallery. We are cousins, are we not?" - -I shook my head. - -"It is not a relationship which I shall claim," I answered, slowly. -"If I should see you again before I go, Miss Devereux, it will be as -Mr. Arbuthnot." - -Her eyes were speaking to me--speaking words which her lips could not -utter, but I avoided them. - -Eager voices were hurrying through the garden, and Maud held out her -hand with a hurried gesture. - -"At any rate, you will let me thank you for your timely aid this -evening. But for you I don't know what might not have happened." - -I took her hand and raised it to my lips. Then I let it drop, and -moved towards the door. - -"I think I ought to thank you rather," I answered, with a pretence at a -laugh, "for giving me the alarm. If those fellows had got into the -house and taken me by surprise, things might have been worse for me, at -any rate." - -I opened the door and admitted Groves and several of the other -servants. Francis Devereux was there, too, but he stood on the pathway -outside, without offering to enter, neither did I invite him. Maud -went out to him at once, and then I explained to the gaping little -crowd what had happened. - -"What became of the one you knocked over, sir?" asked Groves, after the -little chorus of wondering exclamations had subsided. - -"There now, most likely," I answered, with a start. "I'd forgotten all -about him." - -We all trooped over to the spot, and there he lay, doubled up in the -underwood, his face drawn with pain, and still unconscious. To say -that I was sorry for him would have been a lie; nay, if Rupert Devereux -had lain by his side I should have been only the better pleased. But -he lay so still and motionless that I stooped over him anxiously, and -felt his heart. It was beating, though faintly, and I felt distinctly -relieved when I looked up again. - -"He's alive," I declared, "but only just. Better get him some brandy." - -They brought him some from the house, and I poured it between his lips. -He revived at once. - -"We'd a best take him up to the Court, sir," remarked Groves. "You -won't want him down here with only yourself in the house." - -So they took him away, and as the long streaks of red light in the east -slowly deepened until the autumn sun rose up from behind the pine-trees -like a ball of glowing fire, I threw myself down on the couch and slept. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -I "GIVE WARNING" - -By ten o'clock in the morning I had written a letter which had caused -me a good deal of trouble and anxiety. It was to Sir Francis -Devereux:-- - - -"THE COTTAGE, DEVEREUX, - -"Wednesday morning. - -"DEAR SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX,--You will, I am sure, agree with me that -the revelation of last evening renders it imperative on my part to -leave Devereux at once, or as soon as possible. I must ask you, -therefore, to accept this note as an intimation of my desire to do so -as soon as is convenient to yourself. - -"No one could regret more than I do the necessity which has arisen, and -I am deeply sensible of all your kindness to myself and to my sister. -But, under the circumstances, it would be, of course, quite impossible -for me to remain here as your agent, nor I am sure would you wish it. -As to the other offer which you were generous enough to make, the -answer which I gave you at the time is absolutely irrevocable. - -"With regard to the attempted burglary here last night and assault upon -Miss Devereux, I shall be prepared to give evidence when the man is -charged. There are several matters connected with the estate with -which I will not now trouble you, but which I shall be glad to lay -before you or Mr. Benson before I go. My books I am prepared to hand -over to my successor or to Mr. Benson at any moment. - -"Thanking you again for the uniform and, I fear, undeserved kindness -which I have always received from you, - - "I remain, yours obediently, - "HUGH ARBUTHNOT. - "To Colonel Sir Francis Devereux, Bart." - - -Having despatched this, I ordered Black Prince, and rode away to a -distant part of the estate to superintend the felling of some timber. -As usual, when going any distance, I took some lunch in my pocket, and -ate it on a stile whilst the men knocked off for dinner. Just as I had -lit my pipe and was preparing to start work again--for I was not afraid -of using my hands, and used to take a pleasure in getting through as -much as any of the men--I heard the sound of horses' hoofs on the -smooth, wide, velvet sward, and glancing up quickly saw that the whole -party from the Court were close upon me, all except Maud and the elders. - -I drew back indifferently to let them pass, and bowed to Lady Olive, -who was riding by the side of Francis Devereux. She started when she -saw me, and, detaching herself from the rest of the party, rode over to -me. - -"Fancy coming upon you, Mr. Arbuthnot, and hard at work too! What are -you doing?" - -"Cutting down trees, Lady Olive." - -"Well, you look in a nice mess," she declared, frankly. "What do you -want to work yourself for? It's a shame that you should." - -I laughed at her indignation, thinking only that her flushed cheeks -made her look uncommonly pretty. - -"I like working," I answered. "What would you have me do? Shack about -with my hands in my pockets all day?" - -"I don't know," she said, hotly. "But when I think of that idle, lazy -young Francis dawdling his life away, doing nothing except ape a man -about town, and then think of you working hard every day, and remember -who you are, it makes me feel angry. Do you know, I longed just now to -push him out of his saddle. It wouldn't take much, I don't think." - -I laughed outright, but Lady Olive remained serious enough. - -"Well, perhaps you'll be pleased to hear that I am going to give up -working--here, at any rate," I said. "Of course I can't stop now." - -She looked steadily between her horse's ears, growing a shade paler, -and I leaned against the stump of an oak-tree wondering how a -riding-habit could have been made to fit so well, and admiring her -dainty little figure. - -"When are you going?" she asked, suddenly. - -I shrugged my shoulders. - -"As soon as Sir Francis will let me. I have 'given warning.'" - -She looked down at me, and spoke a little hurriedly, but with a frank, -sincere look in her flushed face. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot--I suppose I must call you Mr. Arbuthnot--I think yours -is the saddest story I have ever heard. I want you to let me tell you -that I feel for you, as much as any one possibly could do, and I think -you are behaving splendidly, just as I would have my own brother behave -if he were in the same position." - -I felt more moved even than I should have cared to own, for I was just -in that mood when kind words are sweet, and I had always liked Lady -Olive. - -"You are very good," I said, warmly. "Believe me, it is a great -pleasure to me to hear you say this." - -"Have you any idea yet where you are going?" she asked, "or what you -are going to do?" - -I shook my head. - -"To London, first, and then I shall try and discover my father, and get -him to let me throw in my lot with his. Somehow I think that I shall -end by being a soldier. It's in the blood, I suppose." - -"Mr. Arbuthnot," she said, frankly, stretching out her hand, "may we -not be friends? I have never asked so much of a man before, -but--but----" - -I took her little hand, and did not at once release it. - -"I shall be always glad to think of you as such," I said, warmly; "but -I'm afraid it isn't very likely that we shall meet again after I leave -here. My life and yours will lie very far apart." - -"I'm not so sure of that," she answered, with an attempt at gaiety. -"I'm going to travel about a good deal next year; and--and, Mr. -Arbuthnot," she added, colouring a little deeper, "I know you'll -forgive me for saying it, but my father--he's ambassador at Rome now, -you know--has a good deal of influence in London, and especially at the -Foreign Office, and if there was anything we could do for you--oh, you -know what I want to say," she broke off, suddenly, and looking away -that I might not see the tears in her eyes. "You may want to try and -get some appointment abroad or something, or even if you decided to go -into the army, he might be useful to you, and he would do anything I -asked him. He is very kind, and--and it would make me very happy to -feel that we were helping you a little." - -Was it so great a sin that for a moment I longed to draw that tearful -little face down to mine and kiss it? I had never been in the least -danger of falling in love with Lady Olive, bright and fascinating -though she was, but at that moment it occurred to me that the man who -won her would be a very fortunate man indeed. - -"Lady Olive," I said, earnestly, "I scarcely know how to thank you. I -cannot tell you how much I feel your kindness. I shall take you at -your word, and write you if ever I need any help, and if I do not I -shall always like to think of your offer." - -She smiled down at me beamingly. - -"I am so glad you're not offended. Of course I shall see you again -before you go, and I will bring you down a card with my address in -London. Good-bye. No, _au revoir_." - -She touched her horse with the whip and galloped away after the others, -and the bright winter's day seemed to me less bright when she had gone. -I watched her out of sight, and at the bend of the grassy road she -turned round in her saddle and waved her whip. I returned her farewell -with my hat, then, when she disappeared, I went back to my place -amongst the men, and worked till the perspiration streamed down my -face, and I was obliged to take off my coat and hang it on a branch of -a fallen tree. But I felt all the better for it, for it has always -seemed to me, as it did then, that hard physical labour is the most -magnificent relaxation for an over-wrought mind. When the sun set and -our day's work was over, I was stiff and my arms were sore, but my -heart was lighter than it had been since this crisis had come. I stood -filling my pipe and chatting to the foreman whilst one of the labourers -had gone for my horse, until he, too, followed the others, and I was -left alone. - -At least I thought so, but I was mistaken. A voice, croaking and weak, -almost at my shoulder, suddenly startled me, and I turned round to find -an old woman, bent double, leaning on her stick, with her bead-like -eyes fixed upon me. - -"Who be'st you?" she said. "Be you him as they call the agent?" - -I acknowledged that it was so, and that my name was Arbuthnot. - -"It's a loi," she answered, deliberately. "Dost think that Sarah -Milsham knaw'st not a Devereux when she seest one? Be'st thou Muster -Herbert's son? God bless him." - -I looked around anxiously, but there was not a soul in sight. - -"Thou be'st a son o' my Mr. Herbert," she muttered. "I knaw'st thou -be'st so like him that I thought thee was a ghost, boy. What be'st -thou a doing here? Wheres't thy father?" - -"Abroad, mother, since you know me. Who are you?" - -"Who be I?" she laughed, a mirthless, unpleasant laugh. "Why, thee -hasna heard of Sarah Milsham? I nursed your father when he were a -baby. What be'st a doing here, boy? Hast come to kill Rupert -Devereux?" - -"He deserves it," I cried, hotly. - -"So afore God he does," cried the old hag tremulously, "and die he -will, for I ha' seen the mark o' death upon his forehead. But it'll be -no by your hand, no by your hand, boy. What be'st a doing here? Go to -thy father, boy! Why hast left him alone?" - -"I am going," I answered. "Please God I shall be with him before many -months." - -"Ay, go, boy, go," she quivered out, "and tell him this from me. Tell -him that sure as Devereux Court is built upon a rock, I, Sarah Milsham, -shall live to see him here again. Sure as that limb of hell, Rupert -Devereux, bears the seal of death upon his forehead, so sure the day -will come when the whole country shall welcome him home again, and old -Sir Francis shall be proud t' own him for his son. Tell him Sarah -Milsham said so." - -She hobbled away into the wood and commenced picking up sticks. I -would have followed her, but she held out her hand to prevent me, and -would not answer me when I spoke. So I mounted Black Prince and -galloped away homewards. - -When I entered Marian's room I saw that she had a visitor. Sir Francis -Devereux was leaning back in my easy chair, laughing at one of my -sister's quaint speeches, and she was handing him a cup of tea. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX'S APPEAL - -Of all the contingencies which had occurred to me, this was one which I -had not considered, for only once since I had been its occupant had Sir -Francis called at the cottage. But his greeting was even a greater -surprise to me. - -"Hugh, my boy," he said, rising and holding out his hand, "I have come -down to have a chat with you, and Miss Marian has been giving me some -tea." - -Something in his look, his accent, and his words warned me that the -battle of last night would have to be fought over again. But for a -while he talked of nothing, save of last night's strange adventure and -minor matters connected with the estate, of the turnip prospects, and -the timber felling, until Marian left us to change her frock. Then, -after opening the door for her with his usual stately courtesy, he -returned to the hearthrug, and with the firelight playing round his -tall, slim figure, and with a soft, almost appealing light relaxing the -hard lines in his face, he commenced speaking. - -"Hugh," he said, slowly, "they call me a proud man, but I have come -here to beg a great boon from you. Nay, let me go on," for I would -have interrupted him. "Let me say outright what I have come to say," -he continued, stretching out his hands as though to silence me. "I -want to tell you a little of my history. - -"You know, perhaps, that I was married twice. To you I do not mind -admitting that my last marriage was an unfortunate one. Your -grandmother was the only woman I ever loved, and it was her son who -took her place in my heart--not Rupert's mother, much less Rupert -himself. Perhaps I am much to blame, but none the less it is a fact -that the death of my second wife gave me little sorrow, and I have -never been able to feel towards Rupert as a father should feel towards -his son. And since that day when I knew that it was his evidence -(although he was right to give it) which had brought irretrievable -disgrace upon the name of Devereux, I have never been able--I say it to -my shame--I have never been able to bear the sight of him." - -Sir Francis walked restlessly to the other end of the room, and then, -returning, took up his old position. - -"For twenty years, Hugh, I have been a lonely, unhappy man. Gradually -I began to lose all pride and interest in our family name, and even the -Court itself, every stone of which was once dear to me. Everything -that had made life endurable for me and pleasant had gone. My pride -in, and love for, my son who had gone away with my blessing to be where -a Devereux should always be, in his country's battles, was suddenly -blasted for ever. He disgraced our long line of ancestors, disgraced -himself and me, and instead of falling on his sword, as he should have -done, came home here, turned out of the army--a Devereux turned out of -the army, to beg for my forgiveness!" - -My heart was burning, but I judged it wisest to hold my peace. He had -thrown his head back, and his eyes were sparkling with anger. His -frowning face was as stern and hard as marble, and, old man though he -was, he looked terrible. - -For a moment there was silence, and then he went on-- - -"Enough of him! If it had been Rupert I might some day have forgiven -him. But Herbert, my eldest son, who at my death must be the head of -the Devereuxs--oh, it is a cursed, cruel thing!" - -He turned his back upon me, and I heard a sort of gasping sob. I made -a pretence of stirring the fire, and when I had finished he was himself -again. - -"For twenty years," he went on, "I have lived alone with a leaden -weight of misery dragging me down almost to the grave. And yet I have -struggled against death for the simple reason that the thought of that -disgraced man who was once my son calling himself the head of the -Devereuxs, and lying down to rest within the walls of Devereux Court, -has kept me hanging on to life. My son a coward! To run away from the -enemy! My God, what had I done to deserve this?" - -"He was not a coward," I interrupted, passionately. "Rupert lied! I -know he lied! He was jealous! John Hilton has confessed to me!" - -Sir Francis shook his head sorrowfully. - -"The word of a servant discharged without a character is worth very -little, especially when it is directed against his master," he said. -"No, Hugh, my boy, if you had lived as long as I have, and had been a -soldier, you would know that a court-martial never errs. It never -convicts except on overwhelming evidence, and its judgments are -absolute. General Luxton came to see me when he returned to England, -and from him I learned the undoubted truth." - -I remained silent. One might as well have talked to the Sphinx as to -this coldly obstinate, dogmatic old soldier. - -"I have come to make you an offer, Hugh," he went on in an altogether -different tone of voice, "or rather to make you a request, and I beg -you to remember that it is one which lies very near an old man's heart. -I am childless and lonely, and weary of seeing none but girls' faces -around me. Come and live with me as my grandson! Let that subject on -which we can never agree, be buried between us! Why should you go away -on a wild-goose chase? Devereux Court is your natural home. Come and -live there." - -I stood up and faced him. He was very much in earnest, I could see, -for the long white hand which rested upon the chimney-piece was -shaking, and his eyes were eagerly searching my face for its answer; -but what they read there could not have been encouraging, for I never -wavered for an instant. - -"Sir Francis," I asked, firmly, "does a Devereux ever break his oath or -neglect his duty?" - -He shook his head. - -"Never!" - -"Neither will I, then," I answered; "my duty would never urge me to -renounce my father, whose innocence I firmly believe in, and if I did I -should break my oath, Sir Francis. I feel for you, and I love -Devereux. But what you ask I distinctly and absolutely refuse." - -He walked to the window, and stood there for a moment gazing across the -park, with his hands behind him. Then he turned round suddenly and -commenced drawing on his dog-skin gloves. He held himself up in his -usual stiff, soldierly manner, but I could see that he was hurt and -deeply disappointed. - -"More than I have said I cannot say," he remarked, quietly. "Good-bye, -Hugh; make my apologies to your sister." - -I walked with him to the door, and watched him walk across the park -with head bent more than usual, and slow, weary footsteps. Oh, that I -could succeed in my life's desire and bring him home the son he loved! -What would I not give to attain my end! And yet, save through my Uncle -Rupert, how could I possibly succeed? My Uncle Rupert! Was it not -strange that Maud's father should be the man whom I hated more than any -one or anything on earth! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -GOOD-BYE TO DEVEREUX COURT - -Mr. Holdern dined with us that evening, and when he and I had the table -to ourselves, and little clouds of blue smoke began to curl upwards to -the ceiling, he made a sudden request to rue. - -"I want you to let me have Marian at once," he said. "Why not let us -be married before you go away?" - -I raised but few objections, for the plan suited me. But Marian, when -we told her, protested that a month was much too soon. Strangely -enough, however, when I took her view, and rescinded my consent, she -went over to the other side; so I gave in, and it was settled as they -wished. An aunt of Mr. Holdern's was written for, and arrived in a few -days in a most excited state, with two tin trunks and a box of caps. A -dressmaker took up her abode in our other spare room, and peace at the -cottage was at an end. Even in my sanctum I was never safe, for Marian -would keep waltzing in with her mouth full of pins and her hair all -disarranged, to beseech me to give my opinion as to the draping of a -gown, or to inquire shyly, with a blushing face, whether I thought -Charlie would like this or that! Altogether those few last weeks at -the cottage were not quiet ones. - -Lady Olive came often and assisted eagerly at the grave consultations. -But I saw her only for a moment or two now and then, for there were -many things on the estate which needed my attention just then, -especially as I was going so soon, and I was out most nights till long -after our usual dinner-hour. - -Once Maud came, but I did not see her, and I was glad of it. If it had -been possible I would have left Devereux without another word with her. -But that was not to be. - -On the morning before the wedding I saddled Black Prince myself, and -took him out for a farewell ride. I would sooner say farewell to a man -than a horse any day! The Black Prince had been my chief companion at -Devereux, and a very faithful one too. He had never been the same to -any one else, they told me; in fact, he had got the name of being a -brute, but whenever I entered the stable he would whinny and rub his -head against my coat-sleeve, holding it there sometimes, and looking up -at me out of his mild, brown eyes as though imploring me to take him -out. And now I was riding him for the last time! For the last time I -watched him stretch out his legs for a gallop, and felt him bound away -under me as he thundered over the turf. For the last time he picked up -his legs as clean as a Leicestershire hunter, and flew over the park -railings like a bird. And then who should we meet, as though to spoil -our ride, but Maud and her father cantering over the moor towards us, -Maud with flashing eyes and a colour springing into her soft cheeks as -she waved her whip ever so slightly, with a half-imperative gesture. -But I would see none of it. What had Black Prince and I to do with -them? Nobly he answered my whisper, and cleared the high stone wall -which separated us, and left them on their way to the house, whilst he -and I flew on towards the desolate moorland, heedless whither we went, -so that we were alone. - -Three days more and I shall be away--out of temptation, out of -Paradise, alone in the world, with my life's work before me. What -matter! Banish such thoughts--away with them! Away with that sweet, -sad face, with its proud lips and sorrowing eyes! What are these to my -Prince and I, whilst we fly across the moorland, over hedges and -fences, with the earth skimming beneath and the wind-swept sky clear -and bright above! Live the present! Bury the past! Welcome the -future! Regrets and haunting memories are the plagues of the devil. -The Black Prince and I will have none of them. - -Ah! that was a wild ride. The wonder to me now is that we ever reached -home safely. But we did, and when we got there I led him into the -stable myself, and took the bit out of his mouth, and the saddle from -his back. I watched him munch his corn, and daintily thrust his nose -into the bucket of chilled water, and when I turned away and walked -into the house there was a lump in my throat. - -A gentleman was waiting to see me in my study, I was told--and without -asking his name, and with very little curiosity, I crossed the hall and -entered the room. Then I gave a great start, and my fingers closed -upon my riding-whip, for upon the hearthrug, hat in hand, stood my -Uncle Rupert. - -Had he not been Maud's father I should have taken him by the neck and -thrown him from the house. As it was, I stood waiting with the door in -my hand and an angry sparkle in my eyes. - -"You are not pleased to see me, Mr. Arbuthnot," he began, nervously. -"I did not expect that you would be. But my daughter tells me that she -has scarcely thanked you for your gallant behaviour the other night, -and, as her father, I trusted that I might be permitted to come and -offer you my most heartfelt thanks." - -And this was my Uncle Rupert! this tall, thin man with the eager eyes -and nervous manner, and sad, sweet tone. For, though I hated him, I -could not help noticing that I had never heard a man's voice more -pleasant to listen to. Whence had come the affected manners and -thinly-veiled snobbism of my cousin Francis? Not from his father. - -"I fear that Miss Devereux, in her very natural terror, has exaggerated -the service I was fortunate enough to be able to render her," I -answered icily. "I trust that she has recovered from the shock." - -"Quite, thank you. Mr. Arbuthnot, there was another reason which -brought me here. All through my life--which has been a most unhappy -one--I have constantly been troubled with the reflection that though -innocently (that you will not believe, but no matter), I was the cause -of poor Herbert's--your father's trouble. If I could render his son -even the slightest service it would be a great happiness to me. You -are going to London, I hear. You know no one there, and you have no -friends. Could you not make my house your home? You will not take the -name of Devereux, I hear, but Mr. Arbuthnot would always be a welcome -and an honoured guest." - -"You have a conscience, then, Rupert Devereux?" I said, quietly. - -He looked at me appealingly, flushing to the very roots of his hair. - -"I scarcely understand," he began, hesitatingly. - -"Let me explain, then," I said, looking at him steadily. "It seems to -me that, having wrecked my father's life by a deliberate conspiracy, -you are now seeking to expiate that most damnable sin by conferring -favours upon his son. It will not do, Rupert Devereux!" - -I should have pitied him had he been any other man, for he stood there -looking distressed and disappointed. But, remembering who it was, I -watched him with a bitter, sneering smile. - -"Then there is nothing more to be said, I suppose," he remarked, with a -sigh. "I had better go." - -"You had better go," I echoed. "The only words I shall ever care to -hear from your lips will be a confession of your villainous lie. I -cannot believe that you will have the courage to die with that foul sin -on your conscience." - -He moved his position, and then for the first time I remarked how like -he was in the outline of the face and the features to Maud. But the -likeness softened me not one whit towards him, whilst it made me feel -harder towards her. - -He moved towards the door with a dejected gesture. - -"You are very hard," he said, in a low tone, "very hard for one so -young. But I daresay that, according to your view of the matter, you -are right, quite right. If you won't let me help you in any way, you -won't. It's only another disappointment in a life of disappointments. -I must go, then, Mr. Arbuthnot. But if at any time you should change -your mind, come to me. I live in Mayfair, London." - -He walked out, and, without answering his farewell, I opened the door, -and let him go in silence. This was my first interview with my Uncle -Rupert. - -On the morrow Marian was married to Mr. Holdern. It was a very quiet -wedding down at the village church, but it went off very pleasantly, -and Marian looked charming in her plain white satin gown and simple -veil. As we were entering the church I had a great surprise. Sir -Francis Devereux, in a black frock-coat, and with an orchid in his -buttonhole, called me on one side for a moment, and asked for -permission to give away the bride. I would have preferred refusing -such an unusual request--unusual, at any rate, as it would seem to -those who knew us as Mr. and Miss Arbuthnot--but he looked so much in -earnest that I could not find it in my heart to hurt his feelings. So, -in ignorance of what they were beholding, the villagers of Devereux saw -Sir Francis give his granddaughter away, whilst I, his grandson, stood -a few yards behind. - -A woman once told me that she always felt inclined to cry at weddings -and laugh at funerals. I can understand it. There is something in the -former exquisitely, though covertly, pathetic; whilst in the latter -case tears are so obviously the correct thing, that sometimes they -absolutely refuse to come. I feel certain that the tears were not far -from Sir Francis's eyes as he shook hands with us in the churchyard. -Perhaps they were not far from mine. - -There were presents from nearly every one at the Court, and a sealed -envelope from Sir Francis, which, when we opened it, contained a cheque -for a thousand pounds. I had offered to make over to Marian half of my -little income, but Mr. Holdern was resolute, and even peremptory, in -his refusal. They would have a good deal more money now than they -could spend in their quiet country home, and eventually, feeling that -Holdern was sincere in his refusal, I had given way. Money would -certainly be useful, nay, necessary, for me in carrying out the course -of action on which I had decided. And so I kept it. - -One day longer I had to spend at Devereux, and a dreary day it was. -All the morning I was busy balancing accounts with the solicitor to the -estate, and in the afternoon I finished my packing. In the evening, -after dinner, I wrote a note to Sir Francis, bidding him farewell. He -would understand, I said, why I did not come to him personally. An -oath was not a thing to be broken, and I had sworn that over the -threshold of Devereux Court I would not pass, save with my father. So -I was compelled to write him instead, but I did my best to make my -letter as cordial and grateful as possible, and within an hour an -answer came back, short and informal. - - -"Farewell, Hugh, my boy. God bless you, wherever you may go, and -remember always that though you may call yourself Hugh Arbuthnot, you -are still a Devereux of Devereux, and this place is your home whenever -you care to make it so.--Ever yours, - -"FRANCIS DEVEREUX." - - -Through many lands and many years I carried with me that half-sheet of -thick, heavily-crested notepaper. And yellow with age it reposes now -in the secret drawer of my cabinet. - -I sent no farewell to Maud. It were better not. My Maud she could -never be, though never another should take her place. Me she would -soon forget; I was not vain enough to think otherwise for a moment. -Only yesterday I had seen her riding with that ill-bred prig, Lord -Annerley, the son of a lawyer peer, with all his father's innate -vulgarity, and never a feather's weight of his brains. Let her have -him if she would, him or any other--or let her flirt with him, lead him -on by the beauty of her dazzling fair face and the glances of her deep -blue eyes. Let her flirt with him, and then throw him over with a -light laugh as very likely she would have done me. A fig for all -women! An ounce of philosophy would weigh them all down in the scales -of reason. But at twenty-four that ounce is hard to get! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -I AM TEMPTED - -Early on the following morning I mounted for the last time into the -high dog-cart, which had been kept in the coach-house at the "cottage" -for my use, and was driven rapidly away with my back to Devereux Court. -It was a grey, misty morning, and a watery sun was shining feebly down -from a cloud-strewn sky. It had been raining, and innumerable -glistening drops of moisture were hanging and falling from the -well-nigh leafless trees. A desolate morning; with a slight vapoury -mist rising from the ground and chilling the air. But my thoughts were -not of the weather, for I was taking my last lingering farewell of -Devereux Court. As we turned the corner and lost sight of it for a -while, a stronger ray of sunlight than any which had as yet succeeded -in piercing the bank of clouds reached its windows, and transformed its -whole appearance. A thousand rays of light seemed to be smiling down -at me from the massive stretching front and the frowning towers, all -the brighter from the contrast with the black woods above and around. -I was young and impressionable to anything in nature, especially with -my heart so full as it was then, and, with a sudden start, I rose up -and waved my hat in an answering farewell Then I sat down and would not -look round again lest the light should have died out from the -diamond-framed windows, and the gloom from the threatening clouds reign -there instead. I was superstitious, perhaps--but I wanted to carry -away with me in my heart the memory of Devereux Court, as I had seen it -a moment ago, with its dark grey front softened and its windows -sparkling gaily in that chance flickering ray of sunlight. And so I -would not look round, even when John slackened at the top of the last -hill, and, pointing with his whip, "reckoned that this wur the last I -should see of t'ould place, and rare sorry he wur too," he added, with -grateful recollections of a piece of gold at that moment reposing -snugly in his waistcoat pocket. - -But I would not look, and, a little offended, he touched the old hunter -with his whip, and before long we reached the station of Devereux. - -In six hours I was in London, friendless, and I had well-nigh said, -purposeless, for, after I had written out and myself taken to the -office of the _Times_, a brief but imploring message to my father, I -knew not which way to turn or what to do with myself. London -disgusted, sickened me, and at every step I took I felt myself longing -the more for a strong fresh breeze from a Yorkshire moor, and for the -sight of a country lane and a few ruddy-cheeked, good-natured country -folk, instead of this never-ceasing stream of pale-faced anxious men -and over-dressed artificial women, and this interminable succession of -great dirty buildings. I felt awkward, too, and ill at ease, for -though in the country there had never seemed to be anything -extraordinary in my stature, here, as I walked down the Strand with my -hands behind my back, I seemed head and shoulders above everybody else, -and people looked up at me wonderingly and made laughing remarks to one -another, some of which I could not help but overhear. At last, in -despair, it occurred to me that my country costume had something to do -with it; so I went to a tailor's in Bond Street, and, with a sigh, -abandoned my loose shooting jacket and breeches and brown deer-stalker -for a black frock coat, dark grey trousers, and tall hat. The change -was an effectual one, however, for though people still stared at me, it -was no longer as though I were some wild animal. - -One afternoon during the second week of my stay in London I turned with -a crowd of other loungers into the Park, and there, to my surprise, I -saw Maud. She was sitting in a victoria by herself, leaning back -amongst the cushions with pale face and a light in her cold blue eyes -which seemed to speak of indifference to everything and everybody -around her. As fate would have it there was a block just then, and her -carriage, with its pair of restless fuming bays, came almost to a -standstill close to where I was leaning over the railing. I would have -drawn back, but I could not. I seemed fascinated, and I remained there -with my eyes fixed upon hers, and from that moment I was a believer in -animal magnetism, for suddenly she looked languidly up, and her eyes -rested deliberately upon the little crowd of black-coated loungers of -whom I was one. She saw me, she singled me out from the rest in a -moment, and instantly the proud, bored look left her face, and she -leaned forward in her carriage towards me with her lips parted in a -slight smile. I obeyed her imperious little gesture, and, stepping -over the railings, stood by her side hat in hand. - -She laid an exquisitely gloved little hand in mine for a moment, and -then leaned back, looking at me with the old look, half mocking, half -tender, altogether bewildering. - -"Saul amongst the prophets!" she laughed. "Since when, might I ask, -has Mr. Arbuthnot become an acclimatised Londoner? Really you ought to -feel flattered that I recognised you," she added, looking at my black -coat and hat and the gardenia in my buttonhole; I had bought it only -because other men were wearing them, and I wished to look as little -singular as possible. - -Bandying words with Maud was beyond me. I rested my foot on the step -of her carriage, and pretended to be carefully examining it, for into -her eyes I dared not look. - -"I am only waiting in London until I have news from abroad," I -answered. "When did you come from Devereux?" - -"Only yesterday. And I had not thought to see you so soon," she said, -in an altered tone. - -Why was I standing there at Maud's feet? Why had I come into the Park -at all? I, who was so little of a man that, amidst all this great -crowd of people I was obliged to struggle hard to keep an unmoved -countenance and a measured tone. I felt bitterly angry with myself as -I answered, with averted face-- - -"Nor I you. I had forgotten that Devereux was not your home. You live -here, do you not?" - -She smiled indulgently at my ignorance. - -"We are generally here for the season," she said. "We have a house in -Mayfair. Will you come and see me?" - -I shook my head, and answered bluntly-- - -"Thank you, no, Miss Devereux." - -She leaned forward in her carriage, with a sudden increase of animation -in her manner. - -"You are a Don Quixote, Hugh," she said, half angrily, half -reproachfully. "How can you be so foolish as to believe that rubbish -about my father! Wait till you hear how people talk of him, and then -you will know how stupidly mistaken you have been. And he likes you so -much, too. You might come and see us whenever you liked, if you would -only not be so silly." - -"How do you do, Miss Devereux?" - -She turned round quickly, and saw Lord Annerley, who had ridden up to -the other side of the carriage. - -"Lord Annerley! Really, how very surprising! I thought that you had -gone off to break the bank at Monaco. Francis said so." - -"I had meant to go," he began, twirling his little waxen moustache with -his small hand, of which he seemed inordinately proud; "but something -kept me in London." - -He looked down at her boldly in a manner which he, no doubt, considered -fascinating. Resisting a strong inclination to throw the little cad, -with his irreproachable tailor-like get-up into the mud, I raised my -hat to Maud, and turned away. But she called me back. - -"You have not answered me, Mr. Arbuthnot. Is it to be no or yes?" - -"I am sorry, Miss Devereux, that I have nothing to add to my previous -answer," I said stiffly, for her beautiful smiling face seemed to me -like the face of a temptress just then. - -"Just as you wish, of course," she answered coldly, with a slight -haughty inclination of her head. "And now, Lord Annerley," I heard her -add, in a very altered tone, "I hear that you have a new team. Do tell -me all about them. Are they greys or mixed?" - -I walked away, nor did I enter the Park again whilst I was in London. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -LIAR AND COWARD - -"It's the book of the day." - -"It's decidedly the cleverest thing of its sort I ever read." - -"Have you read the review in the _Athenæum_?" - -"And in the _Saturday Review_." - -"They all praise it, even the _Spectator_." - -"Who's the author? Whose initials are R. D.?" - -"Why, don't you know? It's Major Rupert Devereux, the man who wrote -that awfully clever article in the _Fortnightly_ last month. He's an -M.P., and a great man on committees. Sort of practical philanthropist." - -I was standing in front of a bookshop leading out of the Strand amongst -a little group of other passers-by, who had halted for a moment to turn -over the volumes which were out on view, and this was the conversation -which I heard being carried on almost at my elbow. I listened eagerly -for more, but the speakers had passed on. - -My Uncle Rupert was a great man, then, I thought, bitterly. Curse him! -I was scarcely surprised, for there was in his pale face all the -nervous force of imaginative intellect. What was it he had written? I -wondered. I took up the _Times_, and glanced through its columns. Ah, -there it was--a review two columns long--"Richard Strathdale, -novelist," by R.D. - -I glanced through the review; it was one long eulogy. A profound -metaphysical romance! The most brilliant work of fiction of the age, -and so on, and so on. I stopped at a bookseller's, and asked for -"Richard Strathdale." They were sold out. I tried another with the -same result--there had been a tremendous run on it, they told me. But -at last, at a railway bookstall, I was just in time to purchase their -last copy, and hurried back with it to my hotel. - -I commenced to read, and I read on deeply interested. There was much -that I could not understand, much that betrayed an intimate knowledge -with schools of philosophic thought the names of which even were -unknown to me. But there was a great deal which, despite my prejudice -against the writer, seemed to me almost sublime. It was written from a -noble, almost an idyllic standpoint. There were no carping pessimisms -in it, no Nineteenth Century disputativeness. It seemed to be the work -of a man who believed in all that was pure and lofty in nature and in -human nature. The spirit of a good, high-minded man seemed to be -breathing through it in every line. I laid it down when I was half-way -through with a startled little gasp. Could this be my Uncle Rupert! -this the man whose life was a living lie? Never had my faith in my -father wavered for one moment, but just then everything seemed chaos. -I read on until I came to a passage where the hero of the story was -speaking of another man: - -"An unhappy man! Of course he is an unhappy man! He always will be! -Go and ask him what it is he desires. He will tell you a larger -fortune, or a peerage, or something of that sort. He is a fool--a -blind fool--not to have realised by this time that desires expand with -possessions, and the more the one increases the more ravenous the other -becomes. Bah! the principle is as simple as ABC. 'Tis the moralists -of the earth, be they Christians or Chinese, who win here! Logic and -philosophy may knock Christianity into a cocked hat. But Christianity -can make a man happy, which is exactly what philosophy won't do. -Happiness is internal, not external. It must sit in the heart, and not -float in the senses. And what gratification is there which a man can -get out of the good things of the world which can strike deeper than -the senses? Happiness is a consciousness; it is the consciousness of -goodness. Dreadfully common-place talk this, but common-placisms are -often truisms!" - -I closed the book, and walked up and down the room restlessly. A great -bewilderment seemed to be closing in upon me. My faith in my father -was never really shaken, and yet this book seemed to me to ring with -evidences that it was written by a high-minded, naturally good man. -All my ideas were disarranged. A great wave of wondering doubt seemed -beating against the prejudice which had grown up in my heart against my -Uncle Rupert. At last I could bear it no longer. With the book still -in my hand I hurried out into the street. Within ten minutes I stood -before Rupert Devereux's house in Mayfair, and almost immediately was -ushered by the servant into his study. - -He was bending close over his writing-desk with his back to me, writing -fast, and sheets of foolscap lay on the floor all around him. He had -not heard me announced, and he wrote on without looking up. - -I stepped into the middle of the room and spoke to him: - -"Rupert Devereux," I cried, "it is I, Herbert Devereux's son. Turn -round, for I have something to say to you." - -He started to his feet, and turned an eager face towards me. Then he -advanced a step or two, half holding out his hand. - -"Hugh, you have come to accept my offer. God grant that you have." - -I shook my head. "I have come to ask a question of the man who wrote -this book," I answered, holding it out. "I have come to ask the man -who writes that happiness is the abstract product of a consciousness of -right doing, whether he is happy? Rupert Devereux, you know what -happiness is. Tell me, are you happy?" - -He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. My heart -grew lighter as I looked upon him. - -"They tell me that you are a successful man," I continued, mercilessly. -"You are a member of Parliament, and a noted one. You are spoken of as -a philanthropist, and a zealous one. You have written a book which any -man might be proud of having written. You are rich, you are well -spoken of everywhere. And you are a miserable man." - -He never answered me, never changed his dejected attitude. - -"Out of your own mouth you stand convicted," I cried, stretching out -the book towards him. "You are not happy because none of these things -can bring you happiness. You are not happy because you have not that -consciousness of right doing in your heart! You are miserable because -you have wrecked another's life that you might gain his wealth. Fool! -Villain!" - -Still he did not answer; only he stretched out his hand as though to -implore my silence. - -"Rupert Devereux," I cried, passionately, "it is not too late to make -amends even now. Confess that lie which you uttered so many years ago, -and you will be a happier man than you are now! You know it! The man -who wrote this book knows it. I will forgive you, my father shall -forgive you everything, if you will lift this weight from him which is -dragging him down to death. You will lose your name, your wealth, your -position. But you will gain something which none of these can give -you. Rupert Devereux, as there is a God above us I charge you to speak -the truth this night!" - -Ghastly pale, with the wild agony of his remorse written into his face, -he tottered rather than rose to his feet. - -"I admit nothing, I deny nothing," he faltered out in a broken voice. -"But supposing circumstances were as you imagine them to be, I have -gone too far to retract. There are my children!" - -"What of them?" I cried. "This is not a censorious generation, and -none would visit on them their father's sin. Francis is one whom money -would make happy, and he should have it! Maud! I love Maud, and would -make her my wife." - -He looked up amazed, and then an eager hope flashed out from his sunken -eyes. - -"You love Maud!" he repeated. "Then marry her, Hugh; marry her, and I -will dower her with every penny I have, and go and live--anywhere. -Only let this other matter drop between us. If I have sinned in a mad -impulse of folly, I have sinned. What is done cannot be recalled! The -best years of Herbert's life have gone, and by this time he will have -become resigned. Let me call Maud, or go to her. She is in her room." - -I stretched out my hand, but with a great effort withdrew it. What -should I gain by striking this man? I made one last appeal to him. - -"There is but one thing I want from you," I cried, "and nothing else -will I have. All that I want to know is whether you will go down to -hell with this lie upon your soul, or whether you will do that which -alone can bring you any peace of mind. Answer!" - -"I have answered, Hugh," he said, sadly. "What you ask of me I cannot, -I will not do. If you will accept nothing else--I am sorry." - -"Then curse you for a coward!" I cried, springing up. "A liar and a -coward! Live on your false life, fair before men, but black and -corrupt within; live it on! But see whether their praises, their -admiration or your success will ever lift for one moment from your -heart my curse!" - -Then I left him, mad and white with anger, and rushed out into the busy -streets. - - * * * * * - -Wearily the days dragged on for me, bringing me no news from abroad, no -answer to the passionate entreaty which every morning appeared in the -agony column of the _Times_. I grew disheartened and dispirited, -feeling every day more bitter against my kinsman, whose name seemed to -be in every one's mouth, and every day a keener longing to stand face -to face with my father, and feel his hand clasped in mine. Fool that I -had been to let him wander off alone, bearing in his heart that dead -weight of misery! What if he were dead--had fallen in the petty -quarrels of some fourth-rate Principality! Had there been war anywhere -I should have known where to look for him; but Europe was at peace, and -I knew not in which country of the globe to commence my search. - -One evening I had taken up a society journal, and as usual Rupert -Devereux's name headed one of the paragraphs. He was giving a fancy -dress ball to-night, at which Royalty was expected to be present. I -threw the paper from me in disgust, and a wild storm of anger laid hold -of me. Rupert Devereux, a great man, a leader of society, everywhere -quoted as brilliant, talented, and withal kind-hearted; whilst my -father, his victim, wandered about in miserable exile, holding his life -in his hand! It was the thought that was with me day and night, but -that moment it gained such a hold on me as to cry out for action of -some sort. But what could I do? All idea of physical punishment which -naturally leaped first into my mind revolted me, for he was a weak man, -and would have been like a lath in my hands. And what other means had -I? Denunciation would make me ridiculous without injuring him; for, -when a man stands firm in the world's esteem, they are slow to believe -ill of him. I caught up the paper again, and a sudden idea flashed -into my mind which I first scouted as ridiculous, then reconsidered, -and finally embraced. I called a hansom, and drove to several -costumiers. At last I found what I wanted, and returned to the hotel -to dress, for I was going to Major Rupert Devereux's fancy dress ball. - - * * * * * - -A suite of reception rooms, decorated like the rooms of a palace, and -the strains of the Hungarian band floating softly on an air heavy with -the rich perfume of banks of rare exotics. Distinguished-looking men -and beautiful women, in the picturesque garb of all ages and nations, -gliding over the smooth floor. Powdered footmen noiselessly passing -backwards and forwards over the thick carpets of a succession of -satin-draped ante-rooms. Flowers, light, music, and perfume; fair -faces and soft words. That night seems like a confused dream of all -these to me, save for one brief minute. One brief minute, when the -giver of all these, the flattered recipient of endless compliments from -noble lips, came face to face with the image of the man on whose misery -all these things were built up, came face to face with him, in the very -uniform, and with the same fiercely reproachful gaze, which he had worn -more than twenty years ago. - -"It was the heat--the excitement--the overwork!" his sympathising -guests declared, as their host was carried from their midst in a dead -faint, with his face like the face of a corpse. But I knew better, and -I laughed as I strode into my room at the hotel, and flung myself into -an easy chair. Something on the mantelpiece attracted my attention, -and I sprang up with a quick cry, and caught hold of a thin foreign -envelope. I tore it open with trembling fingers, and read:--"My dear -son. Come to me at Palermo, if you will.--Yours affectionately, H. -D----" - -It had come at last, then! Thank God! Thank God! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -MY FATHER AND I - -"My father! my father!" - -We stood on the slope of a wild heath-covered hill, alone, with no -human being or sign of habitation in sight. Before us towered a -dreary, lofty range of bare mountains--on one side was a fearful -precipice, and below us on the other the blue sea. We had met on the -road, my father and I! - -With both hands clasping his, I looked into his face. Alas, how -changed it was! Thin and shrunken, with hollow eyes and furrowed brow, -he looked to me what he was, a wreck. - -"You have been ill," I cried, with a lump in my throat and the tears -springing into my eyes; "where have you been? Why did you not send for -me?" - -He pointed to a loose piece of rock a few yards off. - -"Let us sit down, and I will tell you everything," he said, wearily; "I -am tired." - -We sat down, and I waited eagerly for him to begin. There was a patch -of brilliantly coloured wild-flowers at our feet which filled the air -all round with a dreamy, intoxicating odour. It was a perfume which -has lingered with me even to this day. - -"Ay, I have been ill," he began, slowly, "almost to death, but death -would have none of me. I have little, very little to tell you, Hugh, -my boy. Since we parted in England I have wandered about in many -countries seeking to find an honourable manner of disposing of my life, -but in vain. The dead calm of peace which seems to rest all over -Europe can be but the hush before a storm, but the storm is long in -coming--long in coming. - -"I have done nothing save wander about," he added, after a moment's -pause, "after the fashion of a tramp, carrying my luggage with me, and -calling no place home. A few miles from here, about two months ago, I -thought that my release had come. I swooned suddenly in a lonely part -of yonder range of mountains, and when I came to I was still lying on -the track, but a fever had laid hold of me, and I thought then that -surely I must die. I became unconscious again, and when I recovered my -senses for the second time I was no longer lying on the ground, but was -in a rude sort of a tent, lying on a bed of dried leaves and heath. -One of the roughest-looking men I ever saw, dirty, but gaudily dressed, -with a brace of pistols stuck in his belt, was sitting by my side, and -through the opening of the tent I could see more like him moving -backwards and forwards, and shouting to one another in some villainous -patois. For a long time I couldn't imagine into whose hands I had -fallen, but they were very kind to me, and brought me plenty of -everything they could get--grapes, and olives, and wild aloes, and -wine. At last one of them, who seemed to be their chief, and who spoke -French, came in to talk with me. Then I knew that these men who had -taken such care of me were really bandits, brigands. They had taken -nothing of mine, and would accept nothing in return for their kindness. -They rob the rich only, the chief assured me. I daresay you'll be -surprised to hear, Hugh, that when I began to get stronger and able to -get about, I felt quite loth to leave the place. I felt that there I -was, at any rate, right out of the world, and secure from any casual -questioning. And the spot where they have fixed their abode is the -most lovely I ever looked upon. So I had a talk with their chief one -day--José his name is--and it was arranged that I should pay a small -sum to them for the use of the tent, and for supplies of fruit and -olives and wine which the peasants bring them in abundance; and, in -short, that I should live with them, though not be of them. I have -felt at rest there, though at times the weariness of complete inaction -is hard to bear. Only a few days ago I travelled into Palermo for the -first time. There I bought the _Times_, and saw your advertisement, -and answered it, and the rest you know. I sent José's son, a quick -little fellow he is, into the town to hunt you out, and bring you here. -God bless you for coming, Hugh. It has done me good to see you again." - -He ceased, and my heart was very heavy. Through every word he uttered, -and in his whole appearance, I could trace how thoroughly he had -renounced all idea of again mixing with the world, and yet what could -his present state of existence be but a state of living death? - -"And now for my story, father," I said, as lightly as I could. "First, -Marian is married." - -"Marian married!" He repeated the words slowly, with a sort of passive -wonderment in his tones. - -"Yes, Marian is married to a clergyman, and a very good fellow, and I, -father--I have been in a situation." - -He frowned, and repeated the words slowly to himself, as though -displeased with it. - -"A situation? What sort of a one?" - -"I have had the management of a large estate. It was pleasant work." - -"Whereabouts?" he asked. - -"Father," I said, holding his arm, "I held it as Mr. Arbuthnot, of -course, at Devereux." - -He sprang up like a galvanised figure, and looked down at me in eager -amazement. - -"At Devereux! At Devereux! Oh, my God, at Devereux!" - -He sat down again, and covered his face with his hands. Thinking it -best to leave him alone, I remained silent for a while. Suddenly he -turned round. - -"How does the old place look, Hugh? Tell me all about it. And -my--my--Sir Francis. Did you see him? Is he well?" - -There was such a lingering pathos in his eager questions, that, with an -aching heart, I turned away and wept. Then, after a while, I told him -everything. Told him of my recognition, of my grandfather's offer, of -Hilton's confession, and of my appeal to Rupert Devereux. He listened -as though every word were sinking into his heart--listened with an -utter absorption which was almost painful to witness. I told him of -everything save of Maud. - -There was a long silence when I had finished. Then he said quietly-- - -"You have done wrong, Hugh. You should have accepted your -grandfather's offer. You must go back to England, and go to him." - -"Father," I answered, "an oath is a sacred thing, and I have sworn -before God that I will not do this thing. Whilst your name is -Arbuthnot mine will be Arbuthnot. The name of Devereux may die out for -all I care! Those who bear the name now are not worthy of it--an -obstinate old man, blinded by his military notions and his cursed -family pride, and a man who has lived upon a villainous lie, which he -refuses to own to! They may rot before I will go near them again, or -take their cursed name. You are the only Devereux, father, whom I love -and respect, and with you I will stop. I swear it." - -His hands were locked in mine, and a wonderful change had softened his -face. But by degrees the light seemed to die out of it, and he shook -his head anxiously. - -"You don't know what you are saying, Hugh. What, you, a young man, -with your life all before you, bury yourself with a hermit! Ah, no, it -must not be. You must retract that oath, and go back to England. I -wish it; nay, I command it!" - -There is no need to reproduce the arguments he used, or my stubborn -opposition. We talked till the sun sank down, tinging the glass-like -sea into which it sank and the clouds in the western horizon with -glowing tints of orange and purple and gold. And when the last word -had been spoken it was I who was unshaken in my resolve, and he who was -yielding. For we had agreed that for a time, at any rate, we would -live together. - -The shades of evening had fallen with a suddenness which to me seemed -strange, but to which my father was accustomed. - -"We must part for to-night, at any rate, Hugh," he exclaimed, rising. -"It will be dark in half-an-hour. I must call young Pietro to guide -you back to the town, unless," he added, hesitatingly, "you would care -to come on and rough it with us for a night. I can only offer you a -shake-down of dried leaves." - -"With you, by all means," I answered, quickly. "One could sleep out of -doors in this country." - -"Come, then," he said, and, arm-in-arm, we struck over the heath, -following no path, for the simple reason that there was none, but -aiming for one of the heights of the range of hills before us, and -skirting, at a respectable distance, the cleft-like precipice which -stretched yawning by our side. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE BRIGANDS' HOME - -It was a strange, wild, magnificent spot. A deep gorge running inland -from the sea, only avoided cutting into the precipice which we were -carefully avoiding, by a strip of turf a few yards wide, along which we -passed, and by which alone access could be obtained to our destination. -It curled in a zig-zag position, sometimes wider, sometimes narrower, -towards a low promontory fronting the sea--for the gorge seemed to take -a complete circle. As we neared this hill I could see that it was a -far more fertile one than most of the country around. Up one side -stretched a vineyard, and little knolls of olive and cypress trees were -dotted about on the summit, which seemed enclosed by a thick hedge of -wild aloes. A keen, piercing whistle greeted our approach, to which my -father at once replied. Then there was silence. - -We climbed right up the side and passed over the summit of the hill -without seeing a sign of any human being or habitation. I looked at my -father inquiringly, but he only smiled. - -"Follow me carefully, Hugh," he said, walking on as though to descend -the promontory on the other side. I did so, along a winding, narrow -path covered with loose stones, until suddenly, as we reached a sharp -corner, I came to a standstill, and could not repress a cry of -admiration. Just below was a wide, natural plateau jutting out until -it seemed to stand sheer over the violet sea, and around it at regular -distances, close to the side of the hill, and overhung by a luxurious -out-growing plantation of cypress-trees, were a number of rudely -constructed brown tents. Lying about on the turf were several men -dressed in a picturesque medley of bright-hued garments, smoking long -cigarettes and drinking wine from horn cups. It reminded me of a scene -from the _Spanish Student_, only it was far more beautiful. - -A tall, dark man of swarthy complexion and black eyes, but who was far -from ill-looking, came forward languidly to meet us. My father spoke -to him rapidly apart for a moment or two, and then he turned towards me. - -"This is Monsieur José, Hugh, whose guest I am." - -Monsieur José took off his feathered hat, and made me a sweeping bow. - -"The son of my friend, the Englishman is very welcome," he said, -speaking in French. "You would wish to rest, no doubt? If monsieur -will seek his tent, I will order refreshments to be sent." - -We entered one of the curiously-shaped habitations, and I glanced -wonderingly around. There was a small chest, a gun, a little pile of -books, a bed of dried leaves and heath pressed together in a compact -form, which gave forth an aromatic, agreeable smell, and very little -else. - -"Not much furniture, you see," my father remarked. "Now come outside -again." - -A white cloth had been spread out on the turf, and wooden dishes of -olives, aloes, magnificent grapes, and some sort of dried meat had been -arranged on it. Two long-necked bottles of wine and a couple of horn -mugs were also brought, and then the man who had been making these -preparations bowed clumsily and withdrew. - -I flung myself on the turf by my father's side, and, for the first time -for many years, we ate and drank together. Afterwards we lit long -paper cigarettes, of which there seemed to be no lack, and I stretched -myself out with a sense of dreamy satisfaction. The warm, balmy air, -heavily laden with the exquisite perfume of wild-flowers and the -odorous scent of the vineyard, seemed to lull my senses into a sweet, -satisfied stupor, and for hours we both lay there, scarcely exchanging -half-a-dozen sentences. - -"Father," I said, suddenly, "a man might be happy here." - -He sighed. "It would not be impossible," he assented. - -I thought of London at night, with its endless whirl of excitement and -hurry; its flaming gas-lights, its heated theatres, its hurrying, eager -crowds, and its hideous vice, and I drew a deep, satisfied breath. - -"One is happiest out of the world, I think, after all. How could any -man be miserable in a place like this?" - -My father smiled sadly. - -"A certain amount of philosophy is necessary to appreciate solitude," -he said. "You are too young to have imbibed it. You would be longing -to be back in the world again before long." - -I shook my head. - -"Not I. There is nothing in England to compare with this. As for -London, the little time I spent there seems like a bad dream. To live -in a great city seems to me the greatest mistake a man can make. All -the town people I met were artificial in their manners, and in their -nature too, I believe. The struggle for existence seems to stunt them, -and to check their development." - -"Yet contact with one another sharpens their wits and energy," my -father remarked. - -"I doubt whether it improves them morally," I answered. "But perhaps I -am prejudiced. I hate towns, and I love the country." - -"Monsieur is very wise." - -I turned my head, and saw Monsieur José's tall figure standing out -against the sky. - -"Monsieur is very wise," he repeated. "I, too, have lived in towns, -but I love best the country, else I should not be here. Monsieur is -young to have attained to so much wisdom." - -I laughed. "Isn't it a matter of taste rather than a matter of -wisdom?" I remarked. - -He shrugged his shoulders, and leaned forward on the long gun which he -was carrying. - -"With monsieur's permission," he said, "I will tell him a short story. -It is my own." - -"Delighted," I murmured, lighting a fresh cigarette, and my father -gravely bowed his head. - -"I was born and brought up in the country," Monsieur José commenced, -"in a small village, about fifty miles south of Paris. When I was -sixteen years old my father and mother both died, and I was left alone -in the world, in possession of a small farm. I had to work hard, but I -loved the place, and I was able to make a good living. I was happy -enough, too, until Marie Marteuil came to live in our village, and I -fell in love with her. I trust monsieur will never know what it is to -be in love with a heartless coquette! It was my lot, and a miserable -lot it was! One day she would single me out from all the rest and talk -to me only, and at another she would scarcely speak to me at all. It -was Paris which had done it. Before she went up there to stay with an -aunt for a while, she was as quiet, and simple, and sweet as ever a -maiden could be, but when she returned she was, as I say, a confirmed -coquette. I bore patiently with all her vagaries, and put up with all -her saucy speeches, for more than a year. Then, when I asked her to -marry me, she laughed in my face. What, marry a little country farmer! -Not she. She would marry no one, she said, who did not live in Paris, -or who could not take her there. If I could do that she would have me. - -"Well, I sold the farm on which I was born, every field of which I -loved, and with a light heart went up to Paris. They call Paris a gay -city! I found it a cruel one! I had no idea how to set about making a -living there, and gradually my little stock of money dwindled away -until it was nearly all gone. But I would succeed, I swore, for was -not Marie waiting for me? At last, in despair, I turned blacksmith; I -worked night and day until my cheeks lost their colour, and I began to -stoop. But I got on very well, and at last I got a forge for myself -and took a little house and furnished it. Then I went down to my old -home, happy and exultant, to fetch Marie. I went to her house and saw -her, but when I would have embraced her she drew back as though she had -forgotten me. I was pained, but I thought that she was playing with -me, and I commenced to tell her my story, and all that I had done, and -how I had worked for her sake, and about the house I had furnished. -And when I had told her everything, what do you think she did? She -burst out laughing in my face. 'The idea of her marrying a -blacksmith!' she exclaimed, tossing her pretty little head. 'It was -ridiculous.' Besides, she had changed her mind about living in Paris. -I had better get some one else to go and live with me in the house I -had furnished; and when I commenced to plead to her, she shut the door -in my face. Next week she was married to the man to whom I had sold my -farm. Does monsieur wonder that I, too, detest the cities, and love -best the country?" - -I looked up at him sympathisingly, for though he had told his story -lightly, there was a deep vein of sadness underlying his assumed -manner, and his dark eyes had a sorrowful look. - -"Perhaps it was as well for you that you didn't marry her," I remarked. -"She must have been a heartless coquette." - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -"If our love came from our head, that would be very good consolation. -I wish messieurs a very good night," he added, bowing. Then he turned -somewhat abruptly upon his heel and walked away to his tent. - -One by one the men around us left the central group, and, curling -themselves up in their cloaks, threw themselves down to sleep--some -inside their tents, some on the threshold, and others where they had -been sitting. The golden moon had risen high above the gleaming, -sparkling surface of the still sea and shone down upon the strange -little scene with a full, soft light. I looked round at the slumbering -forms of the brigands in the fantastic dress, and at the dark -cypress-trees which stood out in strange shapes against the clear, -star-bespangled sky. I watched the fire-flies around the aloe hedge, -until my eyes ached with following their erratic course. Then I -thought of Maud--wondered whether she was at that moment waltzing with -Lord Annerley in some heated London ballroom, wondered whether she ever -thought of me, whether she knew that I loved her! - -And then I closed my eyes, and the sweet, intoxicating perfume which -floated about on the heavy southern air lulled me to sleep. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -AT PALERMO - -For a whole week I shared my father's abode in company with this band -of robbers, and then, finding me indomitable in my determination to -remain with him, he made another proposition. Such a retreat and such -company as we were amongst was all very well for him, an outcast from -the world; but for me it was different. He did not like the thought of -my dwelling amongst proscribed men; there was no necessity for it. - -At first I laughed at him. Monsieur José and I were the best of -friends, and though with the other men I could not exchange even a -casual remark, for their only language was a vile, unintelligible -patois, they were all civil enough, and seemed disposed to be friendly. -The wild, open life suited me exactly, especially in the mood in which -I then was, and I had no wish to change it for any more luxurious -method of living. But as my father seemed to have made up his mind -upon the matter, I, of course, had little to say about it. - -We did not have much difficulty in finding a suitable abode. At the -foot of the wild gorge which gives access to the mountains amongst -which the convent of San Martino and the Cathedral of Monreale lie -hidden, we came across a tumble-down, half-ruined, grey villa, of which -several of the rooms were fairly habitable. We took it from its owner, -a neighbouring farmer, for a sum which seemed to us ridiculously low. -Then, from the little village of Bocca di Falco, we engaged, for wages -little above their keep, a man and woman, and with the remainder of the -old furniture which was in the place, and a very few additions from -Palermo, we were fairly set up in housekeeping. - -I am quite sure that that period was not altogether an unhappy one for -my father, and, for my part, I found it very far from such. The -complete novelty of our surroundings and manner of life was full of -interest to me, and it was with the keenest pleasure, too, that I -watched the colour come slowly back to my father's cheeks, and his -limbs regain their old elasticity and vigour. He could not conceal the -change which my coming had brought into his life, and he did not -attempt to. Many a time did I feel devoutly thankful that I had held -to and carried out my purpose. - -Our life was simple enough, but pleasant. Some times we spent the -whole day trying to shoot the only bird there is to shoot--a sort of -wild duck; at others we took long walks, exploring the coast scenery, -and frequently winding up by a visit to our robber friends. -Antiquities or sight-seeing we neither of us cared much about, but we -paid together more than one visit to the vast palatial convent of San -Martino and to the Cathedral of Monreale. Other places of interest we -avoided, for my father had lost none of his old dread of meeting any of -his fellow-countrymen, although, as I more than once pointed out to -him, the probabilities of their ever having heard his story were very -far removed. - -Sometimes we rode on mules across the rich intervening plain into -Palermo, and mingled with the little crowd of priests and soldiers in -the _café_, and went down to the Casino to glance through the papers. -It was I who read these, however, for my father carefully avoided them, -and perhaps it was as well that he did, for more often than not there -was some mention of Rupert Devereux's name, either presiding at a -meeting or heading a subscription list, or as one of the committee -interested in some great philanthropic work. It could not have been -pleasant for him to have read such items of news as this, and I was -thankful that he chose never to read English papers. - -And so our life passed on for more than a year, not at all unpleasantly -for either of us. My father, in his previous state of complete -solitude, had developed a taste for profound reading, and seemed to -find much pleasure in studying abstruse works on Buddhism, the creed of -the Mahometans, the Confucian teaching, the religion of the Brahmins -and the Fetichists, and the strange, fascinating doctrine of quietism -held by so many of the nations of the East. It was a taste which I -never pretended to share, the only one of our joint interests in which -the other did not participate. I feared it, although in my ignorance I -could do nothing to check it. I had dim ideas that to a man -circumstanced as my father was, such study must develop any secret -leanings towards fatalism, and it was a doctrine which he would have -many excuses for embracing. But I was too ignorant to argue with him, -so I contented myself with keeping him from his books always in the -daytime and often in the evening; for we had improvised in one of the -empty rooms a sort of billiard table, on which, I am convinced, we -executed some of the most extraordinary strokes that a marker ever -gazed upon. Then, too, we played chess often, and I tried, by every -means in my power, to keep him from turning bookworm. And, on the -whole, I was not dissatisfied with my success. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -VISITORS FROM ROME - -It was one of those evenings which, to any one acquainted only with our -English climate, seem like a foretaste of paradise. I sat before a -tiny marble table at one of the open-air _cafés_ at the head of the -Marina, listening idly to the music of the band only a few yards off, -and gazing over the peaceful, glistening sea which stretched away in -front. There were many people passing backwards and forwards, but my -thoughts were far away, and I took notice of none of them. With my -head resting upon my arm, and my arm upon the low balustrade, I had -fallen into a semi-somnolent slumber of thought, and the faces of the -people who lounged by chattering and laughing I saw only as figures in -a dream. My cigarette even had burnt out between my lips, and the -coffee which stood by my side I had not tasted. - -The roadway was completely blocked with the carriages of the Palermitan -nobility and elite, and the promenade was thronged with a heterogeneous -stream of fishermen and natives and visitors. All Palermo flocks on to -the Marina at nightfall--as who would not?--to hear the band and -breathe in the freshness of the sea, and with other objects very -similar to those which attract promenaders on to the esplanades of -English watering-places at a similar hour. Often I had amused myself -by watching them, and looking out for English visitors; but to-night, -early in the evening, I had seen a Sicilian countess who reminded me -slightly of Maud, and my thoughts had flashed back to Devereux, and -remained there, heedless of my efforts to recall them, hovering around -one fair face, which sometimes I feared was more to me than anything -else in the world. - -What should recall them but the glad, amazed greeting of an English -voice! I sprang to my feet, and before me, her face radiant with -pleasure, and her little hand stretched out eagerly, stood Lady Olive. - -"Of all the strange meetings I ever heard of, Mr. Arbuthnot, this is -the most extraordinary!" she exclaimed. "It quite takes my breath -away!" - -I held her hand in mine forgetful of what I was doing--amazed and -admiring. A warm climate evidently suited Lady Olive, for I had never -seen her look so charming as she did then in the airy muslin dress -which floated gracefully around her slight figure, with a great bunch -of light-coloured violets in the bosom of her gown, and with a decided -tinge of colour and delighted sparkle in her eyes. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, am I a ghost that you look at me so without speaking? -And you really must let go my hand, please." - -I dropped it at once. - -"Lady Olive," I exclaimed, "I never met any one whom I was so pleased -to see! Whatever stroke of good fortune brought you to Sicily?" - -"This," she laughed, laying her arm within that of a tall, bearded -gentleman who stood wondering by her side. "Papa, this is Mr. -Arbuthnot. Mr. Arbuthnot, my father, Lord Parkhurst." - -He held out his hand cordially. - -"Very glad to meet you, Mr. Arbuthnot. I have heard my daughter speak -of you often." - -We were blocking up the crowded promenade, and so we all three turned -and walked leisurely along amongst the others. In a few minutes I had -heard that Lord Parkhurst had brought his daughter and some other -friends here from Rome in his yacht, and they were uncertain as to -their stay. And in return I had told them that I was living with my -father for a while close to Palermo. - -Presently we came up with the remainder of their party, and Lord -Parkhurst, leaving his daughter in my charge, joined them. A tall, -good-humoured-looking boy strolled up to us, looking at me -questioningly. Lady Olive introduced me to her brother, who came over -to my side, and seemed disposed to stay with us. - -"Now, we're not going to have you, Frank," Lady Olive declared, -laughing. "Mr. Arbuthnot and I are old friends, and we have a lot to -talk about. Go and take care of Cissy, do!" - -He laughed good-humouredly, and then, nodding to me, strolled off with -his hands in his pockets. Lady Olive rested her little hand upon my -arm for a moment, and guided me down towards the winter garden, where -the throng was less dense. There we found a low seat, and sat down -with our faces to the sea, and our backs to the ever-increasing crowd, -the murmur of whose conversation reached us in an incessant subdued hum. - -"And now, Mr. Arbuthnot, tell me all the news, please; I want to know -everything about yourself," exclaimed Lady Olive, making herself -comfortable. "Quick, please; we haven't more than half-an-hour before -some one will be looking for me." - -"Half-a-minute will suffice to tell you my news," I answered, and I -told her the little that had happened to me since Marian's marriage. -Told her of my meeting with my father, and of our quiet life together. -She listened with more than interest; and very enchanting she looked in -the golden light which shone upon her up-turned, piquant face, and in -her dark, tender eyes, which had almost filled with compassionate tears -when I had finished. For, after all, there was something sad about my -story. - -"I think it is so good of you, Mr.--Mr. Arbuthnot, to give up your -life, as you are doing, to your father," she said softly. - -I laughed at the idea. - -"Give it up! It is no sacrifice. I like being with him; and life -isn't at all unpleasant out here, I can tell you." - -"Isn't it a little dull?" she asked, hesitatingly. - -"I had not found it so," I told her. "Perhaps I should when she were -gone," I added. - -She made a mocking face at me, and then suddenly became grave again. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, I wonder whether you will mind," she said, looking at -me very earnestly, "but papa knows your real name and all about you. I -couldn't help telling him, because I have thought about you so much. -You are not angry?" - -I smiled down at her reassuringly. Angry! Why should I be? Instead, -I must confess that I felt a decided glow of pleasure at her eager -words. - -"Tell me something about yourself now," I begged, "and some English -news, if there is any." - -"English news! Well, old Sir Francis is moping worse than ever since -you left; Mr. Rupert Devereux has written the novel of the season; Mr. -Francis, from all I can hear of him, is going to the bad; and -Maud--they say Maud is engaged to that little fop, Lord Annerley. Is -that enough news?" - -Yes, it was quite enough! Something told me that she was watching for -the effect of her words, and a sort of stubborn pride held my features -rigid, and enabled me to answer lightly, and to put the words which I -had heard away from me. - -We talked for a long time in low tones, exchanging reminiscences and -speeches, my share of which I have often since repented. But to meet -unexpectedly a countrywoman, especially so charming a one as Lady -Olive, in a strange country, when you have seen nothing but strange -faces for many months, is sufficient excuse for a little more than -cordiality creeping into the conversation. And then there was the -influence of the scene and of the night, an influence which no one can -properly appreciate who does not know what the long summer nights of -Southern Europe are like. Everything seemed steeped in a sort of -languid, evanescent beauty. The dark mountains stretching out like -giant sentinels into the silvery, glistening bay, the twinkling lights -from the low, white houses, the softened strains of the band, the musky -air heavily laden with the mingled perfume of the orange grove, the -hyacinths, and the more distant vineyards, and Lady Olive's beautiful -dark eyes so close to mine, and flashing with such a dangerously sweet -light--all these seemed leagued together to stir my senses and my -heart. If Lady Olive spoke in a lower tone and with a tenderer accent -than she need have done, was I to blame, knowing her to be a flirt, if -I followed suit? The wonder is that I forbore to answer the mute -invitation of her eyes, and press my lips against the archly tender, -oval face, which more than once almost touched mine. - -But for the thought that, gone from me for ever though she might be, -Maud's kiss was the last upon my lips, assuredly I should have yielded -to the fascination of that moment. - -Fewer and fewer became our words, until at last we ceased talking -altogether, and remained silent, drinking in the exquisite enjoyment of -our surroundings. - -At last Lady Olive rose reluctantly. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, we must really go. They'll be coming to look for us -directly, and, really, if it hadn't been too ridiculous, people might -almost imagine that we'd been spooning, mightn't they?" - -She blushed as she smoothed down the folds of her white dress, and -waited whilst I lit a cigarette. Certainly, if people had entertained -that very ridiculous notion there would have been some excuse for them, -for our hands had been very close together--very close indeed--and -there was a soft light in Lady Olive's lustrous eyes which, to any one -who had not known that she was a flirt, and could command them at will, -might have suggested love-making. Our _tête-à-tête_, such as it was, -was over for the present, at any rate, for we had scarcely gone a dozen -yards when we came upon Lord Parkhurst, with Miss Cissy, who, I found -out afterwards, was Lady Olive's youngest sister, and Master Frank, and -a tall, sandy-haired man, with bushy eyebrows and an intelligent -forehead, whom Lord Parkhurst introduced to me as Mr. Burton Leigh. - -We all walked up the promenade together, but presently Lord Parkhurst -took an opportunity to draw me a little behind the others. - -"My dear fellow," he said kindly, "my daughter told me all your sad -history when she came to rue from England. Do you know, I should like -to know your father, Mr. Devereux, very much. My cousin was in his -regiment, and always swore that there was something wrong about that -court-martial. Do you think that he would mind my calling on him?" - -I hesitated, at a loss how to decide. - -"Well, well, let it be until you have asked him," Lord Parkhurst went -on, good-humouredly. "We shall be here for a week or two, at any rate, -and I hope that we shall see a good deal of you. We thought of going -to see the convent at San Martino to-morrow. Will you join us?" - -"The convent of San Martino?" I exclaimed. "Why, you will pass our -house." - -"Indeed! Then we will look in and see your father on our way back, if -he has no objection. You'll come in for an hour?" - -We had reached the entrance to the hotel, and Lady Olive was looking -behind to see that I was following. But I shook my head. - -"I have a six-mile ride over a rough country," I said, "and though the -patience of mules is supposed to be inexhaustible, experience has -taught me that that idea is a popular delusion. I've kept mine waiting -four hours already, and I really must go." - -"If you must, then," Lord Parkhurst said, holding out his hand, "where -shall we see you to-morrow?" - -"I'll come and meet you if you'll tell me what time you'll start." - -They consulted, and fixed upon an hour. Then I shook hands with Lady -Olive and the rest of the party, and walked back along the now nearly -deserted Marina to the inn where I had left my mule. - -Jacko was a faithful beast and sure of foot. But he was slow, and by -the time we had reached home it was past midnight. My father was -sitting up for me, poring over a musty old volume, which he laid down, -as I entered. - -"Hugh, my boy, I thought you were lost. Disgraceful hour, sir," he -added, with a mild attempt at facetiousness. - -I laughed, and throwing my whip into a corner, poured myself out a cup -of coffee. - -"Father, what do you think has happened?" I explained. "I have met -some English friends in Palermo." - -"Who are they?" he asked nervously. - -"Lord Parkhurst and his daughter. Lady Olive is a friend of Miss -Devereux's, and a very jolly little girl she is." - -My father nodded. - -"Glad you've been enjoying yourself," he remarked. "I hope they are -going to stay for a time. They'll be company for you." - -"And you too, father," I added quickly. "Lord Parkhurst wants to call -and see you. He knows all about us, and he seems very anxious to make -your acquaintance. Do you mind?" - -My father considered for some time before he answered. I could see -that the idea half pleased him, although he could not quite make up his -mind to break through his old habit. - -"I don't think I should mind much, Hugh," he said at last. "But -there's no one else, is there?" - -"Only a son, and two daughters. Lady Olive is quite as anxious to know -you as her father. Oh! and there's a fellow called Burton Leigh." - -"Burton Leigh!" repeated my father. "Burton Leigh! There is no man -whom I should like to meet more if it's the same Burton Leigh who wrote -this treatise on Modern Mahometanism." - -"Same fellow," I declared, without hesitation. "He looks beastly -clever, and Lady Olive said that he'd lived for years in Egypt with a -tribe of Arabs. Same fellow for certain." - -"How strange! When are they coming, Hugh?" - -"To-morrow," I answered, invoking secret blessings on the head of Mr. -Burton Leigh. "They are coming this way to San Martino, and I was to -let them know whether they might call." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -WE ENTERTAIN AT THE VILLA - -My father and I were sitting at breakfast on the following morning, out -of doors, on the wooden balcony, when I again recurred to the visit -which we were to receive. - -Below us stretched a wild, neglected garden, picturesque but overgrown, -and further away was a flourishing vineyard and a bare stretch of -heath, only redeemed from absolute ugliness by the brilliant patches of -wild-flowers and frequent groups of olive-trees. Although it was early -morning the warm air was already laden with the languid, almost -oppressive, scent of wild hyacinths and other odorous plants, and there -seemed to be every promise of a scorching hot day. As usual, our -breakfast consisted almost entirely of different sorts of fruits and -the wine of the country, and until we had nearly finished and my father -had leaned back in his low wicker chair, with the blue smoke from a -cigarette curling around him, we scarcely interchanged a word. - -"I wonder if there's anything in the house for lunch?" I remarked, -rather abruptly. - -My father looked at me with a mild astonishment, for we seldom asked -one another questions of that sort, leaving almost everything to our -housekeeper. - -"I haven't the faintest idea," he acknowledged, languidly fanning -himself with his hat. "Better ask Marie. Why this premature -curiosity?" - -I shrugged my shoulders. "We may have company," I remarked. - -My father arched his eyebrows, and looked at me incredulously. - -"Company, nonsense! You haven't asked your friends to luncheon, have -you?" - -I shook my head. "Haven't asked them, but I shouldn't wonder if they -weren't here all the same. They are going to San Martino, and it -occurs to me that by the time they reach here they may be glad of a -rest. It's going to be a warmish day." - -Marie had come out to take away the remains of our breakfast, and I -appealed to her. She shrugged her massive shoulders discouragingly, -and held up her hands. We were not often home for lunch, and she had -provided nothing. - -We looked at one another helplessly, my father and I, and then -simultaneously broke into a short laugh. - -"Let us hope your friends will have had a good breakfast, Hugh," my -father said. "But, Marie," he added, "surely there were chickens?" - -"Ah, surely, there were chickens, so many that they were becoming a -nuisance! Pietro should kill some at once, that they might be cooked -and cold by luncheon time." - -"And omelettes, Marie; you can make omelettes?" I suggested. - -She was half indignant at the idea of there being any doubt about it! -Omelettes there could be, surely! Were not her omelettes equal to any -one's? And if the signers were expecting visitors, they need have no -fear! They might make their minds quite at rest. Lunch there should -be, fit for any one. - -We both breathed more freely, and decided that Marie was a treasure. -Then I lounged off into the garden on a very womanish errand--namely, -to gather some flowers to decorate the table with, and finally, having -seen all things in a state of preparation, I mounted Jacko and rode off -towards Palermo, leaving my father vastly amused at the orders I had -given. - -Just outside the city I met them in a heavy native carriage, and, -turning round, I rode by their side. Frank and Mr. Leigh were also on -mules, but Lady Olive, in a cream-coloured costume, and with a bunch of -hyacinths, which I had given her the night before, in her bosom, was -sitting in the carriage by her father's side. She welcomed me with the -most becoming blush, and, as I touched her hand, I could not help -thinking how fresh, and cool, and English-like she appeared. Perhaps -my eyes told her something of my admiration, for she turned hers -quickly away, and seemed eager to commence a conversation. - -"Mr. Arbuthnot, how strange you look on that animal after the Black -Prince! Aren't you afraid of your feet touching the ground?" - -"Jacko is not to be despised," I assured her. "I'm afraid the Black -Prince's knees would suffer in this country. Ever ridden one of these -animals before?" I asked Mr. Leigh, who was by my side. - -He smiled at the question. - -"In very many countries," he answered. "I've crossed the Pyrenees, and -cantered into Jerusalem on one. They're sure-footed beasts." - -I looked at him with interest. Evidently he had been a traveller, and -he was doubtless the man whom my father desired to meet. - -There was not much opportunity for conversation, for the road was such -that it took all our attention to remain safely in our saddles. Our -progress, too, or rather the progress of the carriage, was slow, and -long before we had arrived at the villa Lord Parkhurst began to look -hot and Lady Olive a little bored. Only Frank seemed to be thoroughly -enjoying himself, with that indifference to the weather which a hardy -school-boy generally displays, galloping round in circles, and urging -his animal, a respectable and highly disgusted old mule, into the most -extraordinary antics. At last the ruined front of the villa, half -hidden amongst the grove of orange-trees which stretched behind it, -came in sight. - -"What a dear old place!" remarked Lady Olive. "Who lives there, Mr. -Arbuthnot?" - -"At present we do," I said, riding up to the side of the carriage. "If -you would really like to make my father's acquaintance, Lord Parkhurst, -we should find him at home now, and he would be pleased to see you." - -Lord Parkhurst seized upon the idea with avidity. - -"I should like it above all things," he declared, "and a change from -this beastly rackety machine and this broiling sun will be very -welcome. What do you say, Olive?" - -Lady Olive was quite of her father's opinion, and so in a few minutes a -halt was made at the rusty iron gates supported by tottering grey stone -pillars, and we all trooped up the grass-grown avenue. - -My father met us at the door, and welcomed our guests with an air of -dignified courtesy of which many years of seclusion had not robbed him. -He brought up the rear, exchanging affable common-placisms with Lord -Parkhurst, whilst I, with Lady Olive and the rest of the party, crossed -the marble floor of the entrance-hall, stained and discoloured by age, -and entered the larger of the two rooms which we had made some attempt -at furnishing. The close-drawn blinds had kept out the burning sun, -and after the fierce heat outside the room seemed cool and pleasant -enough, although its decorations were faded and its walls in places -dilapidated. Lady Olive, stretched in my father's easy chair, -pronounced her firm intention of remaining where she was until the sun -had lost some of its fierceness, and Lord Parkhurst, who was fanning -himself with an air of great contentment, seemed by no means reluctant. -So we sat there, a merry, chattering party, my father and Mr. Leigh -deep in the discussion of some vexed point in the latter's book--a -discussion in which Lord Parkhurst seemed also interested--and we -younger ones talking in a somewhat lighter vein. - -Presently Marie threw open the folding doors and announced luncheon, -and my father, with Lady Olive on his arm--how many years was it, I -wonder, since he had performed a like ceremony?--led the way out into -the wide shaded balcony where lunch had been prepared. We were quite -out of the sun, and the air here was fresh and cool, and laden with -sweet scents from the orange-grove close at hand. - -"I call this perfectly delicious," Lady Olive declared, sinking into -her bamboo chair at the bottom end of the table. "Mr. Arbuthnot, your -house is an enchanted one! I was just thinking how nice a bunch of -grapes would be, and--behold!" - -There were certainly plenty of grapes, and, with a snowy white cloth -and the flowers which were intermingled with the fruit, and strewn all -over it, the table looked very well for a bachelor abode. My father -made a dignified but courteous host, and several times I found myself -admiring his easy, natural manners, whilst Lady Olive, opposite to him, -looked charming and bright, and kept us all talking and amused. After -lunch was over my father and Mr. Leigh again became absorbed in a -_tête-à-tête_, and, as Lord Parkhurst showed decided symptoms of -indulging in a siesta, Lady Olive and I, with her brother Frank and the -younger sister following, strolled down the steps into the neglected -and luxuriantly overgrown but picturesque old garden. I am afraid we -talked a good many soft nothings that afternoon, Lady Olive and I, my -share in which I have often bitterly repented. But then, how many -excuses there were! Lady Olive had openly professed herself to be a -flirt, and as such I always regarded her, light-hearted, gay, and with -winning manners, but a thorough-paced coquette. Her tender looks, and -the soft light which so often shone in her dark eyes, had never been -dangerous to me, for I had never believed in their sincerity. They had -been very pleasant to respond to, and the occasional pressure of her -small white fingers had been pleasant enough to feel. But I had always -responded to these with a half-laughing acquiescence, feeling that I -was playing my part in a game dangerous to neither of us. Experience -has taught me that danger is an element never absent from such mocking -interchanges of assumed affection, and that flirting, even in the most -innocent manner, and even with one who calls herself a flirt, is better -left alone. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -MR. BURTON LEIGH - -Soon after four o'clock Lord Parkhurst suddenly woke up, and remembered -that the convent of San Martino was still unvisited. We were recalled -from the garden, and after a hasty afternoon tea--_à l'Anglaise_--the -mules were brought round, and we prepared to make a start. At the last -moment Mr. Leigh, whose conversation with my father had never flagged, -begged to be left behind and called for on our return, a proposition to -which Lord Parkhurst at once good-humouredly assented. - -"I'm sure we have to thank you heartily for your hospitality, Mr. -Arbuthnot," his lordship remarked, as he bade my father farewell. "We -came to call on you for a few minutes, and have quartered ourselves -upon you for the day. I do hope you'll return our visit. I've taken -the Palazzo Pericilo, in Palermo, for a month. Your son'll soon be -able to show you where it is, I hope," he added, turning to me. - -My father made some courteous but indefinite reply as he walked down -the hall with his departing guests. To have looked at the two men, any -one would certainly have supposed the positions reversed, and that my -father had been the distinguished diplomatist and peer, whose visit was -an honour, and Lord Parkhurst the man without a name. - -"Your father is a veritable grand seigneur," Lady Olive said to me as -we stood at the gate prepared to start. "I never saw a more -distinguished-looking man." And, though I only laughed at her, I was -pleased. - -The ride to San Martino was a delightful one. We entered at once, -after leaving the villa, into a narrow, rugged glen, which led us -higher and higher, until at last Palermo, with its marvellously -beautiful plain, and the blue water of the Mediterranean sweeping into -its bay, lay stretched out behind us like a beautiful panorama. Though -we were high up in the mountains, we were still surrounded by the most -luxuriant vegetation, and a sudden turn in the road showed us, -thousands of feet below, a beautifully-cultivated valley, in the bed of -which were dense groves of orange-trees, while its sides were laid out -as vineyards and wheatfields. But perhaps the most beautiful sight of -all was the huge façade of the convent of San Martino, which we came -upon unexpectedly, and which seemed to be heaved out of the earth by -some caprice of nature. - -More than an hour we spent wandering about its vast open corridors and -magnificent staircases, and, melancholy and silent though it was, its -grandeur and solemnity, and, above all, the silence which reigned -throughout the enormous building, made a strong impression upon us. -Even Lady Olive forbore to chatter, and we none of us felt inclined to -speak above a whisper. For my part I was not sorry when our tour of -inspection was over, for the place seemed to me depressing in its vast -emptiness, and I think the others were of the same opinion, for we all -gave a simultaneous gesture of relief when we stood again in the open -air. - -"We'll go back now, I think," said Lord Parkhurst, yawning. "What do -you say, Olive? Had enough sight-seeing?" - -Lady Olive was content to do anything, so I handed her into the -carriage, and we started homewards, with the fresh breeze from the -Mediterranean blowing in our faces, and the glorious prospect of -Palermo at the edge of the most luxurious plain of Southern Europe -before our eyes. - -In about an hour we reached the villa, and found my father and Mr. -Leigh, with a pile of books before them, still eagerly conversing. I -had promised Lady Olive in a weak moment to return and dine with them, -but when Lord Parkhurst cordially extended the invitation to my father, -I could scarcely believe my ears when I heard him, after a moment's -indecision, accept. But he did so, and after a few very minutes' delay -we all set out together for Palermo. - -That was a very pleasant day--so pleasant that I felt almost inclined -to echo Lady Olive's words whispered to me as we lounged about on the -Marina, pretending to listen to the band, and call it one of the -happiest of my life. I had never seen my father so thoroughly -interested as he was with Mr. Leigh, and as we rode home together in -the moonlight I asked him about it. - -"I never met a man to whom I took such a liking, or in whom I was more -interested," my father declared. "He has lived for a long time amongst -the Arabs, and seems to have been much impressed by them. He is a -disciple of a very curious Calvinistic doctrine of fatalism, which has -a good deal of resemblance to the creed of the nomad Arabs. I don't -think it ever struck him till I pointed it out." - -"He is going back to Egypt, isn't he?" I asked. - -"He is. There is a storm brewing there, and he is going to try and see -what he can do to prevent mischief. He has asked me to go with him, -Hugh," my father added, quietly. - -"But you won't go?" I cried. - -He looked at me with one of his old sweet smiles, which it filled me -with joy to see again, and he rested his arm for a moment on my -shoulder. - -"Hugh, I have promised to think it over. Before I decide, we will have -a talk about it; but not to-night." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -CUT DOWN - -It must have been a little before six o'clock on the following morning, -when I was suddenly aroused from sleep, and, opening my eyes, saw my -father, half-dressed, bending over me with his hand on my shoulder. - -"Wake up, Hugh!" he cried, "wake up!" - -I sat up in bed, bewildered and amazed. My father, with an anxious -face, was rapidly putting on his boots. - -"What has happened?" I asked, springing out of bed. "Is there anything -wrong?" - -"Dress yourself quick, and follow me. I am going to José's. Pietro -has just come, and says that there was some desperate fighting last -night between the brigands and some travellers on their way to Palermo. -Two of the brigands were killed, but they have captured the man who -killed them. Pietro thinks he was an Englishman. They will hang him -this morning unless we can prevent it. Hurry, Hugh, and come after me. -You don't know what those fellows are if they can lay their hands on -any one who has killed one of their band. Sure as fate they'll hang -him. I fear that we may be too late now. I shall take the mountain -road." - -All the time my father had been talking he had been completing a hasty -toilet, and, now he had finished, he hurried from the room, and -directly afterwards I heard Jacko cantering down the avenue. In a very -few minutes I too was dressed and following him on foot. - -Our villa was about four miles and a half from the hill on which -Monsieur José and his friends had pitched their habitation, and it was -uphill all the way, and a very rough road. The path--it was a mere -mountain track--was covered with loose stones, and in many places was -but a few feet wide. Below sloped, with the abruptness of a precipice, -the green hillside, dotted with olive-trees and aloe shrubs, and above -the vegetation grew more and more stunted, and great masses of rock -jutted out and lay about the barren brown summit. I was running -towards the sea, and the soft invigorating breeze which blew steadily -in my teeth seemed to lend me an added vigour, for when I caught my -father up, close to our destination, I was as fresh as at the start. -Side by side we reached the chasm-like gorge which separated the range -of hills which we had been traversing from the solitary one behind -which was the brigands' dwelling-place. Here we halted, and my father, -dismounting, put two of his fingers in his mouth and whistled a -peculiar screech-like whistle, which I had often vainly tried to -imitate. - -At first there was no answer, save the echoes which came mockingly back -again and again. Again he gave the signal, and this time one of the -band made a cautious appearance from behind a knoll of trees, and, -seeing who we were, came forward and threw a rough bridge, formed from -the trunk of a tree, across the chasm. We were on the other side in a -moment, and I hurried up the steep hillside, whilst my father remained -behind to exchange a few sentences with the man whose vile patois I -could not pretend to understand. He caught me up at the summit, and, -without stopping, ran down the green footpath, calling out to me-- - -"Quick, Hugh, we shall only be just in time. They are going to hang -him!" - -Below us stretched the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean, gleaming -and sparkling in the morning's sun, and though we were within a couple -of hundred yards of our destination, not a sound broke the dead -silence, nor was there any sign of human life anywhere about. We -reached the edge of the cliff and half-fearfully looked down below. -Instantly the whole view burst upon us, and we saw that we were but -barely in time. As we looked upon the little scene, with its -picturesque grouping, it seemed hard to believe that it was not some -elaborate tableau which met our horrified eyes, rather than a grim, -ghastly reality. Standing about on the smooth, velvety little stretch -of turf, which seemed to hang right over the sea like a suspended -platform, were the brigands, most of them with folded arms, and all -with eyes fixed upon the little grove of cypresses. Foremost amongst -them stood José, with a long cigarette between his thin lips, and a -fierce, satisfied look upon his dark face. Simultaneously our eyes -followed theirs, and a sickening horror crept over me, for, dangling -from the boughs of one of the trees, was the struggling, quivering body -of a man, whose feet, only a few inches from the ground, were making -spasmodic but vain efforts to reach it. It was a fearful sight. - -With a cry which rang out like the angry roar of a lion, my father -sprang forward. For a moment he balanced himself on the edge of the -cliff, and then with a single bound, which turned my heart sick to see, -he leaped on to the plateau below. With fascinated eyes I watched him -rush to the tree with the gleaming blade of a knife in his hand, and in -a second the rope was severed, and the man lay in a heap on the ground, -and then with a wild cry and a look on his face which no mortal painter -could have depicted and no words describe, my father threw his hands up -towards the heavens, and staggered backwards. - -I rushed down the narrow path and stood by his side. His whole frame -was shaking as though with a great horror; but his face, white to the -lips, was rigid as solid marble. As he felt my touch upon his arm, he -pointed with quivering finger to the man who lay doubled up upon the -ground, although no sound came from them. With a new horror my eyes -followed his gesture, and the man was my Uncle Rupert. - -The momentary torpor into which my father's sudden appearance and -action had thrown the little company of brigands had passed away, and -with an angry exclamation José sprung forward. - -"_Mille diable!_ what did the Monsieur Anglais mean by this -interference! How dared he thus presume to interfere with a simple act -of justice!" - -"Carlo! Paulato! String the fellow up again at once," he added, -turning rapidly round. - -My father seemed to have recovered himself; but, to my surprise, he -stood stock still. - -"Father, they will hang him again," I cried; but he never moved. - -I looked into his face, and shrunk back terrified. The passionate -hatred of a lifetime was convulsing and blackening his features, and -flashing fiercely from his blazing eyes. - -"Let them," he muttered, "let them. A dog's death is fittest for him!" - -One swift thought saved him. He was Maud's father. I hastened forward -and wrenched the rope from the hands of the men who were binding it -together. - -"Monsieur José," I cried, "tell me for what you hang this man? What -has he done?" - -"Killed two of my best comrades," was the prompt reply, "and by heaven -he shall swing for it." - -The rope was wrenched from my hands and adjusted round Rupert -Devereux's neck. He was conscious now, but half dazed, and unable to -make any resistance. Seizing him by the collar, I released him from -the men's grasp, and dragged him with me to the side of the hill, -against which I set my back. They sprang after me, but started back -with a quick exclamation, for they looked into the black muzzle of my -father's revolver. - -"You are right, Hugh," he cried, "I was mad! Monsieur José, listen to -me," he added quickly. "This man is an Englishman, and you know very -well what that means! To take his life would be to compass your own -extermination. He is a man of great position, and if you killed him, -sure as there is a heaven above us you would be hunted out and hanged, -every man of you." - -"Who is to tell of his death?" José answered. - -"I shall," was the firm reply. "And if you kill us, your fate is all -the surer, for we too are English, and it is known that we have come -here. Be sensible, José. Why kill him? What good will that do you? -Why not a ransom?" - -The battle was won, but Monsieur José did not yield all at once. - -"He has killed two of my best fellows," he said sullenly. - -"What of that? It was done in fair fight, I suppose? He did not -attack them." - -Monsieur José retired and consulted with his men. Presently he -reappeared, smiling. - -"Monsieur Arbuthnot," he said, "we are anxious to oblige a friend whom -we value so much as you, but, at the same time, we feel the loss of two -such well-beloved comrades as Pintro and Salino deeply; so deeply, in -fact, that we cannot see our way to fix the ransom at less than two -thousand pounds English." - -"They shall have it," groaned Rupert Devereux, lifting his head. - -"Good! Where is the money to be got?" inquired José, with twinkling -eyes. - -"There is as much in Rothschild's bank at Rome. Send one of your men -to Palermo with a telegram, and let him wait till the money is wired to -my credit. If you will give me something to write with, I will give -him authority to draw it." - -It was done, and then, whilst José withdrew to consult with his -followers as to who should be the messenger, my Uncle Rupert turned -slowly round and looked into my father's face. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -AN OMINOUS NOTE - -It was a strange meeting. Full of a great throbbing hope, I glanced -from one to another of their faces. My father's was white and set and -stern. My Uncle Rupert's was ghastly pale, sad, and expressionless. - -"I owe my life to you and your son," he said, slowly. "Would to God it -had been to any other man!" - -"You speak well," my father answered. "You owe your life to the man -whose life you have made a living hell. Strange things have happened, -but none stranger than this! Why, I have prayed with a sinking heart, -Rupert Devereux, that if chance should bring us face to face I might -not kill you. And I have saved your life. How came you here?" - -"Bound to Palermo with a letter for Lord Parkhurst from England. They -told me at Rome that he was here, so I followed." - -There was a dead silence save for the hum of clamorous voices from the -little group of brigands. My father's eyes were fixed upon Rupert -Devereux's white, anguish-smitten face, full of stern expectation. But -neither spoke for many minutes. - -"I am waiting to hear what you have to say to me," my father said at -last. "I have saved your life. 'Tis a deed which most men would deem -deserving of reward. I ask no reward, but I demand justice of you, -Rupert Devereux. For the long, weary years of my wasted life you can -return me--nothing. But you can give me back my name to die under and -to leave to my son. Speak." - -Like a man who is torn asunder by a passionate indecision, Rupert -Devereux hid his face in his hands, and rocked himself to and fro. - -"Herbert," he moaned, "would to God you had let me die! Oh, how can I -do this thing, how can I? It is not for myself I care, but for my son, -for my daughter. They would never speak to me again. They would hate -me." - -"That they should do so would be a just punishment," was my father's -stern reply. "You have built up your life upon a lie, and this is your -reward. Rupert Devereux, I demand that you make a full confession, and -restore to me my honour! If you have one single spark of conscience -left, you cannot deny me. You shall not deny me!" - -He turned away again and groaned. Almost I could have pitied him. - -"I cannot do it. I cannot do it," he moaned. "Oh! think what it -means! To cut myself off from life and the world. To make myself an -object of contempt for all men. To forfeit everything that I have won. -To endure the everlasting scorn of my children. Oh! Herbert, will you -really ask me to do all this?" - -"Ask! No! I demand it!" my father thundered. "Think of my -sufferings; think of my five-and-twenty years, the best part of my -life, hidden away in a secret corner of the earth, never setting eyes -on my country or the home I love--a stranger to my children and a -stranger to my father. What can you suffer more than this? Speak, -Rupert Devereux, and quickly, or I shall kill you where you stand." - -He turned around white and resolute. - -"Kill me, then. I wish for nothing else. There is not a more -miserable man than I on earth. You talk of your wasted years and weary -exile, and yet you have not suffered as I have. You have had a clear -conscience; I have had a guilty one. Everything I have won, every -success, every joy I have stretched out my hand for has tasted like -ashes between my teeth. Yours has been a passive sorrow--my life has -been one long hell of remorse. But I will not do this thing. I will -not pull down with my own hand what it has taken so many years to build -up. I will not make my children hate me. Go your way, Herbert, or -kill me if you like--I am indifferent." - -I saw my father's arm lifted to strike him, but the blow never fell. -Instead, his arm sank to his side and he turned away. - -"Hugh," he said to me in a low hollow voice, "let us go. Let us go -now. God keep him and me apart. I thought I saw him at that moment -dead! murdered by me. I will not kill him! I will not kill him!" - -José came hurrying out to us. - -"Messieurs," he said anxiously, "I must ask of you for a pledge before -you go. Not to a soul will you mention the presence of that -_gentilhomme lâ_ in our tents, and you will attempt no rescue, or to -interfere with the ransom. You must swear this." - -"Ay, I swear it," said my father, and I echoed his words. - -"It is good," José declared, smiling and twirling his long black -moustachios. "Messieurs will oblige me by accepting a cigarette. No? -Very good. Monsieur will allow me, at any rate, to render him my most -hearty thanks for having prevented us from committing an act of great -folly. This ransom will be a gift from heaven. It will enable me to -leave this country, and seek a more stirring life. Life here is -dull--very dull." - -My father nodded, and passed on. - -"Good-day, Monsieur José," he said briefly, and then we strode away to -where Jacko was still patiently waiting. He mounted and rode on, -leaving me far behind, for the sun was high in the heavens, and the -heat was great. When I reached home he had gone to his room, and on -trying the door softly I found it locked. So I stole away again -down-stairs and waited. - -Hour after hour passed, but still he did not come down. At last, to my -inexpressible relief, I heard the door of his room open, and he slowly -descended. He opened the door and stood before me, gaunt and -hollow-eyed, but with an air of resolution about him which struck me -with a chill foreboding. - -I greeted him cheerfully, and asked whether I should have some lunch -brought in for him, but he took no notice. - -"Hugh," he said quietly, "I wonder whether you would mind riding into -Palermo with this letter and bringing me an answer." - -I rose up and took it at once, glancing nervously at the address. As I -had feared, it was directed to Burton Leigh, Esq. - -"I will go, father," I said; and with a heavy heart I saddled Jacko and -started off. In the grounds of Lord Parkhurst's villa, fast asleep in -a miniature kiosk, I came upon Mr. Leigh. I woke him and gave him the -note. - -He read it through, and when he had finished smiled as though well -pleased. - -"Tell your father," he said, "that I will breakfast with him to-morrow -morning. You are coming up to the villa?" - -But I shook my head and turned away. I was in no mood for Lord -Parkhurst's kindly talk or Lady Olive's merry chatter. Already I began -to see that a great trouble was looming before me. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -"MY FATHER'S RESOLUTION" - -The whole of the following morning my father spent with Mr. Leigh, who -arrived in answer to his invitation soon after nine o'clock. When I -returned to lunch he was still there, and it was not until evening that -I found myself alone with my father. - -"Hugh, I have something to say to you," he began gravely, "something -important." - -I waited in silence, preparing to do battle with a sinking heart. But -as I looked into his worn, sad face, I saw there was a change in it -which favoured little the chances of my opposition. The vacuity of -hopeless weariness had gone, and in its place shone the light of a -great resolution. How should I hope to bend it! - -"Hugh, my boy," my father began, "I owe to you a greater debt than -father ever owed son." - -I would have interrupted him, but he held up his hand with an -imperative gesture, which I could not choose but to obey. And so I -listened in silence. - -"I am not going to speak of this black cloud, which fate seems to have -decreed should never be rolled away from my head," he went on. "What -would be the use? Twelve months ago I tasted the very bottom-most -depths of misery. It seemed to me then that I must either go mad or -take my life. It was your letter, Hugh, which saved me from either -fate. God bless you for it!" - -He turned away as though to watch the sun shoot down its parting rays -on the brown hillside. But I knew that he had another reason for -looking away, and a womanish longing came over me to seize his hands -and breathe out fond words. But somehow I could not. I don't know how -others find it, but it always seems to me to be as difficult for a man -to give vent to his feelings as it is for women to conceal them. -Between man and man there is always a curious shrinking from the -displayal of any emotion, more especially when it takes the form of -affection. To me, at any rate, it has always seemed so, and, though my -heart was full of a wild sympathy, and there was a great lump in my -throat, I said nothing. - -"From the moment when you came to me, Hugh," my father proceeded, "life -began to be endurable. The months which we have spent together here -have been by far the brightest I have ever known since we were all -together in Devonshire. But we cannot go on for ever like this." - -"Why not?" I dissented. "Life is very pleasant here to me, at any -rate. Where could we find a better dwelling-place?" - -He shook his head. - -"Life is not given to us to drone away," he answered. "A man's life -should include a career, should be always shaping itself towards a -definite end. It is a crime against nature, against our great destiny, -for a young man like you to live as we are doing; and it must not be." - -"What would you have me do?" I cried; "cannot we do something together?" - -He shook his head with a sad yet pleased smile. - -"I have already decided," he said gravely; "chance has been kind to me, -and has thrown in my way the man most likely to be of use to me. I -will tell you more of this presently. For me the field of choice has -not been large--for you it is illimitable. Hugh, this is what I -chiefly want to say to you. It is my wish, my strong, heartfelt wish, -that you should accept your grandfather's offer and take your rightful -name and position." - -I looked at him, incredulous, bewildered, hurt. Of all things I had -least expected this. - -"Yes," he went on, speaking more rapidly, and with a deep earnestness -in his tone and manner, "it is my great wish. Do not think, Hugh, my -boy, that I have not appreciated your chivalrous renunciation of it. -The thought has been very dear to me, that my son has preferred poverty -and obscurity out of mere resentment for my bitter wrongs. But of late -I have seen this matter in a different light. Between my father and I, -Hugh, there has been no injustice. He was hard, but he is a soldier, -bred and born with all a soldier's instincts. He has honestly believed -me guilty, and I bear him no resentment. He too must have suffered, -Hugh, for I was his favourite son." - -Suffered! Aye, I knew that he had suffered; but what were all his -sufferings to me compared with my father's! - -"Hugh, it has become a bitter thought to me that, innocent as I am of -all offence against him, I am keeping away from him by keeping you with -me--a great consolation; and not only that, but I am keeping you away -from a great name, and a great position. It has grown upon me, Hugh, -this bitter thought, and now I pray you, I command you as my son, that -when you leave me, as leave me you must, you go to him." - -"Why must I leave you, father?" I asked. "Let me go with you where you -are going." - -He shook his head. - -"It is absolutely impossible. I am going, Hugh, with Mr. Leigh to -travel in Northern Egypt. There is no race in the world in whom I have -felt more interest, and Mr. Leigh has strengthened it. He has spent -long years with them, living with a tribe of Arabs in a tent, and -sharing their life. He knows their language and their customs. He has -been as one of themselves, and, save in the forms of their religion, he -has become one of them, and now he has had disquieting news of his -favourite race. False prophets are working upon their imagination, and -stirring them up to no good end, striving to incite them to rise -against their best friends the English! Matters are fast coming to a -crisis, and Mr. Leigh is going back to his old tribe to try and regain -his former influence with them, and to keep them, at any rate, out of -the troubles which are fast arising. He has asked me to go with him, -Hugh, and I have consented. It is the sort of enterprise which I most -desired. There is a little danger, it is true, but if the worst should -happen I shall end my days not by my own hand, as one day I had feared -that I should, but sword in hand with a clear conscience. Could a -soldier wish for anything better?" - -"I will go with you," I cried passionately. "Father, you shall not -leave me thus!" - -He left his chair, and, coming to me, laid his hand upon my shoulder. -He had drawn himself up to his full height, and stood looking there -every inch a soldier, stately, imperious, and commanding. - -"Hugh," he said firmly, "you have been the best son to me a father ever -had, and you will not thwart me now. Go with me to Egypt you cannot. -I forbid it. Command you to take your rightful name, I cannot; but I -desire it above all things. Take a day to think it over, and let me -know your decision to-morrow. Shall we leave it like that?" - -Sorrowfully I bowed my head, and then I left the room, wandering -aimlessly out into the twilight, I cared not whither. Down the -grass-grown avenue I went, and out on to the white road, with a great -weight of grief upon my heart, and a dull despair numbing my senses. -It seemed to me that the crisis of my life had come at last, and -whichever way I looked black clouds were looming before me. Almost I -wished that I might die. - - - - -CHAPTER XL - -A HORRIBLE MISTAKE - -What led me there I cannot imagine, save it was a wild desire to escape -for a brief while from the thoughts that were tormenting me, but an -hour or two later I was on the Marina, mixing with gay throngs of merry -pleasure-seekers, stalking amongst them like a Banquo at a feast. And -whom should I meet there but Lady Olive! Lady Olive alone, for her -brother and sister had left her for a moment to buy bonbons. - -She greeted me with some laughing speech, but her face grew grave as -she looked into my face. - -"Something has happened, Mr. Arbuthnot?" she said quickly; and then, as -I made no answer, she placed her hand in my arm, and led me away from -the people down towards the seat on which we had sat the first evening -of our meeting there. - -It was a night which mocks description. The sweet, subtle perfumes -with which the soft night breeze was laden, the dark boughs of the -cypress-trees over our heads, the glittering, sparkling sea stretching -away before us to the horizon, the picturesque town with its white -villas and rows of houses standing out clear and distinct in the -brilliant moonlight--all these had a softening effect upon me. I -looked into Lady Olive's dark expressive eyes, and I felt as though I -must weep. - -I do not believe that there lives a man who has not, at some time or -other of his existence, felt a longing for a woman's sympathy. There -is an art and a tact in its bestowal which only a woman properly -understands. A man may speak words of comfort in a rough, hearty sort -of way; but the chances are that he will strike the wrong vein and -leave unsaid the words which would have been most efficient. He has -not the keen, fine perceptions which a woman has in such matters, and -which have made it her peculiar province to play the part of comforter. - -I was not then, or at any other time, in love with Lady Olive. But as -I looked into her dark, eager eyes as we sat side by side on the seat -under the cypress-trees, I could not help thinking that it would be -very pleasant to win from her a few kind words and the sympathy which I -knew was there waiting to be kindled, and so, when she asked me again -what was the matter, I hesitated only for a moment and then told her. - -She knew most of my history; why should she not know all? And so I -told her, and she listened with all the gaiety gone from her face, and -her eyes growing sadder and sadder. When I had finished there were -great tears in them. - -"What can I say to comfort you?" she whispered, softly. "Tell me, and -I will say it--anything!" - -My sorrow had blunted my senses, or I must have seen whither we were -drifting; but I was blind, blind with the selfishness of a great grief, -and I caught at her sympathy like a drowning man at a straw. - -"I am alone in the world, Lady Olive, or I shall be in a week or two's -time," I said. "Tell me what to do with myself." - -"How can I tell you?" she answered with streaming eyes. "But you must -not say that you are alone in the world. My father would be your -friend if you would let him--and so would I." - -I took her hand, which yielded itself readily to mine, and raised it to -my lips. I felt just then as though I dare not speak, lest my voice -should be unsteady. I looked instead into her face gratefully, and it -seemed to me that a change had come over it, a change which puzzled me. -The lips were quivering, and out of her soft, tender eyes the laughing -sparkle seemed to have gone. It was another Lady Olive, surely, this -grave, sweet-faced, tremulous woman, with her eyes cast down, and a -faint pink glow in her cheeks! Nothing of the gay, light-hearted, -chattering little flirt, with her arch looks and piquant attitude, -seemed left. I was puzzled. Was she indeed so tender-hearted? - -"And do you really mean," she whispered, stealing a glance up at me, -"that if your father goes away, there is nothing left in the world -which could give you any pleasure? Nothing you would wish for?" - -I thought of Maud--when was I not thinking of her?--and sighed bitterly. - -"Only one thing," I said, "and that I cannot have." - -"Won't you tell me what it is?" she asked, hesitatingly, with her eyes -fixed upon the ground. - -I shook my head. "I think not. No, it would be better not." - -There was a short silence. Then she lifted her beautiful eyes to mine -for a moment, and dropped them again, instantly, with a deep blush: I -was puzzled. There was something in them which I could not read, -something inviting, beseeching, tender. Knowing what I know now, it -seems to me that I must have been a blind, senseless fool. But it is -easy to be wise afterwards, and my own sorrows were absorbing every -sense. - -"Will you tell me this?" she asked. "Does this one thing include -somebody else?" - -She had read my secret, then; she knew that I loved Maud. Well, it was -not very strange that she should have guessed it after all! - -"Yes, you have guessed it, Lady Olive," I said quietly, with my eyes -fixed upon the line of the horizon where a star-bespangled sky seemed -to touch the glistening, dancing sea. "You have guessed it; but -remember, I never told you." - -I felt a soft breath on my cheek, and before I could move a pair of -white arms were thrown around my neck, and a tear-stained, -half-blushing, half-smiling face, with a mass of ruffled hair, was -lying on my shoulder. - -"Wh--why have you made me guess, Hugh? Why could you not tell me? You -know that--that I--I love you." - - * * * * * - -"Father, I have decided." - -I stood before him dishevelled and weary, for I had been out all night, -seeking to ease my heart of its pain by physical fatigue. - -He turned and looked at me in surprise--a surprise which changed into a -look of grave sorrow as his eyes dwelt upon me. - -"Hugh, you have been up all night," he said, reprovingly; "you will be -ill!" - -I laughed recklessly. - -"What matters? Do men die of a broken heart, I wonder? I would that -they did." - -He came to me and laid his hands upon my shoulders. - -"Hugh, my boy, do you want to break mine?" - -I turned away, and buried my face in my hands. This last sorrow, which -had come to me filling me with shame, with self-reproach, with pity, -had been the filling of my cup. - -Lady Olive's white, horror-struck face, as my blundering words had told -her the truth, had been before me all the night, and like a haunting, -reproachful shadow, seemed as though it would never leave me. I was -unnerved and weak, and before I well knew what was going to happen, the -hot tears were streaming from my eyes. - -I was the better for them. When I stood before my father again I felt -more like myself. - -"I have decided," I said calmly. "I have prayed you to let me go with -you, and you have refused. God knows I would rather go with you; but, -if you will not have me, I must stay behind. I will take the name of -Devereux, since you wish it, and since you say that my taking it will -make you happier. But into Devereux Court I will not go. I have sworn -it before heaven, and I will not break my oath!" - -"But you will see your grandfather?" - -"I will see him anywhere else but at Devereux. I shall write him and -tell him so. And as to my future, I have but one desire--to enter the -army." - -A look almost of peace came into my father's face. - -"You have made me very glad, Hugh," he said simply. "But about our -home? Supposing your grandfather and I both die, and you became Sir -Hugh Devereux?" - -"Then my oath ceases, and I shall go there. But whilst he holds out -his hand to me, and not to you, I will not take it. That will I not -depart from." - -My father said never another word; but I knew that he was satisfied. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - -"TWO YEARS AFTER" - -"Colonel Sir Francis Devereux to see you, sir." - -I turned away from the window of my room, whence I had been gazing idly -into the dreary barrack square below, and advanced to greet the -stately, grey-headed old man who stood in the doorway. - -"Surprised to see me, Hugh, eh?" he asked, sinking into my one easy -chair. - -"I didn't expect you in town again so soon," I acknowledged. "But I'm -very glad to see you. You know that." - -"Are you?" he said shortly. "Then why the devil can't you come and see -me sometimes? A nice thing to bring an old man over seventy years of -age a couple of hundred miles whenever he wants to have a word or two -with his grandson! Damn it, sir, you're as obstinate as a mule!" - -I did not answer him. He knew very well why I would not go to -Devereux. What was the use of treading all over the old ground again? - -"More rumours in the _Times_ this morning, I see, about Burton Leigh -and Mr. Arbuthnot," he remarked, after a short silence. "They say -they've been handed over to the Mahdi now. Don't believe a word of it!" - -"I hope to God that it's not true," I groaned; "but in any case they -must be in terrible danger. The Mahdi is gaining fresh followers every -day, and they must be in the very centre of the most perilous district. -Why on earth the Government doesn't make a decided move, I can't -imagine!" - -Sir Francis looked at me for a moment, half sadly, with an expression -on his face which I scarcely understood. Then he sighed. - -"I have brought you news, Hugh," he said slowly. - -"News!" I repeated; and then a sudden light flashed in upon me. "Tell -me quick," I cried. "You have been with Lord Cannington?" - -My grandfather nodded. - -"I left him only a quarter of an hour ago, at Whitehall, and came down -here as fast as a hansom could bring me. The 17th, 19th, and 21st are -ordered out. 'Twill be in to-night's Gazette." - -I could have shouted, done any mad thing, in my great joy. But I sat -quite still in my chair, grasping its sides, and struggling to conceal -my excitement. - -"Thank God!" I murmured fervently, "this is what I have prayed for. I -am sick of playing at being a soldier, of lounging about here, whilst -he--others--were in such mortal peril." - -He sat looking at me, nodding his head slowly. - -"He! others! Ah, well. But I have more news for you, Hugh. Who do -you think is appointed to the colonelcy of the 18th?" - -"Utterson? Haigh?" - -He shook his head. - -"Your Uncle Rupert." - -I was not surprised, for I had heard rumours that it might be so. But -it seemed very strange when I thought it over. Were we three to meet -again? I wondered. - -"Yes," my grandfather went on with a shade of sadness in his tone, "I -am to be left quite alone again, you see." - -"Miss Devereux will be with you, I suppose?" - -"Maud! Oh, yes, Maud will be with me. What's come to her I don't -know. She's refused Lord Annerley and Captain Bryant, and I don't know -how many others, and seems settling down into an old maid. Hugh, I'm -getting a nervous old man, I think, but I shall have no peace till you -get back again. When I think that if anything happened to you--which -God forbid--that dissipated, low young cub of a nephew of mine would be -my heir, it makes me feel sick. I'd burn Devereux Court above my head -rather than that should be." - -"It is not likely that anything will happen to me, grandfather," I -said, bitterly. "There is one who should be dearer to you than I, who -stands in greater peril." - -He shook his head sadly. - -"He is nothing to me--nothing. He is your father, Hugh, and I have -never blamed you for----" - -"And he is your son," I interrupted. - -Sir Francis looked at me sternly. - -"He is nothing to me. I disowned him." - -"Ay, disowned him! I know that. You disowned him. You believed that -accursed lie against your own son's words." - -"I believed in the decision of the court-martial," he said, with all -his old severity of tone and manner. "And if the same thing were to -happen over again with you, Hugh, I should do exactly the same. I -would never look upon your face again." - -"I am in no danger," I answered bitterly. "I have no younger brother -who would gain a fortune by my ruin." - -"What do you mean, sir?" - -"What I say. 'Tis simple enough! I tell you now, what I have told you -before, that your son Rupert forged that lie against my father that he -might take his place as your heir. It was done in a mad impulse of -jealousy, and thank God his conscience has punished him for it! Look -at his life! Can't you see that there is something amiss with it? Has -he not always seemed like a man haunted by some guilty shadow? From -one career he has passed to another, never satisfied, never happy. He -made two great speeches in Parliament, and then resigned his seat to -travel abroad. He became famous as a writer and a novelist, and now -never touches a pen. Can't you see it written into his face--a guilty -conscience? Why, if it had not been for that, I should have killed -him, on my word and honour, grandfather. I have heard him with his own -lips acknowledge it, and in my desk there is the confession of John -Hilton, whom he bribed. Grandfather, chance may bring him and me -together before long. You know in your heart that the man who is -braving all the worst terrors of death amongst a fanatical people to -save them from bloodshed and to urge them against a hopeless struggle, -you know that this man is not a coward! Go into the clubs and listen -to what they are saying about these two Englishmen who have pushed -their way alone into an unknown country amongst a savage people. Say -that you believe Burton Leigh's companion to be a coward, and you will -be ridiculed. Grandfather, if he escapes--they say that escape is -almost impossible for them--but if fate does bring us together again, -may I take him a message from you--one word?" - -"You may not." - -The words came with a hard and cutting distinctness. I drew back -chilled and bitterly disappointed. - -"You are blinded, Hugh, by your love for your father. I do not blame -you for it, but I am sorry that you re-opened this subject. When a -court-martial shall reverse the decision of five-and-twenty years ago, -then and then only will I crave my son's pardon, and welcome him back -to Devereux. Enough of the subject." - -Proud, obstinate old soldier. For a moment my heart leaped with anger, -but it died away again almost immediately. Surely it was more his -misfortune than his fault that his military training and instincts -should have made him a soldier first and a father afterwards, and I -thought of his long, cheerless life, and of the agony under which he -had writhed because of the blot upon the name which he loved, and I -pitied him. - -"Will you dine with me at the Army and Navy, Hugh?" he asked, in an -altered tone. "I must see as much as I can of you now." - -I shook my head. - -"Dine away from mess to-night? Why, not a man will do that with this -glorious news to talk about! You must mess with us, sir!" - -He smiled grimly. - -"Glorious news, indeed! Because you're going out to cut a lot of -half-naked savages to pieces! Well, well, perhaps it's a good thing -it's nothing more serious. The more chance of seeing you home safe and -sound. Yes, I'll mess with you if you like, and if your mess will not -mind an old fogie like me." - -He spoke lightly, for no one knew better than he that Colonel Devereux, -V.C., would have been a welcome and an honoured guest at the table of -any regiment in Great Britain. - -"Give me your arm down these infernal stairs, Hugh," he said, rising -and making his way to the door. "I have some commissions to do for -Maud, and I want to see my lawyer, so I must be off. I'll be back -before seven." - -I watched him cross the square, with his head thrown back and his -shoulders very slightly stooped, notwithstanding his seventy-five -years. Then I returned to my rooms to think over the great news. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - -A TRAITOROUS LOVE - -In three days we were to leave England. In three days I should be -started upon the journey which would lead me into the land where, above -all others, I desired to be. And where was I? Standing on a Yorkshire -moor, with a wild west wind blowing in my face and singing in my ears, -a wind that came booming up the hollows and across the open country -towards me like the sound of a cannonade within the earth. But what -cared I for the wind, for was it not bearing towards me on its bosom -her whom I had come to see? - -On she came like a phantom shadow out of the twilight, for her horse's -hoofs sank noiselessly into the soddened earth. On she came with her -golden hair streaming in the wind, and her habit flying wildly around -her. Fair and proud as ever was her exquisite face, and blue as ever -her flashing eyes. But it seemed to me that she was pale and thin, and -my heart leaped with a sudden joy, and then stood still. - -Maud! my princess! my beloved! Would she see me? Would she pass me -without a word, with only a tightening of those proud lips, and a -haughty flash from those beautiful eyes? - -I had meant to look upon her and come away. There may be men who could -have done it. I could not. As she came upon me, I stood out from the -shadows upon the dark moor, and right in her path. - -Fool that I was! Back on his haunches reared the Black Prince, -trembling with fright, and she--she must have fallen, but that I sprung -forward and caught her. The Black Prince galloped away into the -darkness, and she, my Maud, lay in my arms. - -A great madness came upon me. Every thought save one was blotted out -from my memory. Maud was in my arms, with her face close to mine, and -bending down, our lips met in one long passionate kiss. - -"Hugh!" - -"Maud!" - -No sound but the sound of Black Prince's furious gallop as he tore -across the country moor! No one in sight, no one near. I was alone -with Maud, my Maud, by the colour which had chased the ivory pallor -from her cheeks, and the love-light which shone in her eyes. - -"Why have you kept away so long?" she whispered softly. - -Why had I come at all! His daughter in my arms yielding herself to my -embrace, and her lips to my wild kiss! Oh, it was madness! I was a -traitor. - -"I should not have come," I groaned, "but to bid you farewell. We sail -for Egypt in three days. I struggled hard to keep away, but I could -not." - -"Why should you wish to, Hugh?" she whispered, burying her face on my -shoulder. "Do you hate me so much?" - -"Hate you!" I drew her unresistingly into my arms again, and again my -traitorous lips touched hers. Never a thought of a miserable exile -dwelling amongst a strange people in deadly peril under a scorching -sun, or of a hermit sybarite with the blast of fame in his ears, and -all the luxuries of wealth ready to his touch, and a black lie burning -in his heart! Never a thought of any save of her! Weak traitor that I -was. - -What is there so maddeningly sweet as to love and be loved again! The -world died away from me and time ceased, whilst Maud, with her lovely -face wet with tears, and happy with smiles, stood clasped in my arms on -the wild open moor. The wind howled around us, and the driving rain -and mist beat in our faces, and the twilight deepened into darkness; -but what did we care! The only light I looked for was the gleam in her -soft eyes, and the only touch I felt was the beating of her heart -against mine. But the time came when memory swept again into my mind, -and I trembled. - -She saw the change pass over my face, and with a woman's marvellous -quickness she divined what had caused it. But she clung the closer to -me. - -"Hugh, is this to be the end of it?" she cried. "When you leave me, -will you never come back?" and I turned away with a great sob. - -"Oh, that you were another man's daughter, Maud!" and she was answered. - -Black clouds were driving across the sky, and a black cloud settled -upon my heart. The words rang in my ears. Never come back! Never -come back! Never come back! - -A dark shape stole up to us, and stood by our side. Then there was a -glad neigh and a prolonged snort. The Black Prince had recognised me, -and was rubbing his nose against my coat-sleeve. - -"I must go, Hugh!" Slowly I lifted her into the saddle, and stood by -her side in silence because I could not speak. - -"Hugh, kiss me once more!" - -She stooped down and held a white, strained face close to mine. One -clinging kiss I pressed upon her quivering lips, and then I drew aside. -But as she rode away into the darkness, she called to me a wild sobbing -cry which the wind clashed into my ears. - -"Come back to me, Hugh, my love. You will come back to me," and scarce -knowing what I did I answered her passionately-- - -"I will! I will!" - - * * * * * - -We were together on H.M.S. _Orontes_, eastward bound, her father and I, -but though we sat opposite one another at the Captain's table, we never -spoke. Sometimes I caught him looking at me wistfully, and then I -remembered that I had saved his life. But I wanted no thanks for it, -and from him I would receive none. - -"Queer lot those Devereux," I heard one of my brother officers remark, -unconscious of my presence. "Uncle and nephew, and don't speak! Must -be something wrong, I should think." - -"Looks like it. If the Colonel hadn't written that tremendously clever -book, I should think he was a bit cracked." - -"Might be further from the mark, I think. The young 'un isn't such a -bad sort, only he's so confoundedly proud and close. Most unsociable -fellow we ever had in the regiment!" - -"He's a bit of a prig, I must say, but I don't dislike him. Splendid -family, you know, and rolling in money. By the bye," dropping his -voice a little, "wasn't there something queer about one of 'em? This -one's father, I believe?" - -"Hush! Yes, I'll tell you all about it presently;" and then they -strolled up the deck and I heard no more. - -Something queer about one of them! I turned away with the old pain at -my heart. Would the something queer ever be made right? Yes, and the -time was not far distant. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - -EXPIATION - -Whether it was the stifling desert air, or the anticipation of the -morrow's battle, I cannot tell; but sleep for me was a thing -impossible. We were encamped on the outskirts of a mighty plain, and -within an hour's march the Mahdi lay entrenched awaiting our attack. -Outside my tent all was bustle and stir in preparation for the morrow's -fight, and a yellow moon was shining with a grim ghostly light upon our -white tents, and the figures moving silently about. - -There were many other reasons why I should be restless. We were within -a day's march--they could not be further away, and they might be -nearer--of my father and Burton Leigh. Every day came tidings of the -two white men on whose heads the Mahdi had set an enormous price, and -who lived in deadly peril for fear of the treachery of their wavering -friends, and to-morrow their fate would be decided, for if the tribe of -the Asarees seceded to the false prophet and joined in the fight, then -they were most surely doomed. But if, on the other hand, they held -aloof from the fight, then would my father and Burton Leigh have -succeeded in their daring mission, and would reach us in safety to be -received as heroes. - -A shadow darkened my tent, and an orderly stood before me, saluting. - -"Colonel Devereux would like particularly to see you in his tent, sir." - -What could it mean! Neither word nor glance had passed between us -since we left England on board the same ship. I followed the man with -beating heart. - -The vision of a man physically weak, who, after a mortal struggle with -some fiendish sin, has cast it from him and come out of the fight dying -but triumphant with a spiritual joy; it seemed to me that this was what -I saw when I stood face to face with my Uncle Rupert. Ghastly pale, -but firm, with deep lines suddenly engraven across his forehead, but -with the light of a great, calm resolution in his eyes, he stood before -me, and I trembled, for strong and clear the conviction of the truth -flashed upon me. The day for which I had longed with such a sickening -desire had come. - -"Hugh," he said, quietly, "to-night is my last on earth. People may -scoff at presentiments who never feel them. Like a still whisper from -another world I have heard the truth. In to-morrow's fight I shall -die!" - -I would have spoken, but it was impossible. The words stuck in my -throat. - -"One word about this sin of mine, Hugh," he went on in a strange, calm -tone. "It was done in a mad impulse of jealousy, in a moment of -madness which a lifetime of misery has not expiated. Every one knows -that I have been an unhappy man. Success and fame have only been -glow-worms leading me on into a marsh of discontent. With a guilty -conscience no man on earth can be happy!" - -He took up a roll of papers from a table by his side, and summoned his -servant. - -"Greasely, go to General Fielding's tent and tell him I am ready." - -I stood there still in silence. My uncle sank into a low chair and -half covered his face. In less than a minute the opening to the tent -was lifted, and our commander-in-chief, followed by a younger officer, -entered. - -"Colonel Devereux," he said, kindly but promptly, "in accordance with -my promise I am here and I have brought Captain Luxton. I can spare -you five minutes." - -Like a gaunt spectre my uncle came out from the shades of the tent, and -his sad, weary tone moved even my pity. - -"Three will be sufficient," he said. "General Fielding, a quarter of a -century ago you heard me commit perjury against my brother; and your -father, Captain Luxton, pronounced the sentence. It is for this reason -that I have asked you to witness my confession. You have already read -it." - -He took up his pen and signed the roll of paper. General Fielding and -Captain Luxton immediately followed suit, and the former took -possession of the document. - -"General Fielding," my uncle continued, with a voice that commenced to -shake a little, "I am already your debtor, inasmuch as you permit me to -retain my commission until after to-morrow's fight. But I ask you -still another favour." - -The General bowed, and there was a decided gleam of compassion in his -stern face. - -"Let this matter be cleared up immediately after to-morrow's fight. If -my brother be found alive, which God grant that he may, let my -confession be read in open court-martial, however informal, at once," -he pleaded. - -"It shall be done. Luxton, we must be off. Gentlemen, good-night." - -We were alone, my uncle and I. His unnatural calm seemed to be -breaking up, and the look of agony on his face filled me with -compassion--aye, compassion even towards him. - -"There is something troubling you," I said quietly. "You are thinking -of Maud." - -He looked at me wildly. I knew that I was right. - -"Maud's future will be in my hands," I told him in a low tone. "She -loves me, and she will be my wife." - -At first he seemed dazed, then, as he began to realise my words, a -great sob of relief shook him from head to foot. - -"And Francis," I added, after a short pause, "I will remember that he -is my cousin--and my brother." - -He stood up like one who has passed through the Valley of the Shadow of -Death, yet with a look almost of peace upon his spiritualised face. - -"Hugh, will you take my hand?" - -I took it, wrung it warmly, and left him. What more could I have done? -He was better alone. - - * * * * * - -Like the sands of the desert before a fierce sirocco, the followers of -the false prophet were flying far and wide. It had been a fierce -fight. They had come down upon us like a whirlwind, with their lances -gleaming like silver in the sunlight, and wild cries of "Allah! -Allah!" bursting from their lips. But the maddening enthusiasm of -fanatical zeal had quickly burnt itself out. We had driven them behind -their trenches, only to carry them at the point of the bayonet and -drive them out into the desert. The victory was complete. - -With my broken sword still in my hand, and my face streaming with blood -and perspiration, I kneeled with wildly beating heart by the side of my -father's prostrate body. For I had found him lying white and still at -the bottom of one of the trenches, and--oh, the horror of it!--with a -great gaping wound in his side. - -"My father! My father, speak to me!" I cried. "O God! if this should -be death!" - -He opened his eyes slowly, and, dimmed though they were, he recognised -me at once. - -"Hugh, Hugh, my boy. Thank God!" he faltered out. - -"You are wounded," I sobbed. "Are you in pain? Tell me, father." - -A spasm of agony passed over his face, but he answered me in a while. - -"My side--a spear-head. 'Twill soon be over." - -I passed my arm around him, and gazed into his face with streaming eyes. - -"Father, you must live," I sobbed. "Rupert Devereux has confessed. -All is known!" - -He nodded, and smiled faintly. - -"I know, Hugh. He was first over the trenches. They were murdering -me. He fought like a devil. There they lie--five of them. He saved -my life, and crawled here as he was dying--told me--everything. I -forgave him. See." - -I looked around, and there, scarcely a yard away, lay my Uncle Rupert, -with a calm peace in his white face, turned to heaven, which in life he -had never known. - - * * * * * - -A strange scene. General Fielding, with a little crowd of officers -around him at one end of the tent, and a little distance away my father -lying on a stretcher, with a surgeon on one side striving to stanch the -blood which flowed from that hideous, gaping wound, whilst on the other -I knelt clasping his hands, and anxiously watching his face. - -General Fielding had done all in his power. He had read my Uncle -Rupert's confession, and had formally rescinded the verdict of General -Luxton. The black stain of dishonour no longer rested upon my father's -name. But this greatest of joys had surely come too late; for the hand -which I held passionately clasped in mine was growing colder and colder -every moment, and the surgeon's face was very grave. - -"Is there hope?" I faltered out. But the doctor shook his head. - -"Very little, I fear," he whispered. "I am expecting hemorrhage every -moment." - -A deep silence reigned in the tent, a silence which seemed ominously -like the silence of death. Suddenly he re-opened his eyes, and a -feeling of sickening agony stole over me, for there was a deeper film -than ever upon them. - -He smiled very faintly and struggled to speak, but the words died away -on his lips. I bent closer still, and strove to catch his meaning. - -"Hugh--my--s----" The fingers of his right hand were moving nervously -about, and I knew what he meant. - -"General Fielding," I said, standing up, with hot burning eyes, and -with a choking in my throat, "he wants his sword." - -The General stepped forward, and unsheathing his own, held it by the -blade, and my father's long fingers, trembling with eagerness, wound -themselves around it. Then he sank back with a little satisfied gasp, -and I knew that he was at rest. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - -"HERO" - -I had kept my vow, for though I was again within the park of Devereux, -and in sight of the grand old mansion, my father was by my side. A -splendid constitution had saved him from the very jaws of death, and he -had recovered to find his country ringing with his name, and himself a -hero. Our journey had been like a triumphal progress. Distinguished -men, amongst whom old General Luxton, had met us at London to welcome -my father back to his country, and all the way down we had been -besieged by newspaper reporters, and little knots of people were -gathered on the platform at every station, to gaze at us and shout a -welcome; and at the little wayside station such crowds of the country -folk were gathered together that progress along the narrow winding lane -was almost an impossibility. And now we were at the last sweep of the -drive, surrounded by lines of shouting tenants and servants, who stood -uncovered as we approached, and made the air vibrate with lusty -Yorkshire cheers. - -It was one of those days which a man may live to be a hundred years -old, and never forget; and yet it would dwell in his mind less by its -actual events than by the effect which it left. I remember a -noble-looking, grey-haired old man standing out in the sunlight, with -outstretched hands and a great joy in his face, and I remember a deep -hush falling upon the assembled crowd as father and son met after so -many years--a hush which lasted until they stood there, hand grasping -hand, and the first words were spoken--then it gave place to a shout -which seemed to shake the air. - -And I remember Maud's greeting--how could I ever forget it? Cold she -was at first, cold but kind--after the manner of the days when I was -Hugh Arbuthnot, a presumptuous boy. But when I told her of my -interview with her father on the night before the battle, when I took -her into my arms with words of passionate love, and bade her recall our -last parting, then she yielded and became my Maud, and mine she has -been ever since. - - * * * * * - -Had I told this story of mine as a professed story-writer, there are -many things now omitted which would in their proper place have been -recounted. I should have said more of Marian, the happiest of young -wives, and of the joy with which she welcomed us home. I should have -told of Lady Olive's brilliant marriage to the Earl of ----, and of -Francis Devereux's reformation and success at the Bar, and of Burton -Leigh's extraordinary reappearance in the world after having long been -mourned as dead, and of my father's joy at meeting again his old -companion. There are other things, too, which should have been told, -but let them pass! One more incident alone shall I relate. - - * * * * * - -Again I stood in the grand old picture gallery of the Court, amongst -the shades of many generations of Devereux. We three were there--Sir -Francis, my father, and I; Sir Francis out of sight, my father and I -bending over a curious piece of armour. - -Suddenly we both looked up. Out of the dark shades of the lower end of -the chamber my grandfather was coming towards us, walking steadily down -between the long rows of pictures, with measured military tramp and -head thrown back. But we could see by his fixed gaze, and the strange -rapt look on his face, that something was wrong, and almost -simultaneously we sprang forward to him. - -We were just in time. Suddenly he threw up his arms over his head, and -cried out with a loud voice: "It was a lie! It was a lie! Thank God, -Herbert, my son! Hugh, my boy. God bless you both." - -He sank back into my arms. And the moon-light, streaming in upon his -face, showed it gentle and peaceful as a child's. Death struggle there -was none. With a calm, satisfied smile of perfect happiness the life -seemed to glide away from him, and with his last breath we heard him -murmur softly-- - -"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace--in peace." - - - -THE END - - - -WARD, LOCK & CO., LTD., LONDON. - - - - * * * * * - - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - THE GREAT AWAKENING - THE SURVIVOR - A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY - AS A MAN LIVES - MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN - THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM - A MONK OF CRUTA - A DAUGHTER OK THE MARIONIS - THE WORLD'S GREAT SNARE - THE MYSTERY OF MR. BERNARD BROWN - THE TRAITORS - A PRINCE OF SINNERS - THE YELLOW CRAYON - ANNA, THE ADVENTURESS - THE BETRAYAL - THE MASTER MUMMER - MR. WINGRAVE, MILLIONAIRE - A LOST LEADER - THE SECRET - CONSPIRATORS - A MAKER OF HISTORY - THE MISSIONER - THE GOVERNORS - THE LONG ARM - JEANNE OF THE MARSHES - MR. MARX'S SECRET - BERENICE - THE PEER AND THE WOMAN - THE POSTMASTER OF MARKET DEIGNTON - - - - * * * * * - - - - Ward, Lock & Co.'s - POPULAR FICTION. - - - A. E. W. MASON - - LAWRENCE CLAVERING - - - - STANLEY WEYMAN - - MY LADY ROTHA - A Romance of the Thirty Years' War. - - - - SIR A. CONAN DOYLE - - A STUDY IN SCARLET - With a note on Sherlock Holmes by Dr. Joseph Bell. - Illustrations by George Hutchinson. - - - - ANTHONY HOPE - - COMEDIES OF COURTSHIP - HALF A HERO - MR. WITT'S WIDOW - - - - EDEN PHILLPOTTS - - THE MOTHER - - - - H. RIDER HAGGARD - - AYESHA - The Sequel to "She." Thirty-two full-page illustrations. - - - - S. R. CROCKETT - - JOAN OF THE SWORD HAND - STRONG MAC - LITTLE ESSON - - - - MAX PEMBERTON - - PRO PATRIA - CHRISTINE OF THE HILLS - A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN - THE GOLD WOLF - THE LODESTAR - WHITE WALLS - - - - ROBERT BARR - - YOUNG LORD STRANLEIGH - - - - JUSTUS MILES FORMAN - - BIANCA'S DAUGHTER - JOURNEYS' END - MONSIGNY - THE GARDEN OF LIES - TOMMY CARTERET - BUCHANAN'S WIFE - A MODERN ULYSSES - THE QUEST - - - - E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM - - THE PEER AND THE WOMAN - BERENICE - MR. MARX'S SECRET - JEANNE OF THE MARSHES - THE LONG ARM - THE GOVERNORS - THE MISSIONER - CONSPIRATORS - THE SECRET - A MAKER OF HISTORY - THE MASTER MUMMER - THE BETRAYAL - ANNA, THE ADVENTURESS - THE YELLOW CRAYON - A PRINCE OF SINNERS - THE TRAITORS - A LOST LEADER - MR. WINGRAVE, MILLIONAIRE - AS A MAN LIVES - A DAUGHTER OF THE MARIONIS - MR. BERNARD BROWN - THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM - THE WORLD'S GREAT SNARE - A MONK OF CRUTA - MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN - A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY - THE SURVIVOR - THE GREAT AWAKENING - - - - FRED M. WHITE - - THE FIVE KNOTS - THE SUNDIAL - THE CRIMSON BLIND - THE CARDINAL MOTH - THE CORNER HOUSE - THE WEIGHT OF THE CROWN - THE SLAVE OF SILENCE - A FATAL DOSE - CRAVEN FORTUNE - THE LAW OF THE LAND - A CRIME ON CANVAS - NETTA - THE SCALES OF JUSTICE - - - - LOUIS TRACY - - THE STOWAWAY - A FATAL LEGACY - RAINBOW ISLAND - THE ALBERT GATE AFFAIR - THE PILLAR OF LIGHT - HEART'S DELIGHT - THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE - FENNELLS' TOWER - THE SILENT BARRIER - THE MESSAGE - - - - HAROLD BINDLOSS - - THE LIBERATIONIST - HAWTREY'S DEPUTY - THE IMPOSTOR - - - - HEADON HILL - - THE HIDDEN VICTIM - RADFORD SHONE - HER SPLENDID SIN - A TRAITOR'S WOOING - FOES OF JUSTICE - - - - J. C. SNAITH - - FIERCEHEART, THE SOLDIER - MISTRESS DOROTHY MARVIN - LADY BARBARITY - - - - GUY BOOTHBY - - THE RACE OF LIFE - FOR LOVE OF HER - THE CRIME OF THE UNDER SEAS - A BID FOR FREEDOM - A TWO-FOLD INHERITANCE - CONNIE BURT - THE KIDNAPPED PRESIDENT - MY STRANGEST CASE - FAREWELL, NIKOLA - MY INDIAN QUEEN - LONG LIVE THE KING - A PRINCE OF SWINDLERS - A MAKER OF NATIONS - THE RED RAT'S DAUGHTER - LOVE MADE MANIFEST - PHAROS THE EGYPTIAN - ACROSS THE WORLD FOR A WIFE - THE LUST OF HATE - THE FASCINATION OF THE KING - DR. NIKOLA - THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL - A BID FOR FORTUNE - IN STRANGE COMPANY - THE MARRIAGE OF ESTHER - BUSHIGRAMS - SHEILAH McLEOD - DR. NIKOLA'S EXPERIMENT - THE MAN OF THE CRAG - - - - ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT - - WHEN I WAS CZAR - BY SNARE OF LOVE - THE QUEEN'S ADVOCATE - A COURIER OF FORTUNE - BY WIT OF WOMAN - IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM - THE LITTLE ANARCHIST - AN IMPERIAL MARRIAGE - - - - JOSEPH HOCKING - - THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD - ROGER TREWINION - THE COMING OF THE KING - ESAU - GREATER LOVE - LEST WE FORGET - AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE? - JABEZ EASTERBROOK - THE WEAPONS OF MYSTERY - ZILLAH: A ROMANCE - THE MONK OF MAR-SABA - THE PURPLE ROBE - THE SCARLET WOMAN - ALL MEN ARE LIARS - ISHMAEL PENGELLY: AN OUTCAST - THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX - THE BIRTHRIGHT - MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH - FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN - - - - MARIE CONNOR LEIGHTON - - CONVICT 413L - JOAN MAR, DETECTIVE - SEALED LIPS - PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE - MONEY - AN EYE FOR AN EYE - DEEP WATERS - - - - CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS - - NATURE BOOKS - - THE HOUSE IN THE WATER - THE BACKWOODSMEN - KINGS IN EXILE - NEIGHBOURS UNKNOWN - - - - L. G. MOBERLY - - IN THE BALANCE - JOY - THAT PREPOSTEROUS WILL - HOPE, MY WIFE - DIANA - DAN--AND ANOTHER - A TANGLED WEB - ANGELA'S MARRIAGE - THE SIN OF ALISON DERING - A VERY DOUBTFUL EXPERIMENT - A WOMAN AGAINST THE WORLD - - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of False Evidence, by E. Phillips Oppenheim - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FALSE EVIDENCE *** - -***** This file should be named 55798-8.txt or 55798-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/9/55798/ - -Produced by Al Haines -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Phillips Oppenheim - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: False Evidence - -Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim - -Release Date: October 24, 2017 [EBook #55798] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FALSE EVIDENCE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-front"></a> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-front.jpg" alt=""They sprang after me, but started back with a quick exclamation, for they looked into the black muzzle of my father's revolver." (Chapter XXXVII.)" /> -<br /> -<a href="#theysprang">"They sprang after me, but started back with a quick exclamation, <br /> -for they looked into the black muzzle of my father's revolver."</a> <br /> -(<a href="#chap37">Chapter XXXVII</a>.) -</p> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> -FALSE -EVIDENCE -</h1> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -BY -</p> - -<p class="t2"> -E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM -</p> - -<p class="t4"> -<i>Author of<br /> -"Anne, the Adventuress," "The Traitors," "Conspirators," etc.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,<br /> -LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO.<br /> -1911. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -<i>This Book, written by the Author some years ago,<br /> -is now issued in Library form for the first time.</i> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -CONTENTS -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -CHAP. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<a href="#chap00b">PROLOGUE</a> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -I. <a href="#chap01">MY APOLOGY</a><br /> -II. <a href="#chap02">THE FIRST CLOUD</a><br /> -III. <a href="#chap03">"THE BOY MUST BE TOLD"</a><br /> -IV. <a href="#chap04">"A MYSTERIOUS MEETING"</a><br /> -V. <a href="#chap05">"ON BOSSINGTON HEADLAND"</a><br /> -VI. <a href="#chap06">AN INTERRUPTED ADDRESS</a><br /> -VII. <a href="#chap07">"I AM TOLD"</a><br /> -VIII. <a href="#chap08">"MY VOW"</a><br /> -IX. <a href="#chap09">AN UNEXPECTED VISIT</a><br /> -X. <a href="#chap10">THE FIRST MOVE</a><br /> -XI. <a href="#chap11">COLONEL DEVEREUX'S LAND AGENT</a><br /> -XII. <a href="#chap12">AT DEVEREUX COURT</a><br /> -XIII. <a href="#chap13">COLONEL SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX, BART.</a><br /> -XIV. <a href="#chap14">THE BEGINNING OF DANGER</a><br /> -XV. <a href="#chap15">A FIGHT FOR LIFE</a><br /> -XVI. <a href="#chap16">MY CONVALESCENCE</a><br /> -XVII. <a href="#chap17">A MOONLIGHT RIDE</a><br /> -XVIII. <a href="#chap18">A STRANGE INTERVIEW</a><br /> -XIX. <a href="#chap19">MARIAN SURPRISES ME</a><br /> -XX. <a href="#chap20">AMONGST THE BULRUSHES</a><br /> -XXI. <a href="#chap21">RUPERT DEVEREUX</a><br /> -XXII. <a href="#chap22">FACE TO FACE</a><br /> -XXIII. <a href="#chap23">IN THE PICTURE GALLERY</a><br /> -XXIV. <a href="#chap24">A MIDNIGHT VISITOR</a><br /> -XXV. <a href="#chap25">"COUSINS!"</a><br /> -XXVI. <a href="#chap26">I "GIVE WARNING"</a><br /> -XXVII. <a href="#chap27">SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX'S APPEAL</a><br /> -XXVIII. <a href="#chap28">GOOD-BYE TO DEVEREUX COURT</a><br /> -XXIX. <a href="#chap29">I AM TEMPTED</a><br /> -XXX. <a href="#chap30">LIAR AND COWARD</a><br /> -XXXI. <a href="#chap31">MY FATHER AND I</a><br /> -XXXII. <a href="#chap32">THE BRIGANDS' HOME</a><br /> -XXXIII. <a href="#chap33">AT PALERMO</a><br /> -XXXIV. <a href="#chap34">VISITORS FROM ROME</a><br /> -XXXV. <a href="#chap35">WE ENTERTAIN AT THE VILLA</a><br /> -XXXVI. <a href="#chap36">MR. BURTON LEIGH</a><br /> -XXXVII. <a href="#chap37">CUT DOWN</a><br /> -XXXVIII. <a href="#chap38">AN OMINOUS NOTE</a><br /> -XXXIX. <a href="#chap39">"MY FATHER'S RESOLUTION"</a><br /> -XL. <a href="#chap40">A HORRIBLE MISTAKE</a><br /> -XLI. <a href="#chap41">"TWO YEARS AFTER"</a><br /> -XLII. <a href="#chap42">A TRAITOROUS LOVE</a><br /> -XLIII. <a href="#chap43">EXPIATION</a><br /> -XLIV. <a href="#chap44">"HERO"</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap00b"></a></p> - -<h2> -FALSE EVIDENCE -</h2> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -PROLOGUE -</h3> - -<p> -The last sally had been made and repulsed, the last -shot fired; the fight was over, and victory remained -with the white men. And yet, after all, was it a -victory or a massacre? If you were a stay-at-home, -and read the report from the telegrams in your -club, or in the triumphant columns of the daily -papers, especially those on the side of the Ministry, -you would certainly have pronounced it the former. -But if you had been there on the spot, and had seen -the half-naked, ill-armed natives, with the fire of -patriotism blazing in their eyes and leaping in their -hearts—had seen them being shot down in rows -by the merciless guns of the English batteries—another -view of the matter might have presented -itself to you. It might have occurred to you -that these men were fighting on their own soil -for their freedom and their country, and that -the spirit which was blinding their eyes to the -hopelessness of resistance, and urging them on to -resist the stranger's progress with such passionate -ineffectiveness, was after all, a natural and a poetic -one. But, after all, this has nothing to do with -my story. -</p> - -<p> -The battle was over, and it was morning. Far -away in the east a dull red light had arisen from -over the tops of the towering black mountains, and -an angry sun was sullenly shining on the scene of -carnage. It was a low hillside, once pleasant enough -to look upon, but at that moment probably the most -hideous sight which the whole universe could have -shown. The silvery streams, which had trickled -lazily down to the valley below, now ran thick and -red with blood. The luxuriant shrubs and high -waving ferns were trampled down and disfigured, -and, most horrible sight of all, everywhere were -strewn the copper-coloured forms of the beaten -natives. There they lay apart and in heaps in all -imaginable postures, and with all imaginable -expressions on their hard, battered faces. Some lay -on their sides with their fingers locked around their -spears, and the rigid frown and convulsed passion of -an undying hatred branded on their numbed features. -Others less brave had been shot in the back whilst -flying from the death-dealing fire of the European -guns, and lay stretched about in attitudes which in -life would have been comical, but in death were -grotesquely hideous; and over the sloping fields the -misty clouds of smoke still lingered and curled -upwards from the battered extinct shells which lay -thick on the ground. -</p> - -<p> -High above the scene of devastation, on a rocky -tableau at the summit of the range of hills, were -pitched the tents of the victors. A little apart from -these, conspicuous by the flag which floated above -it, were the general's quarters; and underneath that -sloping roof of canvas a strange scene was being -enacted. -</p> - -<p> -Seated amongst a little group of the superior -officers, with a heavy frown on his stern face, sat -the general. Before him, at a little distance, with -a soldier on either side, stood a tall, slight young -man, in the uniform of an officer, but swordless. -His smooth face, as yet beardless, was dyed with a -deep flush, which might well be there, whether it -proceeded from shame or indignation. For he was -under arrest, and charged with a crime which, in a -soldier, is heinous indeed—it was cowardice. -</p> - -<p> -It was a court-martial before which he stood -arraigned, although a hastily improvised one. But -soldiers have prompt ideas of justice, and General -Luxton was a martinet in all matters of discipline. -Disciplinarian though he was, however, he liked little -the task which was now before him. -</p> - -<p> -He looked up from the papers, which were -stretched out on the rickety little round table, with -a sudden movement, and bent his frowning gaze -upon the accused. The young man returned his -gaze steadily, but the colour in his cheeks grew -deeper. -</p> - -<p> -"Herbert Devereux, you stand accused of a crime -which, in your profession, nothing can palliate or -excuse. Have you anything to say for yourself?" -</p> - -<p> -"There will be no need for me to say anything, -sir," was the prompt reply. "It is true that I -turned my back upon the enemy, but it was to face -a greater danger. The man whose life I saved can -disprove this cruel charge against me in a moment. -I admit that, from your point of view, appearances -are suspicious, but you have only to learn -from my half-brother, Rupert Devereux, why I -quitted my post, and what I effected by so doing, to -absolve me at least from all suspicion of cowardice, -however much I may be to blame as a matter of -discipline." -</p> - -<p> -General Luxton appeared surprised, a little -relieved. -</p> - -<p> -"I hope so," he said, not unkindly. "Roberts, -send an orderly to Lieutenant Devereux's tent, and -command his presence at once." -</p> - -<p> -The man withdrew, and there was a few minutes' -delay. Then the entrance to the tent was lifted -up, and a tall, dark young man, with thin but -decided features, and flashing black eyes, stepped -forward. He was handsome, after a certain type, -but his expression was too lifeless and supercilious -to be prepossessing. -</p> - -<p> -General Luxton looked up and nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"Lieutenant Devereux, your half-brother, who -stands accused of cowardice in the face of the -enemy, appeals to you to give evidence on his -behalf. Let us hear what you saw of him during -the recent fighting." -</p> - -<p> -Eagerly, and with a confident light in his fair -young face, the prisoner turned towards the man -to whom these words were addressed. But slowly -and deliberately the latter turned his back upon his -half-brother without noticing his glance of appeal, -and with a scornful light in his eyes. There was a -slight murmur, and an interchange of looks amongst -the few who were present at this significant action. -</p> - -<p> -"I do not know, General Luxton," he said, slowly, -"what the prisoner can expect me to say likely -to benefit him. He can scarcely be so mad as to -expect me to shield him in this matter on account -of our relationship, or to preserve the honour of our -name, and yet I do not see why else he should -have appealed to me. I saw very little of the -affair, and would rather not have seen that. I was -riding to you, sir, with a message from Colonel -Elliott; and, as I passed trench 4, I saw the -prisoner suddenly leave his company and run -towards me. He passed several yards to the left, -and as he seemed to be hurrying along aimlessly, I -called to him. He made no answer, but——" -</p> - -<p> -"LIAR!" -</p> - -<p> -The word seemed hurled out with such a -passionate intensity that every one started. General -Luxton looked up angrily. -</p> - -<p> -"Silence, sir! You will have an opportunity of -saying what you have to say presently. Proceed, -Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -"As I was saying," Rupert Devereux continued -calmly, without appearing to have noticed the -interruption, "he made no answer, but seemed to wish -to avoid me. As the message with which I was -entrusted was an important one, I rode on and left -him hurrying towards the rear." -</p> - -<p> -With a sterner air even than he had at first -assumed, General Luxton turned towards the -unfortunate young man who stood before him. He was -standing as though turned to stone, with wide-open -eyes, staring at the man who had just spoken, -attitude and expression alike bespeaking an -overpowering bewilderment. -</p> - -<p> -"You are at liberty to ask the witness any -questions," the General said, shortly. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment there was a dead silence. Then -the words came pouring out from his quivering lips -like a mountain torrent. -</p> - -<p> -"Rupert, what have you said? What does this -mean? Good God, are you trying to ruin me? -Did I not run to your assistance because you were -beset by those three blackguards? Didn't I kill -two of them and save your life? You can't have -forgotten it! Why are you lying? Hilton saw it -all, and so did Fenwick. Where are they? My -God, this is horrible!" -</p> - -<p> -The deep flush had gone from his cheeks, and -left him pale as death. Great beads of perspiration -stood out upon his forehead, and there was a wild -look in his deep blue eyes. But the man to whom -he made his passionate appeal kept his back turned -and heeded not a word of it. Instead of answering -he addressed the General. -</p> - -<p> -"General Luxton," Rupert said, calmly, "the -accused, in denying the truth of my statement, -mentions the names of two men whom he admits -were witnesses of this lamentable occurrence. -Might I suggest that they be called to give their -version?" -</p> - -<p> -The General nodded assent, and the thing was -done. But Hilton was the only one who answered -the summons, and on reference to a list of the killed -and wounded it was found that Fenwick was -reported missing. -</p> - -<p> -"John Hilton, the accused has appealed to you -to give evidence on his behalf. Let us hear what -you saw of him during the recent fighting." -</p> - -<p> -The man, an ordinary-looking private, stepped -forward and saluted. -</p> - -<p> -"I only saw him for a moment, sir," he said, -slowly, and with a marked reluctance. "I was -riding behind Lieutenant Devereux when I saw -him leave his company and pass us a few yards -to the left. It struck me that he looked very pale, -and I thought that perhaps he was wounded." -</p> - -<p> -"He did not leave his company to come to your -master's assistance, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly not, sir. We were not in any need -of it. None of the enemy were near us." -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you. You can go, Hilton." -</p> - -<p> -The man saluted and went. -</p> - -<p> -There was a dead silence for a full minute. Then -there came a passionate, hysterical cry from the -prisoner— -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Liar! Liar!</i> General Luxton, upon my honour, -either my brother and this man are under some -hallucination or they have entered into a conspiracy -against me. Before God Almighty I swear that I -only left my post because several of the enemy had -crept down from the hill behind and had attacked -my brother and his servant. I killed one of them, -and the blood of the other is still on my sword. -Why, Rupert, you know that you called out, -'Thanks, Herbert, you have saved my life.' Those -were your very words!" -</p> - -<p> -The man appealed to shook his head slowly and -as though with great reluctance. The sigh seemed -to madden the prisoner, and he made a sudden -movement forward as though to spring at him. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, this is horrible!" he cried. "Where is -Fenwick? He saw it all. Let him be called." -</p> - -<p> -General Luxton glanced again at the list before -him and looked up. -</p> - -<p> -"You are unfortunate in your selections," he -said, dryly. "The evidence of Hilton and your -brother, to whom you appealed, only strengthens the -case against you. Fenwick is missing. Herbert -Devereux," he went on sternly, "the charge against -you has been proved. I, myself, at a most critical -moment, saw you desert your post when it was the -centre of attack, and it fell to another's lot to lead -your men on to the pursuit. The reasons which -you have brought forward to account for your -unwarrantable action have been clearly disposed of. -You are most certainly guilty of a crime for which, -amongst soldiers, there is no pardon. But you are -young, and I cannot forget that you are the son of -one of the most distinguished officers with whom it -has been my good fortune to be associated. For his -sake I am willing to make some allowance for you—on -one condition you may retain your commission, -and, I trust, retrieve this well-nigh fatal mistake in -the future. To the crime of cowardice you have -added the crime of lying; for that your account -of the attack upon your half-brother and your -rescue is a pure fabrication I cannot doubt. The -peculiar curve in the defile behind trench 4 -unfortunately hid you from the field of battle and -prevents further evidence as to the occurrence which, -you say, took place. But that your story is false -no one can possibly doubt. The place has been -carefully examined, and there are no dead bodies -within a hundred yards. It seems, from your -appeal to your half-brother, that you expected him -to shield you at the expense of his honour. This -lie and false statement of yours you must retract if -you hope for any mercy from me." -</p> - -<p> -There was a convulsive agony in the boy's white, -strained face as he drew himself up, and looked half -piteously, half indignantly at his judge. But when -he tried to speak he could not, and there was a -minute or two's dead silence whilst he was -struggling to obtain the mastery over himself. All -expected a confession, and General Luxton removed -his eyes from the prisoner, and bent close over his -papers, that none might read the compassion which -was in his heart, and which was reflected in his -face. -</p> - -<p> -The words came at last; and shrill and incoherent -though they were, there was a ring of genuine -dignity in them. -</p> - -<p> -"General Luxton, I have been guilty neither of -cowardice nor falsehood. I swear before God, on -the sword which my father himself put into my -hands before I left England; by everything that is -most holy to me I swear that my account of this -awful occurrence is true. Ask the men of whom I -was in command when I caught sight of—of him"—and -he pointed with a trembling finger and a -gesture than which nothing could have been more -dramatic to his half-brother—"ask them whether I -bore myself like a coward when those spears were -whistling around us, or when we were fighting -hand-to-hand after the first repulse. God knows that I -did not. I left my post to encounter a greater -danger still. Bitterly do I regret that I ever did -so; but it is the only indiscretion of which I am -guilty. I swear it." -</p> - -<p> -General Luxton raised his head, and what there -had been of compassion in his face was either gone -or effectually concealed. -</p> - -<p> -"You have sworn enough already," he said, -sternly. "Herbert Devereux, I am bitterly -disappointed in you. I was willing to spare your -father the disgrace which I fear will kill him; but -you cut away the ground from under my feet. You -are most certainly proved guilty of gross cowardice -in the face of the enemy found guilty, not upon the -evidence of one man, but of two, and one of those -your own relative. Circumstances, too, are strong -against you, so are the probabilities. Most undeniably -and conclusively you are found guilty; guilty -of cowardice, guilty of falsehood. You will remain -under arrest until I can find an opportunity of -sending an escort with you to the Hekla. Your -commission is forfeited to the Queen, whose uniform -you have disgraced." -</p> - -<p> -Never a sign of guilt in the prisoner's -countenance. Proudly and indignantly he looked his -General straight in the face, his cheeks red with -a flush, which was not of shame, and the wild fury -in his heart blazing out of his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not I who have disgraced the Queen's -colours; but he—he who has fabricated and sworn -to a false string of lies. Rupert, in your heart alone -is the knowledge of why you have done this thing. -But some day you shall tell me—or die." -</p> - -<p> -There was something intensely dramatic in the -passionate bitterness which vibrated in the shrill -boyish tone, and, as though moved by a common -impulse, every one in the tent followed that -threatening gesture. But the face of Rupert Devereux -was little like the face of a guilty man. He looked -somewhat agitated, and a good deal pained; but -although he was the cynosure of all eyes, he turned -never a shade the paler, nor flinched once from the -passionate fire which was leaping from the eyes of -the young prisoner. He seemed as though about -to make some reply; but the General raised his -hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Remove the prisoner." -</p> - -<p> -There was a sudden commotion, for, with a deep, -despairing groan, and arms for a moment lifted high -above his head, he had staggered backwards and -sunk heavily to the ground in a dead swoon. What -wonder! He was but a boy after all. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -"Herbert! Why, Herbert! Good God! where -did you spring from? Are you invalided?" -</p> - -<p> -The moonlight was streaming in through the high -oriel windows of the long picture-gallery, glittering -upon the armour and crossed weapons which hung -upon the walls, and casting fantastic rays down the -polished oak floor. Colonel Sir Francis Devereux -dropped the cigar which he had been peacefully -smoking, and brought to a sudden halt his leisurely -perambulation of this his favourite resort. Before -him, with drooping head, with sunken cheeks, and -with deep black rims under his eyes, stood his son -Herbert, who, only a few months ago, had departed -on his first campaign, a happy, careless young sub. -Was it, indeed, his son, or was it a ghost that had -stolen upon him out of the gloomy shadows of the -vast gallery? -</p> - -<p> -"Invalided! Would to God that I was dead!" -broke from the boy's quivering lips. "Father, I -have brought disgrace upon you—disgrace upon -our name." And he stretched out his hands -towards the long line of pictured warriors, who -seemed to be frowning down upon him from the -wall. "Disgrace that you will never forgive, never -pardon." -</p> - -<p> -Like a statue of stone the proud old soldier stood -while he listened to his son's story. Then, with a -half-smothered groan, he deliberately turned his -back upon him. -</p> - -<p> -"Father," he pleaded, "listen to me. Before -heaven I swear that I am innocent. Rupert lied. -Why, I don't know, but he lied. I never felt fear." -</p> - -<p> -His father turned half round. -</p> - -<p> -"You have been put on your defence. General -Luxton would never have found your father's son -guilty of cowardice had there been room for doubt. -The charge was proved against you in court-martial." -</p> - -<p> -"But, father, it was because they believed Rupert -and his man. The only two other men who saw -the struggle are dead." -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Devereux turned away and buried his -face in his hands. -</p> - -<p> -"A Devereux guilty of cowardice!" he groaned. -"My God! that it should have been my son!" -</p> - -<p> -Then with a sudden movement he turned round. -His son had sunk upon his knees before him, and -the moon was throwing a ghastly light upon his -haggard, supplicating face. -</p> - -<p> -"Out of my sight, and out of my heart for ever, -Herbert Devereux!" cried his father, his tones -vibrating with a passionate contempt. "You have -brought disgrace upon a stainless name. Curse you -for it, though you be a thousand times my son. -You shall not sleep under this roof again. Begone! -Change your name, I command you! Forget that -you are a Devereux, as I most surely shall. Turn -linen-draper, or man-milliner, or lawyer, what you -will so that I never see or hear from you again. -Begone, and curse you." -</p> - -<p> -Scathing and vibrating with scorn though the -words were, they seemed to touch a chord in the -boy's heart, not of humiliation, but of righteous -anger. He sprang to his feet, and held himself for -a moment as proudly as any of his armoured ancestors -who looked down from the walls upon father -and son. -</p> - -<p> -"I will go, then," he cried, firmly. "It is right -that I should go. But, after all, it is false to say -that I have disgraced your name. It is Rupert -who has done this." -</p> - -<p> -He turned and walked steadily away, without a -backward glance. Out of the swing doors on to -the broad staircase, he passed along noble corridors, -between rows of marble statues, down into the -mighty dome-like hall, and out of the house which -he had loved so well. And the servants, who would -have pressed forward to welcome him, hung back -in fear, for there was that in his face which they -shrunk from looking upon. Out into the soft -summer night he stepped, heedless of their wondering -glances, and down the broad avenue he hurried, -never pausing once to breathe in the balmy night -wind, heavy with the odour of sweet-smelling -flowers, or to listen to the nightingale singing in the -low copse which bordered the gardens. Through a -low iron gate he stepped into the park, and walked -swiftly along, never glancing to the right or to the -left at the strange shadows cast by the mighty -oak-trees on the velvety turf, or at the startled deer, -who sprung up on every side of him and bounded -gracefully away, or at the rabbits who were -scampering about all around in desperate alarm; once he -had loved to watch and to listen to all these things; -but now he felt only a burning desire to escape -from them, and to find himself outside the confines -of the home which he was leaving for ever. And -not until he had reached the last paling, and had -vaulted into the broad, white road, did his strength -desert him. Then, faint and weary, and heartsick, -he sank down in a heap on the roadside, and prayed -that he might die. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -A cloudless summer morning, with the freshness -of dawn still lingering in the air. A morning -which seemed about to herald in one of Nature's -perfect days, on which to be sad were a crime, and -to have troubles absurd. Already the dreamy -humming of bees was floating in the atmosphere, -and the lark had given place to noisier, if less -musical, songsters. It was a glorious morning. -</p> - -<p> -Over the low, iron gate of an old-fashioned -garden a girl was leaning, her head resting lightly -upon her hand, gazing across the pleasant meadows -to the dark woods beyond, with a soft, far-away -look in her grey eyes—for she was thinking of her -lover. She was dressed in a blue print gown, -which hung in simple folds around her straight, -slim figure, and she had carelessly passed the long -stalk of a full-blown red rose within her waistband. -It was a very pleasant view that she was admiring; -but any casual spectator would have declared that -she was the most charming object in it. -</p> - -<p> -And there was a spectator, although not a casual -one. Suddenly, like a ghost, the figure of her -dreams stood before her. Pale, haggard, and -dishevelled-looking, he seemed to have risen out of -the very ground; and it was very little to be -wondered at that, at first, she shrunk back -alarmed. -</p> - -<p> -"Herbert! Herbert! can it really be you?" -</p> - -<p> -He never answered her; but, as the first surprise -began to fade away, she moved forward, and would -have thrown herself into his arms. But he stopped -her. -</p> - -<p> -"Keep back, Marian," he cried, hoarsely; "keep -away from me! I have come to bid you good-bye." -</p> - -<p> -A swift, sudden fear drove the colour from her -cheeks, and chilled her through and through; but -she faltered out an answer. -</p> - -<p> -"Good-bye, Herbert! What do you mean? Oh, -tell me what has happened, quick!" -</p> - -<p> -"The one thing worse than death, Marian—disgrace!" -</p> - -<p> -And then, with his face turned away, and his -eyes resting wearily on the picturesque landscape, -he told her his story. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -The last word had left his quivering lips, and he -stood as though in a dream. The worst was over. -He had told his father, and he had told her. It -seemed like the end of all things to him. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly a pair of white arms were thrown -around his neck, and a great red rose was crushed -to pieces against his waistcoat. -</p> - -<p> -"Herbert! oh, Herbert! how dreadful! Don't -look like that, you frighten me!" -</p> - -<p> -He was striving to free himself, but she would -not let him go. -</p> - -<p> -"Dearest, you don't understand! This is ruin -to me. My father has turned me from the house, -commanded me to bear another name, disowned -me. Be brave, Marian, for we must part. I -am here only to tell you this, and to bid you -farewell." -</p> - -<p> -Still she would not let him go. -</p> - -<p> -"You will do nothing of the sort, sir. I'll not -be thrown over in that fashion," she said, struggling -to smile through her tears. "And, Herbert, oh, -Herbert! how ill you look! You've been out all -night." -</p> - -<p> -He did not deny it, but again he strove to -disengage himself. But she would have none -of it. -</p> - -<p> -"Bertie, dearest," she spoke cheerfully, though -her eyes were still swimming with tears, "you -mustn't think that you're going to get rid of us in -this way. You've just got to come in to breakfast -with me, and afterwards we'll tell Grannie all about -it. Come along, sir, I insist." -</p> - -<p> -He braced himself up for resistance, but he had -still to learn that against a woman's love a man's -will can prevail nothing. At first he was firm, -then wavering, and finally he was led in triumph -across the smooth lawn and along the winding path -to the French windows of the morning-room. But -when he found himself face to face with the kind -old lady who had loved him as her own son, and -saw the tears trickle down her withered, apple-red -cheeks as she listened to the tale which Marian -poured out, he felt that he had passed the limits of -self-endurance. For more than twenty-four hours -he had neither eaten nor drunk, and he was sick at -heart. Gradually Marian felt the arm, which she -had drawn tightly through hers, grow heavier and -heavier until at last as she finished her tale with a -little tremulous burst of indignation, he sank back -in the arm-chair, and slowly fainted. But through -the mist which closed in upon him he saw nothing -but kindly pitying faces bending over his, and -heard Grannie's gentle whisper— -</p> - -<p> -"I believe you, Herbert," and more emphatic -but none the less earnest were her words, whose -sweet, tear-stained face, so close to his, was the last -he saw when unconsciousness was closing in upon him. -</p> - -<p> -"So do I, Bertie, I hate Rupert," and sweeter -than the most heart-stirring music were the -faltering words she added— -</p> - -<p> -"And I love you better than ever. Oh, Grannie, -Grannie, he has fainted!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER I -<br /> -MY APOLOGY -</h3> - -<p> -Fortune is the strangest mistress a man ever wooed. -Who courts her she shuns, who deserves her she -passes over, and on him who defies her and takes -no pains to secure her she lavishes her favours. I -am one of those to whom she has shown herself -most kind. Many years ago I vowed my life away -to one purpose, and that partly an immoral one. -It was a purpose which held my life. I swore to -seek no end apart from it, and I put away from -my thoughts all joys that were not included in its -accomplishment. And yet, having kept my oath, -I still possess in the prime of life everything which -a man could wish for. I am rich, and well thought -of amongst my fellows. I am married to the woman -whom I love, and life is flowing on with me as -calmly and peacefully as the murmuring waters of -a woodland stream in the middle of summer. And, -above all, my heart is at ease, for I have kept my -vow. -</p> - -<p> -She is a strange mistress, indeed! Nothing have -I sought or deserved of her, yet everything I have. -Whilst he who was far above me in his deservings, -and whose sufferings none save myself thoroughly -understood, passed through a gloomy life, buffeted -by every wind, stranded by every tide of fortune; -misunderstood, wronged, falsely accused, and -narrowly escaped remaining in men's minds only as -a prototype of a passionate, unforgiving, Quixotic man. -</p> - -<p> -That the world may know him as he was, and -form a better judgment as to his character, I have -gathered together the threads of my life indissolubly -connected with his, and have turned them inside -out. I have never indulged myself with the feminine -luxury of a diary, but with a surer progress than of -pen over paper has the record of my strange life -been written into my mind; and so I tell it just as -it all comes back to me, not as a professed -story-teller, with harmonious dates and regular evolution -of plot, and neatly paged chapters, but in a bolder -way, leaving much to be guessed at, and some -things untold. If there be any of whom I have -occasion to speak still amongst the living (my life -has so contracted of late that many have passed out -of its horizon), let them remember for what purpose -I write, and for his sake forbear to complain. If -the sword were the pen, then would mine be the -pen of a ready writer, and I might be able to touch -lightly on their shortcomings, and gild over the -black spots on my own life. But enough of excuses. -I take up my pen a blunt Englishman, an athlete -rather than a scholar, to write a plain story which -shall serve not as a eulogy, but as a justification of -the man to whom many years of my life have been -ungrudgingly given. Let all those who may feel -disposed to cavil at the disconnectedness of my -loosely jointed story, remember this, and be silent. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER II -<br /> -THE FIRST CLOUD -</h3> - -<p> -About a mile seaward from Porlock, separated from -it by a narrow strip of the most luxuriant meadowland -in Devonshire, lies the village of Bossington. -Perhaps it were better called a hamlet, for at the -time when I knew anything about it (which, let the -tourist remember, is many years ago) it consisted -but of six or seven cottages, a farmhouse, and a -half-ruined old manor-house, for the privilege of -living in which my father paid ten pounds a year, -or some such trifling sum, to the neighbouring -clergyman whose property it was. -</p> - -<p> -But what the place lacked in size was certainly -atoned for—and more than atoned for—by the -beauty of its situation. High above it, like a -mighty protecting giant, rose Bossington Headland, -covered always with a soft, springy turf, and -glowing in midsummer with the brilliant colouring of -rich purple heather and yellow gorse. Often have -I stood on its highest point, and with my head -bared to the strong fresh breeze, watched the sun -rise over the Exmoor Hills and Dunkerry Beacon, -and waited until it shed its first warm gleams on -the white cottages and queer old church-tower of -Porlock, which lay clustered together in picturesque -irregularity at the head of the little bay. And -almost as often have I gazed upon the same scene -from the same spot by the less distinct but more -harmonious light of the full harvest moon, and have -wondered in which guise it seemed the fairest. -</p> - -<p> -Behind Bossington lay Allercombe Woods, great -tree-covered hills sloping on one side down to the -road which connected, and still connects, Porlock -with Minehead and the outside world, and on the -other, descending precipitously to the sea; so -precipitously indeed that it seemed always a wonder -to me how the thickly growing but stunted fir-trees -could preserve their shape and regularity. -The descent from Bossington Headland into Porlock -was by a steep winding path through Allercombe -Woods, and many a time I have looked through -the thin coating of green leaves upon the fields -which stretched like a piece of patchwork below -down to the sea, and wondered whether any other -country in the world (I had never been out of -Devonshire then) could be more beautiful than -this. -</p> - -<p> -Within a stone's throw of where the blue sea of -our English Bay of Naples rippled in on to the -firm white sands, was the tumble-down old building -in which we lived. What there had been of -walls had long before our time been hidden by -climbing plants and ivy, and in summer-time the -place from a distance somewhat resembled a gigantic -nosegay of cottage roses, jessamine, and other -creeping flowers. There was but a small garden -and no ground, for Bossington Headland rose -precipitously close to the back of the house, and -in front there was no space for any. A shed -served as a stable for one or two Exmoor ponies, -and also as a sleeping-place for the lanky, -raw-boned Devonshire lad whom we kept to look after -them. -</p> - -<p> -There were but few habitable rooms in our -mansion, but they were sufficient, for our household -was a small one. My father, mother, sister, myself, -and a country servant comprised it. We never had -a visitor, save occasionally the clergyman from -Porlock. We never went anywhere. We knew no -one, and at seventeen years of age an idea which -had been developing in me for a long time, took to -itself the tangible shape of words. -</p> - -<p> -"Father," I said to him one evening when we were -sitting out upon our little strip of lawn together, he -smoking, I envying him for being able to smoke, -"do you know that I have never been out of -Devonshire—never been further than Exeter even, -and I am eighteen years old?" -</p> - -<p> -It was long before he answered me, and when, at -last, he turned round and did so, I was distressed -to see the look of deep anxiety in his worn, handsome -face, and the troubled light in his clear eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"I know it, my boy," he said, pityingly. "I -have been expecting this. You are weary of the -country." -</p> - -<p> -I stood up, with my hands in my pockets, and -my back against the latticed wall of the house, -gazing over the sparkling, dancing sea, to where, -on the horizon, the stars seemed to stoop and meet -it. Was I tired of this quiet home? I scarcely -knew; country sports and country sights were dear -to me, and I had no desire to leave them for ever. -I thought of the fat trout in the Exford streams, -and the huntsman's rallying call from "t'other side -Dunkerry," and the wild birds that needed so much -getting at and such quick firing, and of the -deep-sea fishing, and the shooting up the coombes from -Farmer Pulsford's boat, and of the delight of -shipping on a hot summer's day and diving deep down -into the cool bracing water. Why should I wish to -leave all this? What should I be likely to find -pleasanter in the world of which, as yet, I knew -nothing? For a moment or two I hesitated—but -it was only for a moment or two. The restlessness -which had been growing up within me for years was -built upon a solid foundation, and would not be -silenced. -</p> - -<p> -"No, I'm not tired of the country, father," I -answered, slowly. "I love it too much ever to be -tired of it. But men don't generally live all their -lives in one place, do they, without having any work -or anything to do except enjoy themselves?" -</p> - -<p> -"And what should you like to be?" my father -asked, quickly. -</p> - -<p> -I had long ago made up my mind upon that -point, and was not slow to answer— -</p> - -<p> -"I should like to be a soldier," I declared, -emphatically. -</p> - -<p> -I was very little prepared for the result of my -words. A spasm of what seemed to be the most -acute pain passed across my father's face, and he -covered it for a moment with his hands. When he -withdrew them he looked like a ghost, deathly pale -in the golden moonlight, and when he spoke his -voice trembled with emotion. -</p> - -<p> -"God forbid that you should wish it seriously!" -he said, "for it is the one thing which you can -never be!" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Hugh, you do not mean it really; you do -not wish to go away from us!" -</p> - -<p> -I turned round, for the voice, a soft and gentle -one, was my mother's. She was standing in the -open window with a fleecy white shawl around her -head, and her eyes, the sweetest I ever saw, fixed -appealingly upon me. I glanced from one to the -other blankly, for my disappointment was great. -Then, like a flash, a sudden conviction laid hold of -me. There was some great and mysterious reason -why we had lived so long apart from the world. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER III -<br /> -"THE BOY MUST BE TOLD" -</h3> - -<p> -That was quite an eventful night in our quiet life. -Whilst we three stood looking at one another half -fearfully—I full of this strange, new idea which had -just occurred to me—we heard the latch of our -garden gate lifted, and Mr. Cox, the vicar of Porlock -and my instructor in the classics, followed by no -fewer than four large-limbed, broad-shouldered, -Porlock men, entered. -</p> - -<p> -They made their way up the steep garden path, -and my father, in no little surprise, rose to greet -them. With Mr. Cox he shook hands and then -glanced inquiringly at his followers, who, after -touching their hats respectfully, stood in a row -looking supremely uncomfortable, and each betraying -a strong disposition to retire a little behind the -others. Mr. Cox proceeded to explain matters. -</p> - -<p> -"You are pleased to look upon us as a deputation," -he said, pleasantly, waving his hand towards -the others, "of which I am the spokesman. We -come from the Porlock Working Men's Conservative Club." -</p> - -<p> -My father bowed, and bidding me bring forward -a garden seat, requested the deputation to be seated. -Then he called into the house for Jane to bring out -some jugs of cider and glasses, and a decided smile -appeared on the somewhat wooden faces of the -deputation. I was vastly interested, and not a -little curious. -</p> - -<p> -When the cider had been brought and distributed, -and a raid made upon the tobacco jar, Mr. Cox -proceeded with his explanation. -</p> - -<p> -"We have come to ask you a favour, Mr. Arbuthnot," -he said. "We are going to hold a -political meeting in the school-room at Porlock -next week. A gentleman from Minehead is going -to give us an address on the land question -which promises to be very interesting, and -Mr. Bowles here has kindly promised to say a few -words." -</p> - -<p> -The end man on the seat here twirled his hat, -and, being nudged by his neighbour, betrayed his -personality by a broad grin. Finally, to relieve his -modesty, he buried his face in the mug of cider -which stood by his side. -</p> - -<p> -"The difficulty we are in is this," continued -Mr. Cox; "we want a chairman. I have most -unfortunately promised to be in Exeter on that day and -shall not be able to return in time for the meeting, -or else we would not have troubled you. But as I -shall not be available, we thought that perhaps you -might be induced to accept the office. That is what -we have come to ask you." -</p> - -<p> -My father shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"It is very kind of you to think of me," he said, -hesitatingly, "but I fear that I must decline your -offer. Politics have lost most of their interest for -me—and—and, in short, I think I would rather not." -</p> - -<p> -"I hope you will reconsider that," Mr. Cox -said, pleasantly. "It will be a very slight tax -upon you after all. You need only say a very -few words. Come, think it over again. We really -are at our wit's end or we would not have troubled -you. -</p> - -<p> -"There is Mr. Sothern," my father protested. -</p> - -<p> -"He is in bed ill. An attack of pleurisy, I think." -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Brown, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"A rank Radical." -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Jephcote?" -</p> - -<p> -"Away." -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Hetton?" -</p> - -<p> -"Gone to London for a week." -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Smith, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"Will be at Exeter cattle fair." -</p> - -<p> -My father was silent for a moment or two. -Then he suggested some more names, to each of -which there was some objection. -</p> - -<p> -"You do seem to have been unfortunate," he -declared, at last. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Cox," -he added, thoughtfully, "I scarcely know what to -say. I had made up my mind, for certain private -reasons, never to have anything to do with public -life in any shape or form." -</p> - -<p> -"This isn't a very formidable undertaking, is it?" -Mr. Cox urged, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"It isn't. But the principle is the same," my -father answered. "However, leave it in this way -if you like. Give me until to-morrow evening to -think the matter over, and in the meantime see -if you can't find some one else. I'm afraid I -can't say more than that." -</p> - -<p> -The deputation thought that nothing could be -fairer than this, and nothing more satisfactory except -an unqualified assent. I think my father imagined -that having promised so much they would take -their departure. But nothing of the sort happened. -Perhaps they found the cider too good, or perhaps -they were tired after their day's work and the walk -from Porlock. At any rate, there they sat for more -than an hour, taking occasional gulps at their cider, -and puffing incessantly at their blackened pipes with -a stolid vacuous look on their honest faces, whilst -my father and Mr. Cox talked a little aside in a low -tone. I fancied that I was the subject of their -conversation, but though I strained my ears in the -attempt to catch some part of it, I was unsuccessful. -Once or twice the sound of my name reached me, -but directly I leaned forward they dropped their -voices, so that I could hear no more. I have always -believed, however, that my father was asking advice -from Mr. Cox concerning me, and that Mr. Cox was -urging him to send me to the University. But I -never knew for certain, for events were soon to -occur which swept out of my mind all minor -curiosity. -</p> - -<p> -At last Mr. Cox rose to go, and the deputation, -with manifest reluctance, did the same. My father -courteously accompanied them to the garden gate, -and shook hands with them all, thanking them for -their visit. When he returned there was a slight -sparkle in his eyes, and an amused smile on his lips. -So monotonous was our life, that even such an event -as this was welcome, and I could tell from his -manner that he was pleased at the request which -had been made to him, and disposed to accept it. -I determined to encourage him in it. -</p> - -<p> -"Governor," I remarked, leaning over the wall -and watching the retreating forms of our visitors, -"I hope we're not going to have many political -deputations here, especially if they're all going to -be as thirsty as this one was. Did you ever see -such fellows for cider! We shan't have a drop -left for the hot weather if you encourage this sort -of thing. But you'll do what they want you to, -won't you? I should! It'll be capital fun, and -I'm sure you'd make a rattling speech. You're up -on the land question, too. I heard you giving it to -old Simpson the other morning." -</p> - -<p> -My father smiled, and stood by my side watching -them make their way down the coombe. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall have to consult your mother about it," -he said. "I almost think that I may venture it," -he added, in a lower tone and thoughtfully, as -though to himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Venture it! What could there be adventurous -in it," I wondered, "to a well-read, scholarly man -such as I knew him to be!" But I did not dare to -ask. -</p> - -<p> -Presently he turned to me with a much graver -look in his face. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh!" he said, "these people interrupted our -conversation. There is something which I must -say to you at once. I do not wish you to become -a soldier. When you feel that you can stay here -no longer, and that this country life is too quiet for -you, you must choose some other profession. But -a soldier you can never be." -</p> - -<p> -I was bitterly disappointed, and not a little -curious, and an idea which had often occurred to -me swept suddenly into my mind with renewed -strength. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, may I ask you a question?" -</p> - -<p> -He hesitated, but did not forbid me. -</p> - -<p> -"I have heard it said down in the village—every -one says that you must once have been a soldier. -You walk and hold your head like one, and—father, -what is the matter?" I broke off all at once, for -his face had become like a dead man's, and he had -sunk heavily on to the seat. -</p> - -<p> -I would have sprung to his side, but my mother -was there before him. She had passed one arm -around his neck, and with the other she motioned -me to go into the house. -</p> - -<p> -"It isn't your fault, Hugh," she said, "but you -mustn't ask your father questions; they distress -him. Leave us now." -</p> - -<p> -I turned heavily away, and went up-stairs to my -room. About an hour afterwards, when I pushed -open my window before getting into bed, there stole -into my room together with the sweet scent of -jessamine and climbing roses the sound of subdued -voices. -</p> - -<p> -"He must be told," I heard my father say -solemnly. "God give me strength." -</p> - -<p> -Then the voices ceased for a while, but I still -lingered, and presently they began again, but in a -more cheerful key. -</p> - -<p> -I moved away and got into bed, but I left the -window open as I always did, and some fragments -of their conversation still reached me. -</p> - -<p> -"I am sure that you need have no fear, Herbert. -No one in these parts can have the slightest idea of -... I hope you will ... It will be a change ... Now -promise." -</p> - -<p> -I could hear nothing of my father's reply, but -from its tone he seemed reluctant, though wishful. -Then the voices dropped again, and I think that I -must have dozed for some time. But suddenly I -awoke and sat up in bed startled, for my father's -voice was ringing in through the window. -</p> - -<p> -"You are right, Marian; you are right. I will -do my duty. The boy must be told. The time has -come when I must dig up my trouble again. The -boy must be told." -</p> - -<p> -Then I heard them enter the house (leaving the -door wide open, as was our common practice), and -come up to their rooms. Afterwards there was -silence, but there was no more sleep for me that -night. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IV -<br /> -"A MYSTERIOUS MEETING" -</h3> - -<p> -On the morrow my father, not a little to my -surprise, appeared to be in a particularly cheerful -tome of mind. At breakfast time he remarked -that the day looked well for fishing, and asked me -whether I would not like to go. Of course I -consented willingly, and William, our man, or rather -boy-of-all-work, was sent down to Mr. Cox, with -whom I used generally to read in the morning, with -my father's compliments and my excuses. -</p> - -<p> -What sport we had all day long! We waded -knee deep, sometimes waist high, down the -Badgeworthy stream, following its gleaming course past -Lorna's bower, past waterslide, which I never looked -upon without thinking of John Ridd's description, -and round the green hills of the Doone valley as far -as the bend of the stream. -</p> - -<p> -It was a long ride home, and across a desolate -country. I think that I should have gone to sleep -in the saddle I was so tired, but for the stern -necessity of picking our way carefully along what -was nothing better than a sheep-walk. I remember -that night-ride well. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly my father pulled his pony almost on -its haunches, and instinctively William and I did -the same. -</p> - -<p> -"Listen!" he cried. -</p> - -<p> -I bent down and listened intently. -</p> - -<p> -"I hear nothing," I remarked, gathering up my -reins, for I was desperately hungry and cold. -</p> - -<p> -My father held up his hand to bid me stay, and -then turning towards the inland stretch of moor, -shouted, "Hulloa there! Hulloa! Hulloa!" We -listened, and, to my surprise, we heard almost -immediately an answering shout, faint and evidently -a long way off, but distinctly a man's hail. -</p> - -<p> -It was scarcely safe to leave the track, so we -stopped where we were, and all three shouted. -And, sure enough, in less than five minutes we -heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and a tall, -stately-looking man came riding out of the mist -mounted on a fine bay horse which seemed to have -been up to its girths in a morass, and which was -trembling in every limb. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm uncommonly glad to see you, gentlemen, -whoever you are," he exclaimed, riding up to us. -"For close upon three hours have I been trying to -come upon a path, or a road, or a track, or -something that led somewhere, and have only succeeded -in losing myself more completely. Curse these -mists! How far am I from Luccombe Hall?" -</p> - -<p> -To my surprise my father made no answer, and -when I looked towards him he was sitting bolt -upright in his saddle, with his eyes riveted upon -the stranger. So I answered his question. -</p> - -<p> -"If you mean Sir Frederick Lawson's place, it's -about nine miles off. We are going that way." -</p> - -<p> -The stranger thanked me heartily, and moved his -horse to the side of mine. And then happened the -strangest thing which I had ever seen. My father, -who was the most courteous and gentlest-mannered -man I ever came near, rose suddenly in his stirrups, -and, without a word, struck the stranger full in the -mouth with the back of his hand. -</p> - -<p> -It seemed for a moment as though he must fall -from his horse; but by a great effort he recovered -himself, and, with the blood streaming from his -mouth, grasped his riding-whip and dug spurs into -his horse as though to spring at my father. What -followed was the strangest part of all. Although -his assailant was within a yard of him, with his -heavy riding-whip lifted high in the air to strike, -my father never moved a muscle, but simply sat -still as a statue upon his pony. But at the last -moment, when the whip was quivering in the air, -he quietly raised his hand and lifted his hat from -his head. There he sat motionless, with the faint -moon which had just struggled out from a bank of -clouds shining on his handsome, delicate face, and -with his clear, firm eyes fixed steadily upon the -stranger. Like a <i>tableaux vivant</i>, burnt into my -memory, I shall carry that scene with me until I die. -</p> - -<p> -The moment my father removed his hat his -would-be assailant evidently recognised him. His -whip dropped heavily to the ground, and into his -ghastly face there leaped such an expression of -horrified surprise as my pen could never dissect -and set down in words. -</p> - -<p> -"My God! Herbert! Is this possible!" -</p> - -<p> -"Keep back, keep away from me," muttered my -father in a low suppressed tone, as though he were -striving to control some violent passion. "Keep -out of my reach lest I do you a mischief. Thank -God, we are not alone. Speak! What are you -doing here?" -</p> - -<p> -The fierce restraint which he seemed to be putting -upon his words made them come forth slowly with -a monotonous sing-song which sounded more terrible -than the wildest outburst. I was shivering all over -with dread of what might come of this. -</p> - -<p> -The stranger answered hoarsely, and I could tell -that he, too, had felt the peculiar effect of my -father's strange tone. -</p> - -<p> -"I am staying with Sir Frederick Lawson at -Luccombe Hall for a few days only. I had no——" -</p> - -<p> -My father raised his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Swear on what remains of your honour—swear -by anything that is dearest to you—that you do not -seek to discover my dwelling-place, or the name -under which I choose to live. Swear that you -never mention this meeting to living man or -woman." -</p> - -<p> -The stranger raised his hat. -</p> - -<p> -"I swear," he said. -</p> - -<p> -There was a dead silence for a full minute. Then -my father gathered up his reins, and motioned us to -ride on. -</p> - -<p> -"You are fortunate as ever, Rupert Devereux," -were his last words as he turned to follow us, "for, -sure as there is a God above us, if I had met you -here alone to-night, nay, if any other had been with -me than my son, I should have killed you." -</p> - -<p> -We rode home almost in silence, and, though I -listened often, I never once heard the sound of -horse's hoofs behind us. Whoever this man might -be whom we had so strangely met, he evidently -preferred to risk losing his way again, rather than -chance another meeting with us. -</p> - -<p> -As we walked our ponies down Porlock Hill, and -came in sight of Bossington Headland, standing -gloomily out into the sea, my father called William -to him. -</p> - -<p> -"William," he said, shortly, "I desire that you -keep strictly to yourself what happened to us just -now. If I hear of your mentioning so much as a -word of it, you will leave my service at once." -</p> - -<p> -William touched his hat awkwardly, but sincerely. -</p> - -<p> -"There bean't no fear of me, maester," he answered. -"I bean't no gossip, I bean't, and I never -zeed no zense in talkin' 'bout other folks' avvairs; -zepecially yer betters. I'll no mention that ther'er -chap to no one." -</p> - -<p> -My father nodded, and not another word was -spoken until we had passed through Porlock and -our ponies had freshened up into the home canter. -Then he leaned over and spoke to me. -</p> - -<p> -"I need say nothing to you, my boy; I know -your mother must hear about this from me, and from -me only." -</p> - -<p> -"I promise, father," I answered simply, having -hard work to keep my voice from trembling, for I -was still excited and uneasy; and something made -me suddenly hold my hand out to him as a pledge -of my silence. Many a time since I have been glad -that I did so, for he seemed to take it kindly. -</p> - -<p> -"God bless you, my boy!" he said, and I could -almost have fancied that there were tears in his -eyes. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER V -<br /> -"ON BOSSINGTON HEADLAND" -</h3> - -<p> -A very demon of unrest laid hold of me that night. -I ought to have been sleepy, for we had had a long -fatiguing day in the open air, but, as a matter of -fact, I was nothing of the sort. I have always been -a rigid materialist, but never since that night have -I been without some faint belief in that branch of -superstition known as presentiments. -</p> - -<p> -I had led a strange life for a boy of my age. I -had never been to school, and I had no companions -of my own station save my father. As regards my -education, that had been entrusted to Mr. Cox, our -nearest clergyman. He did his best with me, poor -man; but he must have found it terrible work, for -I was anything but brilliant. There was another -part of my education, the part undertaken by my -father, in which I was not so backward, and, with -all due respect to the classics, I found it of infinitely -more use to me in my after life. I could ride, fish, -shoot, fence, box, or row as well as most men, and, -though I was slight, I was tall and strong, as who -would not have been leading the healthy life which -we did? -</p> - -<p> -It had never troubled me that I had no friends -of my own age. Indeed, I never had need of any, -for when I had finished for the day with Mr. Cox, -or on holidays—which came not unfrequently—my -father was always ready to do anything I desired; -and what better companion could I have had? He -was a better shot and a far better fencer than I, and, -at a distance, no one would have taken him for more -than my elder brother. He was over six feet in -height, and as slim and upright as a dart. His slight -moustaches and hair were, indeed, grey, but they -were the only signs of age, save, perhaps a weary, -troubled look which sometimes came into his face -and dwelt there for days. But a good hand-gallop -or an hour or two shooting from a boat round the -coombe, used generally to drive that away; and -then his blue eyes would flash as eagerly and his -interest in the sport would be as strong as ever mine -was. But, though we were out in all weathers, -sometimes for the whole day together, it seemed as -though neither sun nor wind could do more than -very slightly tan his clear, delicate skin; and his -hands, although they were as tenacious and strong -as a bargeman's, remained almost as white and -shapely as a lady's. I used to think him the -handsomest man in the world, and I have certainly never -seen a handsomer. To be told that I was growing -like him was to make me supremely happy—and -people often told me so in those days. -</p> - -<p> -No wonder that I grew to love him with more -even than an ordinary filial love. The ties between -us were so various, that it would have been strange -had it not been so. To the love of a son for his -father, was added the love which springs from -constant companionship whilst engaged with kindred -tastes in following a common object. My mother, -too, claimed a large share of my affection, and so -did Marian, my sister. But neither of them came -anywhere near him in my heart. -</p> - -<p> -I was not of a speculative nature, but gradually -it had begun to dawn upon me that we were -somehow different from other people—that there -must be some reason for the absolute and unbroken -solitude in which we lived, and the events of the -last two days had now made this certain. "The -boy must be told." What was it that I must be -told? I had thought that I should have known -this very evening, for just as I was going to bed -my father had called me to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh," he had said kindly, "you were saying -something last night about never having been away -from this place. You were quite right. You must -not live here always. There has been a reason, a -very grave reason, for our having lived here so long -and in such solitude. You must be told that -reason." -</p> - -<p> -I could see that he was agitated, and a vague -yet strong sense of trouble filled me. -</p> - -<p> -"Do not tell me now, father," I cried; "do not -tell me at all if it distresses you. I will ask no -more questions. I will be content to live on here -always as we are doing now." -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head slowly. -</p> - -<p> -"No, Hugh, my boy, you must be told. It is -my duty to tell you. But not to-night. I have -gone through enough to-day," and he sighed. -</p> - -<p> -I thought of that terrible scene on the moor, of -my father's wild words and passionate action, and -I asked him no questions. But when I left him for -the night and went to bed, there was in my heart -a strong sense of some approaching trouble. I -tossed about from side to side in my bed till sleep -became hopeless. Then I rose, and, hastily putting -on my clothes, slipped out of the house. -</p> - -<p> -Even outside I found it warm and oppressive. -The sky was black with clouds, and without the -moon's softening light the sea looked sullen and -uninviting. The air seemed heavy, and, even -when I stood on the headland after half-an-hour's -climbing, there was no cool breeze to reward me, -and, though I had thought myself hard and in good -condition, the perspiration came streaming from -every pore in my body, and I found myself panting -for breath. -</p> - -<p> -I stood upright, and tried to look around me, but -everything was wrapped in a thick pall of darkness. -I had never known so dark a night, and, after -standing there for a moment or two, I grew afraid -to move lest I should make a false step. To the -right of me I could hear the wind moaning amongst -the pine-trees of Allercombe Wood, which the -slightest breeze, when in a certain direction, always -seemed to cause, and, many hundred feet below, -there was the roar of the sea, unusually loud for -such a quiet night, as it swept round the sharp -corners of the headland. -</p> - -<p> -Never had I stood there before on such a night, -or with such a heavy heart. I wished that I had -not come, and yet I was afraid to go. The -darkness had closed in upon me till I could almost -feel it, and knowing that a single step in the wrong -direction might cost me my life, I dared not move. -Suddenly the heaviness of the atmosphere was -explained. The sky above me seemed to be rent -aside to let out a great blaze of vivid light which -flashed, glittering and fiercely brilliant, right across -the arc of the heavens, sinking at last into the -horizon of the sea, which it showed me for a moment -with a lurid light, green and disturbed. Almost -on its heels came the thunder, and I trembled as I -listened. It seemed as if the hills were one by one -splitting open with a great crash all around me, -and the ground on which I stood shook. Again -the lightning was scattered all over the inky sky, -giving me ghastly peeps at sections of the patch-worky -landscape below, and once it flashed down -the conductor of Porlock steeple, showing me the -little town as distinctly as I had ever seen it. A -gale sprung up with marvellous suddenness; the -moaning of the pine-trees became an angry shrieking, -and the roar of the sea far away below became -a deafening thunder. Black clouds and grey mists -came rolling along, sometimes enveloping me, and -sometimes passing so close above my head that I -could feel their moisture, and, by stretching out -my hand, could almost have touched them. Every -now and then above the storm I could hear the -piteous bleating of the mountain sheep, as they -rushed frantically about seeking in vain for shelter -which the bare hillside could not afford them. -For the rain was coming down in sheets, blinding, -driving sheets, and already the swollen mountain -streams were making themselves heard above all -the din, as they swept down into the Porlock valley. -</p> - -<p> -Before the storm had even commenced to die -away I had thrown myself face downwards on the -wet grass, and was praying. A strange idea had -flashed into my mind, and had suddenly become a -conviction. This storm had somehow associated -itself in my mind with the sudden sense of gloomy -depression which had laid hold of me, and driven -me out into the black night. As one ended, so -would the troubles which the other foretold. It was -a strange idea, but it was stranger still what a -mastery it gained over me. I dared not look up -lest I should still see a threatening sky and an -angry see. If such had been the case, I am -convinced that I should have been strongly tempted -to have thrown myself from the cliffs into the arms -of certain death. But when at last I summoned -up courage to rise, and gaze fearfully around, it -was a very different sight upon which my eyes -dwelt. So strangely different that at first it seemed -almost as though the hideous storm which had been -raging so short a while ago must surely have been -a wild nightmare. The dark line of the Exmoor -hills was betopped with a gorgeous bank of -rosy-coloured clouds, and the sun which had just escaped -from them was shining down from a clear sky, -gilding and transforming the whole landscape like -some great magician. The white cottages of -Porlock seemed basking in its pleasant warmth, -whilst the fields between it and the sea seemed to -be stretching themselves out smiling and refreshed. -Here and there, scattered about amongst them, and -on the white sands, were long sparkling streaks of -silver, which bore witness of the violence of the -rainfall; and the tops of the pine-trees, amongst -which the wind was no longer playing strange -pranks, seemed encrusted with a glittering mass -of diamonds, which shot forth their rays in every -direction; and strangest of all seemed the altered -aspect of the sea. It stretched away below me like -a great lake, with only the gentlest ripple disturbing -its placid surface, a mighty playground for myriads -of dancing, sparkling sunbeams to revel and disport -themselves upon. Never had I seen the hills so -green or the sea such an exquisite deep, clear blue. -Everything seemed to speak of peace and calm and -happiness after suffering. It struck an answering -chord in my heart, and I could have cried out with -joy. The hideous depression seemed rolled away -from me, and I could breathe freely again. My -spirits leaped up within me, and I threw my hat -into the air and shouted for joy till Allercombe -Wood rang with the echoes. Then I turned away -and strode down the narrow winding path, suddenly -conscious that I was stiff and wet and tired. If I -had known then when and how I should next stand -on Bossington Point, should I ever have come -down? I cannot tell. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VI -<br /> -AN INTERRUPTED ADDRESS -</h3> - -<p> -Imagine a long, bare-looking apartment with -white-washed walls and generally cheerless appearance, in -one corner of which had been pushed aside black -boards, piles of maps, and other evidences of the -school-room. Seated on benches which reached to -the entrance door was a very fair sprinkling of the -Porlock labourers and tradespeople, whose healthy -red faces were shining with soap and expectation, -and whose whole appearance denoted a lively and -creditable desire to be enlightened on the very -important subject which they had come to hear -discussed. If any one was interested in the land -question surely they were, for they all lived either -upon it or by it, except a few whose nautical garb -betrayed another occupation, and whose presence -was the subject of a great dead of good-humoured -chaff before the proceedings opened. -</p> - -<p> -"Eh, Bill," cried one of the land toilers whom I -knew well, for he worked at Farmer Smith's up at -Bossington, "what dost want know about t'land, -eh? This'll noa teach thee to catch fishes." -</p> - -<p> -"Never thee moind aboot that, Joe," was the -good-humoured answer, "we want noabody to -teach us how to catch fish, we don't. I ha' come -t' hear what the bloke from Minehead's got to -zay 'bout you poor de'ils o' landsmen just out o' -curiosity like." -</p> - -<p> -"Coom, Bill, I like that," returned the first -speaker. "Poor de'ils, indeed! Bean't we as -well off as you vishers, eh!" -</p> - -<p> -"Noa, of course you bean't. How can yer be -when every voot of land yer tread on belongs to -your maesters? Why, we can go sailing away -vor days on the zea, lads, and we've as much roight -theer as any voine gentleman in his steam yacht. -T' zea belongs to us zall, yer zee, and we as goes -vishing ha' got as much roight theer as any one. -I reckon we've got the best o' you landsmen theer, -eh, Bill. Ha, ha, ha!" -</p> - -<p> -To my deep regret this interesting discussion -was here brought to a sudden termination by the -appearance of my father, the lecturer, and the -committee upon the platform. Instantly there -was a deep silence, for country audiences, in that -respect, are far better bred than town ones, in the -midst of which my father, in a few kindly, -well-chosen words, introduced the lecturer to them. -</p> - -<p> -When he resumed his chair there was a burst -of applause (Devonshire men are generous with -their hands and feet), at the conclusion of which -the lecturer, a retired linen-draper from Minehead, -stepped forward. Of course his doing so was the -signal for another little round of cheering, during -which he stood rustling his papers about, edging -down his cuffs, and making desperate efforts to -appear at his ease, which he most certainly was -not. At last he made a start, and in less than -five minutes I found myself devoutly wishing that -he would look sharp and finish. The land question -may be an immensely interesting one—no doubt -it is; but when it consists in having long strings -of depressing statistics hurled mercilessly at you -by a nervous little ex-vendor of calico, who made -a point of dropping his h's, you can very soon -have enough of it. Before long I saw my father -politely stifle a yawn—a piece of delicacy which -I, not being upon the platform, did not think -it necessary to imitate. The audience behaved -admirably. The painful efforts written on the -faces of most of them to appear intelligently -interested were quite affecting, and at exactly the -proper moments they never failed to bring in a -little encouraging applause. I'm quite sure there -wasn't one of them who understood a word of what -the man was saying, but they were evidently -charitably inclined to put this down to their own -stupidity rather than to the incompetence of the -lecturer. -</p> - -<p> -He had been droning on for about half-an-hour, -when a slight commotion caused by the noisy -entrance of some late-comers led me to turn my -head. Instantly my spirits rose, for I foresaw a -row. The new-comers were all Luccombe men, -and between the men of Luccombe and the men -of Porlock there existed a deadly enmity. They -were rivals in sport and also in politics, for whilst -Luccombe boasted a Radical club, Porlock was -distinctly Conservative. The arrival of these -Luccombites, therefore, was most promising, for -they certainly had not come out of compliment to -their neighbours, and I took an early opportunity -of changing my seat for one nearer the back of the -room, so as to be in the fun in case there should -be any. -</p> - -<p> -It certainly seemed as though something would -come of it. There were several strangers amongst -the new-comers, and one of them in particular -attracted my attention. He was a big, white-faced -man, with continually blinking eyes and stupid, -vacuous face, and every now and then he gave -vent to his feelings by a prolonged animal cry -which afforded the most exquisite amusement to -his companions, and never failed to produce the -utmost consternation in the lecturer's startled face. -I don't know why it was so, but I took a violent -dislike to that man the moment I saw him. He -was so ugly, so like an animal, besides which -he was evidently half drunk. He seemed of a -different species altogether to the broad-shouldered, -ruddy-faced, good-humoured Devonshire men by -whom he was surrounded, and a very inferior -species too. -</p> - -<p> -After a while my attention was distracted from -him to the other Luccombites, who were evidently -bent upon breaking up the meeting. The lecturer -was by no means the sort of man to defy the -uproar, and insist upon finishing what he had to -say. After a very mild protest, the meekness of -which caused a howl of derision from the peace-breakers, -he brought his lecture to an abrupt close -and sat down. -</p> - -<p> -Then my father rose, and spoke a few stern -reproving words which had an infinitely better -effect. But I was too occupied in watching the -extraordinary behaviour of the white-faced man -from Luccombe to listen to them. He had half -risen to his feet, and was leaning over the back of -one of the benches with his eyes and mouth wide -open, staring with a stupidly-bewildered look at -my father. Suddenly he turned round to his -companions. -</p> - -<p> -"Say, lads, should you like to see me shut that -joker up?" -</p> - -<p> -I felt hot with indignation, but I kept still. -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, Jack, or Thomas, or whatever your name -is," answered one of the Luccombites, "give him a -cock-a-doodle-do." -</p> - -<p> -The man smiled an ugly, sickly smile. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll do better nor that," he muttered. "Listen, -you 'ere," and, leaning forward, he shouted out -one word at the top of his voice—"Yah! coward!" -</p> - -<p> -I saw my father reel backwards as though he -were shot, and the word he was uttering died away -upon his lips. For a moment I hesitated whether -to rush to him or at the man who had yelled out -that word. But one glance at his ugly, triumphant -face decided me. With two rapid strides I was -across the room, and my hand was on his collar. -</p> - -<p> -"Come on!" I shouted, "come along!" -</p> - -<p> -He turned his fishy eyes up at me in amazement. -</p> - -<p> -"What d'ye want? What d'ye mean?" he -called out. "Let me go, you young cub, you! -You're choking me." -</p> - -<p> -"I'll do worse than choke you before I've done," -I cried, passionately. "Come outside and fight, -you great beast," and I dragged him half across -the floor, for he was striving to free himself and -shaking like a jelly-fish. -</p> - -<p> -The audience had sat quite still in their places -until now, only half realising what was going on. -But at my words it seemed suddenly to dawn upon -them, and they crowded around us with a full -appreciation of my intended action. -</p> - -<p> -"Let him be, Maester Hugh; we'll bring him -along," they cried heartily, for there was not one -whom I did not know. "We won't let him go, -no fear. Who be 'e to call Maester Arbuthnot -names?" -</p> - -<p> -The man whom I jealously released shook himself -sulkily and slouched along in the middle of the -crowd towards the door. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't want to be let go," he sneered. "If -the boy wants a whipping I'll give it 'im. Most -like he's a coward like his father though, and won't -stand up to it." -</p> - -<p> -My blood was boiling, but I would not answer; -there were others to speak for me, though. -</p> - -<p> -"You'd best keep that d—— tongue of yours -fro' wagging in yer ugly mouth," cried Jim Holmes -the blacksmith. "The lad's i' the right to stand -up for his father, and, boy or no boy, he's like to -make a jelly-bag o' you. Bring him on to the -green, lads." -</p> - -<p> -They brought him on to the green, and quickly -formed a ring. The policeman, who was present -as a delighted spectator, and who never dreamt of -interfering, was good enough to hold my coat and -waistcoat, whilst my adversary, unable to find any -one willing to perform the same kind office for -him, had to deposit his on the ground. He seemed -in no hurry to declare himself ready, but at last -the word was given, and we stood face to face. -Even then he held up his hand for a minute's -longer grace, and stared at me as though I were a -ghost. -</p> - -<p> -"My God!" he muttered to himself, "it's Mr. Herbert's -own self! It's just as he looked at me -in the tent;" and he stared at me as though -frightened, yet fascinated. -</p> - -<p> -Then we began. Of course I am not going to -describe the fight. If we had been alone I should -probably have killed him. As it was, they held -me off by sheer force when they thought that he -had had enough, and there was life still in him -when I turned away, followed by an enthusiastic -little crowd. But not much. -</p> - -<p> -I went straight to the school-room. It was -deserted, and the gas was turned down. From -one of the loiterers outside I heard that my father -had gone home, and hastily bidding good-night to -the little crowd who still hung about my heels, I -followed in the same direction. -</p> - -<p> -I had thought that I should have overtaken my -father, and at every turn of the lane I looked -forward to catching sight of him. But I was -disappointed, and when I at last reached home -without having done so, I began to feel nervously -uneasy. I did not at once enter the house, but -looked in at the window. My mother and Marian -were alone, working. I looked through into the -hall. Neither his hat nor coat were there. He -could not have yet returned. And when I realised -this I stepped back on to the lawn, pale and -shivering, for a horrible foreboding had laid hold of me. -What could have become of him? Where could -he have gone? I could not imagine, I dared not -conjecture. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VII -<br /> -"I AM TOLD" -</h3> - -<p> -"Maester Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -I had been leaning against a tree on the lawn, -afraid to enter the house, yet knowing that there -was nothing else for me to do. At the sound of a -voice close to my elbow I turned quickly round, -and found myself face to face with our solitary -man-servant, a raw country yokel with the garb -and manners of a ploughboy. -</p> - -<p> -"Maester Hugh, dost thee want t' master?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, William, have you seen him?" I cried. -</p> - -<p> -"That I have, Maester Hugh, and it zeemed to -me that he had gone off 'is chump like. He coom -down the lane 'bait quater of an hour ago, and -insteat o' cooming t' house, blamed if he didna turn -in at Varmer Zmith's gate, and be a gone up theer," -and the boy pointed to the dark outline of the -headland which towered up above us. -</p> - -<p> -I sprang away from him, over the low wall, and -up the steep winding path, with a reckless speed -which frightened William out of the very few wits -with which nature had endowed him, and bereft -him of all words. I had but one idea, to get to the -top as quickly as possible, and but one hope, that I -might find him there when I arrived. I was a -trained climber, and I did that night what I had -never done before—I forsook the path and clambered -right up the precipitous side of the hill, helping -myself with hands and feet, heedless that a slip -must cost me my life, and between my short, quick -gasps for breath faltering out a prayer that I might -be in time. -</p> - -<p> -It was granted. As I reached the last ridge, and -swung myself on to the summit, grasping with my -bleeding hands a friendly heather bush, I saw my -father kneeling on the ground close to the edge of -the cliff, with his coat and hat thrown on one side, -and his arms stretched out to the sea. In a moment -I was beside him, and as my hand descended on -his shoulder and closed upon him with a firm grasp, -I drew a long sigh of relief. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, what does all this mean?" I cried. -"What are you doing here? Thank God that I -have found you!" -</p> - -<p> -He started as though he were shot, and tried to -shrink away from me. But I would have none of -it. I dropped on my knees by his side, and locked -my arm in his. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, tell me all about it," I pleaded. "Something -terrible happened a long while ago, and that -man who was there to-night knew about it. Am I -not right? Tell me all about it; I am not afraid -to hear." -</p> - -<p> -He shivered from head to foot, and his face -looked ghastly cold. I reached out my hand for -his coat, and made him put it on. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my poor boy, I had meant to tell you -this, but I never dreamt that this would come. -I thought that I was safe here—away from every one." -</p> - -<p> -"Let me know it," I begged. -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, listen. When I was not much older than -you are, I entered the army." -</p> - -<p> -I could not keep back the exclamation which rose -to my lips. Had I not always thought that he had -been a soldier? -</p> - -<p> -"At my first battle I unwisely deserted my post -to save the life of the man whom we saw on Exmoor -last night, and whose servant was at the meeting -this evening. After the fighting was over I was -charged with running away. I thought lightly of -it, and appealed at once to the man whose life I -had saved to come forward and clear me. He came -forward with his servant, but, to my horror, they -both deliberately perjured themselves. They swore -that they had only seen me running away, and I -was found guilty, guilty of cowardice—was cashiered, -ruined disgraced for life, and, but for your mother, -I should have killed myself." -</p> - -<p> -The tears were swimming in my eyes, and I -tightened my grasp upon his arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, why did he do it?" -</p> - -<p> -He sprang to his feet, his eyes ablaze with fury -and his voice shaking— -</p> - -<p> -"That he might oust me from my home and my -father's heart—the cur—and take my position. We -were half-brothers, and I was the elder. My father -loved me and cared little for Rupert. He was -jealous,—ah! I can see it all now,—and seized this -opportunity of ruining me and getting rid of me -for ever. He succeeded. Every one believed me -guilty. My father turned me out of the house, -bade me change my name, and forget that I was a—one -of a noble family. From, that day to this I -have never looked upon his face or seen my old -home. Your mother alone believed in me, refused -to desert me, and, but for that, I must have died. -Oh, God, it has been cruel!" -</p> - -<p> -He covered his face with his hands, and great -sobs burst from him. My heart was beating with -a passionate pity, but I could not tell how to -comfort him. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, you know that I do not believe this -thing," I cried. "Tell me the name of the man -who has sworn to this wicked lie." -</p> - -<p> -"The same as your own and mine. Devereux. -Rupert Devereux. Curse him! On his head be -the sin of this thing, if sin there be! Good-bye, -my boy; good-bye, Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -He had made a sudden movement to the edge of -the cliff, and it was only by a stupendous effort that -I caught hold of him in time. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, what would you do?" I cried. "Are -you mad?" -</p> - -<p> -I caught hold of him by the waist, and dragged -him back from his perilous position. He submitted -without protesting—without speech of any sort. -Looking into his face a great fear came upon me. -Were my words prophetic, and was he indeed going -mad? There was a dreamy, far-away look in his -glazed eyes, a look which frightened me more than -a wilder one would have done, and his face was like -the face of a corpse. Then, with a deep groan, his -knees would have given way from under him, but -that I still held him up. He was unconscious. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VIII -<br /> -"MY VOW" -</h3> - -<p> -How we reached home that night I could never -exactly tell. I know that I half carried, half -supported him down the narrow path, and at last -managed to reach the door of our house. But it -was no easy task, and for some minutes I stood -there panting and exhausted before I could bring -myself to summon any one. Then my mother, who -had been sitting up anxiously, heard us, and came -hurrying out full of eager inquiries. But I had no -strength left to answer her, and when she saw my -father's state she ceased her questioning, for she -knew at once what had happened. -</p> - -<p> -For three whole days and nights he was only -partially conscious. Then he fell into a heavy -sleep, which the doctor whom we had summoned -from Minehead assured us was his salvation; and -so it turned out, for on the fourth day he recovered -consciousness, and within a week he was up, and -looked much as usual, save for the worn, troubled -look in his eyes, and the deeper lines on his -forehead. -</p> - -<p> -On the first afternoon when he was allowed to -talk, my mother was alone with him for several -hours. Then she came out, and fetched me in from -the garden and took me to him. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy," he said slowly, looking up -from his desk, "we are making our plans for the -future. We are going to leave here at once." -</p> - -<p> -I was not surprised, and I was certainly not -displeased. For although I loved our country home -and the quaint homely people by whom we were -surrounded, I could never look upon Bossington -Headland again without a shudder, when I -remembered how nearly it had witnessed a terrible -tragedy. -</p> - -<p> -"Your mother and I thought of travelling abroad -for a while," he went on. "I shall never be able -to settle down anywhere again. But with you it is -different. You ought to go to college and choose a -profession. Whether you do so or not must depend -upon one thing. I myself shall never resume the -name which I am supposed to have disgraced, but -if you choose to do so there is nothing to prevent -you. You will have to bear a certain amount of -odium, but it is not every one who will visit my -disgrace upon you. You will be poor, but although -my father will never leave either of us a penny he -cannot prevent the title coming to me, and eventually -to you. The entailed estates which go with -the title are very small, and I hear that he has -purposely mortgaged them up to the hilt, so that -nothing should ever come to me from them. But -if you choose to bear your rightful name you will -claim a place amongst one of the oldest and most -honourable families in the country, you can go to -college, and somehow or other we will find the -money to start you in one of the professions, but -not in the army." -</p> - -<p> -"And if I choose to bear still the name I have -always done?" -</p> - -<p> -"Then you will not be able to go to college, or -to enter any of the professions," my father -answered. "You can do neither under an assumed -name." -</p> - -<p> -I walked up and down the room for a minute or -two thinking. My mind was soon made up. -</p> - -<p> -"I will not bear any name that you do not," I -declared, firmly. "If my grandfather thinks that -you are not worthy to bear the name of Devereux, -neither will I, unless the time shall come when he -and the whole world shall know the truth, and you -shall take your name again: I will never call myself -anything else but Hugh Arbuthnot." -</p> - -<p> -My father stretched out his hand, and looked up -at me with glistening eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Spoken like a man, Hugh," he said. "God -grant that that day may come!" -</p> - -<p> -"Amen!" I added, fervently. "And come it shall!" -</p> - -<p> -But I did not tell him then the resolve which I -had grafted into my heart, I did not tell him then -that I had sworn to myself that I would roll this -cloud away from his name, even if I wrung the -confession from my uncle's dying lips, and if -success should be denied to me, I would, at least, find -some means of bringing down retribution on the -head of the man who had wrecked and embittered -my father's life. By fair means or foul I would -gain my end. At eighteen years old I devoted and -consecrated my life to this purpose. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IX -<br /> -AN UNEXPECTED VISIT -</h3> - -<p> -During the next four years of my life there -happened to me not one single incident worth recording. -Our home had been broken up, and we had left -Devonshire for ever. My father and mother were -living abroad at a small country town in the south -of France, Marian was at a boarding-school at -Weymouth, and I—I was articled clerk to a very -respectable firm of land agents and surveyors in -Exeter. -</p> - -<p> -To say that I was contented would be false, but, -on the other hand, I was not absolutely miserable. -The out-of-door life suited me, and I did -not find the work unpleasant. But apart from that -I was by no means satisfied. Day and night I -carried with me the pale, unhappy face of my poor -father, his proud spirit continually being lashed -and mortified by the disgrace which falsely rested -upon him. I thought of him wandering about in -a foreign country, exiled from his proper place in -the world, from the society of his fellows, from all -things which men of his kind most esteem. I -thought of him bearing always in his mind those -cruel words of his father's, "Out of my house and -out of my heart," and it seemed to me a disgrace -that I should be leading a humdrum life in a quiet -country town, instead of throwing all my heart -and energies into the task which I had placed -before me as a sacred mission. But how was I to -commence it? The combined income of my father -and mother was barely four hundred a year, out of -which I received one hundred, besides a trifling -salary, which, however, was soon to be increased. -Out of this I had been able to save a little, but not -much. Nothing which would be of the slightest -service to me in commencing such a task as I had -in view. And so I did not see what move I could -possibly make in the matter which was nearest to -my heart, although my present inaction was irksome, -at times almost unbearably irksome, to me. -</p> - -<p> -One night I was working late in my little -sitting-room copying some plans, when I heard steps on -the stairs and the door was quietly opened. I -looked up in some surprise, for I never had visitors, -and my landlady would scarcely have entered -without knocking. But when I saw who it was -standing on the threshold I dropped my compasses and -sprang up with an eager, welcoming cry. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy!" and our hands were locked -in a close grasp. Then all of a sudden the joy of -this unexpected meeting was dispelled, and my -heart sank cold within me. For from head to foot -he was clothed in the deepest mourning, and the -tears were standing in his hollow eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Something has happened!" I exclaimed, in a -low voice. "Tell me! Mother——" -</p> - -<p> -"Is dead!" -</p> - -<p> -Then he sank down upon my hard little horsehair -sofa, and covered his face with his hands, and I -waited patiently, though with an aching heart, for -surely his sorrow was greater than mine. -</p> - -<p> -Presently he told me more—told me how she -had caught a fever at a poor "ouvrier's" cottage, -which had never been looked upon as serious until -too late; and how she would not have either -Marian or me sent for when she knew that she was -dying, but had written us each a dying message, -and had made him promise to bring the sad news -to us himself, and not trust it to a letter. But -all this has little to do with my story, so I pass it -briefly over. -</p> - -<p> -He had told me all that there was to tell, and -then I ventured to speak to him of the future. I -had hoped that he would have settled down in -England somewhere with Marian and me, but it -was a hope which he very soon dispelled. -</p> - -<p> -"Your mother's death," he said, in a low tone -when I first began to hint at my desire, "has left -me free. I shall look to you to make a home for -Marian, and I shall make over to you for that -purpose three-quarters of my income. For myself I -can never live in England. There is one place, and -one place only, which I could call home, and there -I cannot go. My life has been for a long time too -sedentary a one to be pleasing to me. I am a man -of action, and I can never forget that I was once a -soldier. I must go where there is fighting." -</p> - -<p> -His words were a blow to me, and for a moment -or two I did not answer him. My heart was too -hot for words, full of a burning indignation against -the cruel slander which was sapping away his life. -Notwithstanding the weary look in his eyes, and -his wrinkled brow, he was still the finest-looking -man I had ever, or ever have, seen. Handsome -after the highest type of the patrician Englishman. -He was tall, and though slight, magnificently -shaped, with long, firm limbs and stately carriage. -His features, though powerful and strongly defined, -were delicately carved and of the most refined -type, and though his hair and moustache were -greyer even than when he had left Devonshire, he -was still in the prime of life. There was the <i>je ne -sais quoi</i> of a soldier about him, the air of -command and military bearing. And yet there was -nothing better for him to do with his life than go -and throw it away amongst foreigners, fighting in -a cause for which he could care nothing, and which -glory and patriotism, the highest incentives of the -soldier, could never make dear to him. -</p> - -<p> -A curse upon that uncle of mine! I would have -uttered it out loud, but for fear of raising a storm -which I should not be able to quell. So I breathed it -to myself, savagely, and none the less emphatically. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me go with you, father," I begged, "I am -sick of this humdrum life, and I cannot bear to -think of you going wandering about the world by -yourself; I can fight, and could soon learn the drill." -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head—not vigorously, but decisively. -</p> - -<p> -"It is good of you to want to come, Hugh," he -said, kindly, "but it is quite out of the question. -You have your sister to look after, and besides," he -added, with a smile, "I do not think my career as -a soldier of fortune will be a long one." -</p> - -<p> -"Father, don't talk like that!" I cried, passionately. -"They say that some time or other truth -will always out, and I believe it! I believe that -the day will come when your innocence will be -made clear!" -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head dejectedly, but not without -emotion. -</p> - -<p> -"Little hope of that," he said, with a deep sigh. -"Two men alone amongst the living know the -truth about that day, and, having once perjured -themselves, they are not likely to recant." -</p> - -<p> -"And those two are my uncle Rupert and his -servant. What was the servant's name?" -</p> - -<p> -"John Hilton, the man who was at the meeting -at Porlock," my father answered, with a shudder -at the recollection of that terrible night. "There -was one other man who might have cleared me; -but, as fate would have it, when I appealed for his -evidence it was discovered that his name was on -the missing list. He was either killed or taken -prisoner." -</p> - -<p> -</p> - -<p> -</p> - -<p> -</p> - -<p> -"Who was he?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Sergeant Fenwick. Without doubt he was -killed, or he would have been delivered over to -us at the peace. No, unless Rupert confesses, and -one might as well expect the heavens to fall in, I -shall die dishonoured and nameless," my father -concluded, bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -I stood up and drew a long breath. -</p> - -<p> -"Father," I cried in a low, intense tone, "have -you never felt that you must seek out this hound -of a brother of yours, and hold him by the throat -until he has confessed, or until the breath is gone -out of his body? I should feel like that! I should -want to stand face to face with him and wring the -truth from his lying lips." -</p> - -<p> -My father's eyes were sparkling, and his whole -frame quivering with compressed excitement. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, Hugh, I have felt like that," he cried, -"many and many a time. Do you remember the -night when we met him on the moor near -Dunkerry? If I had been alone that night I should -have killed him. I know that I should. It is for -that reason that I dare not seek him out. If I -heard him utter that lie again, if I saw in his eyes -one gleam of pity for me whose life he has -hopelessly wrecked, no power on earth could keep me -from strangling him, and so I do not seek to meet -him. But if chance throws him in my way again, -when we are alone, God have mercy on him and me!" -</p> - -<p> -There was a long silence between us. Then I -asked him further questions about his present -plans. -</p> - -<p> -"You must not think me unkind, Hugh," he said -gently, "but mine is a very flying visit. I cannot -breathe in this country. It chokes me! Everything -reminds me so of home! To-night, in half-an-hour's -time," he added, taking out his watch, "I -leave here for Weymouth to see Marian. To-morrow -afternoon I leave England, most likely for ever." -</p> - -<p> -I tried entreaties, remonstrances, reproaches, but -they were all in vain. He shook his head to all. -</p> - -<p> -"I have called at London on my way here," he -said, interrupting me in the midst of my appeal, -"and have made over my account at Smith's to -you. Here is the pass-book and a cheque-book. -Mr. Malcolm, of 18, Bucklersbury, is my solicitor, -and will pay you three hundred a year. If at any -time you desire to re-invest the capital you can do -so, for it stands in your name. Hugh, God knows -it is my bitter sorrow that I can leave you nothing -better than a tarnished name. But remember this: -I believe that if you were to go to your grandfather, -and tell him who you were, and that I had left -England with a vow never to return, I believe then -that he would receive you, and would make you -his heir. So that——" -</p> - -<p> -"Father, what do you take me for?" I interrupted, -passionately. "I will live and die Hugh -Arbuthnot, unless you before me bear the name -and title of the Devereuxs. Can you imagine that -I would seek out my grandfather and crave his -recognition, whilst you were wandering about in -miserable exile excluded from it? Father, you -cannot think so meanly of me." -</p> - -<p> -He held out his hand without speaking, but the -gesture was in itself enough. Then he drew out -his watch, and rose. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy, good-bye, and God bless you! -Where I am going I cannot tell you, for I do not -know myself. But I will write, and if at any time -you have news for me and do not know my address, -put an advertisement in the <i>Times</i>. Take care of -Marian—and—and God bless you." -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -He was gone, and save a dull, gnawing pain at -my heart, and the letter which lay on the table -before me, there was nothing to remind me of his -recent presence. All through the long hours of -the night I sat in my chair with my head buried -in my hands, and—I see no shame in confessing -it—many passionate tears falling on to my spoilt -plans. Then, when the grey streaks of dawn -commenced to rise in the eastern sky, and throw a -ghastly light into my sitting-room, in which the -gas was still burning, I fell into a drowsy sleep. -When I awoke the sun was shining in a clear sky, -and the cathedral bells were chiming the hour. -It was eight o'clock. -</p> - -<p> -I stood up half dazed. Then my eyes fell upon -the letter which still lay before me, and I -remembered with a cold chill all that had happened. I -stretched out my hand for it, and tore it open. -</p> - -<p> -The handwriting was weak and straggling, and -the words were few; but I held it reverently, for it -was a message from the dead. -</p> - -<p> -"Farewell, my dearest Hugh, for before this -reaches you I shall be dead. Take care of Marian -always, and be good to her. With my last strength, -Hugh, I am tracing these words to lay upon you -a solemn charge. Your father is dying slowly of a -broken heart. Year after year I have watched him -grow more and more unhappy, as the memory of -this cruel dishonour seems to grow keener and -bitterer. He is pining away for the love of his old -home, his father, and the name which he was once -so proud to bear. Oh, Hugh, let it be your task, -however impossible it may seem, to bring the truth -to light, and clear his name and your own. Hugh, -this is my dying prayer to you. With my last -strength I write these words, and I shall die at -peace, because I know that you will bear them ever -in your heart, and carry them on with you to the -end. Farewell! My strength is going fast, and -my eyes are becoming dim. But thank God that I -have been able to finish this letter. Farewell, -Hugh!—From your loving MOTHER." -</p> - -<p> -Word by word I read it steadfastly through to -the end, and then, my heart throbbing with the -fire of a great purpose, I threw open the window -and looked out. Below me stretched the fair city -of Devon, smiling and peaceful, basking in the -early morning sunshine, and the air around was -still ringing with the music of the cathedral chimes. -Little it all matched with my mood, for my whole -being was vibrating with an agony of hate, and -with the fervour of a great resolution. With the -letter clutched in my hands, I stretched them forth -to the blue, cloudless sky, and swore an oath so -fearful and blasphemous that the memory of it even -now makes me shudder. But I kept it, and thank -God, <i>without sin</i>. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER X -<br /> -THE FIRST MOVE -</h3> - -<p> -My first plans were not easy to form. I was like -a blind man groping for some object which has -slipped from his fingers, and not knowing in which -direction to search for it first. I had a great and -solemn purpose before me, a purpose which was my -first consideration in life, and which nothing but -death would cause me to relinquish. But I did not -know how to start upon it. -</p> - -<p> -I was in London when the idea occurred to me, -save for which this story might never have been -written. It was simple enough, and very vague. -Nothing more or less than to try to procure -employment near the Devereux estates, which I -knew were somewhere in Yorkshire. -</p> - -<p> -My idea was no sooner conceived than I put it -into operation. I went to the firm of agents to -whom my late employers had given me a letter of -introduction, and inquired whether they knew of -any vacancy in Yorkshire, either in a land agent's -office or on an estate. One of the clerks ran -through a long list, and shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing so far north," he declared, shutting up -the book. "Two or three in Leicestershire, if that -would do." -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head, and, thanking him, turned -away disappointed. At the door he called me back -as though a sudden thought had struck him. -</p> - -<p> -"Just wait one moment, will you?" he said, -jumping down from his stool. "There was a letter -from Yorkshire this morning which I haven't seen -yet. I'll fetch it from the governor's room and see -what it's about." -</p> - -<p> -I took a seat, and he vanished into the inner -office. Presently he reappeared smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Lucky thing I noticed the postmark of this -letter," he remarked. "Strikes me it's just what -you want. Listen," and he read it out: -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -"'Devereux Court, Yorkshire. -</p> - -<p> -"'Colonel Sir Francis Devereux——" -</p> - -<p> -"Hullo! what's the matter with you?" he broke -off suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -I mastered myself with a quick effort. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm all right," I answered, a little hoarsely. -"It's a trifle hot in here, that's all. Go on." -</p> - -<p> -He began again— -</p> - -<p> -"'Colonel Sir Francis Devereux is in want of a -young man to act under his present agent and -collaborate with him in the management of his -estate. Applicant must have some knowledge of -farming and surveying, and must be a gentleman. -Credentials and unexceptionable references required. -Salary £250 a year and a cottage, rent free.' -</p> - -<p> -"There, Mr. Arbuthnot, how would that do for you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Nothing could suit me better," I exclaimed—so -eagerly that the young man looked at me surprised. -"To whom have I to apply?" -</p> - -<p> -He consulted the letter again. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Benson, solicitor, 19, Bedford Row, has -authority to engage you. You had better go and -see him, I should think." -</p> - -<p> -I thanked him and hurried out. So nervous was -I lest some one else should precede me and secure -the better chance that I jumped into a stray hansom -and was driven straight to Mr. Benson's office. -There I was informed, to my great satisfaction, that -Mr. Benson was in, and disengaged, and in a few -minutes I was shown into his room. -</p> - -<p> -He was sitting at his desk when I entered, a -short, clean-shaven, grey-haired man, with a keen -but not unkindly face. He motioned me to a seat, -and kept his eyes fixed steadfastly upon me whilst -I explained my mission. -</p> - -<p> -When I had finished he took out a bunch of keys -from his pocket, and carefully unlocked a small -drawer in his desk. For a full minute he seemed -to be examining something there, glancing up at me -more than once. Then he took it and passed it -across the table to me. -</p> - -<p> -"Do you recognise that, Mr. Arbuthnot?" he -asked, quietly. -</p> - -<p> -Recognise it? How could I help it? It was a -photograph—and the photograph of my father. -</p> - -<p> -I leaned back in my chair, agitated and -disappointed. Mr. Benson watched me for awhile in -silence. -</p> - -<p> -"I see that you are in mourning, Mr. Devereux," -he said suddenly, noticing it for the first time. -"Your father is well, I hope?" -</p> - -<p> -I pulled myself together, and answered him— -</p> - -<p> -"I am in mourning for my mother, Mr. Benson. -I can't say that my father is well, but he is not ill -that I know of." -</p> - -<p> -The lawyer was sitting with his head resting -upon his elbow, and his eyes fixed upon the -photograph. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor Mr. Herbert—poor Mr. Herbert!" he said -to himself, in a low tone. -</p> - -<p> -Something, perhaps his sympathetic tone, -prompted me to ask him a question. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Benson, you knew my father. Do you -believe that he was a coward?" -</p> - -<p> -The lawyer looked up at once. -</p> - -<p> -"I do not," he said, firmly. "I never did, and -never will." -</p> - -<p> -The words were the sweetest I had ever heard in -my life. I jumped up with tears standing in my -eyes, and wrung his hand heartily. -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you for those words, Mr. Benson," I -exclaimed, warmly. "I can't tell you how glad I -am to hear them. But don't call me by the name -of Devereux again, please. I won't hear it, I won't -even own it." -</p> - -<p> -He nodded approvingly, but made no direct -reply. Then, in answer to his questions, I told -him as much of our history as I myself knew. -</p> - -<p> -"And with regard to your application to me, -to-day," he remarked, after a short pause, "it seems -a strange one under the circumstances." -</p> - -<p> -I hesitated, and then I told him everything—told -him of my father's breaking heart, of my mother's -last letter to me, and of my vow. He listened -patiently, and with every sign of strong interest. -</p> - -<p> -"Yours is a noble purpose," he said, when I had -concluded, "and though I fear that it is hopeless, I -shall throw no obstacle in your way. What I can -do for you I will. You can go to Devereux, and I -shall write Sir Francis, telling him that you are -admirably suited for the work, and, from my own -knowledge, that you are a gentleman. Fortunately -Sir Francis is rather near-sighted, and as he obstinately -refuses to wear glasses there is not the fear of -his recognising you that there would otherwise be. -But I'm rather afraid of Mr. Rupert. Fortunately -he's not often at Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -"I must chance all that," I declared. "After all, -a resemblance is very different from actual recognition. -I shall try to hit upon some way of altering -my appearance a little." -</p> - -<p> -"You have my best wishes for your success," -declared the lawyer, rising. "Write me, -Mr. Arbuthnot—Mr. Hugh, I may call you. I shall be -always pleased to hear how you are getting on; and -if you need advice or a friend at any time, come to -me. Good-morning." -</p> - -<p> -I left him feeling almost light-hearted. To have -met a man who believed in my father was like a -strong invigorating tonic to me. That afternoon I -telegraphed to Marian to come to me at once, and -set about making the few preparations necessary for -our expected move into Yorkshire. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XI -<br /> -COLONEL DEVEREUX'S LAND AGENT -</h3> - -<p> -As yet I have said nothing of my sister Marian. It -is necessary for me now to do so. They say that a -man can never describe or appreciate his own sister, -and, on the whole, I am not disinclined to lend -some credence to this statement. I know that -Marian was beautiful, for many people have told -me so, but to give a detailed description of her as -she was then I should find an impossible task. I -know that her beauty—prettiness always seemed -to me the more appropriate term—was of the order -evolved by the combination of a trim, shapely -figure, good features and complexion, plenty of fair -hair, and soft grey eyes (the latter a heritage from -her mother), which knew equally well how to gleam -with mischief, or to flash with a tenderer and more -dangerous light. I feel some diffidence in using the -term, but I am bound to here place on record my -conviction that when she left school and, in -obedience to my telegram, joined me in London, my -sister Marian was more or less inclined to be a -flirt. -</p> - -<p> -Of the shadow which rested upon my father's -name she knew nothing, nor did she know that the -name we bore was an assumed one, or anything -of the purpose which had induced me to fix our -temporary residence in Yorkshire. I judged her to -be of too light a nature to be trusted with a great -secret—besides, she would doubtless be happier not -knowing. -</p> - -<p> -Three days we spent together in London -making purchases and superintending the packing -up and forwarding of our few belongings. Then -there came a note from Colonel Devereux, short but -polite, intimating that the sooner I could find it -convenient to assume my new position the better. -On the next day Marian and I travelled down to -Yorkshire. -</p> - -<p> -It was dusk when we arrived at the little wayside -station at which we had been directed to alight. -Directly I had helped Marian out of the carriage, -and we stood together on the platform, a tall, -bland-looking man, dressed in the soberest black, -hurried up to us and took off his hat. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot?" -</p> - -<p> -I admitted that his surmise was correct, and -presumed that he had come from Devereux. -</p> - -<p> -"Just so, sir. Colonel Devereux desired me to -present his compliments, and if you find that the -cottage is not yet habitable, rooms can be prepared -for you at the Court." -</p> - -<p> -"Very kind, I'm sure," I answered, watching with -satisfaction our last box safely thrown out from the -van. "We're quite prepared to rough it for a day -or two, however, and I have no doubt that we shall -be able to manage. Have you brought anything -down for the luggage?" -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly, sir. Bring them this way, John," he -added to the porter, and led us through the little -booking office out into the road, where a small -shapely brougham, drawn by a pair of magnificent -dark bays, was waiting. -</p> - -<p> -"I thought it better to bring a brougham, sir," -he explained, "as the young lady might find it -chilly driving across the moor. Londoners mostly -finds it so. There's no need to wait for the luggage, -sir. The cart's here for that, and I've given -orders for them to bring it on. I'll have to intrude -upon you inside, sir, as far as the cottage, as my -master's orders is that I don't leave you until I see -you in a fair way to be comfortable. I'd have come -down on the box, but the Colonel is so mighty -particular about little things that it's more than I -dare do to let a carriage leave the yard without a -man on the box, even at night. This is Knighton, -this village, sir. From the top of the next hill -you'd be able to see a good part of Devereux Court -if it were only light enough." -</p> - -<p> -I let him talk on uninterrupted, for I was too full -of a nervous internal excitement to be able to -talk. I was amongst the scenes—in a few minutes -I should be in sight of the very house—where my -father had spent his boyhood. That thought was -enough to engross me—to drive every other from -my mind, and for once I was devoutly thankful for -Marian's ceaseless chatter, which spared me from all -necessity of speech. -</p> - -<p> -We dashed through a tiny village, and up a steep -hill. "Dashed" is rather a clap-trap word, perhaps, -but it is not far from correctly expressing the rate -of our progress. The roads were in good order, it -was not yet dark; the thoroughbred horses were -eager to get home, and quivering with impatience, -and the coachman seemed to be of the same mind. -And so I could see but very little of the country. -A heather-covered moor, varied by occasional patches -of pasture land, bordered the road on either side, -but in front things seemed to be different. I could -just distinguish the dim outline of a low range of -hills, and we seemed to be approaching a wood. -Suddenly the carriage came to a halt, but it was -only for a moment. A pair of great iron gates were -rolled open before us, and we proceeded along a -smoother road as swiftly as before. -</p> - -<p> -"Are we nearly there?" asked Marian, looking -behind at the grey stone, thatched lodges, which -were as large as moderate-sized houses. -</p> - -<p> -Colonel Devereux's servant shook his head, and -smiled in the light of his superior knowledge. -</p> - -<p> -"Bless you, no, miss; we're only just inside the -park. It's six miles from the lodge gates to the -House" (the capital may seem superfluous, but I'm -quite sure that the man meant it), "and five and a -half to the cottage." -</p> - -<p> -Marian's grey eyes were wide open in earnest now. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, dear me! Did you hear that, Hugh? -The park six miles from the house! This must be -a very big place." -</p> - -<p> -"Big!" Our companion's face grew quite -solemn in its impressiveness. "There ain't such -another place in Yorkshire, nor yet in England, -barring three. Devereux Court, to my mind, is -the finest building I ever set eyes on. Why, it's -the show place of the county, and we gets no end -of visitors from all parts to look at it." -</p> - -<p> -"Colonel Devereux is a very fortunate man," I -remarked. -</p> - -<p> -The man's manner grew a shade more confidential, -and I listened with more eagerness than I dared -show. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, he should be, sir; but I doubt whether -he thinks himself so. You see, his family ain't -turned out exactly well. He married twice, and -each wife died within two years of her marriage, and, -strangely enough, each left him a son. Of course, -when they grew up they both wanted to be soldiers. -They do say, sir, that every Devereux for twelve -generations has been a soldier. A bloodthirsty race -they must be! But, as I was saying, they both -became soldiers, and went out together in the same -regiment for their first campaign. Well, they say -that one of 'em, Mr. Herbert his name was, the -elder of the two, and the old Colonel's favourite and -heir, disgraced himself. Anyway, he was found -guilty of cowardice, and turned out of his regiment. -It very near killed the Colonel, and he's never been -the same man since. He's taken a mortal dislike -to his other son, Mr. Rupert, and, though he makes -no secret of it that he's left him all his estates -and property, he never lets him come down here -scarcely." -</p> - -<p> -"But the title! He can't leave that to his second -son," I said. "That must go to the one whom you -say disgraced himself." -</p> - -<p> -"It just that that's troubling the Colonel more -than anything," replied the man. "He says it -makes him wild to think that the title of Devereux -of Devereux must be borne by a coward, and that -his picture gallery and grand old house must go to -him, too. At times I have heard him pray that his -son may be dead, and have died childless; and yet, -hard old man though he is, it's easy to see, from -the way he talks about him sometimes, that he's as -fond of him as ever, though he'd never confess it. -But I'm afraid I'm tiring you, sir. Family histories -are not very interesting to strangers." -</p> - -<p> -To strangers! I could scarcely keep a sardonic -smile from my lips as I echoed the words in my -thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -"Not at all," I answered, as lightly as I could; -"but I was going to ask you, who is there living -with Sir Francis now?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, there's no one living regularly with him, -sir, except you count old Mrs. Platts, who really -ain't much more than a housekeeper, though I -believe she's a sort of distant connection. But, just -now, there's Miss Maud Devereux, Mr. Rupert's -daughter, and a friend of hers stopping here. Here -we are at the cottage, Mr. Arbuthnot." -</p> - -<p> -The carriage had pulled up, and a tall footman -was standing by the side of the open door. I -helped Marian out, and looked around. A little -distance in front there was a low wire fencing, and -about fifty yards further back, with a dark plantation -of fir-trees immediately behind it, was a long, -low, grey stone house, with gabled roof and -old-fashioned windows. As we approached, the door -was thrown open, and two smiling, countrified-looking -servants, with neat caps and aprons, stood -in a flood of light to welcome us. -</p> - -<p> -We stepped into the hall, and Marian and I -looked at one another in astonishment. This was -all very different to what I had expected, and my -first thought was that the few odds and ends of -furniture which I had sent down would be of very -little use in such a place as this. But our greatest -surprise was to come, for when one of our pleasant-looking -servants threw open the door of the dining-room, -the room was already furnished, and in a -fashion which, made us gaze around in astonishment. -Instead of bare boards, which we had half expected, -our feet sank into a thick Turkey carpet, and the -furniture, solid and handsomely carved, matched -the black oak panelling which skirted the walls. A -bright fire was burning in a marble grate, and the -table, covered with a snow-white cloth, and many -things more substantial, was glittering with -cut-glass, flowers, and heavy plate, on which were the -Devereux arms. -</p> - -<p> -I looked at Colonel Devereux's servant in an -amazement which seemed to amuse him immensely. -</p> - -<p> -"What has become of the furniture I sent -down?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"It is in the lumber room, sir," was the man's -quiet reply. "Colonel Devereux's strict orders -were that the place should be furnished for you -from attic to cellar, and there's furniture enough -up at the Court which no one ever sees, enough -to furnish a score of such places as this. I hope -I may say that you are satisfied, sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"Satisfied? It's quite too lovely," declared -Marian, sinking into a low chair. "Isn't it, -Hugh?" -</p> - -<p> -"Colonel Devereux has been very kind," I -assented, thoughtfully, for I was not too sure that -I was altogether pleased. -</p> - -<p> -"And I was to tell you, miss," continued the -man, backing towards the door, "that the servants -here, and also your man, sir," turning towards me, -"receive their wages from the steward. You'll -pardon my mentioning this, but it was the -housekeeper's strict orders. Good-night, miss; -good-night, sir. Colonel Devereux will see you -to-morrow morning at eleven, if you'll be so good -as to come up to the Court. Good-night, sir." -</p> - -<p> -This time he really went, and we were left for -a moment alone. I am obliged to confess that the -first thing my madcap sister did was to waltz -round the room, and wind up by throwing herself -into my arms. -</p> - -<p> -"Isn't this perfectly delightful, Hugh, and isn't -the Colonel an old dear? I declare I could kiss -him! And I am so hungry, and everything looks -so nice. Do ring the bell, Hugh." -</p> - -<p> -There was no need, for before she had finished -speaking one of our buxom servants had entered -with the tray, and the other was waiting to show -us our rooms, which we found no less comfortable. -Everything was totally different to what I had -expected, and for Marian's sake I was pleased. But -for my own I could not help regretting that I -should be forced to accept favours from the man -who believed my father to be a coward and a liar -and whose cruel words "Out of my house and out -of my heart for ever," he carried always with him -in weary exile. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XII -<br /> -AT DEVEREUX COURT -</h3> - -<p> -At six o'clock on the following morning I was up -and in the park. I had prepared myself for much, -but what I saw exceeded everything. It is not -part of my <i>rôle</i> as story-teller to attempt long -descriptions. I am not an artist or a descriptive -writer, and were I to attempt to play the part of -either I should most certainly fail. But the park -and mansion of Devereux were one day bound to -be mine, even though they brought me pauperdom, -and despite the sorrow and bitter grief which were -bound up in this recollection, a curious thrill, in -which there was something of pleasure, passed -through me as I looked upon them for the first -time by daylight. -</p> - -<p> -The cottage—such a term was surely a misnomer, -for it was three times as large as the habitable part -of our Devonshire home—stood at the extremity -of the park nearest the house. Only a wire -ring-fence separated the gardens from the soft springy -turf of the park, which, studded with giant oak-trees, -a revelation to me after the comparatively -stunted growths of Devonshire, stretched away in -one direction as far as I could see. Bordering it -on one side, close behind the cottage, and curving -round as though to form a fitting background for -Devereux Court, was a low range of hills, some -crowned with thick plantations of black fir, and -others purple with the declining glory of the -autumn heather. But the house was the grandest -sight of all. A great architect might have learnedly -protested against its want of any distinct style and -its general want of outline, but he would have -admired it all the same. It was one of those houses -which no one can describe, save by making use of -such adjectives as picturesque, romantic, majestic. -It was all these and more. The style of every age -seemed represented by the successive enlargements -of every century. Every Devereux of Devereux -had added something to it, until a century ago, -and every one seemed to have had different notions -of architecture. There was something in it of the -castle, something of the mediæval abbey, something -of the Italian villa, and something of the Venetian -palace. It was a magnificent medley, a striking -mass of architectural incongruity—altogether the -finest building that I had ever seen. It excited me -to look upon it, and at the same time it depressed -me. Its frowning battlements and gloomily majestic -weather-beaten towers seemed to breathe out and -help me to better understand the spirit which had -fired the words of the stern, proud, old soldier, who -had bidden my father leave his home for ever, and -bear another name than the name of Devereux. -For the first time I began to look forward to the -inevitable interview with my grandfather with -something akin to apprehension. -</p> - -<p> -At breakfast time Marian's lively chatter drove -all such thoughts out of my head. And before -they had had time to crowd in on me again, a man -from the stables was announced, with whom I went -to examine the two horses placed at my disposal. -</p> - -<p> -I loved horses, and it seemed as though Sir Francis -Devereux was determined to do everything <i>au -prince</i>. Besides a stout useful cob, there was an -animal with which I fell in love the moment I saw -it. The man uncovered him gingerly, and took -particular care to keep out of reach of his heels. -</p> - -<p> -"I was to tell you, sir," he said, confidentially, -as he came out of the box, "that if you wished to -change this 'ere animal—the Black Prince they call -un—for one a wee bit less spirity, that you was -to come up to the stables and choose for yourself. -There ain't no vice about 'im, but he's got a mouth -like iron and the devil's own temper." -</p> - -<p> -"I think I shall manage him," I answered -confidently. "Who's been in the habit of riding him?" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, sir, Miss Maud rode him for a bit, but he -used to pull her arms out very near, and he gave -her one nasty fall, so Sir Francis he's made her -leave off." -</p> - -<p> -"I should think so," I answered. -</p> - -<p> -The Black Prince, fine animal though he was, -was certainly not a lady's mount. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, she's a rare plucky 'un is Miss Maud, -and a fine seat, too," remarked the man, leisurely -chewing a wisp of straw. "You think he'll do for -you, sir, then?" -</p> - -<p> -"I think so," I answered. -</p> - -<p> -Then, glancing at my watch, and seeing that it -was but nine o'clock, it struck me that I might as -well give him a trial at once, and in half-an-hour's -time I was careering across the park, my spirits -rising at every bound the Black Prince made, and my -cheeks glowing with the rapid progress through the -sharp morning air, and with the strain of keeping him -in hand. What pleasure is there within the reach -of man so great as a gallop across an open country, -with the fresh morning breeze blowing strong in -your teeth, and your mount a perfect one? When -I got back to the cottage, just before eleven, and -after seeing Marian start off for a walk, set out -for Devereux Court, all my apprehensions had -vanished, and I was only eager to stand face to -face with its master. -</p> - -<p> -I had not far to go. Up a steep ascent, across -a bridge, through some more iron gates, and I -stood upon the open stretch of gravel in front of -the main entrance, which was supported by four -massive white stone pillars. A man-servant was -waiting within the glass doors, which were promptly -opened before me, and on telling him my name, I -was led across the vast hall, which seemed to me, -from its great height, the stained windows, and -its size, like the interior of a richly decorated -church, into the library. I had never been in such -a room before, nor have I ever since, but the man -gave me little time to admire it, for, opening the -door of a small ante-room at its furthest extremity, -which had a far more habitable appearance, he bade -me wait whilst he informed Sir Francis of my -arrival. -</p> - -<p> -The room seemed to open upon the gardens, for, -though the Venetian blinds were drawn, I could -hear distinctly the voices of two girls playing tennis -just outside. -</p> - -<p> -"Love, love 15, love 30, love 40. Maud, you're -a great deal too lazy for tennis this morning!" -</p> - -<p> -The girl's triumphant voice floated into the room -so clearly that at first I was surprised. Then, by -the gentle swaying to and fro of the blind, I saw -that the window was open. -</p> - -<p> -The charge seemed not to be made without -foundation, to judge from the languid drawl of the -answering voice. -</p> - -<p> -"I believe I am, Olive. It really is too exhausting -without some men to look after the balls. Suppose -we have a rest for a minute or two." -</p> - -<p> -There was a laughing assent, and then I heard -light footsteps coming towards the window. I -thought at first that they were going to enter; -but just outside they halted and seemed to subside -into a seat. -</p> - -<p> -There was a moment's silence, during which I -withdrew as far as possible from the window. But -I was still within easy reach of their voices, as I -very soon learnt, not a little to my discomfort. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder what the new young man's like at -the cottage. Have you seen him, Maud?" -</p> - -<p> -I started, and drew further back into my corner. -</p> - -<p> -"I really don't know," was the very uninterested -reply. "By the bye, though, I did see a stranger -in the park, yesterday. Perhaps it was he." -</p> - -<p> -"What was he like? Fancy not telling me, -when you knew I was dying to hear. Is he tall -or short, dark or fair?" -</p> - -<p> -A scornful inflection had crept into the languid -drawl of the answering voice. But it was far from -an unpleasant voice to listen to:—"I only saw him -for a moment, but I remember that he was short, -and had red hair, and wore glasses. I don't think -even you would flirt with him, Olive." -</p> - -<p> -This was dreadful. I was six foot four, and -my eyesight was keener than most men's. She -must have mistaken some one else for me! But -what was I to do? I tried a nervous little cough, -but they took no notice. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh! I'm so disappointed. I had made up my -mind that he was good-looking, and would do to -flirt with, at any rate, until the shooting brings -some men down. Goodness gracious, what was -that?" -</p> - -<p> -Rendered desperate by the mention of my name, -I had essayed a more determined cough. Now that -it had been heard my best course was to reveal -myself at once. So I walked to the window and -drew up the blind. -</p> - -<p> -Two girls started to their feet at once, and stood -looking at me in startled postures, one dark, of -medium height, decidedly pretty, and with a gleam -of mischief in her large eyes; the other tall and -slim, fair, and stately as a young princess, with a -cold, questioning look in her blue eyes, and a slight -frown on her proud, delicate face. Something -told me that this was Rupert Devereux's daughter. -And the thought checked the smile which I had -found some difficulty in repressing. -</p> - -<p> -"I am afraid I startled you?" I said. "I am -waiting in here to see Colonel Devereux, and as I -heard my name mentioned I thought it as well to -let you know that I was here." -</p> - -<p> -For the life of me I could not meet the laughing -gaze of those mischievous black eyes without a smile. -They seemed to be looking me over from head to -foot, with an air of decided interest, and finally they -looked up into mine, as though satisfied with their -inspection. -</p> - -<p> -"Did you hear what we were saying, Mr. Arbuthnot?" -she asked eagerly, with a bewitching -little smile. -</p> - -<p> -"How could I help it? I coughed once before, -but you did not hear me." -</p> - -<p> -I glanced for the first time at Maud Devereux, -and she inclined her head slightly, as though to -intimate that she accepted my explanation. -</p> - -<p> -"It is of no consequence," she said, a little coldly; -"we were to blame for talking nonsense. I'm ready -for another set now, Olive." -</p> - -<p> -She turned and moved slowly away to the tennis-court -without another look at me; but the other girl -lingered for a moment. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm so sorry for what I said, Mr. Arbuthnot," -she remarked. "Of course I didn't mean it, but it -is so dull here that one is bound to talk nonsense -sometimes." -</p> - -<p> -I bowed, and I am afraid that there was a decided -twinkle in my eyes as I answered, "Pray, don't -apologise. You can't imagine how grateful I am -for the red hair and other etceteras which are to -save me from a broken heart." -</p> - -<p> -She had the grace to blush a little at last, and -it made her look uncommonly pretty. -</p> - -<p> -"You're too bad, Mr. Arbuthnot. Good-bye." -</p> - -<p> -And, with a parting glance and smile, she picked -up her racket and moved away across the lawn -towards Maud Devereux, who had never once looked -round. -</p> - -<p> -I let the blind fall again, and turned back towards -my chair. I had hardly reached it before the door -opened, and I stood face to face with my grandfather, -Colonel Sir Francis Devereux. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIII -<br /> -COLONEL SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX, BART. -</h3> - -<p> -For a second everything swam before my eyes, -and it always seemed to me afterwards a miracle -that I recovered myself sufficiently to accept his -outstretched hand, and mutter some intelligible -response to his courteous speech of greeting. For -the stately, white-haired, military-looking man who -had entered the room was so like my father that I -had very nearly called him by name. -</p> - -<p> -At the sound of my voice he started slightly, -and, adjusting an eye-glass, looked at me steadily. -Then he, too, seemed to receive something of a -shock, for he turned abruptly away towards the -window, and I could see that his long white fingers -were shaking. -</p> - -<p> -"I must ask your pardon, Mr. Arbuthnot," he -said, suddenly looking round and scanning me over -again. "The fact is, your appearance recalled some -one to my mind whom—whom I have not seen for -many years." -</p> - -<p> -I bowed silently. I understood his emotion better -than, he imagined, and my heart was warming to -him in consequence of it. -</p> - -<p> -"You are welcome to Devereux, sir," he went -on, cordially. "I hope you find your quarters -fairly comfortable." -</p> - -<p> -I began to thank him for the generosity of his -arrangements, but he stopped me at once. -</p> - -<p> -"If you are satisfied, that is well. I hope you will -like the place," he went on, after a moment's pause, -"for I think that you will suit me. Mr. Andrews -will explain what your duties will be on the estate. -I don't think you'll find them particularly arduous. -You shoot, I hope, and hunt, and fish? H'm, I -thought so. I'm glad to hear it. I wanted some -one who would be able to show my guests, when I -have any, what there is to do about the place, and -who won't mind a day amongst the stubble with an -old man now and then," he added, pleasantly. -"Have you seen anything of the place yet?" -</p> - -<p> -I told him of my early ride, and that all the -impressions I had as yet received of the country -and its surroundings were pleasant ones. He was -delighted to hear it, he told me. -</p> - -<p> -"And your sister. Does she think that she will -be able to make herself at home here?" -</p> - -<p> -I assured him that there was very little doubt -about that. She had been used to the country all -her life. -</p> - -<p> -We talked for awhile of the estate, and the share -of its management which would fall to my lot. -There was much that wanted doing, he said, and I -was glad to hear it, for though I had come here -with another ultimate object, I had no desire to -spend my time in idleness. We talked for a long -while, he seeming anxious to keep me there, and -asking many personal questions which I found it -not altogether easy to answer. But at last the -luncheon bell rang out, and then he let me go. -</p> - -<p> -"I should like to show you round the place -myself," he said, as we walked down the hall -together. "Be ready at three o'clock, and I will -call for you. We will ride, of course." -</p> - -<p> -Just as we passed the foot of the great oak staircase -which descended into the centre of the hall, we -came face to face with the two girls who had been -playing tennis. Sir Francis stopped at once. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, Maud, dear, let me introduce you to -Mr. Arbuthnot. Mr. Arbuthnot, this is my niece, Miss -Devereux, and her friend, Lady Olive Parkhurst." -</p> - -<p> -My cousin bowed very slightly, and scarcely -paused in her progress across the hall. But Lady -Olive lingered to throw a saucy glance at me over -her shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"You two men have wasted a delightful morning -gossiping," she said, lightly. "Maud and I have -been dying with curiosity to know what it's all -been about." -</p> - -<p> -Miss Devereux was standing in one of the doorways -a little way off, with the slightest possible -frown of impatience on her face, and looking -decidedly supercilious at her friend's remark, -although she did not take the trouble to contradict -it. They had both changed their morning gowns -for riding habits, and though Lady Olive, with her -trim, dainty figure and coquettish smile, looked -sufficiently charming, I could not help my eyes -dwelling the longest on Maud Devereux. Fair, -proud, and cold, with slim yet perfectly graceful -figure, she reminded me of Tennyson's Princess. -It was only for a moment that I looked at her, but -her eyes chanced to meet mine, and the frown on -her statuesque young face deepened, as though to -admire her even were a liberty. I turned away at -once, and moved a step nearer the door. -</p> - -<p> -"We have wasted a beautiful morning, certainly," -Sir Francis remarked; "but we are going -to make up for it this afternoon. Mr. Arbuthnot -and I are going to ride together on a tour of -inspection. Would you young ladies care to -join us?" -</p> - -<p> -Lady Olive leaned forward with a beaming smile. -</p> - -<p> -"I should like it immensely," she declared. -</p> - -<p> -"You forget, Olive, that we are going to call on -the Annerleys this afternoon," remarked Maud -Devereux, in a cold tone of disapprobation. -"Luncheon is quite ready, uncle." -</p> - -<p> -Lady Olive gathered up her skirts, and, nodding -to me with a comical grimace, took Sir Francis's -arm. -</p> - -<p> -"Good-morning, Mr. Arbuthnot. I'm so sorry -we can't come. I should like to see how you -manage the Black Prince." -</p> - -<p> -"You will have plenty of other opportunities," -Sir Francis remarked. "Good-morning, Arbuthnot; -be ready about three o'clock." -</p> - -<p> -And so ended my first visit to Devereux Court. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIV -<br /> -THE BEGINNING OF DANGER -</h3> - -<p> -Before a month had passed I began to feel quite -settled at the cottage. My duties, though many, -lay within my capacity, and were such as I found -pleasure in undertaking. It was impossible for me -not to see that Sir Francis Devereux had taken a -great and, to others, an unaccountable fancy to me; -and occasionally he made such demands upon my -time that I found it hard to get through my work. -But I never grudged him an hour that I could -honestly spare, for every day the prejudice which I -had felt against him grew less, and I began to -heartily like and pity him. Perhaps this change in -my feelings towards him arose chiefly from the -fact that he was obviously an unhappy man. The -sorrow which was embittering my father's life and -clouding mine had laid its hand with almost equal -bitterness upon him. And was it not natural? For -more than twenty years he had never looked upon -the face or heard of the son whom he had loved -better than any one else in the world. The heir of -Devereux, for all he knew, might have sunk to the -lowest depths of vice and degradation, and yet for -all that, he must bear the title and, if he chose, -take up his abode in the home where his ancestors -had lived with honour for many centuries, and at -the very best there was a deep blot which nothing -could ever efface. The descendant of a long race -of mighty soldiers had been publicly pronounced a -coward; and yet some day or other, by the inevitable -law of nature, he would become the representative -of his family. To the stern old soldier I -knew well that the thought was agony, and I -longed to reassure and comfort him, as I most -certainly could have done. But the time was not -yet come. -</p> - -<p> -Naturally I saw a good deal of Maud Devereux -and Lady Olive, much more of the latter than the -former, for she appeared to have taken a violent -fancy for Marian, and was often at the cottage. -Conceit was never amongst my failings, but of -course I could not help noticing that the times she -chose for coming were those on which I was most -likely to be at home, and generally when I returned -from my day's work I found Marian and her gossiping -over the fire, or if I was early, indulging in -afternoon tea. She seemed determined to flirt with -me, and I, willing to be amused, let her have her -own way. We were both perfectly aware that the -other was not in earnest, and we both—I -particularly—took care not to lapse into the sentimental -stage. On the whole we managed to amuse one -another very well. -</p> - -<p> -With Maud Devereux I made but little progress—in -fact I feared sometimes that she even disliked -me. She was always the same—cold, unbending, -and apparently proud. It seemed impossible to -win even a smile from her, and the more friendly -Lady Olive and I became the more she seemed to -stand aloof. Once or twice, when I had found -myself riding by her side, or alone with her for a -minute, I had fancied that her manner was changing -a little. But before I could be sure of it, Lady -Olive would bear down upon us and challenge me -to a race, or make some mocking speech. -</p> - -<p> -Why should it matter to me? I could not tell; -yet always at such times I knew that I wished -Lady Olive a little further away. Cold and -disdainful though she was, a minute with her was -more to me than hours with Lady Olive. And yet -she was the daughter of the man whom I hated -more than any living thing, and on whom I had -sworn to be revenged should I fail in the great -object of my life. -</p> - -<p> -One evening, when, tired and dusty and stiff, -after many hours' riding, I walked into Marian's -little drawing-room to beg for a cup of tea before -changing my things, I had a great surprise. Instead -of Lady Olive, Maud Devereux was leaning back in -an easy chair opposite my sister. Maud, with the -proud wearied look gone from her cold blue eyes, -and actually laughing a soft, pleasant laugh at one -of my sister's queer speeches. I stepped forward -eagerly, and there was actually a shade of something -very like embarrassment in her face as she leaned -forward and held out her hand. -</p> - -<p> -"You are surprised to see me, Mr. Arbuthnot," -she said; "I wanted Olive, and thought this the -most likely place to find her." -</p> - -<p> -"We haven't seen her to-day, have we, Hugh?" -Marian remarked. -</p> - -<p> -I assented silently, and spoke of something else. -I did not want to talk about Lady Olive just then. -</p> - -<p> -For more than half-an-hour we sat there sipping -our tea, and chatting about the new schools which -Sir Francis was building in the village, the weather, -and the close approach of cub-hunting. I could -scarcely believe that it was indeed Maud Devereux -who sat there in my easy chair, looking so thoroughly -at home and talking so pleasantly. As a rule, the -only words I had been able to win from her were -cold monosyllables, and the only looks half-impatient, -half-contemptuous ones. -</p> - -<p> -At last she rose to go, and I walked with her to -the gate. It was almost dusk, and I felt that under -the circumstances I might offer to walk up to the -house with her. But I felt absolutely timid about -proposing what with Lady Olive would have been a -matter of course. -</p> - -<p> -I did propose it, however, and was not a little -disappointed at the passive indifference with which -my escort was accepted. But what I should have -resented from Lady Olive I accepted humbly from her. -</p> - -<p> -Side by side we walked through the park, and I -could think of nothing to say to her, nothing that I -dared say. With Lady Olive there would have -been a thousand light nothings to bandy backwards -and forwards, but what man living would have -dared to speak them to Maud Devereux? Not I, -at any rate. -</p> - -<p> -Once she spoke; carelessly as though for the sake -of speaking. -</p> - -<p> -"What spell holds Mr. Arbuthnot silent so long? -A penny for your thoughts!" and I answered -thoughtlessly. -</p> - -<p> -"They are worth more, Miss Devereux, for they -are of you. I was thinking that this was the first -time I had walked alone with you." -</p> - -<p> -"I am not Lady Olive," she said, coldly. "Be -so good, Mr. Arbuthnot, as to reserve such speech -for her." -</p> - -<p> -She quickened her pace a little, and I could have -bitten my tongue out for my folly. But she was -not angry for long, for at the gate which led from -the park into the ground she paused. -</p> - -<p> -Devereux Court, with its lofty battlements and -huge stacks of chimneys, towered above us—every -window a burnished sheet of red fire, for the setting -sun was lingering around it, and bathing it with its -last parting rays as though loth to go. -</p> - -<p> -"What a grand old place it is!" I said, half to -myself; "I shall be sorry to leave it." -</p> - -<p> -She turned round quickly, and there was actually -a shade of interest in her tone. -</p> - -<p> -"You are not thinking of going away, are you, -Mr. Arbuthnot? I thought you got on so well with -my uncle." -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, too well," I answered bitterly, for I was -thinking of my father and hers. "There is a great -work which lies before me, Miss Devereux, and I -fear that I shall do little towards it down here. Life -is too pleasant altogether—dangerously pleasant." -</p> - -<p> -"And yet you work hard, my uncle says," she -observed; "too hard, he says, sometimes. You -look tired to-night." -</p> - -<p> -I might well, for I had ridden over thirty miles -without a rest; but I would have ridden another -thirty to have won another such glance from her -sweet blue eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"A moment's pleasure is worth a day's work," I -said, recklessly, "and I have had nearly an -hour's." -</p> - -<p> -She opened the gate and passed through at once -with a gesture of contempt. -</p> - -<p> -"If you cannot remember, Mr. Arbuthnot, that I -am not Lady Olive, and that such speeches only -appear ridiculous to me, I think you had better go -home," she said, coldly. -</p> - -<p> -I looked down—tall though I was, it was not far -to stoop—into her slightly flushed face, and through -the dusky twilight I could see her eyes sparkling -with a gleam of indignation. She was right to say -that I had better go home—nay, I had better never -have started. What had come over me that I should -find my heart throbbing with pleasure to be alone -with the daughter of the man whom I hated? It -was treachery to my father, and, as the thought of -him wandering about in his weary exile rushed into -my mind, a sudden shame laid hold of me. I drew -myself up, and strode along in silence, speaking -never another word until we reached the gate leading -on to the lawn. Then I opened it, and raising -my cap with a half-mechanical gesture, stood aside -to let her pass. -</p> - -<p> -"Good-evening, Mr. Arbuthnot." -</p> - -<p> -"Good-evening, Miss Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -It might have been merely a fancy, but it seemed -to me that she lingered for a second, as though -expecting me to say something else. And though I -was gazing fixedly over her head, I knew well that -her eyes were raised to mine. But I stood silent -and frowning, waiting only for her to pass on, and -so she went without another word. -</p> - -<p> -I watched her, fair and stately, walking with swift, -graceful steps along the gravel path. Then I turned -my back upon the spot where she had vanished, and, -leaning against the low iron gate, let my face fall -upon my folded arms. -</p> - -<p> -Of all the mental tortures which a man can -undergo, what is there worse than the agony of -self-reproach? To be condemned by another's -judgment may seem to us comparatively a light -thing—but to be condemned by our own, what -escape or chance of escape can there be from that! -And it seemed to me as though I were arraigned -before the tribunal of my own conscience. As -clearly as though indeed he stood there, I saw -before me the bowed form, and unhappy face of my -poor father, looking steadfastly at me out of his sad -blue eyes, with the story of his weary suffering life -written with deep lines into his furrowed face. And -then I saw myself standing at the window of my -rooms in Exeter, with an oath ringing from my lips, -and a passionate purpose stirring my heart, and last -of all I saw myself only a few minutes ago walking -by her side with stirred pulses and bounding heart—by -her side, whose father, curse him! was the -man above all others whom I should hate—for was -it not his lying word which had driven Herbert -Devereux from his home, and blasted a life more -precious to me than my own! At that moment a -passionate longing came upon me to stand face to -face with him, the man whom we had met in the -moonlight on Exmoor, and tear the truth from his -lying throat. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot!" -</p> - -<p> -I started violently and turned round pale and -agitated with the rage which was burning within -me. Maud Devereux stood before me—Maud, with -the pride gone out from her exquisite face, and the -warming light of a kindly sympathy shining out of -her glorious eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"I startled you, Mr. Arbuthnot?" -</p> - -<p> -"I must confess that you did, Miss Devereux. I -thought that I was alone." -</p> - -<p> -I had drawn myself up to my full height, and -was looking steadily at her, determined that neither -by word nor look, would I yield to the charm of her -altered manner. It was I now who was proud and -cold; she who was eager and a little nervous. -</p> - -<p> -"I had a message to deliver to you, and I forgot -it," she said, hurriedly. "I was to ask you to dine -with us to-night." -</p> - -<p> -"Does Sir Francis particularly wish it?" I asked. -"Because, if not, as I have had a long day, and am -rather tired——" -</p> - -<p> -She interrupted me, speaking with a sudden -hauteur, and with all the coldness of her former -manner. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know that he particularly wishes it, but -he has brought Lord Annerley home with him to -talk over the Oadby Common matter, so you had -better come." -</p> - -<p> -Lord Annerley was the eldest son of a neighbouring -landowner between whom and myself, as the -agent of Sir Francis Devereux, there had arisen a -friendly dispute as to the right of way over a certain -common, and I knew at once that I must not -miss the opportunity of meeting him. -</p> - -<p> -"Very good, Miss Devereux," I answered, "I -will go home and change my things at once." -</p> - -<p> -"Without speaking to me?" -</p> - -<p> -I turned abruptly round. Lady Olive had come -softly over the smooth turf, and was looking up -into my face with a mischievous smile. -</p> - -<p> -"How cross you both look!" she exclaimed; -"have you been quarrelling?" -</p> - -<p> -"Quarrelling! Scarcely," I answered, laughing -lightly. "Miss Devereux and I have no subject in -common which we should be likely to discuss, far -less to quarrel about. Wherever did you get such -beautiful chrysanthemums, Lady Olive?" -</p> - -<p> -She buried her piquant little face in the mass of -white and bronze blooms, and then divided them. -</p> - -<p> -"From the south garden. Aren't they lovely! -See, Mr. Arbuthnot, I want you to take half of them -to your sister if you don't mind. I don't think -you have any cut yet, and the colours of these are -so exquisite. Which do you like the better, Maud, -the white or the bronze?" -</p> - -<p> -"The white, of course," she answered, scarcely -looking at them. "I don't care for the other colour -at all." -</p> - -<p> -"And I prefer it," Lady Olive went on, filling -my outstretched hands. "Mr. Arbuthnot, did I -gather correctly from what you were saying when -I came up that you dine with us to-night?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am to have that happiness, Lady Olive," I -answered; "and, if I don't hurry off now, I'm -afraid I shall be late." -</p> - -<p> -"Then don't stop another moment," she laughed. -"But, Mr. Arbuthnot——" -</p> - -<p> -I halted resignedly and turned round. -</p> - -<p> -"Well?" -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, nothing, only Maud and I expect you to -show us this evening whose taste you choose to -follow." -</p> - -<p> -"In what respect?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, chrysanthemums, of course! Maud has -chosen white, I have chosen bronze. We shall both -look out eagerly to see whose colours you wear in -your buttonhole to-night, If you wear a white -one, I sha'n't speak to you all the evening. Mind, -I warn you." -</p> - -<p> -"What nonsense you talk, Olive!" said Maud, -carelessly, but with a slight flush rising into her -cheeks. "As if it could make the slightest possible -difference to me which colour Mr. Arbuthnot prefers -in chrysanthemums!" -</p> - -<p> -There was a distinct vein of contempt in her -concluding sentence, and Lady Olive, noticing it, -looked at us both in surprise. -</p> - -<p> -"It is my positive conviction," she declared, -with mock seriousness, "that, notwithstanding -Mr. Arbuthnot's high-flown repudiation, you two have -been quarrelling." -</p> - -<p> -Maud Devereux turned impatiently away, with -a scornful shrug of her shoulders, and walked slowly -towards the house. Lady Olive started to follow -her, but at the gate she paused. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, come here, I want to speak to you." -</p> - -<p> -I retraced my steps, of course, and stood by her side. -</p> - -<p> -"Well?" -</p> - -<p> -She stood on tiptoe and whispered—quite an -unnecessary proceeding, for Maud was a dozen -yards away. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, what have you and Maud been -quarrelling about?" -</p> - -<p> -I turned round so abruptly that our heads -knocked together and my moustache brushed her -cheek. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot!" -</p> - -<p> -"It wasn't my fault," I assured her, truthfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Sure!" -</p> - -<p> -She was looking up at me with a half-coquettish, -altogether inviting smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Quite. Shall I show you how it happened?" -I asked, stooping down till my face was very close -to hers. -</p> - -<p> -"What colour chrysanthemum are you going to -wear this evening, Mr. Arbuthnot?" she asked, -rather irrelevantly. -</p> - -<p> -"Can you ask? Bronze, of course." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, then—yes—I think you may show me—just -so that it sha'n't happen again, you know," she -added, with laughing eyes. -</p> - -<p> -And so I showed her, just as a matter of -precaution, and received for my reward a not very -hard box on the ears, and a saucy, mock-angry -backward glance as she broke away from, me and -hurried after Maud. Then I strode across the -park, angry with myself, yet fiercely exultant, for I -knew that Maud had been lingering in the shrubbery -alone, and had seen us. She would know -now, if she did not before, that the grief which -she must have read in my face when she had -returned so unexpectedly was none of her causing, -else had I never let my lips rest for a second on -Lady Olive's cheek. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XV -<br /> -A FIGHT FOR LIFE -</h3> - -<p> -In less than an hour I was back at Devereux Court. -The gong was booming through the hall as I -reached the drawing-room, and the little party had -already risen to their feet. Maud's hand was -resting on the coat-sleeve of a man scarcely as tall -as herself, with a fair, insipid-looking face and weak -eyes—whom I knew at once must be Lord Annerley. -Sir Francis, who was suffering from a bad attack -of gout, was leaning half on his stick, half on Lady -Olive's bare, white shoulder; but, at my entrance, -he withdrew his hand, and she stepped back, -rubbing her arm with a comical air of relief. -</p> - -<p> -"Just in time, Arbuthnot! Come and give me -your arm, there's a good fellow. Annerley, this is -Mr. Arbuthnot, my agent." -</p> - -<p> -Lord Annerley returned my greeting with a -slightly patronising air, and then we walked across -the hall to the dining-room, Sir Francis leaning -heavily on my shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -Maud had noticed me only by the merest -inclination of her stately head, and during dinner-time -she never addressed a single observation to -me, her attention seeming wholly absorbed by her -companion. Lady Olive, although at first she -rattled on in her usual style, seemed always -watching for an opportunity to join in their -conversation, and when at last she found it seemed -almost to forget my existence. They talked of -people whom I did not know, and subjects in which -I had no interest, but I was well content to be left -alone. I was in no mood for talking, and to answer -Sir Francis's few inquiries was quite enough for me. -</p> - -<p> -We were about half-way through dinner when -suddenly Sir Francis held up his finger and cried -"Hush!" -</p> - -<p> -Every one stopped talking, and I who had also -heard the sound sprung to my feet. It came -again in a second or two, three sharp reports -from the direction of the park. -</p> - -<p> -"Poachers, by G—d!" exclaimed Sir Francis, -angrily, "and in the home spinneys, too! The -cheeky rascals!" -</p> - -<p> -I was half-way across the room before he had -finished speaking. -</p> - -<p> -"Take care of yourself, my boy," he called out -earnestly. "You'll find my revolver in the top -drawer of my cabinet in the library. See that it's -loaded. By Jove, I wish my foot was right! -Annerley, I don't know whether you care about a -row as much as I did when I was a youngster; but -if you do, pray go with Arbuthnot. My niece will -excuse you." -</p> - -<p> -Lord Annerley did not seem to find that keen -prospect of pleasure in the affray, which was -doubtless proceeding, that Sir Francis would -certainly have done, for as I hurried from the room -I heard him mutter something about his boots -being rather thin. An irresistible impulse made -me glance for a moment into Maud's face whilst he -was elaborately excusing himself, and I was satisfied. -A slight but distinctly contemptuous expression -had stolen into it. -</p> - -<p> -I was scarcely a moment in the library, for the -revolver was in its place and loaded. As I hurried -down the hall, Sir Francis hobbled out of the -drawing-room. -</p> - -<p> -"Arbuthnot," he called out anxiously after me, -"I've just remembered Atkins and Crooks are both -away to-night; I gave 'em a holiday; so old Heggs -and his son must be alone in the home spinneys. -Those damned rascals must have known of it. I'll -send the men after you, but run, or you'll be too -late!" -</p> - -<p> -There was no need to tell me to run. Holding -my revolver clenched in my right hand, I dashed -across the gardens toward the park, leaping over -the flower-beds, and using my left hand to vault -over locked gates and fences. I had scarcely -reached the park when I heard the almost -simultaneous report of three or four guns, and -immediately afterwards, the moon shining in a cloudless -sky showed me the figure of a man leap from one -of the dark belts of plantation at the head of the -slope, and make for the open country. My first -impulse was to strike off to the right hand and -intercept him; but before I had gone half-a-dozen -yards out of my way, I changed my intention, for -from the interior of the plantation came a hoarse, -despairing cry for help, followed by another gunshot. -</p> - -<p> -I was a good runner, and I strained every nerve -to reach the spinneys. But when at last, panting -but eager, I dashed up the slope, and leaped over -the low stone wall, a fear came upon me that I was -too late. -</p> - -<p> -At first it was too dark to see anything, for the -moon's light could not penetrate through the -thickly-growing black fir-trees. But close in front -of me I could hear the sound of muttered curses -and the trampling of feet upon the dried leaves and -snapping twigs. A dozen hasty strides forward, -and I burst through the bushes into a small clearing, -and found myself in the thick of the struggle. -</p> - -<p> -On the ground, only a few feet from me, lay -Heggs, groaning heavily, with his leg doubled up -under him. Close by his son was struggling -desperately with two powerfully-built, villainous-looking -men, and on the ground were stretched the -forms of two others, one, an under-keeper, writhing -about in pain, and the other, whose face was -unknown to me, lying quite still, and evidently -insensible. Two other men were hastily filling a -bag with their spoil, one holding it open, and the -other collecting the birds from a broken net on the -ground and throwing them in. -</p> - -<p> -The sound of my rapid approach naturally -changed the situation. The two men struggling -with young Heggs relapsed their grasp for a -moment to look round, and with a great effort -he wrenched himself free, and stood back panting. -The others who were filling the bag started up as -though to run, but seeing I was alone hesitated, -and one of them snatching up a gun commenced -hastily to load. But his companion, who appeared -to be the leader, yelled to him with an oath to put -it down. -</p> - -<p> -"Put your barker down, you fool!" he shouted. -"We shall have the whole blooming lot down here -if we got using them any more. It's only one of -the fine birds from the Court! We'll soon settle -him." -</p> - -<p> -One of the men who had been filling the bag -sprang up, and, holding his gun by the barrel, -rushed at me. Suddenly he stopped and cowered -back, for he looked full into the dark muzzle of my -revolver. I would have spared him, but the odds -were too desperate. There was a sharp report, and -the arm which held his weapon sunk helplessly to -his side. He staggered back with a howl of pain, -and then, turning away, bounded into the thicket. -</p> - -<p> -"You are at my mercy," I cried to the others. -"Stay where you are, or I shall fire." -</p> - -<p> -An oath was the only answer, and then two of -the men rushed at me, whilst another, turning -away to escape, was seized by young Heggs, who -had been leaning, panting, against a tree. The -desperate struggle which followed I could never -describe in detail. One of my assailants I should -certainly have shot through the heart, <i>but that in -the sudden shock of recognising him</i> my hand -swerved and the bullet only grazed his cheek. -Backwards and forwards, amongst the bushes and -on the ground, we struggled and fought. But for -my Devonshire training in boxing and wrestling, I -must have been overpowered at once, for the men -who had attacked me were fighting like wild beasts -for their liberty—biting, kicking, and dealing out -sledge-hammer blows, any one of which had it -struck me would have sent me down like a log. -Heggs could render me no assistance, for, wearied -with his long struggle, he was overmatched himself, -and in desperate straits. Suddenly there came the -sound of voices, and feet clambering over the low -stone wall. With a giant effort the taller of the -two men with whom I had been struggling flung -me backwards amongst the bushes, and bounded -away, leaping the wall and scudding away across -the park. But in my fall I never relaxed my grasp -upon the other man, and together we rolled over -and over in a fierce embrace, his teeth almost -meeting in my hand, which held him firmly by the -throat. -</p> - -<p> -It was all over, for help had come. Nearly -dozen of the servants and stablemen from the Court -poured into the enclosure, some taking up the -pursuit, some making preparations to carry Heggs -and the other wounded man up to the house, some -tying together the hands, and zealously guarding -my prisoner, and all plying me with eager questions. -My recollection of all that directly followed is -obscure. I remember staggering across the park up -to the Court, and meeting Sir Francis, anxious yet -thankful, in the courtyard. Then faint and giddy, -the blood pouring from a wound in my head down -my shirt-front, and my clothes torn and soiled, I -sank down upon a couch in the hall, whilst Sir -Francis, with his own hand, strove to force some -brandy down my throat. A deadly, sickening -unconsciousness was creeping over me; there was -a singing in my cars, and a buzzing in my head. -But although every one and everything around me -seemed to my reeling senses confused and chaotic, -one person I saw as vividly as my eyes could show -her to me. First standing in the open doorway, -then close to my side. I saw her with white, -pitying face, and an agony of terror in her dimmed -blue eyes, gazing at my shirt-front soaked with -blood, and asking eagerly, with quivering lips, -where I was hurt. And my last effort was to force -a ghastly smile and to utter reassuring words, -which died away half-uttered and altogether -incomprehensible upon my lips. Then black darkness -surged in upon me, blotting her out from my sight, -and I swooned. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVI -<br /> -MY CONVALESCENCE -</h3> - -<p> -For three days and nights I lay at Devereux Court -in danger of my life, but at the end of that time -the concussion of the brain from which I was -suffering suddenly abated, and I commenced to -make rapid strides towards recovery. Everything -that skill and kindness could do for me was done. -Marian was my principal nurse, but often in the -afternoons Lady Olive and Maud would come and -sit with me, whilst more than once I woke up to -find Sir Francis Devereux himself by my side. -</p> - -<p> -As soon as I was well enough to talk I asked -eagerly whether any of the other poachers had been -taken. Sir Francis shook his head, and looked -severe. -</p> - -<p> -"Not one of them," he declared in a vexed tone. -"I scarcely have patience to speak about it at the -police-office, it seems so scandalous. A thick-head -set of muffs they must be!" -</p> - -<p> -How surprised he would have been if any one -had told him his answer was a great relief to -me—and yet it was so. There was one man among that -gang of poachers whom I did not wish to be -caught. -</p> - -<p> -"And was Heggs much hurt?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"The old man was cut about a bit, but not -seriously injured. Richard—that's the son, you -know—came off very easily, and was able to tell us -all about it. Can't say much about it, Arbuthnot, -my boy, for the doctor has given orders that there's -to be no talking; but you behaved splendidly, just -as I should like my own son to have behaved," -he added, in a somewhat husky tone. -</p> - -<p> -"What's become of the man they caught?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Remanded without bail until you can give -evidence, which you won't be able to do just yet," -was the reply. "And now you're not to talk any -more. Not another word, sir," he added, sharply, -in a tone of command which he often used, and -which came naturally from him, as it does from any -born soldier. And, of course, I obeyed. -</p> - -<p> -The short period of my illness was made as -pleasant for me as kindness and every luxury could -make it. Marian was given a room close to mine, -and Sir Francis had also insisted upon sending for -a trained nurse from York Infirmary. All night -she sat up with me, although it was quite unnecessary, -for all symptoms of the brain fever, which the -doctor had feared was impending, had disappeared, -and I invariably slept well. And all day Marian -was with me, whilst Lady Olive and, more rarely, -Maud Devereux paid me occasional visits. My most -regular daily visitor, though, was Sir Francis himself. -Every afternoon I woke up from my doze to see his -tall, stately figure moving softly about the room, or -sitting in the high-backed chair by my side. And -sometimes I found him with his eyes fixed upon -me, watching me with a half-curious, half-tender -light softening his fine, stern face. Then I knew -that he was thinking of my father, and I found it -hard to refrain from clasping his hand and telling -him who I was, and the whole truth about that -miserable day so many years ago. But I -remembered that he had heard it from my father, and -called him a liar. I remembered that to his -soldierly notion the court-martial was a court -infallible, a tribunal which could not err, and I kept -my mouth closed. -</p> - -<p> -To others, the obvious fancy which Sir Francis -had taken for me seemed inexplicable. I alone -could guess—nay, knew, the reason. Marian and -Lady Olive sometimes jested with me about it, but -Maud never referred to it. In those days of my -convalescence it seemed to me almost as though -her wild face, when I had lain fainting in the hall, -must have been a dream. She was kind, but in a -proud, languid way; she talked to me, but in a -monotonous, measured manner, and with a cold -gleam in her deep blue eyes. She moved about my -room with the stately grace of a princess, but of a -princess who is stooping to perform a conscientious -duty which she finds very wearisome. And yet, -when she was there all was glaring light, and my -heart was beating with the pleasure of her presence, -and, when she was gone, the room seemed dark, -and cold, and cheerless, and the light went out of -my eyes and from my heart. -</p> - -<p> -During those long days of forced inaction many -thoughts troubled me. Not a single line had I -heard from my father since our parting at Exeter, -and his worn, suffering face haunted me day and -night, and filled me with a vague self-reproach. -True, little time had gone by yet, and I had already -moved one step forward towards the accomplishment -of my sworn purpose. But—Maud Devereux was -she not the daughter of the man whom we had met -on Exmoor, the daughter of my Uncle Rupert, the -man who had blasted my father's life, and thrown -a long shadow over my own! It was a thought -which made me toss about restless and uneasy, and -filled me with a vague discontent. I never asked -myself why—I doubt whether I knew, but all the -same the feeling was there. -</p> - -<p> -One afternoon, just as I was getting a little -stronger and able to move about, Sir Francis -Devereux gave me the opportunity which I had -often coveted. He alluded indirectly to his son. -Summoning up all my courage I asked him a -question. -</p> - -<p> -"Will your son—Mr. Rupert Devereux, isn't it—be -down before the shooting is all over, Sir -Francis?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -His face changed at once. From the courteous, -sympathising friend he became the stiff, dignified -aristocrat. His lips were set firmly together, and -there was a decided contraction of his black-grey -eyebrows. Altogether he looked as though he had -suddenly remembered that I was a comparative -stranger, and only his land agent, from whom a -personal question of any sort was a decided impertinence. -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly not," he answered, curtly; "my son -never visits Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -"And yet it will be his some day," I could not -help remarking. -</p> - -<p> -"It will not be his some day. Devereux Court, -at my death, will pass into the hands of another -son of mine, or his heir. Would to God it could -crumble into dust first!" the old man added, with -a sudden burst of bitterness. -</p> - -<p> -I could not tell what answer to make, so I -remained silent. But I suppose my face must have -told him that I was eager to hear more. He rose, -and walked up and down the room several times, -my eyes anxiously following every movement. -How like he was to my father! Age had wonderfully -little bent his figure. There was the same -grace of limb and carriage that I had often admired -in my father when we had been striding side by -side across the heather-covered moors, the same -long, finely-carved features, and the same look of -trouble stamped on the brow. But in my father's -case it was developed somewhat differently. It -had filled his eyes with a weary, long-suffering look, -which seemed to speak of absolute despair, and -unvarying, hopeless grief. There was more of -bitterness and concentrated irritation in Sir Francis's -face. It seemed as though the sorrow would not -settle into his being, but was continually lashing -him into acute and active wretchedness. Which -was the harder to bear, I wonder? -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly Sir Francis stopped short in the middle -of the room, and turned round to me. -</p> - -<p> -"Arbuthnot, my boy," he said, kindly, "I'll tell -you about my two sons if you care to hear the -story, in a few words." -</p> - -<p> -"There is nothing I should like so well to hear, -Sir Francis," I answered, in a low tone. He drew -near to me and sat down. -</p> - -<p> -"I've taken a strange fancy to you, Arbuthnot," -he said, slowly; "I feel that I should like you to -know an old man's sorrow." -</p> - -<p> -His voice was very low indeed, and it seemed to -me that his eyes were dim. Then he began speaking -in short sentences, as was his wont, but with -less than his usual curtness. -</p> - -<p> -"I have been married twice, and by each wife -I had a son. Herbert was the name of the elder, -Rupert of the younger. Herbert's mother was the -daughter of an English nobleman, and he grew up -as fine a young Englishman as ever walked on -God's earth, and a Devereux to the backbone. -Rupert's mother was a Spanish lady, and he -resembled her rather than me. Perhaps you will -not be surprised when I tell you that, although I -concealed it as much as possible, Herbert was the -son I loved. -</p> - -<p> -"I made them both enter the army directly they -were old enough. Ours is a fighting family, and -from the days of the Conqueror there has always -been a Devereux ready to fight for his country. -There, in the picture gallery, you may see them all, -a magnificent race—ay, though I call them so—of -knights and cavaliers and generals. Never has -there been a battle fought in English history -but a Devereux has borne arms in it. I myself -was at Inkermann, and led my regiment on into -Sebastopol. A glorious time it was." -</p> - -<p> -He stopped for a moment with sparkling eyes, -and a pleased smile on his lips, as though enjoying -keenly the recollection. Then his face clouded -over again, and his head drooped. The change was -so complete and such a sad one that my heart ached -for him, and I turned my head away. He continued -in an altered tone. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I made them both soldiers, and when the -time come for them to go abroad and see active -service I parted with them without a pang. In less -than six months Herbert, my eldest son, Herbert -Devereux, returned, disgraced, turned out of his -regiment—a coward." -</p> - -<p> -Never had I heard anything so pathetic as the -pang with which he seemed to part with this last -word. His voice was shaking, and there was a hot -colour in his checks. Suddenly he turned his back -upon me, and I heard a sob. -</p> - -<p> -"Did you believe it?" I asked, excitedly. "Was -it proved? Was there no shadow of doubt?" -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. "None. My oldest friend -was bound to pronounce him guilty in open -court-martial. It was the bitterest duty he ever -performed, he told me long afterwards. But a soldier's -duty stands high above all personal feelings. Had -I been in his place I should have pronounced the -same verdict that he did, though my heart had -snapped in two." -</p> - -<p> -"On whose evidence was he convicted?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis groaned. -</p> - -<p> -"On his own brother's. It was Rupert's word -which convicted him, Rupert's word which has -pulled down into the dust the name which through -centuries and centuries has stood as high in honour -and chivalry as any name in Europe. God forgive -him! He only did his duty, but I cannot bear to -look upon his face. Not that he wants to come -here! He is a foreigner, and he lives in a foreign -country. He is only half my son! It is Herbert -whom I loved." -</p> - -<p> -"And where is he—Herbert?" I asked, fearfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Dead, I hope," he answered, sternly. "Since -the day when I heard of this disgrace I have never -looked upon his face. I never wish to look upon it -again. For five-and-twenty years no one has dared -to mention his name in my presence. I have cursed -him." -</p> - -<p> -"But if he lives, he is your eldest son, Devereux -will be his?" -</p> - -<p> -A passionate fire leaped into Sir Francis's face. -</p> - -<p> -"Never. If I thought that he lived and would -come here when I died, I would fire Devereux -Court, though I perished in it. I would cram it -full to the windows with dynamite, and leave not -one stone standing upon another, sooner than he -should enter its doors the head of the Devereuxs. -You don't understand this feeling perhaps, -Arbuthnot," he went on, in a lower voice, which -was still, however, vibrating with an intense passion; -"some day I will take you into the picture gallery -with me, and then perhaps you will understand it -a little better." -</p> - -<p> -"I understand it now, Sir Francis," I told him: -"but—but you are sure that your son Herbert was -guilty? Think of the difference which his disgrace -made to Rupert. It made him your heir, virtually -your only son. If he was of a jealous -disposition—Spanish people are, they say—the opportunity -of getting rid of Herbert for ever and taking his -place might have tempted him." -</p> - -<p> -I am convinced that the idea which I falteringly -suggested to Sir Francis Devereux had never in the -vaguest way presented itself to him before. Nor -was this wonderful. Courteous and polished man -of the world though he was, his nature had -preserved all the innate and magnificent simplicity of -the ideal soldier. Falsehood and meanness were so -utterly beneath him that he never looked for them -in others. They represented qualities of which he -knew nothing. Any one could have cheated him, -but if by chance detected, the crime would have -seemed to him unpardonable, and from him they -would never have won forgiveness. Herbert, the -son whom he loved, had told him a lie—a court-martial -of his fellow-soldiers had determined that it -was so—and the crime had seemed to him scarcely -less black than the cowardice. He had never -doubted it for one reason, because the decision of a -court-martial was to him infallible, and for another, -because the idea of falsehood in connection with his -other son had never been suggested to him, and -save from another's lips could never have entered -into his mind. -</p> - -<p> -I watched the lightning change in his face -eagerly. A ray of sudden startling hope chased -the first look of astonishment from his face, but -it was replaced in its turn by a heavy frown and -a tightening of the lips. -</p> - -<p> -"We are not a race of liars," he began, sternly. -</p> - -<p> -"But, if Rupert lied, Herbert was neither liar -nor coward," I interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -He looked at me in such a way that I could say -no more. -</p> - -<p> -"There was another witness beside Rupert——" -</p> - -<p> -"Rupert's servant," I faltered, but he took no -notice. -</p> - -<p> -"And I should never dream of doubting the -court-martial's decision. I've told you this story, -Arbuthnot—I don't know why exactly; but I -forbid you ever to mention it to me again. Ah, -Miss Marian, you see I have been keeping your -brother company for a long while this afternoon." -</p> - -<p> -He had risen to his feet with old-fashioned -courtesy as my sister entered the room, and had -held a chair for her by my sofa. Then, after a few -more pleasant words, he nodded kindly to me and -went. If he had stayed five minutes longer I -might have told him all. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVII -<br /> -A MOONLIGHT RIDE -</h3> - -<p> -Before a month had passed I was able to get -about, and was soon as well and strong as ever. -I gave my evidence before a full bench of the -county magistrates, identified the man in custody, -and gave descriptions in all cases but one sufficiently -clear of the men who were still at large. The local -papers had made a great stir about the whole affair, -and when the court was over most of the -magistrates came up to shake hands with me, and I -found myself quite a celebrity. For a full month -afterwards invitations to dinner and shooting -parties came pouring in upon me, and Lady Olive -was never tired of chaffing me about my reputed -achievements. But the more friendly Lady Olive -became, both with Marian and myself, the less we -saw of Maud Devereux. I told myself that I was -glad of it, but I was a hypocrite. More than once -lately I had reined in my cob, and from a distance -watched her riding home from a day's hunting, -with Lord Annerley by her side, and had cursed -him under my breath for an insolent puppy. -Since the night when he had dined at Devereux -Court he seemed to have taken a strong dislike to -me. I had met him afterwards and nodded, and -in return had received an insolent stare. At first -I had been tempted to lay my riding-whip across -his face, but I quoted Tennyson to myself instead -and laughed— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Scorn'd, to be scorn'd by one that I scorn,<br /> - Is that a matter to make me fret?<br /> - That a calamity hard to be borne?<br /> - Well, he may live to hate me yet."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -And Lord Annerley did live to hate me, and -before very long too, for one afternoon as I was -riding home in the dusk I met Maud and him face -to face at one of the entrances to the park. She -bowed to me coldly, but Lord Annerley looked -straight between his horse's ears without even -acknowledging my salutation. Instantly she turned -round to me. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot." -</p> - -<p> -I pulled the Black Prince on his haunches, and -brought him round to her side. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you not going our way? It is a long way -round by the road unless you want to call in the -village!" -</p> - -<p> -I was too surprised to think of any excuse, so I -turned my horse's head. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, I suppose the park's the shorter way. I -ought to have remembered it for the Black -Prince's sake," I remarked. "I'm afraid he's -rather done up." -</p> - -<p> -"I thought that you two had met," she said, -turning to her companion. "Lord Annerley, you -know Mr. Arbuthnot, do you not?" -</p> - -<p> -He turned stiffly round towards me, with an -angry flush on his cheek. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh—ah—yes. How d'ye do, Arbuthnot?" -</p> - -<p> -I sat bolt upright in my saddle, and looked -steadily at Lord Annerley without returning his -insolent greeting. -</p> - -<p> -"My name is Arbuthnot, certainly," I said, -coldly, "but your lordship will pardon my -observing that I am not accustomed to hear it -taken such liberties with." -</p> - -<p> -I raised my hat to Miss Devereux, and digging -spurs into Black Prince's side rode on ahead. But -I had scarcely gone a quarter of a mile before I -heard a single horse's hoofs close behind, and -looking round saw Maud riding up to me alone. -I reined in at once and waited for her. -</p> - -<p> -She joined me without a word, and we walked -our horses side by side in silence. There was a -change in her face which puzzled me; a faint tinge -of pink was colouring her cheeks, and a peculiar -smile, half of amusement, half of satisfaction, -parted slightly her lips. Her eyes she kept -averted from me. -</p> - -<p> -"Where is Lord Annerley?" I asked, suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -"Gone home," she answered, demurely. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm afraid I've spoilt your ride," I said. "I'm -sorry." -</p> - -<p> -"Not at all," she answered, still without looking -at me. "You spoilt his, I think." -</p> - -<p> -I answered nothing. I dared not. I felt that -there was safety for me only in silence. And so -we rode on, our horses' feet sinking silently into -the short, green turf as we cantered slowly through -the park. From behind the dark plantations on -our right the moon had risen into a clear sky, and -every now and then the Black Prince started and -shied slightly at the grotesque shadows cast by the -giant oak-trees under which we rode. Where they -were thickest a few bats flew out and wheeled -for a minute or two round our heads before -disappearing in the opposite thickets. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you afraid to talk to me, Mr. Arbuthnot, -or can't you think of anything to say?" Maud -suddenly asked. -</p> - -<p> -The words which I intended to speak died -away on my lips. A subtle power seemed to be -struggling with my will and intoxicating my -senses. I answered blindly— -</p> - -<p> -"I am afraid to talk to you, Miss Devereux, -because I have too much to say." -</p> - -<p> -She turned round and looked at me, her deep -blue eyes full of a half-inviting, half-mocking light -which nearly drove me mad. She, at any rate, -was quite at her case. -</p> - -<p> -"Are you going to try and flirt with me, -Mr. Arbuthnot?" she asked, lightly. "I am not Lady -Olive." -</p> - -<p> -Just then the Black Prince shied as we rode -across the shadow of a gigantic oak-tree, and we -were so close together that our horses' heads nearly -touched. One of her shapely hands was hanging -carelessly down, toying with her whip, and, scarcely -knowing what I did, I caught hold of it and held -it to my lips. She drew it away, but she might -have drawn it away a second sooner had she -chosen. -</p> - -<p> -"You are a presumptuous boy," she said, looking -at me with a curious, half-puzzled light in her -glorious eyes. "If you don't behave yourself I -shall begin to be sorry that I sent Lord Annerley -away. He wouldn't have done such a stupid thing -as that, I'm sure." -</p> - -<p> -"He'd better not," I said, fiercely. She laughed -mockingly. I would have given anything to have -been able to keep back the words which were fast -rising from my swelling heart to my lips, but I -seemed to have lost all control over myself. A -fatal, irresistible impulse was luring me on. -"Maud——" -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Mr.</i> Arbuthnot," with a stress upon the Mr. -</p> - -<p> -I leaned over to her, and strove to look into -her face, but she kept it turned from me. "Maud, -dearest!" -</p> - -<p> -She turned round suddenly, with a curious -contradiction of expressions in her face. Her eyes -still seemed to mock me with a delusive tenderness, -but her lips were close set, and her head thrown -proudly back. -</p> - -<p> -"That is quite enough, Mr. Arbuthnot! Must -I remind you again that I am not Lady Olive? -I have never studied the art of flirting, and I -don't think I'll begin with you. You're far too -accomplished." -</p> - -<p> -In vain I tried to analyse the look she threw -me as she struck her horse sharply, and rode away -from me. It was contemptuous and tender, angry -and laughing, serious and mocking. I dug spurs -into Black Prince's side; but he was done up, -whilst she was on her second horse. It was not -until we were actually in the shrubbery grounds -that I caught her up. -</p> - -<p> -"One word, Miss Devereux," I begged, riding -up to her side, "you are not angry with me?" -</p> - -<p> -She looked into my eager face and laughed a -low mocking laugh, which maddened me to listen -to. The moon was shining full upon her loose -coils of fair hair and exquisite profile, bathing her -in its silvery light, and making her look like a -marvellous piece of statuary, perfectly beautiful, -but cold as marble. My heart sank as I looked -into her face, and I turned away in despair. -</p> - -<p> -"Maud, you are a flirt," I cried. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot," she replied, impressively, -"people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw -stones." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVIII -<br /> -A STRANGE INTERVIEW -</h3> - -<p> -The sun had gone down behind a bank of angry, -leaden-coloured clouds, which were fast spreading -over the whole surface of the sky. Only here and -there a stunted, half-grown, and leafless oak-tree -stretched out its naked branches towards the -darkening sky, and within a yard or two of me there -was a miserable apology for a cottage. -</p> - -<p> -No one, save they had known otherwise, would -have taken it for anything but a cowshed of the -rudest form. It was built of boards dipped in -black tar, windowless, chimneyless, save for a hole -in the roof through which a small piece of -dilapidated stove piping had been thrust, and -without the merest pretence of a garden. It stood, or -rather leaned, against one side of a sharp slope in -the moor, and fifty yards from the rude sheep-track -which did duty as a road, and even in the daytime -there was no other human habitation within sight, -or any sign of one. -</p> - -<p> -With my arm in the bridle of the Black Prince, I -led him down the slope, and, grasping my -riding-whip by the stock, knocked sharply at what I -concluded to be the door. I heard the quick sound -of a man's startled curse, and then there was a dead -silence. I knocked again, but no one answered. -Then I kicked at the loose planks till the place -seemed as though it would tumble down like a pack -of cards. -</p> - -<p> -"What d'ye want?" a woman's shrill voice cried -through the open chinks. "Who be you?" -</p> - -<p> -"I want your husband," I answered. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, he bean't here, 'e bean't coom home." -</p> - -<p> -"It's a lie!" I shouted back. "Tell him I shall -not go away until I have seen him, though I kick -this place about your ears. Is he afraid? Tell him -I am alone." -</p> - -<p> -She withdrew muttering, and I fastened Black -Prince as securely as I could against the wall. -Suddenly the door was opened, and stooping low, -with my heavy riding-whip grasped firmly in my -right hand, I stepped inside. -</p> - -<p> -At first I could see nothing, but just as I was -cautiously feeling in my pockets for a match, the -red flames of a wood fire, which was smouldering -on the hearth, leaped up and showed me the bare -walls and miserable interior of the tumble-down -hovel, showed me, too, the figure of a tall, -evil-looking man grasping a thick cudgel in his hand, -and peering through the gloom at me with a sort -of threatening inquisitiveness. -</p> - -<p> -"What d'ye want wi' me?" the man began, -suspiciously. Then suddenly he dropped his -cudgel and staggered back against the frail wall, -with his arms stretched out as though to keep -me off. -</p> - -<p> -"God, it's Muster Herbert! It's Muster Herbert's -ghost. What d'ye want? What d'ye want? -What d'ye want here wi' me? Speak, can't -you!" he cried out in a tone of hysterical dread. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't be a fool, John Hilton," I said, -contemptuously. "I am Hugh Devereux, son of the -man against whom you swore a lie twenty-five -years ago, and I have come here to ask you a -few questions." -</p> - -<p> -He kept his eyes fixed upon me in a sort of -sullen fascinated stare. -</p> - -<p> -"First tell me why you swore that lie? It was -Rupert Devereux who made you." -</p> - -<p> -The man's brute courage was returning to him -slowly. He picked up his cudgel and began to -beat the side of his legs with it. -</p> - -<p> -"You know how to command, young sir," he -said, sneeringly. "Suppose I say I won't answer -your d—d questions?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't think you'll be so foolish," I said. "If -you don't want to find yourself in gaol for poaching, -before the week's out, you'll do exactly as I tell -you." -</p> - -<p> -He swore savagely, and turned his ugly face full -upon me. -</p> - -<p> -"So you was the d—d young swell that came -busting in upon us when we was just a-settling -things off nice and comfortable t'other night, was -you! I've a good mind——" -</p> - -<p> -He had advanced a step or two towards me, and -his fingers had closed firmly round his cudgel. -</p> - -<p> -"Put that piece of timber down, John Hilton," -I said, firmly; "you've tried conclusions with me -once at Porlock, and you got the worst of it. So -you will again if you try the same game. Drop it. -Do you hear?" -</p> - -<p> -I took a quick step forward, and raised my -riding-whip. He hesitated, and then threw it -savagely down. -</p> - -<p> -"Curse it, what d'ye want to know?" -</p> - -<p> -"It was Rupert Devereux who made you tell -that lie before the court-martial?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, 'twas him, right enough. I'll tell yer all -about it. Muster Rupert Devereux ain't nothink -to me! He comes to me that morning t' moment -the bugle had sounded, and we was in the tents. -'Hilton,' he said to me, 'would yer tell a lie to -be made a rich man for the rest of your life?' 'In -coors I would,' said I. 'Then when you're -summoned before General Luxton to-morrow,' says -he, 'tell him that you saw nothing of my brother -during the fight. Forget that he ran out to help -us against those two black varmint. Do that, and -I'll allow you two hundred pounds a year as long -as you live.' 'I'm your man,' said I. 'That's -right,' says he, and turns on his heel and walks -back again. That were 'ow it war," he wound up -defiantly. -</p> - -<p> -I had hard work to keep my hands off him, but I did. -</p> - -<p> -"And your two hundred pounds a year?" I -asked, glancing around and at the bold-looking, -slatternly woman who sat crouched on a stool -watching us. "What's become of that? I presume -you don't live here from choice?" -</p> - -<p> -He broke into a volley of horrible curses. -</p> - -<p> -"I should think I don't," he broke out. "I'll -tell 'e how that —— served me. I was maybe a -bit of a fool; anyways, I was a bit strong-headed, -and when we got back to England I would live wi' -'im as his servant, though he didn't like it, and said -I was too rough and clumsy, and so I war. But I -got into his ways a bit, and live wi' 'im I would, for -I didn't nohow feel safe about getting the coin, he -war always moving about so. Often we had rows, -and he used to say as he'd send me a-packing; but -I only laughed at 'im. But that 'ere night, down -at Porlock, yer remember it, he got to hear what -I'd done, and he sent for me. 'Hilton,' he said, -'here's a month's wages, and you can go to the -devil. I've done wi' you.' ''Ow about our little -secret, mister?' I said, for I didn't think as he was -noways in earnest, and he says, 'You're a fool. -Hilton. You think you've got me in your power, -but it's the stupidest mistake you ever made in -your life. You can go and tell your secret to any -one you like, and I wish you joy of those who'll -believe yer.' And I saw then as I wor done, for of -coors no one would believe me. They all said as it -wor a bit o' spite because he'd given me the sack -and so I went down, down, down, and here I am." -</p> - -<p> -"A poacher," I remarked. -</p> - -<p> -"I didn't say nowt about that," he answered, -sullenly. "Wot more do yer want wi' me?" -</p> - -<p> -"A little family history, that's all. Whom did -your master marry?" -</p> - -<p> -"Miss Saville, or some such name. She war a -clergyman's daughter, and she died soon after the -second child were born." -</p> - -<p> -"The second child! There is a daughter living -at Devereux Court now—is the other one a son?" -</p> - -<p> -The man nodded sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -"And where is he?" -</p> - -<p> -"How the devil should I know! He war at -college when I left Muster Rupert; ain't 'eard of -'im since! -</p> - -<p> -"Or of Rupert Devereux?" -</p> - -<p> -"No, I ain't 'eard of 'im. D'ye think I reads the -sassiety papers down 'ere to know where all the fine -folks is, 'cos I don't." -</p> - -<p> -I was silent for a few minutes, thinking. Of -what use was this fellow's confession to me now -that I had got it? Who would believe the word -of such a disreputable vagabond against the word -of Rupert Devereux? Still, I would have his -confession—some day it might be useful. -</p> - -<p> -"Have you a candle?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -The woman rose from her seat for the first time, -and after groping about for a moment or two -produced a few inches of tallow dip I struck a -match, and, righting it, thrust it in the neck of -a black bottle which she silently handed me. Then, -in as few words as possible, I wrote down the -substance of Hilton's confession and handed it to -him, with the pencil, to sign. -</p> - -<p> -"If it only does 'im the harm I wish it will," he -muttered, "it'll do. Now, mister," he went on, -turning towards me half threateningly, half whiningly, -"wot I wants to know is this—Be yer going -to peach on me for that poaching job, and how in -thunder's name did yer know where to find me?" -</p> - -<p> -"By accident, the latter," I answered. I saw -you come out of this den months ago, when I was -riding across the moor to Silverbridge. I thought -it was a chance resemblance then, but when I saw -you in the wood I knew you. John Hilton, I am -not going to denounce you as one of that gang of -poachers; on the other hand, I have purposely -refrained from handing in your description. But -you have an account to settle with me. -</p> - -<p> -He grasped his cudgel again. -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" he muttered. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall show you," I answered. I turned aside -to the woman, who sat watching us with a weary, -indifferent stare. -</p> - -<p> -"How long is it since you had anything to eat?" -I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Yester forenoon," she moaned. "Him there"—she -pointed to her husband—"he daredna go -owt, and I ain't got no money, nor nowt to sell. -We be starving." -</p> - -<p> -I put my hand in my pocket and gave her half-a-sovereign. -</p> - -<p> -"Take that, and go and get something at once," -I said. -</p> - -<p> -She started to her feet, and her fingers closed -eagerly over the coin. Then she drew her shawl -around her and hurried to the door. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll be back inside o' an hour, Jack," she called -out to her husband. "We'll 'a some supper to-night; -I'll go to Jones's"—and she hurried away. -</p> - -<p> -I turned to the man, who stood looking hungrily -after his wife. -</p> - -<p> -"John Hilton, I said that I had an account to -settle with you. I have. It is through your -damnable conspiracy and lying that my father is -wandering about in a foreign land a miserable -man; that I am here compelled to bear a false -name and occupy a false position. If you think -that I have forgiven you this because I gave your -wife money and do not cause you to be arrested as -a poacher, you are mistaken. I don't want your -miserable life. I wouldn't take it if I had the -chance. But I am going to give you the soundest -horsewhipping you ever had in your life." -</p> - -<p> -He shrunk back. He was a coward at heart, but -he had plenty of bravado. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, look 'ere, young mister," he said, savagely, -"you've given my missus money when we wanted -it, lad, and I don't want to hurt you. But you're -only a stripling, and if you lay 'ands on me I sha'n't -take it quiet, I can tell you. Now keep off." -</p> - -<p> -He was a tall man, but I was a taller; and though -I was slim, my out-of-door life had hardened my -muscles till they were like iron. But had I been -less his superior in strength, the passionate hatred -and disgust which leaped up within me when I -remembered what this man had done would have -helped me to have gained my end. As it was, -he was utterly helpless in my grasp, and I had -wrenched his cudgel from him in a moment. All -round the little room he struggled and writhed; -whilst holding him by the collar with one hand I -dealt him fierce, quick blows with my thonged -riding-whip. Then, throwing him from me, panting -and helpless, into the furthest corner of the -room, I strode out of the shaking tenement to -where my horse was neighing impatiently outside. -He made no attempt to follow me, and in a few -minutes I had given Black Prince the rein, and we -were flying across the moor homewards. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIX -<br /> -MARIAN SURPRISES ME -</h3> - -<p> -It was eighteen miles from John Hilton's hut to -the park gates, across a wild country, and I had -had two hours' hard riding when, splashed with -bog mud from head to foot, I walked into Marian's -little sitting-room, which, it seemed to me, after -the dark moor, had never looked so cheerful and -cosy. Marian herself was there, lounging in a low -wicker chair, with her fair hair scarcely so tidy as -usual, and a soft, pleased light in her grey eyes, -and opposite her was a visitor—our curate. She -sprang up as I entered. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, how late you are! I waited dinner -nearly two hours. Where have you been?" -</p> - -<p> -I was tired, and hungry, and cold; and I shook -hands with our visitor without a superabundance -of cordiality before dropping into an easy chair in -front of the fire. -</p> - -<p> -"A little business, that's all. Did you keep any -dinner back?" -</p> - -<p> -"Of course I did." -</p> - -<p> -She rang the bell, and I sat still for a minute or -two, expecting Mr. Holdern to take his leave. But -he did nothing of the sort. Presently I rose. -</p> - -<p> -"I'll change my things, and have a wash, I -think. You'll excuse me for a few minutes," I said -to Mr. Holdern, curtly. -</p> - -<p> -He consented readily, without making any movement -to go. When I descended into our little -dining-room, about half-an-hour afterwards, Marian -was not there, though she came in almost directly. -</p> - -<p> -"That fellow Holdern not gone yet?" I asked, -surprised. -</p> - -<p> -"N—no, Hugh, he's not gone yet," Marian -answered, a little consciously. "Now, I do hope -that partridge isn't done up to nothing. And -how's the bread sauce? Rather thick, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -I couldn't quite make Marian out. She seemed -almost nervous, and after she had waited upon me, -and poured out a glass of the claret which Sir -Francis had insisted upon sending down from the -house, she stood by my side with her arm round -my neck, and looking uncommonly pretty. -</p> - -<p> -"Hadn't you better go in and talk with that -fellow Holdern, if he won't go?" I asked; "won't -do to leave him in there all by himself." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, he won't hurt," she answered, stroking -my hair caressingly; "he's been here ever since -afternoon tea." -</p> - -<p> -"The deuce he has!" I exclaimed, setting down -my glass, and looking up at her surprised. "What -does he want? A subscription?" -</p> - -<p> -"N—no. I don't think so, Hughie." -</p> - -<p> -Something of the truth commenced to dawn -upon me, and, sitting back in my chair, I caught -Marian by the arms, and looked into her face. -</p> - -<p> -"Marian, you don't mean to say that the fellow's -been making love to you!" -</p> - -<p> -She was blushing all over her delicate little face, -and she held up her hands as though to hide it -from me. -</p> - -<p> -"I—I'm afraid he has, Hughie, and—and——" -</p> - -<p> -"And what?" -</p> - -<p> -"And I've been letting him." -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, indeed!" I exclaimed, feebly. -</p> - -<p> -It wasn't a very impressive thing to say, but I -was bewildered. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly she threw herself into my arms and -hid her face on my shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Hugh, you won't be angry, will you? say -that you won't! He is so nice, and I'm so -happy." -</p> - -<p> -I don't know how most men would have felt -in my position, but I must confess that my first -impulse was to go and punch Mr. Holdern's head. -But when I began to think the matter over a little -it occurred to me that this was scarcely the proper -course to pursue—at any rate, it was not the usual -one. The more I thought of it the more natural -it seemed to me. I remembered now how often I -had found Mr. Holdern sitting at afternoon tea -with Marian when I had come home about that -time, and what an interest she had been taking in -parish matters lately. As far as the man himself -was concerned there was nothing against him; in -fact, I rather liked him. But to give him—a -stranger—Marian, my little sister, who had only -just begun to keep house for me, the idea was -certainly not a pleasant one, and yet if she wished -it, how could I refuse her? -</p> - -<p> -"You're too young, you know, for anything of -this sort, Marian," I began, with an attempt at -severity, which I'm sure she saw through. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm eighteen," came a piteous voice from the -vicinity of my waistcoat. "Lots of girls are -engaged before they're eighteen." -</p> - -<p> -This was unanswerable. I tried another line. -</p> - -<p> -"And you want to leave me, then, Marian, -already?" I said, with a plaintiveness that was -not all affected. -</p> - -<p> -The arms that were round my neck tightened -their grasp, and a tear-stained, dishevelled face was -lifted piteously to mine. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't, Hugh! You know I don't. We only -want to be engaged. We don't want to be -married." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I suppose it's all right," I said, with a -sigh. "Look here, Marian, you run along in to -Mr. Holdern, and leave me to think about it while I -finish my dinner." -</p> - -<p> -She unclasped her arms and looked at me -radiantly. -</p> - -<p> -"Dear old Hugh! I knew you'd say yes." -</p> - -<p> -"But I haven't said anything of the sort," I -protested, severely. "Don't you run away with -that idea, young lady. I shall have to hear what -Mr. Holdern's got to say for himself first," I added, -frowning, and assuming an air of paternal authority. -But she saw through it, and with a final kiss ran -away laughing. -</p> - -<p> -Being a somewhat matter-of-fact young man, and -keenly conscious of an as yet unsatisfied hunger, I -finished my dinner before I commenced to think -seriously over this unexpected incident. Then I -leaned back in my chair and considered it, and in -a very few minutes I had come to the conclusion -that it was about the most fortunate thing that -could have happened. I had never intended my -stay here to be a permanent one, and whilst there -were now no reasons why I should remain, there -were several strong ones why I should go. First, -I could attain no nearer now, by stopping, to the -great object of my life; on the other hand, every -day I stayed here and remained under the fascination -of Maud Devereux's presence I stood in -greater risk of forgetting my oath. Then whilst -here I had no opportunity of meeting Rupert -Devereux, my uncle, the man from, whom, if it -came at all, must come my father's justification. -My father! -</p> - -<p> -I thought of him in his weary exile, and my -heart ached. Not a line had I heard from him -since our parting, nor had I even the least idea in -what country of the world he was. If Marian left -me, what was there to prevent my finding him out -and throwing in my lot with his? Together we -might accomplish what singly each might fail in. -The more I thought about it the more I liked the -idea. -</p> - -<p> -Leave Devereux I must, though I had grown to -love the place, and to feel a strange affection for -my stern old grandfather. Yet how could I go on -living here to feel every day the subtle fascination -of Maud Devereux's presence gaining a stronger -hold upon me—Maud Devereux, the daughter of -the man who had wrecked my father's life and -mine, the man whom I had cursed in my heart? -It seemed to me almost like treachery towards him -whom I loved so well, and whose wrongs I so -bitterly resented, that a glance from her blue eyes -could madden or elate me, and that the sound of -her voice could set all my senses quivering. I must -go, I must turn my back upon her for ever and -take up the work of my life wherever it might lead -me. This thing which had happened to Marian -made the way clear before me. -</p> - -<p> -I crossed over to our little drawing-room, and, -entering without the ceremony of knocking, found -Marian and Mr. Holdern seated on chairs a long -way from one another, apparently engaged in a -minute examination of the ceiling. Marian took -up her work and left us with a blushing face, -and Mr. Holdern, without any beating about the -bush, stood up on the hearthrug and began his -tale. -</p> - -<p> -He was a pleasant-faced, agreeable young fellow, -and there was an honest look about his eyes and a -straightforward manner which I liked, and which -convinced me of his sincerity. He had a private -income, he told me, and had recently been offered -a very comfortable living about twelve miles away. -"Of course," he added, hesitatingly, "he felt some -diffidence in proposing to take Marian away from -me, and thus leaving me to live by myself—but, -but, the long and short of it was, he wanted to get -married as soon as I could possibly spare her. They -would not be far away; indeed, if my prospective -loneliness was an objection, I could take up my -abode with them. Anything so that I would give -him Marian, and give him her soon." -</p> - -<p> -I did not waste any time in affecting to consider -the matter, but, pledging him first to secrecy, I told -him our history, what was our rightful name, and -my reasons for not bearing it. If I had had any -doubt before, I knew by his behaviour when I had -finished my story that he was a good fellow. He -held out his hand and grasped mine, with the tears -standing in his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Devereux," he said, emphatically, "I don't -know how to express my sympathy for you. I -heard of this sad affair when I was a very little -boy, and I have heard my father say many a time -that he would never believe Herbert Devereux to -be a coward. I hope to God that you will succeed -in your quest." -</p> - -<p> -"I hope so," I echoed, fervently. "Marian -knows nothing of this, Mr. Holdern." -</p> - -<p> -"Nor need she ever," he answered. "I think -you have been quite right to keep it from her! -There would have been no object gained in her -knowing, and women do not understand these -things like men." -</p> - -<p> -"Do you know anything of Rupert Devereux?" -I asked. -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. "Very little. I have seen -him once—a tall, dark man, handsome, but very -unlike the Devereuxs. I have heard him spoken of -as a Sybarite and a pleasure-seeker. He is seldom -in England, I believe." -</p> - -<p> -A Sybarite! A pleasure-seeker! I thought of -him wandering at will through the countries of the -world, steeping his senses in every luxury that -money could buy, and living at ease and in comfort, -and I thought of my father, also a wanderer -on the face of the earth, seeking neither comfort -nor pleasure nor ease, at war with the world and -with himself, with no joy in the present or hope -for the future, seeking only for a chance to throw -his life away in the miserable quarrels of any -pettifogging country who would accept his sword! -Mr. Holdern watched me in silence while I walked up -and down the room for a few minutes almost beside -myself with compressed passion. Then he walked -up to me and laid a hand on my shoulder. -"Devereux," he said, earnestly, "I can understand -your feeling like this, but you must try and keep -it under control, or I'm afraid there will be trouble -soon." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean?" I asked, turning round -and facing him. -</p> - -<p> -He hesitated, and then answered slowly— -</p> - -<p> -"I have just heard that young Francis Devereux, -your cousin, is expected down here for Christmas." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XX -<br /> -AMONGST THE BULRUSHES -</h3> - -<p> -It wanted but three days to Christmas, and it had -been a frost. Upon the bare fields and the shivering -landscape had fallen a hand of iron—no gentle -hoar-frost, making the fields and country look like -a glittering panorama, but a stern, merciless black -frost which had come in with the east wind, and -lay upon the land like a cruel blight. Agricultural -work of all sort was at a standstill, and hunting -was impossible. The only thing to be done out of -doors was to skate, and that every one who owned -a pair of skates was doing. -</p> - -<p> -There was a large party at Devereux Court, but -I had contrived to see very little of them. Two of -Lady Olive's sisters, some former schoolfellows of -Maud Devereux's, Francis Devereux, and some -town friends, were all stopping there, and Maud -was playing hostess while Sir Francis kept himself -partially shut up. Once or twice I had come across -them in the park, a laughing, chattering group, but -I had passed with a bow, and had chosen not to see -Lady Olive's mute command to stop. I had seen -him, my cousin, and I hated him. What freak of -nature had made him the brother of such a sister?—this -pale, effeminate-looking man, with leaden -eyes and insolent stare, and the manners of a fop. -"What did Sir Francis think of him," I wonder, -"as the future head of the family of Devereux?" Bah! -It was a profitless thought. -</p> - -<p> -Early in the morning I sallied out with Mr. Holdern -and Marian for an hour or two's skating; -there was nothing else for me to do. There were -two lakes, and we chose the smaller that we might -have it all to ourselves. No sooner had we our -skates on than the inevitable happened. Hand in -hand Marian and Holdern swept away together to -the farther end where the bulrushes were many and -the ice was bad, and I was left alone. -</p> - -<p> -I commenced to make the best of it by selecting -a smooth piece of ice and setting myself an impossible -task in figure skating. Far away on the other -lake I could hear the hum of many skates and the -sound of merry voices, and it made me feel lonely -and discontented. I would like to have been with -them, skating hand in hand with Maud—Maud -whom I had not spoken a single word to since our -last ride home together; Maud whose face was -seldom absent from my thoughts; Maud whom, -alas! I loved. -</p> - -<p> -With an aching heart I left off my futile attempt -to cut impossible figures, and, lighting my pipe, -commenced to make the circuit of the lake, with -long, swift strides. There was something exhilarating -in the rapid motion, in the desperate hastening -over the smooth black ice, and as I came round -for the second time my cheeks began to glow and -my heart to grow lighter. Then suddenly it -bounded with an unthinking joy, for close above -me was a chorus of gay, chattering tongues, and -one amongst them I could distinguish in a moment, -although it was the lowest of all. -</p> - -<p> -I struck away for the middle of the lake, meaning -to make my escape, but I was just a second or -two too late. Lady Olive was calling to me, and I -was obliged to turn round. -</p> - -<p> -The whole group was standing on the bank, some -carrying chairs, and some sledges, and all, except -Francis Devereux, skates. Lady Olive was calling -to me, so I was obliged to skate up to them. -</p> - -<p> -"Fancy your being here all by yourself, -Mr. Arbuthnot! Do you know, we were coming down -to call on you, the whole lot of us, if we hadn't -seen you soon? Is it good ice? And come in -closer, do; I want to introduce you to my sisters." -</p> - -<p> -There was nothing for me to do but obey, and in -a moment I found myself being chatted to by two -girls not very unlike Lady Olive herself; and my -hand had touched Maud's for a moment, and my -eyes looked into hers. Then some one introduced -me to Mr. Francis Devereux, and I found myself -bowing slightly (I had kept my hands behind me, -all the time anticipating this, for God forbid that I -should place the hand of Rupert Devereux's son -within my own) to my cousin, who looked out at -me superciliously from the depths of a fur coat, -which had the appearance of having been made for -the Arctic regions. It was too cold to stand still, -and we all trooped on to the ice. There were many -more men than girls in the party, I was pleased to -see, and very soon they were scattered all over the -lake in couples, and I, glad enough of it, was left -to myself. Maud alone had delayed putting on her -skates, and was sitting on a stump close to where I -was standing filling my pipe, the centre of a little -group of men, amongst whom was Lord Annerley. -As I threw the match down, and turned round to -start away again, my eyes met hers for a moment, -and she smiled slightly. Did she expect me, I -wonder, to join the little group of her admirers, -and vie with them in making pretty speeches, and -compete with them for the privilege of putting her -skates on? Bah! not I. If she thought that I -was her slave, to be made happy or miserable by a -glance from her blue eyes or a kind word from her -lips, I would show her that she was mistaken. If -she was proud, so was I; and drawing on my glove -again, I skated over to the other side of the lake, -out of hearing and sight of her little court. -</p> - -<p> -Soon Lady Olive came skating up to me alone, -with her hands stuck coquettishly into the pockets -of her short fur-trimmed jacket, and her bright -little face glowing with pleasure and warmth. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, I think you're the most -unsociable man I ever knew!" she exclaimed. "My -sisters are dying to skate with you, but you won't -ask them, and—and—so am I," she added, with a -bewitching smile up at me. -</p> - -<p> -Of course I could do nothing but take her little -hands into mine and skate away with her at once. -We passed Maud again and again skating with -Lord Annerley, and the proud cold light in her -eyes as she glanced at us in passing half maddened -me. Whenever we met her, Lady Olive, out of -wanton mischief, forced me to look down into her -laughing upturned face and bright eyes, and to do -so without an answering smile was impossible; and -yet Lady Olive's brilliant chatter and mocking -speeches were very pleasant to hear and to respond -to, reckless little flirt though she was. -</p> - -<p> -She left me at last to skate with Lord Annerley's -brother, who had just driven up in a dog-cart with -some more men, and then I went to look for Marian -and Holdern. Instead, I came face to face round -a sharp corner with Maud leaning back in a sledge -and gazing idly into the bulrushes, where one of -her brother's friends was busy with a penknife. -She motioned me languidly to stop, and I obeyed -her. -</p> - -<p> -"What have you done with Lady Olive?" she -inquired, coldly. -</p> - -<p> -"Resigned her to a more fortunate man," I -answered, circling round her chair. -</p> - -<p> -"More fortunate! You haven't much to grumble -at! You've been skating with her more than an -hour, haven't you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Really I don't know," I answered, lightly. -"I took little notice of the time." -</p> - -<p> -"It passed too pleasantly, I suppose?" -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps so! I so seldom have any one to talk -to," I could not help answering. -</p> - -<p> -"It is your own fault. You have been avoiding -us deliberately for the last three weeks." -</p> - -<p> -I folded my arms and looked steadily away from her. -</p> - -<p> -"And if I have," I said, slowly, "I think you -might congratulate me on my wisdom and strength -of mind." -</p> - -<p> -She laughed a little hesitating laugh, and, with -her head thrown back on the cushion of the sledge, -fixed her eyes upon me. -</p> - -<p> -"Lady Olive is dangerous, is she?" -</p> - -<p> -I looked at her for a full minute without answering. -From underneath her sealskin turban hat her -blue eyes were looking full into mine, and a -mocking smile was playing around her delicate lips. -Surely she was beautiful enough to drive any man mad. -</p> - -<p> -"No, Lady Olive is not dangerous to me," I -answered, deliberately; "you are." -</p> - -<p> -A curious change came over her face as -she uttered the word. The mocking smile became -almost a tender one, and a delicate flush tinged her -soft cheeks. But the greatest change was in her -eyes. For a moment they flashed into mine with a -light shining out of their blue depths which I had -never dreamt of seeing there, a soft, warm, almost -a loving light. -</p> - -<p> -"You are a silly boy," she said, in a low tone, -and the colour deepening all the while in her cheeks. -"How dare you talk to me like this?" -</p> - -<p> -Ah, how dared I? She might well have asked -that if she had only known. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know," I said, recklessly. "I shall say -more if I stay here any longer." -</p> - -<p> -"You? Ah, Captain Hasleton, how beautiful! -However did you manage to find so many?" -</p> - -<p> -Captain Hasleton shut up his penknife and -commenced tying the bundle of bulrushes together. -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, you may well ask that, Miss Devereux," -he said, laughing; "it would take too long to -narrate all the horrors I have faced in collecting -them. First of all, endless frogs resented my -intrusion by jumping up and croaking all round -me. Then I stood in constant peril of a ducking. -You should have heard the ice crack! And last, -but by no means least, I've cut my finger. Nothing -but half-a-dozen waltzes to-night will repay me." -</p> - -<p> -Maud laughed gaily. -</p> - -<p> -"Half-a-dozen? How grasping! I'll promise -you two. That reminds me, Mr. Arbuthnot," she -added, leaning forward on her muff and looking up -at me, "we're going to dance to-night, and I've -persuaded your sister and Mr. Holdern to come up -to dinner. You will come, won't you?" -</p> - -<p> -I said something conventional to the effect that -I should be delighted, and, raising my cap, was -about to turn away. But she called me back. -</p> - -<p> -"How dreadfully tall you are, Mr. Arbuthnot! -I have a private message for your sister. Do you -think that you could bring yourself within whispering -distance?" -</p> - -<p> -I stooped down till my heart beat to feel her -soft breath on my cheek, and I felt a wild longing -to seize hold of the slender, shapely hand that -rested on my coat-sleeve. And these were the -words which she whispered into my ear, half -mischievously, half tenderly— -</p> - -<p> -"Faint heart never won—anything, did it? -Don't, you silly boy! Captain Hasleton will see -you." -</p> - -<p> -And then she drew herself up and nodded, and -with the hot colour burning my cheeks, and with -leaping heart, I watched Captain Hasleton seize -hold of the light hand-sledge and send it flying -along the smooth surface of the lake round the -sharp corner and out of sight. Then I turned and -skated away in the opposite direction with those -words ringing in my ears and a wild joy in my -heart. The cold east wind seemed to me like the -balmiest summer breeze, and the bare, desolate -landscape stretching away in front seemed bathed -in a softening golden light. For Maud loved me—or -she was a flirt. Maud was a flirt—or she loved me. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXI -<br /> -RUPERT DEVEREUX -</h3> - -<p> -If any one had told me that evening, as Marian -and Holdern and I drew near to the great entrance -of Devereux Court, that I was entering it for the -last time for many years, I should probably have -thought them mad. And yet so it was, for that -night was a fateful one to me. Into foreign lands -and far-away places I carried with me the memory -of the stately greystone front, the majestic towers, -the half-ruined battlements, the ivy-covered, ruined -chapel, with its stained-glass windows, and the vast -hall towering up to the vaulted roof. Of Devereux -Court, of all these, I have said but little, for my -story is rather a chronicle of events than a -descriptive one. But they had made a great impression -upon me, as was only natural; for would they not -some day, if I chose to claim them, be mine? -</p> - -<p> -We arrived rather early, and leaving Marian and -Mr. Holdern in the drawing-room with a few of the -other guests who had already assembled, I made -use of my knowledge of the house to go and look -for Maud, and I found her—alone, in the conservatory, -leading out of her little morning-room. -</p> - -<p> -Surely God's earth had never held a more lovely -woman. I stood looking at her for a full minute -without speaking. A rich ivory satin dress hung -in simple but perfectly graceful folds about her slim, -exquisite figure, and bands of wide, creamy old -point lace filled in her square bodice right up to -her white throat. She wore no ornaments, no -flowers, save a single sprig of heliotrope nearly -buried amongst the lace. Her deep blue, almost -violet, eyes had lost their cold, disdainful gleam, -and looked into mine kindly; but there was still -the half-mocking smile playing around her slightly -parted lips. -</p> - -<p> -"And, pray, what right have you to come into -my sanctum without knocking, sir?" she asked, -with a soft laugh, which did not seem to me to -speak of much anger; "and now that you are here, -why do you stand staring at me like a great stupid?" -</p> - -<p> -I drew a long breath, and took a step forward. -</p> - -<p> -"I came to beg for a flower, and——" -</p> - -<p> -"Well, there are plenty in the conservatory," she -said, pointing to it. "You may help yourself." -</p> - -<p> -I stood close to her, so close that the faint perfume -from the morsel of lace which she was holding in -her hand reached me. -</p> - -<p> -"Only one flower will satisfy me," I said. "That -sprig of heliotrope. May I have it?" -</p> - -<p> -She laughed again, a low musical laugh, and the -tinge of pink in her cheeks grew deeper. -</p> - -<p> -"If nothing else will satisfy you I suppose you -must." -</p> - -<p> -She unfastened it from the bosom of her dress, -and her little white fingers busied themselves for -a moment with my buttonhole. So close was her -head, with its many coils of dazzlingly fair hair, to -mine, that, irresistibly tempted, I let my fingers -rest upon it for a second with a caressing touch. -She looked up at me with a mock frown, which her -eyes contradicted. -</p> - -<p> -She did not speak, neither did I. But a sweet -subtle intoxication seemed to be creeping over my -senses, and slowly, scarce knowing what I did, I -drew her into my arms, and her head rested upon -my shoulder. Then my lips touched hers in one -long quivering kiss, which she not only suffered, -but faintly returned, and it seemed to me that life -could hold nothing sweeter than this. -</p> - -<p> -Only for a moment she lingered in my arms. -Then, as though suddenly galvanised into life and -recollection, she gently disengaged herself, and stood -apart from me. -</p> - -<p> -Maud blushing—my princess blushing! I had -pictured her to myself often with a thousand -different expressions dwelling in her cold, fair face, -but never thus! Yet how could she have looked -more lovely! -</p> - -<p> -"Now I wonder what my father would have said -if he had come in just then!" she exclaimed, holding -her fan in front of her face, and looking at me with -laughingly reproachful eyes over the top of its wavy -feathers. "Mind, you must be on your very -best behaviour this evening, and not attempt to -talk to me too much. He hasn't seen me for -five years, and I don't want him to think me -frivolous." -</p> - -<p> -"Your father! My God! is he here?" I gasped, -leaning back against the table, and clutching hold -of it with nervous fingers. The room seemed swimming -round with me, and Maud's face alone remained -distinct. -</p> - -<p> -"He's coming to-night," she said, looking at me -in amazement. "What difference can it make to -you? Why, Mr. Ar—— Hugh, you are ill!" she -exclaimed, shutting up her fan and moving to my -side. -</p> - -<p> -I held out my hand to keep her away. God -forbid that Rupert Devereux's daughter should -rest in my arms again. -</p> - -<p> -"Coming here!" I muttered. "Coming here -to-night!" The idea seemed almost too much for me -to realise. How could I sit at the same table with -him? How breathe the same air without letting -him know of my hate? And this was his daughter -Maud—my Maud, my princess. The idea seemed -almost to choke me. -</p> - -<p> -The second dinner gong boomed out, and I raised -myself at once. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm afraid I frightened you, M—— Miss Devereux. -I won't stop to explain now. They will be -wanting you in the drawing-room." -</p> - -<p> -I opened the door for her, and she swept out and -across the polished oak and rug-strewn floor of the -hall, lifting her eyes to mine for one moment as she -passed, full of a strange, sweet light. For a brief -while I lingered behind; then, with a great efforts -regaining my calmness, I followed her. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap22"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXII -<br /> -FACE TO FACE -</h3> - -<p> -I sat between Lady Olive and her younger sister -at dinner, and I have no doubt that both found me -very stupid and inattentive. I could neither eat -nor drink, talk nor laugh. Even Lady Olive gave -me up at last, and devoted her attention to Captain -Hasleton, her neighbour on the other side. It was -not until dinner was nearly over that I was able to -rouse myself in the slightest degree, and by that -time Lady Olive had quite lost her temper with me. -</p> - -<p> -"Skating doesn't agree with you, Mr. Arbuthnot," -she whispered, when at last Maud had given the -signal to rise. "I never knew any one so -provokingly stupid in all my life." -</p> - -<p> -I shrugged my shoulders deprecatingly. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sorry, Lady Olive," I said, grimly, "but if -you felt as I do for five minutes you'd forgive me," -which was perfectly true. -</p> - -<p> -She looked up at me with a pitying glance, and I -suppose something in my expression told her that -I was suffering, for her piquant little face clouded -over at once. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm so sorry, Mr. Arbuthnot. You look as -though you had a very bad headache. Come to -me in the drawing-room as soon as you can, and -I'll give you some sal volatile." -</p> - -<p> -I thanked her a little absently—perhaps without -sufficient gratitude, for she was a kind-hearted little -woman, although she was such a terrible flirt. But -I was eager to watch Maud go by—eager even to be -brushed by her garments as she passed. -</p> - -<p> -She half stopped as she reached me. -</p> - -<p> -"I won't allow you to flirt with Lady Olive," she -whispered, with a bewitching little <i>moue</i>; then -added out loud: "Come to us as soon as ever -you can, Mr. Arbuthnot. We want to commence -dancing in good time." -</p> - -<p> -I bowed, and letting fall the curtain, turned back -to the table. Sir Francis motioned me to take the -vacant place by his side, and filled my glass himself -from the decanter which stood at his elbow. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy," he said, slowly—he had got -into the habit of calling me Hugh lately—"I'm -upset!" -</p> - -<p> -I looked into his handsome old face, and saw that -it was clouded over, and there was a heavy frown -on his brow. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sorry, sir," I ventured to say. -</p> - -<p> -"Thanks. I knew you would be. I don't -suppose a man ought to be sorry because his son's -coming to see him, ought he?" -</p> - -<p> -It depended upon the son, I thought. -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, it depends upon the son, of course," he said, -thoughtfully, stroking his long grey moustache. -"There is nothing against Maud's father, nothing -at all. He's nothing like that young cub of his -down there," he went on, jerking his head to where -Francis Devereux was talking very loudly and -drinking a good deal of champagne. "And yet -I don't want him here. I can't bear to see him -in the place. It's a damned funny thing." -</p> - -<p> -"If you feel like that, sir," I said, keeping my -eyes fixed upon the tablecloth, "depend upon it, it's -your son's fault. He's done something to deserve it." -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis sat silent for a while, toying with his -glasses. -</p> - -<p> -"He has done nothing," he said, half to himself, -"and yet I hate the sight of him, and he of me. It -is twelve years since he set foot within Devereux -Court. Twelve years! I wonder what his fancy -is for coming now. Would to God he had stopped -away!" -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Francis," exclaimed a voice from the lower -end of the table, "a promise to ladies is sacred. -We were told that ten minutes was as long as we -could be allowed this evening, and we have pledged -our words. Have we your permission?" -</p> - -<p> -"Certainly, gentlemen." -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis rose, and there was a general draining -of glasses and a stretching of masculine forms. Then -we followed him across the hall into the blue -drawing-room. -</p> - -<p> -I should have made my way at once to Maud -but a look in her eyes checked me, and I turned -aside and sat down in an empty recess. I had -scarcely commenced to turn over the pages of a -book of engravings which I had carelessly taken -up, when I heard a voice at my elbow. -</p> - -<p> -"As usual, Mr. Arbuthnot, you make me come to -you. It's too bad of you." -</p> - -<p> -I put down the book with a start, and stood up. -Lady Olive was at my elbow. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, sit down again, and tell me how the headache -is," she exclaimed, sinking herself into the -cushioned recess, and drawing her skirts aside to -make room for me. "See, I've brought you my -favourite smelling-salts, and I have some sal volatile -in my pocket. I mustn't doctor you before all these -people, though! And now for the question I'm -dying to ask. Shall you be able to waltz?" -</p> - -<p> -"Come and see," I said, rising and offering her -my arm, for an exodus was already taking place -from the room. "It's awfully good of you, Lady -Olive, to remember my headache," I added, -gratefully. -</p> - -<p> -She tapped my fingers with her fan. -</p> - -<p> -"Don't make speeches, sir. What a grand old -place this is, isn't it?" -</p> - -<p> -We were to dance in the armour gallery, and the -whole party were making their way there now. -The magnificent staircase, bordered with massive -black oak balustrades, up which we were passing, -descended into the middle of the hall, and was -supported by solid black marble pillars; and the -corridor, which ran at right angles to it, was lighted -by stained-glass windows, in front of each of which -armoured knights were grimly keeping watch. One -corridor led into another, all of noble dimensions, -with high oriel windows, and lined by a silent -ghostly guard of steel-clad warriors and polished -marble statues. A strange contrast they seemed -to the gay laughing procession of girls, in their -low-necked dinner dresses and flashing diamonds, -and men in their mess jackets and evening coats. -Maud alone, moving with the slow, stately grace of -a princess of former days, seemed in keeping with -our surroundings. -</p> - -<p> -Soon the sound of violins reached us, and, pushing -aside the heavy curtains, we descended two -steps and stood in the armour gallery. Maud's -imagination and many nimble fingers had been -busy here, and at first I scarcely knew the place. -Fairy lights with various coloured shades hung from -the mailed gloves of many generations of Devereux, -and the black oak floor was shining with a polish -beyond its own. But no fairy lights or bracketed -candles could dispel the gloom which hung about -the long lofty gallery, with its vaulted roof black -with age, and its panelled walls hung with the -martial trophies of every age and every land. And -yet it was a gloom which seemed in keeping with -the place, and no one found it oppressive. -</p> - -<p> -I danced with Lady Olive, and then, as we stood -talking in the shade of one of my armoured -forefathers, Captain Hasleton came up and claimed her, -and I was left alone. Nearly opposite me was Maud, -standing like an exquisite picture in the softened -light of one of the stained-glass windows. But -I did not go to her at once. Several men were -talking to her, and she was answering them with -the languid air of one who finds it hard to be -amused, and her blue eyes more than once travelled -past them and looked into mine indifferently, but -still with a meaning in them. At last I crossed the -room and stood before her. -</p> - -<p> -"You promised me a waltz, I think, Miss -Devereux. Will not this one do?" -</p> - -<p> -She hesitated for a moment, and then she laid -her hand on my coat-sleeve, and we moved away. -Without a word I passed my arm around her waist, -and we floated slowly up the room. It was one of -Waldteufel's wild, sad waltzes, now bursting into a -loud flood of music, now dying away into a few faint -melodious chords. For many years afterwards I -never heard it played without longing to rush away -into solitude and recall those few minutes of exquisite -happiness in that strange, dimly-lit ball-room. -</p> - -<p> -All things come to an end, and so did that waltz. -Maud promised me the next but one, and was led -away by Lord Annerley, and, to while away the -time, I took a lamp from a bracket on the wall, and, -pushing aside the heavy curtains, stepped into the -picture gallery to look at my father's portrait. -</p> - -<p> -It was not the first time by many that I had done -so, for when I had been shown over the court soon -after my arrival my first visit had been here. -Bitterly indignant had I felt when, after I had -looked for long in vain for my father's picture, I had -found it—with its face turned against the wall. -I had turned it round again during a moment or -two when Groves, the portly house-steward, had been -otherwise engaged, and since then it had not been -disturbed, for Sir Francis no longer made this his -favourite lounging-place; indeed, he seldom came -here at all. -</p> - -<p> -The sound of the music and of voices—some fresh -ones I fancied—came to me in a faint, indistinct -hum through the drawn curtains, and for a while I -forgot all about them. I seemed in another world, -amongst these long rows of my frowning ancestors, -beruffed ladies in quilted gowns and dresses of -strange device, armed knights, and beaux of a later -and more peaceful age with perukes, knee-breeches, -and snuff-boxes. But though I walked the whole -length of the gallery, and glanced leisurely at all of -them, it was my father's picture at which I lingered -longest, and before which I was standing absorbed -when the drawing of the curtain and the sound of -voices and feet entering the gallery made me start -round and very nearly drop the candle which I held -in my hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Why, Arbuthnot, what are you doing moping -in here?" exclaimed Sir Francis, in a tone of -astonishment. "Why don't you go and dance?" -</p> - -<p> -I turned round with some excuse on my lips, -but it died away when I saw who were his companions. -Walking by his side was a tall dark man, -with iron-grey hair, and pale, delicate face. On his -arm was Maud, and, glancing from one to another, -I knew that this was her father, my Uncle Rupert. -Behind was my cousin Francis, with Lady Olive on -his arm. It was a strange meeting. -</p> - -<p> -"This is Mr. Arbuthnot, Rupert, whom I was -telling you about just now," Sir Francis went on, -without appearing to notice my start, "Arbuthnot, -this is my son, Mr. Rupert Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -I bowed slightly, and my Uncle Rupert did the -same, withdrawing the hand which I had affected -not to see. God forbid that my hand should touch -his, even in the most casual fashion. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, Arbuthnot, we——" -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis broke off in his pleasant speech, with -his eyes riveted on the wall behind me. Slowly -his face grew rigid with anger, and his thick -eyebrows were contracted in a stern frown. -</p> - -<p> -"Who has touched that picture?" he asked, in -a cold, measured tone, which I had never heard -from him before. -</p> - -<p> -Rupert Devereux's eyes followed his father's -shaking forefinger, and I saw a change pass over -his face also. His dark eyes filled with a troubled, -fearful light, and he shrank back a pace, as though -to escape from the sight of the handsome boyish -face which laughed down on him from the massive -frame. To my eyes, inspired by knowledge, guilt -was written in his pale face as plainly as nature -could write, and a passionate anger which had lain -sleeping within me for many weary months leapt -out, burning and fierce, kindled by his presence. I -forgot that I was Mr. Arbuthnot, the land agent; I -forgot Maud's presence; I forgot everything save -that I stood face to face with the man who had -blighted my father's name and honour. That one -maddening thought alone held me, and it was only -by a great effort that I restrained myself from flying -at his throat like a mad bull-dog. -</p> - -<p> -I don't think that Sir Francis noticed my agitation. -In fact, I am sure that he did not; for I -was standing just outside the streak of light which -the moon, shining softly in through the diamond-paned -window, was casting upon the polished floor. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot," he said, firmly, "might I -trouble you—or Francis, you are nearest! Be so -good as to turn that picture with its face to the -wall." -</p> - -<p> -Francis Devereux dropped Lady Olive's arm, -and advancing, laid his hands upon the frame. -Then the devil broke loose within me, and seizing -him by the collar as though he had been a baby, I -threw him on his back upon the floor. -</p> - -<p> -"Dare to lay a finger upon that picture, you or -any one else here," I cried, passionately, "and I -will kill you!" -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap23"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIII -<br /> -IN THE PICTURE GALLERY -</h3> - -<p> -It is strange that, although so many years have -passed, that scene remains as though written with -letters of fire into my memory—vivid and clear. -Word for word, I can remember every sentence that -was spoken; and the different expressions on -the face of each I could, if I were a painter, -faithfully reproduce. Sir Francis gazed at me speechless -in a sort of helpless apathy, Maud and Lady Olive -looked horrified and thunderstruck, and my Uncle -Rupert, with face as pale as death, was shaking -from head to foot, with eyes riveted upon me in a -sort of fascinated bewilderment, as though I were -one risen from the dead. Sir Francis seemed to be -the first to recover himself. -</p> - -<p> -"Arbuthnot! Arbuthnot!" he exclaimed; "what -does this mean?" -</p> - -<p> -I pointed to my uncle, and he seemed to shrink -back from my outstretched hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Cannot you see?" he faltered, in a hollow tone. -"Look at him and at the picture." -</p> - -<p> -I had moved a step forward unconsciously, and -was standing in the centre of the broad stretch, of -moonlight which was streaming in from the high -window. Sir Francis looked at me, and then gave -a great start. -</p> - -<p> -"My God! Arbuthnot, boy! Who are you? Speak!" -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh Arbuthnot, son of Herbert Arbuthnot, -who once called himself Devereux," I answered, -proudly, looking Sir Francis steadily in the face; -"and who would be a Devereux still," I added, -"but for that man's villainous lie." -</p> - -<p> -Rupert Devereux turned his head away, as -though unable to meet the fire which blazed from -my eyes. Maud had sunk, half fainting, upon an -ottoman, and Lady Olive was by her side. Sir -Francis stood gazing fixedly at me, as though in -a dream. -</p> - -<p> -"It can't be!" he muttered, hoarsely. "He -could never have had such a son as you. He was -a coward!" -</p> - -<p> -"It's a lie!" I thundered—so vehemently that -Sir Francis staggered back aghast. "Rupert -Devereux!" I cried, taking a quick stride to his -side, "can you, dare you look me in the face and -tell me that my father was a coward? You, who -bribed John Hilton, your servant, into a shameful -conspiracy that you might step into his place! -You, you—speak, man, and tell me! Was Herbert -Devereux a coward?" -</p> - -<p> -He was white to the lips with a fear not merely -physical. His senses seemed stupefied; and though -I waited amidst a deathlike silence for a full minute, -he made me no answer. I turned my back upon -him contemptuously. -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Francis!" I cried. "He could lie to -strangers and to you, but to me he dare not. Before -heaven, I swear that my father is an innocent man, -shamefully sinned against by him"—I pointed to -my uncle. "Out of a mean jealousy, and for the -sake of being your heir, he did it—he perjured -himself. He to call himself a Devereux, and my -father robbed of his name and honour by such -treacherous villainy! Don't you wonder that I -don't kill you?" I cried, turning round, a very -tempest of passion surging up within me. "God -knows why I don't do it! Sir Francis, I appeal -to you. John Hilton has confessed to me that his -story was a lie. My father is as brave a soldier -and a gentleman as ever Devereux was. Tell me -that you believe it. Let us make that man confess, -aye, even though we have to tear his guilty -secret from his heart!" -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis had recovered himself entirely, and -was again the aristocratic immovable soldier. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy, I believe you," he said, kindly. -"Be my grandson, and I shall thank God for it, -and be proud of you. But you are mistaken about -your father. A court-martial never errs." -</p> - -<p> -The hope which had sprung up in my heart died -away, and in its place had leaped up a bitter -hatred—hatred of Rupert Devereux, hatred of my -grandfather, hatred of Maud, of every one who refused -to believe in my father's innocence. I drew back -from Sir Francis's outstretched hand, and looked -at him proudly. -</p> - -<p> -"Never, Sir Francis. I will not call myself your -grandson, or take the name of Devereux, until my -father bears it too. I would sooner live and die -Hugh Arbuthnot." -</p> - -<p> -Then, without another look at one of them, -without even a glance into Maud's white face, I -turned, and walked slowly out of the gallery and -out of the house. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap24"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIV -<br /> -A MIDNIGHT VISITOR -</h3> - -<p> -Like a man in a dream, I walked with unsteady -footsteps down the avenue, through the shrubbery, -and across the park to the cottage. I had forgotten -my latch-key, and the servant who answered my -ring welcomed me with a little cry of relief. -</p> - -<p> -"John was just a-coming up to the house for -you, sir," she exclaimed, shutting the door again. -"There's a strange woman wants to see you most -particular. She's been here more than an hour, -a-fretting ever so because you wasn't here." -</p> - -<p> -"Where is she?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"In your study, sir. I see'd as there was -nothink about as she could lay 'er 'ands on before -I let her in." -</p> - -<p> -I had no doubt but that it was the wife of one of -the tenants on the estate, though why she should -choose such a strange time for her visit I could not -imagine. But when I walked into the study I saw -at once that she was a stranger to me. And yet, -no. I had seen her face before somewhere. -</p> - -<p> -She rose nervously when I entered, and pulled -her shawl closer around her. -</p> - -<p> -"You'll excuse the liberty I've taken in coming, -sir," she began, hurriedly. "I 'a come to do yer -a service. You doan't seem to recollect me. I'm -John Hilton's wife; him as you comed to see -t'other week." -</p> - -<p> -I recognised her at once, and became more -interested. -</p> - -<p> -"You see, sir, it's like this," she went on. "My -Jack, he's had one o' his drinking fits on, and he's -always mortal mischievous after one of 'em. He -seems to 'a got a powerful sort o' a grudge agin' -you, and there's that piece o' paper as you wrote out, -and he put 'is name to. He says as 'ow he might -get lagged for that if you showed it." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, has he sent you to try and get it away -again?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Not he! If he know'd as I'd come 'ere at all -he'd half kill me." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, what is it, then?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, it's just like this," she answered, slowly; -"he's a-coming himself to try and get it back agin." -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed! And when may I expect him?" I -inquired, becoming suddenly interested. -</p> - -<p> -"To-night." -</p> - -<p> -I leaned back in my chair, and laughed dryly. -The woman must be mad. -</p> - -<p> -"'Tain't no laughing matter, master," she said, -sullenly. "You'd 'a laughed t'other side o' your -mouth, I can tell 'e, if I hadn' 'a chosen ter come -and tell 'e. He ain't a-coming to ask you for -it. He's a-coming to take it, and to pay yer back -something as yer gave 'im at our cottage—him and -a mate." -</p> - -<p> -I began to see what it all meant now, and to -understand why the woman had come. -</p> - -<p> -"And you've come here to put me on my guard, -is that it?" I remarked. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes. Yer gave me money when I was starving, -and I felt sort 'er grateful. And when I 'eard them -two blackguards a-planning how they'd settle you -I thought as they just shouldn't. If you puts a -bullet in that 'long Jem,' which is my man's pal, I -shall thank yer for it. Jack's bad enough, specially -when he's just getting round from a spell o' drinking, -which he is now; but he's a sight worse. Cuss -him. He's always a-leading my Jack into something." -</p> - -<p> -"What time are they coming?" I asked, thoughtfully. -</p> - -<p> -"I 'eerd 'em say as they'd meet at Cop't Oak, -which is a mile from here, as soon as it were dark, -and hide until you was all a-gone to bed. I'm -mortal afeard of their seeing me, although I shall -go 'ome t'other way." -</p> - -<p> -I pressed her to stay at the cottage for the night, -but she stubbornly refused. Her Jack would kill -her if he found out that she had been here, she -declared. But before she went I made her drink -a glass of wine, and fill her pockets with the bread -and food which I had ordered in. -</p> - -<p> -This promised to be an exciting night for me -altogether, I thought, as I drew out my revolver -from the cupboard and carefully loaded it. I was -not inclined altogether to believe or altogether to -disbelieve this woman's story, but at any rate there -was no harm in being prepared. If I had gone to -bed, there would have been little sleep for me -with my head still throbbing with the vivid recollection -of that terrible scene in the picture gallery. -I dared not think of it, I dared not let my thoughts -dwell for an instant on the inevitable consequences -of what had happened. The excitement of what -might shortly take place kept me from the full -sickening realisation of the change which that -evening's events must make in my life, but -underneath it all there was a dull aching pain in my -heart, for had I not lost Maud? -</p> - -<p> -Presently Marian and Mr. Holdern arrived. I -had forgotten their very existence, and directly the -latter had taken his leave, Marian was full of eager, -agitated questions. Why had I left so suddenly? -Had I quarrelled with Sir Francis Devereux? What -did it all mean? Maud had gone to her room with -white face and looking like a ghost, and Lady Olive -had not again entered the dancing-room. Sir -Francis had apologised to his guests with the -agitation of one who had received a great shock, -and Rupert Devereux none of them had seen again; -and I was mixed up in it. What did it all mean? -</p> - -<p> -She threw herself into my arms, and when I saw -the gathering tears in her soft grey eyes, and her -anxious, troubled look, I shrunk from the task -before me. -</p> - -<p> -"Not now, Marian; I will tell you to-morrow; -wait until then," I begged. But she would not -wait. -</p> - -<p> -Then, with a great effort, I braced myself up, -and told her everything. She listened with -ever-growing astonishment, and when I had finished -she slipped down from my knee and sank upon -the hearthrug. -</p> - -<p> -"Poor papa!" she sobbed. "No wonder you -hate that Rupert! Beast! Oh, Hugh, Hugh, why -could you not tell me before? I ought to have -known," she added, reproachfully. -</p> - -<p> -"It could have done no good," I answered. -</p> - -<p> -A wave of sudden anxiety passed across her face. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, Hugh!" she sobbed. "Char—— Mr. Hold——" -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Holdern knows all about it," I interrupted. -"I thought it right to tell him when he asked me -for you." -</p> - -<p> -A great relief brightened her face, and she smiled -through her tears. Even a woman is selfish when -she is in love. -</p> - -<p> -"I am glad he knows," she whispered, looking -into the fire. "How strange it all seems! Why -our name is Devereux; you will be Sir Hugh -Devereux. Why, Hugh, Devereux Court will be -yours some day!" -</p> - -<p> -"Never!" I answered, firmly; "until Sir -Francis asks my father's pardon, and receives him -as a son, I shall never take the name of Devereux -or enter the Court. I have sworn it, Marian." -</p> - -<p> -"And it was noble of you to swear it, Hugh," -she whispered, coming over and kissing me. "They -say truth always comes out some time or other. -Perhaps this will all come right some day." -</p> - -<p> -"For our father's sake, pray that it may do, -Marian dear," I answered, gravely. "And now -run along to bed, I have some writing to do." -</p> - -<p> -She lingered by my side. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, what are you going to do now? You -will leave here, I suppose?" -</p> - -<p> -"I must, Marian. Unless Sir Francis desires -otherwise, I shall remain here until he has found -some one else to take my place, though it will be -as Hugh Arbuthnot, his agent, only, and into -Devereux Court I will not go again. It will be -well for Rupert Devereux, too, that he keeps out -of my way," I added to myself. "When does -Mr. Holdern want to marry you, Marian?" I asked her -suddenly, changing the subject. -</p> - -<p> -She blushed up to her eyes, and looked at me -half pleased, half reproachfully. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh! How could you ask me like that? I—I -don't quite know." -</p> - -<p> -"Because you'll have to go away with me, you -know," I continued. "I can't leave you behind." -</p> - -<p> -She looked serious enough now. -</p> - -<p> -"Of course you can't, Hugh. I don't think -I ought to leave you at all. You'll be alone if -I do, with no one to look after you." -</p> - -<p> -I pretended to look serious, as though considering -the matter, but her piteous expression and -quivering lips were irresistible, and I broke into -a reassuring laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"Not I, Marian! It is the best thing that could -possibly have happened. When I have no longer -you to look after I shall go abroad, wherever our -father is, and share his lot. Country life is -beginning to get wearisome to me. I was meant to be -a soldier, I think. Now, Marian, you must really -go to bed. I want to be alone." -</p> - -<p> -It was past twelve, and I was beginning to get -anxious. But she still lingered for a moment. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, I had almost forgotten, I have something -for you, and a message." -</p> - -<p> -I bent over my desk, lest she should see the -light which sprung into my face. I did not wish -even Marian to know my secret. -</p> - -<p> -"What is it?" I asked. "Be quick." -</p> - -<p> -"Why, she came to me like I've never seen her -before, as lifeless and sorrowful as anything, and -said—'Tell your brother that I think he is -behaving nobly, and that I hope we shall always be -friends.'" -</p> - -<p> -"She said that!" I exclaimed, starting round, -"Maud said that!" -</p> - -<p> -My sister looked at me amazed. -</p> - -<p> -"Maud! I didn't say anything about Maud! -She didn't even speak to me. It was Lady Olive, -and she sent you this." -</p> - -<p> -I stretched out my hand for the gold-topped -cut-glass little smelling-salts, which Marian was holding -out for me and laid it down before me. Disappointed -though I was, it was a kindly act of Lady -Olive's, and I was just in that mood when a man -appreciates such a one. For a moment or two I -felt very tenderly towards Lady Olive; for, reckless -little flirt though she was, she was generous -and warm-hearted, or she would never have done this. -</p> - -<p> -"It is very kind of her," I said, huskily. "Good-night, -Marian!" -</p> - -<p> -"Good-night, Hughie. Don't sit up late, dear, -and don't fret. It makes me feel so selfish, Hugh, -to think that I can't help being happy because—because -of Charlie, but I can't help it. I do love -him so, and he is so good to me." -</p> - -<p> -Then at last she went, and I was left alone. -First of all I put a heavy shade upon the lamp and -placed it so that no one could possibly see it from -outside. Then I finished loading my revolver, and -put a life-preserver in my breast pocket. Going -out on tip-toe into the hall, I opened the passage -door, and also left my own wide open, so that if -any one should attempt to enter the house from -any room I must hear them. This seemed to me -to be all that I could do, and drawing my easy chair -into the corner of the room which faced both door -and windows, I sat down and waited patiently with -my revolver on my knee. -</p> - -<p> -At first the time did not seem long. I had -come to a crisis in my life, and there was much for -me to think about. In the twenties, however dark -and doubtful the future may be, there is always a -certain fascination connected with it—possibilities, -however remote, which the sanguine spirit of youth -loves to peer into and investigate. And so I sat -and thought, and considered, and longed, without -ever getting sleepy, or feeling the spell of -weariness. -</p> - -<p> -Two o'clock struck, and of a sudden a curious -change came over me. I became so violently restless -that I could sit no longer in my chair. Sober-minded -people may scoff at such a statement, but -I declare that some irresistible impulse compelled -me to go to the nearest window and look cautiously -out. -</p> - -<p> -The window was not one of the front ones, but was -one which looked sideways over a strip of garden, -a thick privet hedge, into a dark black fir plantation, -through which ran a private pathway into the -gardens of the Court. At first I could see nothing; -then suddenly the blood died out from my cheeks, -even from my lips, and I stood transfixed, rooted -to the spot—my limbs numbed and helpless as -though under the spell of some hideous nightmare. -</p> - -<p> -What my eyes looked upon my reason refused to -credit. Turning from the hand-gate of the -plantation, without a hat, and with a wealth of golden -hair streaming down upon a swan's-down cloak, -was—Maud! It was impossible—it was ridiculous—it -was beyond all credence. And yet my straining, -riveted eyes watched her walk slowly, with her -usual stately, even tread, down the grass-grown -path between the plantation and the hedge of the -cottage garden, and disappear from sight. -</p> - -<p> -Though an earthquake had yawned at my feet I -could not have moved. Nothing but sound can -break up such a spell as this sudden shock had laid -upon me. And the sound came, for suddenly there -broke upon the stillness of the night such a cry as -I had never heard before—the thrilling, agonised -shriek of a woman in mortal fear. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap25"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXV -<br /> -"COUSINS!" -</h3> - -<p> -Like the shock from a galvanic battery did -that sound breathe life into my frozen limbs. -Holding a chair before my face I literally burst -through the high French windows, crashing the -glass and splintering the framework into a thousand -pieces. With the cry of a wild beast I dashed -across the lawn and leaped over the privet hedge. -Maud, my Maud, was scarcely a dozen yards from -me, struggling in the grasp of the man who had -come to rob me of his confession, with his great -hand pressed against her wild, beautiful face to stop -her cries. -</p> - -<p> -They heard me coming, and he half released her, -and with his other hand pointed a revolver at me. -But passion must have lent me wings, for before -he could pull the trigger I had dashed it into the -air, where it exploded harmlessly, and with my -clenched fist I struck him such a blow as I had -never struck before or since. He was a powerful -man, with a thick, bullet-shaped head, but he went -down like a log, and well-nigh never rose again. -His companion, without a word, turned and ran -across the park like a hare, and I let him go. -</p> - -<p> -Maud was in my arms, sobbing hysterically, -Maud with the moon shining down on her blanched -but exquisite face, and her white arms thrown -around my neck. If she were the daughter of a -prince of hell she was still the woman I loved; and -I stooped and covered her cold face and lips with -passionate kisses. Then I caught her up in my -arms, for she was shivering, and ran with her to -the house. -</p> - -<p> -Every one had been roused by the sound of my -exit, and the report of the revolver. Marian, with -her dressing-gown loosely wrapped around her, was -standing trembling at the head of the stairs, and -behind her were the servants more frightened even -than she. When she saw me cross the hall with -Maud's lifeless form (for her faint seemed almost -the faint of death) in my arms, she gave vent to -one cry of blank amazement and horror, and then -hurried down to us. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, Hugh," she whispered, clinging to me as -I laid my burden down on the sofa, and fell on my -knees by its side. "Maud here! Maud out in the -park at this time of night! What has happened, -Hugh? What does it all mean?" -</p> - -<p> -"Can't you see?" I muttered hoarsely, never -withdrawing my eyes from the white, cold face. -"She has had a fright, and has fainted!" -</p> - -<p> -"But what on earth has brought her here—out -at this time of night? And in her slippers, -too!" -</p> - -<p> -I was on the point of saying that I knew no -more than she, but suddenly the truth flashed into -my mind. Maud had walked out in her sleep! I -had heard her say that for a long time she had -been obliged to have her maid in her room at night, -and sleep with locked doors; and that when Sir -Francis lay dangerously ill not many years ago, -nearly every night when she had gone to bed -thinking of him, she had risen in her sleep and -tried to make her way to his room. Then she -must have been thinking of me! A sudden thrill -of joy passed through me at the thought, and -Marian looked at me in stupefied bewilderment to -see the smile which for a moment parted my lips. -</p> - -<p> -"She must have come out in her sleep, Marian," -I whispered. "There were some men hanging -about outside—poachers I suppose—and they have -frightened her. Get some brandy, quick! and tell -one of the girls to light a fire. We must have some -hot water." -</p> - -<p> -She hurried away, and the door had scarcely -closed when Maud changed her position slightly, -and her lips moved. I bent my ear close over her, -and this is what I heard: -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh! Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -My heart throbbed with a great joy. Suddenly -I stooped down and kissed her half-open lips -passionately. Then I drew back and stood upright, for I -saw that she was fast recovering consciousness. -</p> - -<p> -First her breathing became deeper and less fitful. -Then, with a little sigh, she opened her eyes and -raised herself a little on her elbow. -</p> - -<p> -She looked around in blank bewilderment. Then -her eyes fell upon me, and the hot colour rushed -into her cheeks. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot! Why, where am I? How did -I come here? and those men," she added, with a -shudder, "those fearful men; was it all a dream?" She -raised her hand to her forehead and looked -at me appealingly. I hardened my voice as much -as possible, and avoided meeting her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"I think I can explain to you what has happened," -I said. "You must have got up in your sleep, and -walked down through the copse. There were some -men outside; I believe they were going to try and -break in here, and one of them must have caught -hold of you, for when I heard your scream and ran -out, you were struggling in his grasp. I knocked -him down, and the other one ran away. Then I -carried you here, and here you are. Marian has -just gone out to fetch some brandy." -</p> - -<p> -Womanlike, her first thought was of her appearance, -and she sat up and looked at herself eagerly. -Evidently she had fallen asleep before preparing to -retire, for the only change in her dress since the -evening was that she had exchanged her dinner-gown -for a long white dressing-robe, and let down -her hair. Nevertheless, she blushed as she sat up, -and looked at me, pushing back the waves of hair -from her face. -</p> - -<p> -"I remember falling asleep in the easy chair," -she said, slowly, "and after that everything seems -like a horrid dream. Those men's fearful faces, and -you—oh, how fierce you looked! But it all seems -very indistinct." -</p> - -<p> -Then Marian came in, and she turned to her -smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Miss Arbuthnot, I'm afraid you'll think this -a very unceremonious morning call. You didn't -know I was a sleep-walker, did you?" -</p> - -<p> -Marian put down the decanter she was carrying -with a little cry of relief. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, dear, I'm so glad to see you all right again. -What an awful adventure you've had!" -</p> - -<p> -Maud smiled placidly. She was her old self again, -stately and composed. -</p> - -<p> -"It might have been a great deal worse but for -your brother," she acknowledged; "I wonder if -they've found out at the Court. They'll be getting -a little anxious if they have." -</p> - -<p> -"Unless I'm very much mistaken they've found -out," I answered. "Listen." -</p> - -<p> -I went out and threw open the hall door. Clearly -enough we could hear the alarm bell at the Court -clanging out with shrill, quick strokes, and the -whole of the park seemed dotted with men carrying -lanterns, looking like will-o'-the-wisps, and making -the soft night air echo with their hoarse shouts. -Two figures were rapidly approaching the cottage, -and I hailed them. -</p> - -<p> -"Have you seen anything of Miss Devereux?" -called out Groves, the head butler. "She's out -in the park somewhere a-walking in her sleep." -</p> - -<p> -"She is here," I answered, and then I went in -and told Maud that they had come for her. -</p> - -<p> -Marian left us to find a warmer cloak and thicker -shoes, and for a moment we were together. She -turned to me at once with a sweet, sad smile on her -lips, and a look of regret shining out of the azure -depths of her dim eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, I had quite forgotten, in all -this excitement, what happened in the picture -gallery. We are cousins, are we not?" -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -"It is not a relationship which I shall claim," -I answered, slowly. "If I should see you again -before I go, Miss Devereux, it will be as -Mr. Arbuthnot." -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes were speaking to me—speaking words -which her lips could not utter, but I avoided -them. -</p> - -<p> -Eager voices were hurrying through the garden, -and Maud held out her hand with a hurried -gesture. -</p> - -<p> -"At any rate, you will let me thank you for -your timely aid this evening. But for you I don't -know what might not have happened." -</p> - -<p> -I took her hand and raised it to my lips. Then -I let it drop, and moved towards the door. -</p> - -<p> -"I think I ought to thank you rather," I -answered, with a pretence at a laugh, "for giving -me the alarm. If those fellows had got into the -house and taken me by surprise, things might have -been worse for me, at any rate." -</p> - -<p> -I opened the door and admitted Groves and -several of the other servants. Francis Devereux -was there, too, but he stood on the pathway outside, -without offering to enter, neither did I invite -him. Maud went out to him at once, and then -I explained to the gaping little crowd what had -happened. -</p> - -<p> -"What became of the one you knocked over, -sir?" asked Groves, after the little chorus of -wondering exclamations had subsided. -</p> - -<p> -"There now, most likely," I answered, with a -start. "I'd forgotten all about him." -</p> - -<p> -We all trooped over to the spot, and there he lay, -doubled up in the underwood, his face drawn with -pain, and still unconscious. To say that I was -sorry for him would have been a lie; nay, if Rupert -Devereux had lain by his side I should have been -only the better pleased. But he lay so still and -motionless that I stooped over him anxiously, and -felt his heart. It was beating, though faintly, -and I felt distinctly relieved when I looked up again. -</p> - -<p> -"He's alive," I declared, "but only just. Better -get him some brandy." -</p> - -<p> -They brought him some from the house, and I -poured it between his lips. He revived at once. -</p> - -<p> -"We'd a best take him up to the Court, sir," -remarked Groves. "You won't want him down -here with only yourself in the house." -</p> - -<p> -So they took him away, and as the long streaks -of red light in the east slowly deepened until the -autumn sun rose up from behind the pine-trees like -a ball of glowing fire, I threw myself down on the -couch and slept. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap26"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVI -<br /> -I "GIVE WARNING" -</h3> - -<p> -By ten o'clock in the morning I had written a letter -which had caused me a good deal of trouble and -anxiety. It was to Sir Francis Devereux:— -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> -"THE COTTAGE, DEVEREUX, -<br /> -"Wednesday morning. -</p> - -<p> -"DEAR SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX,—You will, I am -sure, agree with me that the revelation of last -evening renders it imperative on my part to leave -Devereux at once, or as soon as possible. I must -ask you, therefore, to accept this note as an intimation -of my desire to do so as soon as is convenient -to yourself. -</p> - -<p> -"No one could regret more than I do the necessity -which has arisen, and I am deeply sensible of -all your kindness to myself and to my sister. But, -under the circumstances, it would be, of course, -quite impossible for me to remain here as your -agent, nor I am sure would you wish it. As to -the other offer which you were generous enough to -make, the answer which I gave you at the time is -absolutely irrevocable. -</p> - -<p> -"With regard to the attempted burglary here -last night and assault upon Miss Devereux, I shall -be prepared to give evidence when the man is -charged. There are several matters connected with -the estate with which I will not now trouble you, -but which I shall be glad to lay before you or -Mr. Benson before I go. My books I am prepared to -hand over to my successor or to Mr. Benson at any -moment. -</p> - -<p> -"Thanking you again for the uniform and, I fear, -undeserved kindness which I have always received -from you, -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - "I remain, yours obediently,<br /> - "HUGH ARBUTHNOT.<br /> - "To Colonel Sir Francis Devereux, Bart."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Having despatched this, I ordered Black Prince, -and rode away to a distant part of the estate to -superintend the felling of some timber. As usual, -when going any distance, I took some lunch in my -pocket, and ate it on a stile whilst the men knocked -off for dinner. Just as I had lit my pipe and was -preparing to start work again—for I was not afraid -of using my hands, and used to take a pleasure in -getting through as much as any of the men—I -heard the sound of horses' hoofs on the smooth, -wide, velvet sward, and glancing up quickly saw -that the whole party from the Court were close -upon me, all except Maud and the elders. -</p> - -<p> -I drew back indifferently to let them pass, and -bowed to Lady Olive, who was riding by the side -of Francis Devereux. She started when she saw -me, and, detaching herself from the rest of the -party, rode over to me. -</p> - -<p> -"Fancy coming upon you, Mr. Arbuthnot, and -hard at work too! What are you doing?" -</p> - -<p> -"Cutting down trees, Lady Olive." -</p> - -<p> -"Well, you look in a nice mess," she declared, -frankly. "What do you want to work yourself -for? It's a shame that you should." -</p> - -<p> -I laughed at her indignation, thinking only that -her flushed cheeks made her look uncommonly pretty. -</p> - -<p> -"I like working," I answered. "What would -you have me do? Shack about with my hands in -my pockets all day?" -</p> - -<p> -"I don't know," she said, hotly. "But when I -think of that idle, lazy young Francis dawdling his -life away, doing nothing except ape a man about -town, and then think of you working hard every -day, and remember who you are, it makes me feel -angry. Do you know, I longed just now to push -him out of his saddle. It wouldn't take much, I -don't think." -</p> - -<p> -I laughed outright, but Lady Olive remained -serious enough. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, perhaps you'll be pleased to hear that I -am going to give up working—here, at any rate," -I said. "Of course I can't stop now." -</p> - -<p> -She looked steadily between her horse's ears, -growing a shade paler, and I leaned against the -stump of an oak-tree wondering how a riding-habit -could have been made to fit so well, and admiring -her dainty little figure. -</p> - -<p> -"When are you going?" she asked, suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -I shrugged my shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"As soon as Sir Francis will let me. I have -'given warning.'" -</p> - -<p> -She looked down at me, and spoke a little -hurriedly, but with a frank, sincere look in her -flushed face. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot—I suppose I must call you -Mr. Arbuthnot—I think yours is the saddest story I -have ever heard. I want you to let me tell you -that I feel for you, as much as any one possibly -could do, and I think you are behaving splendidly, -just as I would have my own brother behave if he -were in the same position." -</p> - -<p> -I felt more moved even than I should have cared -to own, for I was just in that mood when kind -words are sweet, and I had always liked Lady Olive. -</p> - -<p> -"You are very good," I said, warmly. "Believe -me, it is a great pleasure to me to hear you say -this." -</p> - -<p> -"Have you any idea yet where you are going?" -she asked, "or what you are going to do?" -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -"To London, first, and then I shall try and -discover my father, and get him to let me throw in -my lot with his. Somehow I think that I shall -end by being a soldier. It's in the blood, I suppose." -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot," she said, frankly, stretching -out her hand, "may we not be friends? I have -never asked so much of a man before, but—but——" -</p> - -<p> -I took her little hand, and did not at once -release it. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall be always glad to think of you as such," -I said, warmly; "but I'm afraid it isn't very likely -that we shall meet again after I leave here. My -life and yours will lie very far apart." -</p> - -<p> -"I'm not so sure of that," she answered, with an -attempt at gaiety. "I'm going to travel about a -good deal next year; and—and, Mr. Arbuthnot," -she added, colouring a little deeper, "I know you'll -forgive me for saying it, but my father—he's -ambassador at Rome now, you know—has a good -deal of influence in London, and especially at the -Foreign Office, and if there was anything we could -do for you—oh, you know what I want to say," -she broke off, suddenly, and looking away that I -might not see the tears in her eyes. "You may -want to try and get some appointment abroad or -something, or even if you decided to go into the -army, he might be useful to you, and he would do -anything I asked him. He is very kind, and—and -it would make me very happy to feel that we were -helping you a little." -</p> - -<p> -Was it so great a sin that for a moment I longed -to draw that tearful little face down to mine and -kiss it? I had never been in the least danger of -falling in love with Lady Olive, bright and fascinating -though she was, but at that moment it occurred -to me that the man who won her would be a very -fortunate man indeed. -</p> - -<p> -"Lady Olive," I said, earnestly, "I scarcely -know how to thank you. I cannot tell you how -much I feel your kindness. I shall take you at -your word, and write you if ever I need any help, -and if I do not I shall always like to think of your -offer." -</p> - -<p> -She smiled down at me beamingly. -</p> - -<p> -"I am so glad you're not offended. Of course I -shall see you again before you go, and I will bring -you down a card with my address in London. -Good-bye. No, <i>au revoir</i>." -</p> - -<p> -She touched her horse with the whip and galloped -away after the others, and the bright winter's day -seemed to me less bright when she had gone. I -watched her out of sight, and at the bend of the -grassy road she turned round in her saddle and -waved her whip. I returned her farewell with my -hat, then, when she disappeared, I went back to my -place amongst the men, and worked till the perspiration -streamed down my face, and I was obliged to -take off my coat and hang it on a branch of a fallen -tree. But I felt all the better for it, for it has -always seemed to me, as it did then, that hard -physical labour is the most magnificent relaxation -for an over-wrought mind. When the sun set and -our day's work was over, I was stiff and my arms -were sore, but my heart was lighter than it had -been since this crisis had come. I stood filling my -pipe and chatting to the foreman whilst one of the -labourers had gone for my horse, until he, too, -followed the others, and I was left alone. -</p> - -<p> -At least I thought so, but I was mistaken. A -voice, croaking and weak, almost at my shoulder, -suddenly startled me, and I turned round to find -an old woman, bent double, leaning on her stick, -with her bead-like eyes fixed upon me. -</p> - -<p> -"Who be'st you?" she said. "Be you him as -they call the agent?" -</p> - -<p> -I acknowledged that it was so, and that my name -was Arbuthnot. -</p> - -<p> -"It's a loi," she answered, deliberately. "Dost -think that Sarah Milsham knaw'st not a Devereux -when she seest one? Be'st thou Muster Herbert's -son? God bless him." -</p> - -<p> -I looked around anxiously, but there was not a -soul in sight. -</p> - -<p> -"Thou be'st a son o' my Mr. Herbert," she -muttered. "I knaw'st thou be'st so like him that -I thought thee was a ghost, boy. What be'st thou -a doing here? Wheres't thy father?" -</p> - -<p> -"Abroad, mother, since you know me. Who -are you?" -</p> - -<p> -"Who be I?" she laughed, a mirthless, unpleasant -laugh. "Why, thee hasna heard of Sarah -Milsham? I nursed your father when he were a -baby. What be'st a doing here, boy? Hast come -to kill Rupert Devereux?" -</p> - -<p> -"He deserves it," I cried, hotly. -</p> - -<p> -"So afore God he does," cried the old hag -tremulously, "and die he will, for I ha' seen the -mark o' death upon his forehead. But it'll be no -by your hand, no by your hand, boy. What be'st -a doing here? Go to thy father, boy! Why hast -left him alone?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am going," I answered. "Please God I shall -be with him before many months." -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, go, boy, go," she quivered out, "and tell him -this from me. Tell him that sure as Devereux Court -is built upon a rock, I, Sarah Milsham, shall live to -see him here again. Sure as that limb of hell, -Rupert Devereux, bears the seal of death upon his -forehead, so sure the day will come when the whole -country shall welcome him home again, and old Sir -Francis shall be proud t' own him for his son. Tell -him Sarah Milsham said so." -</p> - -<p> -She hobbled away into the wood and commenced -picking up sticks. I would have followed her, but -she held out her hand to prevent me, and would -not answer me when I spoke. So I mounted Black -Prince and galloped away homewards. -</p> - -<p> -When I entered Marian's room I saw that she -had a visitor. Sir Francis Devereux was leaning -back in my easy chair, laughing at one of my sister's -quaint speeches, and she was handing him a cup of -tea. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap27"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVII -<br /> -SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX'S APPEAL -</h3> - -<p> -Of all the contingencies which had occurred to me, -this was one which I had not considered, for only -once since I had been its occupant had Sir Francis -called at the cottage. But his greeting was even a -greater surprise to me. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy," he said, rising and holding out -his hand, "I have come down to have a chat with -you, and Miss Marian has been giving me some tea." -</p> - -<p> -Something in his look, his accent, and his words -warned me that the battle of last night would have -to be fought over again. But for a while he talked -of nothing, save of last night's strange adventure -and minor matters connected with the estate, of the -turnip prospects, and the timber felling, until Marian -left us to change her frock. Then, after opening -the door for her with his usual stately courtesy, he -returned to the hearthrug, and with the firelight -playing round his tall, slim figure, and with a soft, -almost appealing light relaxing the hard lines in his -face, he commenced speaking. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh," he said, slowly, "they call me a proud -man, but I have come here to beg a great boon -from you. Nay, let me go on," for I would have -interrupted him. "Let me say outright what I -have come to say," he continued, stretching out his -hands as though to silence me. "I want to tell you -a little of my history. -</p> - -<p> -"You know, perhaps, that I was married twice. -To you I do not mind admitting that my last -marriage was an unfortunate one. Your grandmother -was the only woman I ever loved, and it was her -son who took her place in my heart—not Rupert's -mother, much less Rupert himself. Perhaps I am -much to blame, but none the less it is a fact that -the death of my second wife gave me little sorrow, -and I have never been able to feel towards Rupert -as a father should feel towards his son. And since -that day when I knew that it was his evidence -(although he was right to give it) which had brought -irretrievable disgrace upon the name of Devereux, -I have never been able—I say it to my shame—I -have never been able to bear the sight of him." -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis walked restlessly to the other end -of the room, and then, returning, took up his old -position. -</p> - -<p> -"For twenty years, Hugh, I have been a lonely, -unhappy man. Gradually I began to lose all pride -and interest in our family name, and even the -Court itself, every stone of which was once dear to -me. Everything that had made life endurable for -me and pleasant had gone. My pride in, and love -for, my son who had gone away with my blessing -to be where a Devereux should always be, in his -country's battles, was suddenly blasted for ever. -He disgraced our long line of ancestors, disgraced -himself and me, and instead of falling on his sword, -as he should have done, came home here, turned out -of the army—a Devereux turned out of the army, -to beg for my forgiveness!" -</p> - -<p> -My heart was burning, but I judged it wisest to -hold my peace. He had thrown his head back, and -his eyes were sparkling with anger. His frowning -face was as stern and hard as marble, and, old man -though he was, he looked terrible. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment there was silence, and then he went -on— -</p> - -<p> -"Enough of him! If it had been Rupert I might -some day have forgiven him. But Herbert, my -eldest son, who at my death must be the head -of the Devereuxs—oh, it is a cursed, cruel thing!" -</p> - -<p> -He turned his back upon me, and I heard a sort -of gasping sob. I made a pretence of stirring the -fire, and when I had finished he was himself -again. -</p> - -<p> -"For twenty years," he went on, "I have lived -alone with a leaden weight of misery dragging me -down almost to the grave. And yet I have struggled -against death for the simple reason that the thought -of that disgraced man who was once my son calling -himself the head of the Devereuxs, and lying down -to rest within the walls of Devereux Court, has kept -me hanging on to life. My son a coward! To run -away from the enemy! My God, what had I done -to deserve this?" -</p> - -<p> -"He was not a coward," I interrupted, passionately. -"Rupert lied! I know he lied! He was -jealous! John Hilton has confessed to me!" -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis shook his head sorrowfully. -</p> - -<p> -"The word of a servant discharged without a -character is worth very little, especially when it is -directed against his master," he said. "No, Hugh, -my boy, if you had lived as long as I have, and -had been a soldier, you would know that a -court-martial never errs. It never convicts except on -overwhelming evidence, and its judgments are -absolute. General Luxton came to see me when -he returned to England, and from him I learned -the undoubted truth." -</p> - -<p> -I remained silent. One might as well have talked -to the Sphinx as to this coldly obstinate, dogmatic -old soldier. -</p> - -<p> -"I have come to make you an offer, Hugh," he -went on in an altogether different tone of voice, "or -rather to make you a request, and I beg you to -remember that it is one which lies very near an old -man's heart. I am childless and lonely, and weary -of seeing none but girls' faces around me. Come -and live with me as my grandson! Let that subject -on which we can never agree, be buried between us! -Why should you go away on a wild-goose chase? -Devereux Court is your natural home. Come and -live there." -</p> - -<p> -I stood up and faced him. He was very much in -earnest, I could see, for the long white hand which -rested upon the chimney-piece was shaking, and -his eyes were eagerly searching my face for its -answer; but what they read there could not have -been encouraging, for I never wavered for an -instant. -</p> - -<p> -"Sir Francis," I asked, firmly, "does a Devereux -ever break his oath or neglect his duty?" -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Never!" -</p> - -<p> -"Neither will I, then," I answered; "my duty -would never urge me to renounce my father, whose -innocence I firmly believe in, and if I did I should -break my oath, Sir Francis. I feel for you, and I -love Devereux. But what you ask I distinctly and -absolutely refuse." -</p> - -<p> -He walked to the window, and stood there for -a moment gazing across the park, with his hands -behind him. Then he turned round suddenly and -commenced drawing on his dog-skin gloves. He -held himself up in his usual stiff, soldierly manner, -but I could see that he was hurt and deeply -disappointed. -</p> - -<p> -"More than I have said I cannot say," he -remarked, quietly. "Good-bye, Hugh; make my -apologies to your sister." -</p> - -<p> -I walked with him to the door, and watched him -walk across the park with head bent more than -usual, and slow, weary footsteps. Oh, that I could -succeed in my life's desire and bring him home -the son he loved! What would I not give to attain -my end! And yet, save through my Uncle Rupert, -how could I possibly succeed? My Uncle Rupert! -Was it not strange that Maud's father should be the -man whom I hated more than any one or anything -on earth! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap28"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXVIII -<br /> -GOOD-BYE TO DEVEREUX COURT -</h3> - -<p> -Mr. Holdern dined with us that evening, and when -he and I had the table to ourselves, and little clouds -of blue smoke began to curl upwards to the ceiling, -he made a sudden request to rue. -</p> - -<p> -"I want you to let me have Marian at once," he -said. "Why not let us be married before you go -away?" -</p> - -<p> -I raised but few objections, for the plan suited -me. But Marian, when we told her, protested that -a month was much too soon. Strangely enough, -however, when I took her view, and rescinded my -consent, she went over to the other side; so I gave -in, and it was settled as they wished. An aunt of -Mr. Holdern's was written for, and arrived in a few -days in a most excited state, with two tin trunks -and a box of caps. A dressmaker took up her -abode in our other spare room, and peace at the -cottage was at an end. Even in my sanctum I -was never safe, for Marian would keep waltzing in -with her mouth full of pins and her hair all -disarranged, to beseech me to give my opinion as to -the draping of a gown, or to inquire shyly, with a -blushing face, whether I thought Charlie would like -this or that! Altogether those few last weeks at -the cottage were not quiet ones. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Olive came often and assisted eagerly at -the grave consultations. But I saw her only for a -moment or two now and then, for there were many -things on the estate which needed my attention -just then, especially as I was going so soon, and -I was out most nights till long after our usual -dinner-hour. -</p> - -<p> -Once Maud came, but I did not see her, and I -was glad of it. If it had been possible I would -have left Devereux without another word with her. -But that was not to be. -</p> - -<p> -On the morning before the wedding I saddled -Black Prince myself, and took him out for a -farewell ride. I would sooner say farewell to a man -than a horse any day! The Black Prince had been -my chief companion at Devereux, and a very -faithful one too. He had never been the same to any -one else, they told me; in fact, he had got the -name of being a brute, but whenever I entered the -stable he would whinny and rub his head against -my coat-sleeve, holding it there sometimes, and -looking up at me out of his mild, brown eyes as -though imploring me to take him out. And now -I was riding him for the last time! For the last -time I watched him stretch out his legs for a gallop, -and felt him bound away under me as he thundered -over the turf. For the last time he picked up his -legs as clean as a Leicestershire hunter, and flew over -the park railings like a bird. And then who should -we meet, as though to spoil our ride, but Maud and -her father cantering over the moor towards us, -Maud with flashing eyes and a colour springing -into her soft cheeks as she waved her whip ever -so slightly, with a half-imperative gesture. But -I would see none of it. What had Black Prince -and I to do with them? Nobly he answered my -whisper, and cleared the high stone wall which -separated us, and left them on their way to the -house, whilst he and I flew on towards the desolate -moorland, heedless whither we went, so that we -were alone. -</p> - -<p> -Three days more and I shall be away—out of -temptation, out of Paradise, alone in the world, -with my life's work before me. What matter! -Banish such thoughts—away with them! Away -with that sweet, sad face, with its proud lips and -sorrowing eyes! What are these to my Prince and -I, whilst we fly across the moorland, over hedges -and fences, with the earth skimming beneath and -the wind-swept sky clear and bright above! Live -the present! Bury the past! Welcome the future! -Regrets and haunting memories are the plagues of -the devil. The Black Prince and I will have none -of them. -</p> - -<p> -Ah! that was a wild ride. The wonder to me -now is that we ever reached home safely. But we -did, and when we got there I led him into the -stable myself, and took the bit out of his mouth, -and the saddle from his back. I watched him -munch his corn, and daintily thrust his nose into -the bucket of chilled water, and when I turned -away and walked into the house there was a lump -in my throat. -</p> - -<p> -A gentleman was waiting to see me in my study, -I was told—and without asking his name, and with -very little curiosity, I crossed the hall and entered -the room. Then I gave a great start, and my -fingers closed upon my riding-whip, for upon the -hearthrug, hat in hand, stood my Uncle Rupert. -</p> - -<p> -Had he not been Maud's father I should have -taken him by the neck and thrown him from the -house. As it was, I stood waiting with the door in -my hand and an angry sparkle in my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"You are not pleased to see me, Mr. Arbuthnot," -he began, nervously. "I did not expect that you -would be. But my daughter tells me that she has -scarcely thanked you for your gallant behaviour -the other night, and, as her father, I trusted that I -might be permitted to come and offer you my most -heartfelt thanks." -</p> - -<p> -And this was my Uncle Rupert! this tall, thin -man with the eager eyes and nervous manner, and -sad, sweet tone. For, though I hated him, I could -not help noticing that I had never heard a man's -voice more pleasant to listen to. Whence had come -the affected manners and thinly-veiled snobbism of -my cousin Francis? Not from his father. -</p> - -<p> -"I fear that Miss Devereux, in her very natural -terror, has exaggerated the service I was fortunate -enough to be able to render her," I answered -icily. "I trust that she has recovered from the -shock." -</p> - -<p> -"Quite, thank you. Mr. Arbuthnot, there was -another reason which brought me here. All through -my life—which has been a most unhappy one—I -have constantly been troubled with the reflection -that though innocently (that you will not believe, -but no matter), I was the cause of poor Herbert's—your -father's trouble. If I could render his son -even the slightest service it would be a great -happiness to me. You are going to London, I -hear. You know no one there, and you have no -friends. Could you not make my house your -home? You will not take the name of Devereux, -I hear, but Mr. Arbuthnot would always be a -welcome and an honoured guest." -</p> - -<p> -"You have a conscience, then, Rupert Devereux?" -I said, quietly. -</p> - -<p> -He looked at me appealingly, flushing to the -very roots of his hair. -</p> - -<p> -"I scarcely understand," he began, hesitatingly. -</p> - -<p> -"Let me explain, then," I said, looking at him -steadily. "It seems to me that, having wrecked -my father's life by a deliberate conspiracy, you are -now seeking to expiate that most damnable sin by -conferring favours upon his son. It will not do, -Rupert Devereux!" -</p> - -<p> -I should have pitied him had he been any other -man, for he stood there looking distressed and -disappointed. But, remembering who it was, I -watched him with a bitter, sneering smile. -</p> - -<p> -"Then there is nothing more to be said, I suppose," -he remarked, with a sigh. "I had better go." -</p> - -<p> -"You had better go," I echoed. "The only -words I shall ever care to hear from your lips will -be a confession of your villainous lie. I cannot -believe that you will have the courage to die with -that foul sin on your conscience." -</p> - -<p> -He moved his position, and then for the first -time I remarked how like he was in the outline of -the face and the features to Maud. But the likeness -softened me not one whit towards him, whilst -it made me feel harder towards her. -</p> - -<p> -He moved towards the door with a dejected -gesture. -</p> - -<p> -"You are very hard," he said, in a low tone, -"very hard for one so young. But I daresay that, -according to your view of the matter, you are right, -quite right. If you won't let me help you in any -way, you won't. It's only another disappointment -in a life of disappointments. I must go, then, -Mr. Arbuthnot. But if at any time you should -change your mind, come to me. I live in Mayfair, -London." -</p> - -<p> -He walked out, and, without answering his farewell, -I opened the door, and let him go in silence. -This was my first interview with my Uncle Rupert. -</p> - -<p> -On the morrow Marian was married to Mr. Holdern. -It was a very quiet wedding down at -the village church, but it went off very pleasantly, -and Marian looked charming in her plain white -satin gown and simple veil. As we were entering -the church I had a great surprise. Sir Francis -Devereux, in a black frock-coat, and with an orchid -in his buttonhole, called me on one side for a -moment, and asked for permission to give away the -bride. I would have preferred refusing such an -unusual request—unusual, at any rate, as it would -seem to those who knew us as Mr. and Miss -Arbuthnot—but he looked so much in earnest that -I could not find it in my heart to hurt his feelings. -So, in ignorance of what they were beholding, the -villagers of Devereux saw Sir Francis give his -granddaughter away, whilst I, his grandson, stood -a few yards behind. -</p> - -<p> -A woman once told me that she always felt -inclined to cry at weddings and laugh at funerals. -I can understand it. There is something in the -former exquisitely, though covertly, pathetic; -whilst in the latter case tears are so obviously -the correct thing, that sometimes they absolutely -refuse to come. I feel certain that the tears were -not far from Sir Francis's eyes as he shook hands -with us in the churchyard. Perhaps they were not -far from mine. -</p> - -<p> -There were presents from nearly every one at -the Court, and a sealed envelope from Sir Francis, -which, when we opened it, contained a cheque for -a thousand pounds. I had offered to make over to -Marian half of my little income, but Mr. Holdern -was resolute, and even peremptory, in his refusal. -They would have a good deal more money now -than they could spend in their quiet country home, -and eventually, feeling that Holdern was sincere -in his refusal, I had given way. Money would -certainly be useful, nay, necessary, for me in carrying -out the course of action on which I had decided. -And so I kept it. -</p> - -<p> -One day longer I had to spend at Devereux, and -a dreary day it was. All the morning I was busy -balancing accounts with the solicitor to the estate, -and in the afternoon I finished my packing. In the -evening, after dinner, I wrote a note to Sir Francis, -bidding him farewell. He would understand, I -said, why I did not come to him personally. An -oath was not a thing to be broken, and I had sworn -that over the threshold of Devereux Court I would -not pass, save with my father. So I was compelled -to write him instead, but I did my best to make my -letter as cordial and grateful as possible, and within -an hour an answer came back, short and informal. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Farewell, Hugh, my boy. God bless you, -wherever you may go, and remember always that -though you may call yourself Hugh Arbuthnot, you -are still a Devereux of Devereux, and this place is -your home whenever you care to make it so.—Ever -yours, -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -"FRANCIS DEVEREUX." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Through many lands and many years I carried -with me that half-sheet of thick, heavily-crested -notepaper. And yellow with age it reposes now in -the secret drawer of my cabinet. -</p> - -<p> -I sent no farewell to Maud. It were better not. -My Maud she could never be, though never another -should take her place. Me she would soon forget; -I was not vain enough to think otherwise for a -moment. Only yesterday I had seen her riding -with that ill-bred prig, Lord Annerley, the son of a -lawyer peer, with all his father's innate vulgarity, -and never a feather's weight of his brains. Let her -have him if she would, him or any other—or let her -flirt with him, lead him on by the beauty of her -dazzling fair face and the glances of her deep blue -eyes. Let her flirt with him, and then throw him -over with a light laugh as very likely she would -have done me. A fig for all women! An ounce of -philosophy would weigh them all down in the scales -of reason. But at twenty-four that ounce is hard -to get! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap29"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXIX -<br /> -I AM TEMPTED -</h3> - -<p> -Early on the following morning I mounted for the -last time into the high dog-cart, which had been -kept in the coach-house at the "cottage" for my -use, and was driven rapidly away with my back to -Devereux Court. It was a grey, misty morning, -and a watery sun was shining feebly down from -a cloud-strewn sky. It had been raining, and -innumerable glistening drops of moisture were -hanging and falling from the well-nigh leafless -trees. A desolate morning; with a slight vapoury -mist rising from the ground and chilling the air. -But my thoughts were not of the weather, for I was -taking my last lingering farewell of Devereux -Court. As we turned the corner and lost sight -of it for a while, a stronger ray of sunlight than -any which had as yet succeeded in piercing the -bank of clouds reached its windows, and transformed -its whole appearance. A thousand rays of light -seemed to be smiling down at me from the massive -stretching front and the frowning towers, all the -brighter from the contrast with the black woods -above and around. I was young and impressionable -to anything in nature, especially with my heart so -full as it was then, and, with a sudden start, I rose -up and waved my hat in an answering farewell -Then I sat down and would not look round again -lest the light should have died out from the -diamond-framed windows, and the gloom from the -threatening clouds reign there instead. I was -superstitious, perhaps—but I wanted to carry away -with me in my heart the memory of Devereux -Court, as I had seen it a moment ago, with its -dark grey front softened and its windows sparkling -gaily in that chance flickering ray of sunlight. -And so I would not look round, even when John -slackened at the top of the last hill, and, pointing -with his whip, "reckoned that this wur the last I -should see of t'ould place, and rare sorry he wur -too," he added, with grateful recollections of a piece -of gold at that moment reposing snugly in his -waistcoat pocket. -</p> - -<p> -But I would not look, and, a little offended, he -touched the old hunter with his whip, and before -long we reached the station of Devereux. -</p> - -<p> -In six hours I was in London, friendless, and I -had well-nigh said, purposeless, for, after I had -written out and myself taken to the office of the -<i>Times</i>, a brief but imploring message to my father, -I knew not which way to turn or what to do with -myself. London disgusted, sickened me, and at -every step I took I felt myself longing the more -for a strong fresh breeze from a Yorkshire moor, -and for the sight of a country lane and a few -ruddy-cheeked, good-natured country folk, instead -of this never-ceasing stream of pale-faced anxious -men and over-dressed artificial women, and this -interminable succession of great dirty buildings. I -felt awkward, too, and ill at ease, for though in the -country there had never seemed to be anything -extraordinary in my stature, here, as I walked -down the Strand with my hands behind my back, -I seemed head and shoulders above everybody else, -and people looked up at me wonderingly and made -laughing remarks to one another, some of which I -could not help but overhear. At last, in despair, it -occurred to me that my country costume had something -to do with it; so I went to a tailor's in Bond -Street, and, with a sigh, abandoned my loose shooting -jacket and breeches and brown deer-stalker for -a black frock coat, dark grey trousers, and tall hat. -The change was an effectual one, however, for -though people still stared at me, it was no longer -as though I were some wild animal. -</p> - -<p> -One afternoon during the second week of my -stay in London I turned with a crowd of other -loungers into the Park, and there, to my surprise, I -saw Maud. She was sitting in a victoria by herself, -leaning back amongst the cushions with pale face -and a light in her cold blue eyes which seemed to -speak of indifference to everything and everybody -around her. As fate would have it there was a -block just then, and her carriage, with its pair of -restless fuming bays, came almost to a standstill -close to where I was leaning over the railing. I -would have drawn back, but I could not. I seemed -fascinated, and I remained there with my eyes fixed -upon hers, and from that moment I was a believer -in animal magnetism, for suddenly she looked -languidly up, and her eyes rested deliberately upon -the little crowd of black-coated loungers of whom I -was one. She saw me, she singled me out from the -rest in a moment, and instantly the proud, bored -look left her face, and she leaned forward in her -carriage towards me with her lips parted in a slight -smile. I obeyed her imperious little gesture, and, -stepping over the railings, stood by her side hat in -hand. -</p> - -<p> -She laid an exquisitely gloved little hand in mine -for a moment, and then leaned back, looking at -me with the old look, half mocking, half tender, -altogether bewildering. -</p> - -<p> -"Saul amongst the prophets!" she laughed. -"Since when, might I ask, has Mr. Arbuthnot -become an acclimatised Londoner? Really you -ought to feel flattered that I recognised you," she -added, looking at my black coat and hat and the -gardenia in my buttonhole; I had bought it only -because other men were wearing them, and I wished -to look as little singular as possible. -</p> - -<p> -Bandying words with Maud was beyond me. I -rested my foot on the step of her carriage, and -pretended to be carefully examining it, for into her -eyes I dared not look. -</p> - -<p> -"I am only waiting in London until I have news -from abroad," I answered. "When did you come -from Devereux?" -</p> - -<p> -"Only yesterday. And I had not thought to -see you so soon," she said, in an altered tone. -</p> - -<p> -Why was I standing there at Maud's feet? Why -had I come into the Park at all? I, who was so -little of a man that, amidst all this great crowd -of people I was obliged to struggle hard to keep -an unmoved countenance and a measured tone. I -felt bitterly angry with myself as I answered, with -averted face— -</p> - -<p> -"Nor I you. I had forgotten that Devereux was -not your home. You live here, do you not?" -</p> - -<p> -She smiled indulgently at my ignorance. -</p> - -<p> -"We are generally here for the season," she said. -"We have a house in Mayfair. Will you come -and see me?" -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head, and answered bluntly— -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you, no, Miss Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -She leaned forward in her carriage, with a sudden -increase of animation in her manner. -</p> - -<p> -"You are a Don Quixote, Hugh," she said, half -angrily, half reproachfully. "How can you be so -foolish as to believe that rubbish about my father! -Wait till you hear how people talk of him, and -then you will know how stupidly mistaken you -have been. And he likes you so much, too. You -might come and see us whenever you liked, if you -would only not be so silly." -</p> - -<p> -"How do you do, Miss Devereux?" -</p> - -<p> -She turned round quickly, and saw Lord Annerley, -who had ridden up to the other side of the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -"Lord Annerley! Really, how very surprising! -I thought that you had gone off to break the bank -at Monaco. Francis said so." -</p> - -<p> -"I had meant to go," he began, twirling his -little waxen moustache with his small hand, of -which he seemed inordinately proud; "but -something kept me in London." -</p> - -<p> -He looked down at her boldly in a manner which -he, no doubt, considered fascinating. Resisting a -strong inclination to throw the little cad, with his -irreproachable tailor-like get-up into the mud, I -raised my hat to Maud, and turned away. But she -called me back. -</p> - -<p> -"You have not answered me, Mr. Arbuthnot. Is -it to be no or yes?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am sorry, Miss Devereux, that I have nothing -to add to my previous answer," I said stiffly, for -her beautiful smiling face seemed to me like the -face of a temptress just then. -</p> - -<p> -"Just as you wish, of course," she answered -coldly, with a slight haughty inclination of her -head. "And now, Lord Annerley," I heard her -add, in a very altered tone, "I hear that you have -a new team. Do tell me all about them. Are -they greys or mixed?" -</p> - -<p> -I walked away, nor did I enter the Park again -whilst I was in London. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap30"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXX -<br /> -LIAR AND COWARD -</h3> - -<p> -"It's the book of the day." -</p> - -<p> -"It's decidedly the cleverest thing of its sort I -ever read." -</p> - -<p> -"Have you read the review in the <i>Athenæum</i>?" -</p> - -<p> -"And in the <i>Saturday Review</i>." -</p> - -<p> -"They all praise it, even the <i>Spectator</i>." -</p> - -<p> -"Who's the author? Whose initials are R. D.?" -</p> - -<p> -"Why, don't you know? It's Major Rupert -Devereux, the man who wrote that awfully clever -article in the <i>Fortnightly</i> last month. He's an -M.P., and a great man on committees. Sort of -practical philanthropist." -</p> - -<p> -I was standing in front of a bookshop leading -out of the Strand amongst a little group of other -passers-by, who had halted for a moment to turn -over the volumes which were out on view, and this -was the conversation which I heard being carried -on almost at my elbow. I listened eagerly for -more, but the speakers had passed on. -</p> - -<p> -My Uncle Rupert was a great man, then, I -thought, bitterly. Curse him! I was scarcely -surprised, for there was in his pale face all the nervous -force of imaginative intellect. What was it he had -written? I wondered. I took up the <i>Times</i>, and -glanced through its columns. Ah, there it was—a -review two columns long—"Richard Strathdale, -novelist," by R.D. -</p> - -<p> -I glanced through the review; it was one long -eulogy. A profound metaphysical romance! The -most brilliant work of fiction of the age, and so on, -and so on. I stopped at a bookseller's, and asked -for "Richard Strathdale." They were sold out. I -tried another with the same result—there had been -a tremendous run on it, they told me. But at -last, at a railway bookstall, I was just in time to -purchase their last copy, and hurried back with -it to my hotel. -</p> - -<p> -I commenced to read, and I read on deeply -interested. There was much that I could not -understand, much that betrayed an intimate knowledge -with schools of philosophic thought the names of -which even were unknown to me. But there was -a great deal which, despite my prejudice against -the writer, seemed to me almost sublime. It was -written from a noble, almost an idyllic standpoint. -There were no carping pessimisms in it, no -Nineteenth Century disputativeness. It seemed to be -the work of a man who believed in all that was -pure and lofty in nature and in human nature. -The spirit of a good, high-minded man seemed to -be breathing through it in every line. I laid it -down when I was half-way through with a startled -little gasp. Could this be my Uncle Rupert! this -the man whose life was a living lie? Never had -my faith in my father wavered for one moment, -but just then everything seemed chaos. I read on -until I came to a passage where the hero of the -story was speaking of another man: -</p> - -<p> -"An unhappy man! Of course he is an unhappy -man! He always will be! Go and ask him what -it is he desires. He will tell you a larger fortune, -or a peerage, or something of that sort. He is a -fool—a blind fool—not to have realised by this -time that desires expand with possessions, and the -more the one increases the more ravenous the other -becomes. Bah! the principle is as simple as ABC. -'Tis the moralists of the earth, be they Christians or -Chinese, who win here! Logic and philosophy may -knock Christianity into a cocked hat. But -Christianity can make a man happy, which is exactly -what philosophy won't do. Happiness is internal, -not external. It must sit in the heart, and not -float in the senses. And what gratification is there -which a man can get out of the good things of the -world which can strike deeper than the senses? -Happiness is a consciousness; it is the consciousness -of goodness. Dreadfully common-place talk -this, but common-placisms are often truisms!" -</p> - -<p> -I closed the book, and walked up and down the -room restlessly. A great bewilderment seemed to -be closing in upon me. My faith in my father was -never really shaken, and yet this book seemed to -me to ring with evidences that it was written by a -high-minded, naturally good man. All my ideas -were disarranged. A great wave of wondering -doubt seemed beating against the prejudice which -had grown up in my heart against my Uncle -Rupert. At last I could bear it no longer. With -the book still in my hand I hurried out into the -street. Within ten minutes I stood before Rupert -Devereux's house in Mayfair, and almost -immediately was ushered by the servant into his -study. -</p> - -<p> -He was bending close over his writing-desk with -his back to me, writing fast, and sheets of foolscap -lay on the floor all around him. He had not -heard me announced, and he wrote on without -looking up. -</p> - -<p> -I stepped into the middle of the room and spoke -to him: -</p> - -<p> -"Rupert Devereux," I cried, "it is I, Herbert -Devereux's son. Turn round, for I have something -to say to you." -</p> - -<p> -He started to his feet, and turned an eager face -towards me. Then he advanced a step or two, half -holding out his hand. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, you have come to accept my offer. God -grant that you have." -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. "I have come to ask a question -of the man who wrote this book," I answered, -holding it out. "I have come to ask the man who -writes that happiness is the abstract product of a -consciousness of right doing, whether he is happy? -Rupert Devereux, you know what happiness is. Tell -me, are you happy?" -</p> - -<p> -He sank into a chair and covered his face with -his hands. My heart grew lighter as I looked upon -him. -</p> - -<p> -"They tell me that you are a successful man," I -continued, mercilessly. "You are a member of -Parliament, and a noted one. You are spoken of -as a philanthropist, and a zealous one. You have -written a book which any man might be proud -of having written. You are rich, you are well -spoken of everywhere. And you are a miserable man." -</p> - -<p> -He never answered me, never changed his -dejected attitude. -</p> - -<p> -"Out of your own mouth you stand convicted," -I cried, stretching out the book towards him. "You -are not happy because none of these things can -bring you happiness. You are not happy because -you have not that consciousness of right doing in -your heart! You are miserable because you have -wrecked another's life that you might gain his -wealth. Fool! Villain!" -</p> - -<p> -Still he did not answer; only he stretched out -his hand as though to implore my silence. -</p> - -<p> -"Rupert Devereux," I cried, passionately, "it is -not too late to make amends even now. Confess -that lie which you uttered so many years ago, and -you will be a happier man than you are now! You -know it! The man who wrote this book knows it. -I will forgive you, my father shall forgive you -everything, if you will lift this weight from him -which is dragging him down to death. You will -lose your name, your wealth, your position. But -you will gain something which none of these can -give you. Rupert Devereux, as there is a God -above us I charge you to speak the truth this -night!" -</p> - -<p> -Ghastly pale, with the wild agony of his remorse -written into his face, he tottered rather than rose to -his feet. -</p> - -<p> -"I admit nothing, I deny nothing," he faltered -out in a broken voice. "But supposing -circumstances were as you imagine them to be, I -have gone too far to retract. There are my -children!" -</p> - -<p> -"What of them?" I cried. "This is not a -censorious generation, and none would visit on them -their father's sin. Francis is one whom money -would make happy, and he should have it! Maud! -I love Maud, and would make her my wife." -</p> - -<p> -He looked up amazed, and then an eager hope -flashed out from his sunken eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"You love Maud!" he repeated. "Then marry -her, Hugh; marry her, and I will dower her with -every penny I have, and go and live—anywhere. -Only let this other matter drop between us. If I -have sinned in a mad impulse of folly, I have -sinned. What is done cannot be recalled! The -best years of Herbert's life have gone, and by this -time he will have become resigned. Let me call -Maud, or go to her. She is in her room." -</p> - -<p> -I stretched out my hand, but with a great effort -withdrew it. What should I gain by striking this -man? I made one last appeal to him. -</p> - -<p> -"There is but one thing I want from you," I -cried, "and nothing else will I have. All that I -want to know is whether you will go down to hell -with this lie upon your soul, or whether you will do -that which alone can bring you any peace of mind. -Answer!" -</p> - -<p> -"I have answered, Hugh," he said, sadly. "What -you ask of me I cannot, I will not do. If you will -accept nothing else—I am sorry." -</p> - -<p> -"Then curse you for a coward!" I cried, -springing up. "A liar and a coward! Live on your -false life, fair before men, but black and corrupt -within; live it on! But see whether their praises, -their admiration or your success will ever lift for -one moment from your heart my curse!" -</p> - -<p> -Then I left him, mad and white with anger, and -rushed out into the busy streets. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -Wearily the days dragged on for me, bringing -me no news from abroad, no answer to the passionate -entreaty which every morning appeared in the -agony column of the <i>Times</i>. I grew disheartened -and dispirited, feeling every day more bitter against -my kinsman, whose name seemed to be in every -one's mouth, and every day a keener longing to -stand face to face with my father, and feel his hand -clasped in mine. Fool that I had been to let him -wander off alone, bearing in his heart that dead -weight of misery! What if he were dead—had -fallen in the petty quarrels of some fourth-rate -Principality! Had there been war anywhere I -should have known where to look for him; but -Europe was at peace, and I knew not in which -country of the globe to commence my search. -</p> - -<p> -One evening I had taken up a society journal, -and as usual Rupert Devereux's name headed one -of the paragraphs. He was giving a fancy dress -ball to-night, at which Royalty was expected to be -present. I threw the paper from me in disgust, -and a wild storm of anger laid hold of me. Rupert -Devereux, a great man, a leader of society, everywhere -quoted as brilliant, talented, and withal -kind-hearted; whilst my father, his victim, wandered -about in miserable exile, holding his life in his -hand! It was the thought that was with me day -and night, but that moment it gained such a hold -on me as to cry out for action of some sort. But -what could I do? All idea of physical punishment -which naturally leaped first into my mind revolted -me, for he was a weak man, and would have been -like a lath in my hands. And what other means -had I? Denunciation would make me ridiculous -without injuring him; for, when a man stands firm -in the world's esteem, they are slow to believe ill -of him. I caught up the paper again, and a sudden -idea flashed into my mind which I first scouted as -ridiculous, then reconsidered, and finally embraced. -I called a hansom, and drove to several costumiers. -At last I found what I wanted, and returned to the -hotel to dress, for I was going to Major Rupert -Devereux's fancy dress ball. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -A suite of reception rooms, decorated like the -rooms of a palace, and the strains of the Hungarian -band floating softly on an air heavy with the rich -perfume of banks of rare exotics. Distinguished-looking -men and beautiful women, in the picturesque -garb of all ages and nations, gliding over the -smooth floor. Powdered footmen noiselessly -passing backwards and forwards over the thick carpets -of a succession of satin-draped ante-rooms. Flowers, -light, music, and perfume; fair faces and soft words. -That night seems like a confused dream of all these -to me, save for one brief minute. One brief minute, -when the giver of all these, the flattered recipient -of endless compliments from noble lips, came face -to face with the image of the man on whose misery -all these things were built up, came face to face -with him, in the very uniform, and with the same -fiercely reproachful gaze, which he had worn more -than twenty years ago. -</p> - -<p> -"It was the heat—the excitement—the overwork!" -his sympathising guests declared, as their -host was carried from their midst in a dead faint, -with his face like the face of a corpse. But I knew -better, and I laughed as I strode into my room at -the hotel, and flung myself into an easy chair. -Something on the mantelpiece attracted my attention, -and I sprang up with a quick cry, and caught -hold of a thin foreign envelope. I tore it open -with trembling fingers, and read:—"My dear son. -Come to me at Palermo, if you will.—Yours -affectionately, H. D——" -</p> - -<p> -It had come at last, then! Thank God! Thank God! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap31"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXI -<br /> -MY FATHER AND I -</h3> - -<p> -"My father! my father!" -</p> - -<p> -We stood on the slope of a wild heath-covered -hill, alone, with no human being or sign of habitation -in sight. Before us towered a dreary, lofty -range of bare mountains—on one side was a fearful -precipice, and below us on the other the blue sea. -We had met on the road, my father and I! -</p> - -<p> -With both hands clasping his, I looked into -his face. Alas, how changed it was! Thin and -shrunken, with hollow eyes and furrowed brow, -he looked to me what he was, a wreck. -</p> - -<p> -"You have been ill," I cried, with a lump in my -throat and the tears springing into my eyes; "where -have you been? Why did you not send for me?" -</p> - -<p> -He pointed to a loose piece of rock a few yards -off. -</p> - -<p> -"Let us sit down, and I will tell you everything," -he said, wearily; "I am tired." -</p> - -<p> -We sat down, and I waited eagerly for him to -begin. There was a patch of brilliantly coloured -wild-flowers at our feet which filled the air all round -with a dreamy, intoxicating odour. It was a -perfume which has lingered with me even to this day. -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, I have been ill," he began, slowly, "almost -to death, but death would have none of me. I have -little, very little to tell you, Hugh, my boy. Since -we parted in England I have wandered about in -many countries seeking to find an honourable manner -of disposing of my life, but in vain. The dead calm -of peace which seems to rest all over Europe can be -but the hush before a storm, but the storm is long -in coming—long in coming. -</p> - -<p> -"I have done nothing save wander about," he -added, after a moment's pause, "after the fashion -of a tramp, carrying my luggage with me, and -calling no place home. A few miles from here, about -two months ago, I thought that my release had -come. I swooned suddenly in a lonely part of -yonder range of mountains, and when I came to I -was still lying on the track, but a fever had laid -hold of me, and I thought then that surely I must -die. I became unconscious again, and when I -recovered my senses for the second time I was no -longer lying on the ground, but was in a rude sort -of a tent, lying on a bed of dried leaves and heath. -One of the roughest-looking men I ever saw, dirty, -but gaudily dressed, with a brace of pistols stuck in -his belt, was sitting by my side, and through the -opening of the tent I could see more like him moving -backwards and forwards, and shouting to one another -in some villainous patois. For a long time I couldn't -imagine into whose hands I had fallen, but they were -very kind to me, and brought me plenty of everything -they could get—grapes, and olives, and wild -aloes, and wine. At last one of them, who seemed -to be their chief, and who spoke French, came in to -talk with me. Then I knew that these men who -had taken such care of me were really bandits, -brigands. They had taken nothing of mine, and -would accept nothing in return for their kindness. -They rob the rich only, the chief assured me. -I daresay you'll be surprised to hear, Hugh, that -when I began to get stronger and able to get about, -I felt quite loth to leave the place. I felt that there -I was, at any rate, right out of the world, and secure -from any casual questioning. And the spot where -they have fixed their abode is the most lovely I ever -looked upon. So I had a talk with their chief one -day—José his name is—and it was arranged that I -should pay a small sum to them for the use of -the tent, and for supplies of fruit and olives and -wine which the peasants bring them in abundance; -and, in short, that I should live with them, though -not be of them. I have felt at rest there, though -at times the weariness of complete inaction is hard -to bear. Only a few days ago I travelled into -Palermo for the first time. There I bought the -<i>Times</i>, and saw your advertisement, and answered -it, and the rest you know. I sent José's son, a -quick little fellow he is, into the town to hunt you -out, and bring you here. God bless you for coming, -Hugh. It has done me good to see you again." -</p> - -<p> -He ceased, and my heart was very heavy. Through -every word he uttered, and in his whole appearance, -I could trace how thoroughly he had renounced all -idea of again mixing with the world, and yet what -could his present state of existence be but a state -of living death? -</p> - -<p> -"And now for my story, father," I said, as lightly -as I could. "First, Marian is married." -</p> - -<p> -"Marian married!" He repeated the words -slowly, with a sort of passive wonderment in his -tones. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, Marian is married to a clergyman, and a -very good fellow, and I, father—I have been in a -situation." -</p> - -<p> -He frowned, and repeated the words slowly to -himself, as though displeased with it. -</p> - -<p> -"A situation? What sort of a one?" -</p> - -<p> -"I have had the management of a large estate. -It was pleasant work." -</p> - -<p> -"Whereabouts?" he asked. -</p> - -<p> -"Father," I said, holding his arm, "I held it as -Mr. Arbuthnot, of course, at Devereux." -</p> - -<p> -He sprang up like a galvanised figure, and looked -down at me in eager amazement. -</p> - -<p> -"At Devereux! At Devereux! Oh, my God, -at Devereux!" -</p> - -<p> -He sat down again, and covered his face with his -hands. Thinking it best to leave him alone, I -remained silent for a while. Suddenly he turned -round. -</p> - -<p> -"How does the old place look, Hugh? Tell me -all about it. And my—my—Sir Francis. Did you -see him? Is he well?" -</p> - -<p> -There was such a lingering pathos in his eager -questions, that, with an aching heart, I turned away -and wept. Then, after a while, I told him everything. -Told him of my recognition, of my grandfather's -offer, of Hilton's confession, and of my -appeal to Rupert Devereux. He listened as though -every word were sinking into his heart—listened -with an utter absorption which was almost painful -to witness. I told him of everything save of Maud. -</p> - -<p> -There was a long silence when I had finished. -Then he said quietly— -</p> - -<p> -"You have done wrong, Hugh. You should -have accepted your grandfather's offer. You must -go back to England, and go to him." -</p> - -<p> -"Father," I answered, "an oath is a sacred thing, -and I have sworn before God that I will not do this -thing. Whilst your name is Arbuthnot mine will be -Arbuthnot. The name of Devereux may die out for -all I care! Those who bear the name now are not -worthy of it—an obstinate old man, blinded by his -military notions and his cursed family pride, and a -man who has lived upon a villainous lie, which he -refuses to own to! They may rot before I will -go near them again, or take their cursed name. -You are the only Devereux, father, whom I love -and respect, and with you I will stop. I swear it." -</p> - -<p> -His hands were locked in mine, and a wonderful -change had softened his face. But by degrees the -light seemed to die out of it, and he shook his head -anxiously. -</p> - -<p> -"You don't know what you are saying, Hugh. -What, you, a young man, with your life all before -you, bury yourself with a hermit! Ah, no, it must -not be. You must retract that oath, and go back to -England. I wish it; nay, I command it!" -</p> - -<p> -There is no need to reproduce the arguments he -used, or my stubborn opposition. We talked till -the sun sank down, tinging the glass-like sea into -which it sank and the clouds in the western horizon -with glowing tints of orange and purple and gold. -And when the last word had been spoken it was I -who was unshaken in my resolve, and he who was -yielding. For we had agreed that for a time, at any -rate, we would live together. -</p> - -<p> -The shades of evening had fallen with a suddenness -which to me seemed strange, but to which my -father was accustomed. -</p> - -<p> -"We must part for to-night, at any rate, Hugh," -he exclaimed, rising. "It will be dark in half-an-hour. -I must call young Pietro to guide you back -to the town, unless," he added, hesitatingly, "you -would care to come on and rough it with us for a -night. I can only offer you a shake-down of dried -leaves." -</p> - -<p> -"With you, by all means," I answered, quickly. -"One could sleep out of doors in this country." -</p> - -<p> -"Come, then," he said, and, arm-in-arm, we -struck over the heath, following no path, for the -simple reason that there was none, but aiming for -one of the heights of the range of hills before us, -and skirting, at a respectable distance, the cleft-like -precipice which stretched yawning by our side. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap32"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXII -<br /> -THE BRIGANDS' HOME -</h3> - -<p> -It was a strange, wild, magnificent spot. A deep -gorge running inland from the sea, only avoided -cutting into the precipice which we were carefully -avoiding, by a strip of turf a few yards wide, along -which we passed, and by which alone access could -be obtained to our destination. It curled in a -zig-zag position, sometimes wider, sometimes narrower, -towards a low promontory fronting the sea—for -the gorge seemed to take a complete circle. As -we neared this hill I could see that it was a far -more fertile one than most of the country around. -Up one side stretched a vineyard, and little knolls -of olive and cypress trees were dotted about on the -summit, which seemed enclosed by a thick hedge -of wild aloes. A keen, piercing whistle greeted -our approach, to which my father at once replied. -Then there was silence. -</p> - -<p> -We climbed right up the side and passed over -the summit of the hill without seeing a sign of any -human being or habitation. I looked at my father -inquiringly, but he only smiled. -</p> - -<p> -"Follow me carefully, Hugh," he said, walking -on as though to descend the promontory on the -other side. I did so, along a winding, narrow path -covered with loose stones, until suddenly, as we -reached a sharp corner, I came to a standstill, and -could not repress a cry of admiration. Just below -was a wide, natural plateau jutting out until it -seemed to stand sheer over the violet sea, and -around it at regular distances, close to the side -of the hill, and overhung by a luxurious out-growing -plantation of cypress-trees, were a number -of rudely constructed brown tents. Lying about -on the turf were several men dressed in a -picturesque medley of bright-hued garments, smoking -long cigarettes and drinking wine from horn cups. -It reminded me of a scene from the <i>Spanish -Student</i>, only it was far more beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -A tall, dark man of swarthy complexion and -black eyes, but who was far from ill-looking, came -forward languidly to meet us. My father spoke -to him rapidly apart for a moment or two, and -then he turned towards me. -</p> - -<p> -"This is Monsieur José, Hugh, whose guest I am." -</p> - -<p> -Monsieur José took off his feathered hat, and -made me a sweeping bow. -</p> - -<p> -"The son of my friend, the Englishman is very -welcome," he said, speaking in French. "You -would wish to rest, no doubt? If monsieur will -seek his tent, I will order refreshments to be -sent." -</p> - -<p> -We entered one of the curiously-shaped habitations, -and I glanced wonderingly around. There -was a small chest, a gun, a little pile of books, a -bed of dried leaves and heath pressed together in -a compact form, which gave forth an aromatic, -agreeable smell, and very little else. -</p> - -<p> -"Not much furniture, you see," my father -remarked. "Now come outside again." -</p> - -<p> -A white cloth had been spread out on the turf, -and wooden dishes of olives, aloes, magnificent -grapes, and some sort of dried meat had been -arranged on it. Two long-necked bottles of wine -and a couple of horn mugs were also brought, -and then the man who had been making these -preparations bowed clumsily and withdrew. -</p> - -<p> -I flung myself on the turf by my father's side, -and, for the first time for many years, we ate and -drank together. Afterwards we lit long paper -cigarettes, of which there seemed to be no lack, -and I stretched myself out with a sense of dreamy -satisfaction. The warm, balmy air, heavily laden -with the exquisite perfume of wild-flowers and -the odorous scent of the vineyard, seemed to lull -my senses into a sweet, satisfied stupor, and for -hours we both lay there, scarcely exchanging -half-a-dozen sentences. -</p> - -<p> -"Father," I said, suddenly, "a man might be -happy here." -</p> - -<p> -He sighed. "It would not be impossible," he -assented. -</p> - -<p> -I thought of London at night, with its endless -whirl of excitement and hurry; its flaming -gas-lights, its heated theatres, its hurrying, eager -crowds, and its hideous vice, and I drew a deep, -satisfied breath. -</p> - -<p> -"One is happiest out of the world, I think, after -all. How could any man be miserable in a place -like this?" -</p> - -<p> -My father smiled sadly. -</p> - -<p> -"A certain amount of philosophy is necessary to -appreciate solitude," he said. "You are too young -to have imbibed it. You would be longing to be -back in the world again before long." -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -"Not I. There is nothing in England to -compare with this. As for London, the little time -I spent there seems like a bad dream. To live in -a great city seems to me the greatest mistake a -man can make. All the town people I met were -artificial in their manners, and in their nature too, -I believe. The struggle for existence seems to -stunt them, and to check their development." -</p> - -<p> -"Yet contact with one another sharpens their -wits and energy," my father remarked. -</p> - -<p> -"I doubt whether it improves them morally," -I answered. "But perhaps I am prejudiced. I -hate towns, and I love the country." -</p> - -<p> -"Monsieur is very wise." -</p> - -<p> -I turned my head, and saw Monsieur José's tall -figure standing out against the sky. -</p> - -<p> -"Monsieur is very wise," he repeated. "I, too, -have lived in towns, but I love best the country, -else I should not be here. Monsieur is young to -have attained to so much wisdom." -</p> - -<p> -I laughed. "Isn't it a matter of taste rather -than a matter of wisdom?" I remarked. -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged his shoulders, and leaned forward -on the long gun which he was carrying. -</p> - -<p> -"With monsieur's permission," he said, "I will -tell him a short story. It is my own." -</p> - -<p> -"Delighted," I murmured, lighting a fresh -cigarette, and my father gravely bowed his head. -</p> - -<p> -"I was born and brought up in the country," -Monsieur José commenced, "in a small village, -about fifty miles south of Paris. When I was -sixteen years old my father and mother both died, -and I was left alone in the world, in possession of -a small farm. I had to work hard, but I loved the -place, and I was able to make a good living. I -was happy enough, too, until Marie Marteuil came -to live in our village, and I fell in love with her. -I trust monsieur will never know what it is to be -in love with a heartless coquette! It was my lot, -and a miserable lot it was! One day she would -single me out from all the rest and talk to me only, -and at another she would scarcely speak to me at -all. It was Paris which had done it. Before she -went up there to stay with an aunt for a while, she -was as quiet, and simple, and sweet as ever a -maiden could be, but when she returned she was, -as I say, a confirmed coquette. I bore patiently -with all her vagaries, and put up with all her saucy -speeches, for more than a year. Then, when I -asked her to marry me, she laughed in my face. -What, marry a little country farmer! Not she. -She would marry no one, she said, who did not -live in Paris, or who could not take her there. If -I could do that she would have me. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, I sold the farm on which I was born, -every field of which I loved, and with a light heart -went up to Paris. They call Paris a gay city! I -found it a cruel one! I had no idea how to set -about making a living there, and gradually my -little stock of money dwindled away until it was -nearly all gone. But I would succeed, I swore, -for was not Marie waiting for me? At last, in -despair, I turned blacksmith; I worked night and -day until my cheeks lost their colour, and I began -to stoop. But I got on very well, and at last I -got a forge for myself and took a little house and -furnished it. Then I went down to my old home, -happy and exultant, to fetch Marie. I went to -her house and saw her, but when I would have -embraced her she drew back as though she had -forgotten me. I was pained, but I thought that -she was playing with me, and I commenced to tell -her my story, and all that I had done, and how I -had worked for her sake, and about the house I -had furnished. And when I had told her everything, -what do you think she did? She burst out -laughing in my face. 'The idea of her marrying -a blacksmith!' she exclaimed, tossing her pretty -little head. 'It was ridiculous.' Besides, she had -changed her mind about living in Paris. I had -better get some one else to go and live with me -in the house I had furnished; and when I -commenced to plead to her, she shut the door in my -face. Next week she was married to the man to -whom I had sold my farm. Does monsieur wonder -that I, too, detest the cities, and love best the -country?" -</p> - -<p> -I looked up at him sympathisingly, for though -he had told his story lightly, there was a deep vein -of sadness underlying his assumed manner, and his -dark eyes had a sorrowful look. -</p> - -<p> -"Perhaps it was as well for you that you didn't -marry her," I remarked. "She must have been a -heartless coquette." -</p> - -<p> -He shrugged his shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"If our love came from our head, that would be -very good consolation. I wish messieurs a very -good night," he added, bowing. Then he turned -somewhat abruptly upon his heel and walked away -to his tent. -</p> - -<p> -One by one the men around us left the central -group, and, curling themselves up in their cloaks, -threw themselves down to sleep—some inside their -tents, some on the threshold, and others where they -had been sitting. The golden moon had risen high -above the gleaming, sparkling surface of the still -sea and shone down upon the strange little scene -with a full, soft light. I looked round at the -slumbering forms of the brigands in the fantastic -dress, and at the dark cypress-trees which stood -out in strange shapes against the clear, -star-bespangled sky. I watched the fire-flies around -the aloe hedge, until my eyes ached with following -their erratic course. Then I thought of -Maud—wondered whether she was at that moment waltzing -with Lord Annerley in some heated London ballroom, -wondered whether she ever thought of me, -whether she knew that I loved her! -</p> - -<p> -And then I closed my eyes, and the sweet, -intoxicating perfume which floated about on the -heavy southern air lulled me to sleep. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap33"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXIII -<br /> -AT PALERMO -</h3> - -<p> -For a whole week I shared my father's abode in -company with this band of robbers, and then, -finding me indomitable in my determination to -remain with him, he made another proposition. -Such a retreat and such company as we were -amongst was all very well for him, an outcast from -the world; but for me it was different. He did -not like the thought of my dwelling amongst -proscribed men; there was no necessity for it. -</p> - -<p> -At first I laughed at him. Monsieur José and I -were the best of friends, and though with the other -men I could not exchange even a casual remark, -for their only language was a vile, unintelligible -patois, they were all civil enough, and seemed -disposed to be friendly. The wild, open life suited -me exactly, especially in the mood in which I then -was, and I had no wish to change it for any more -luxurious method of living. But as my father -seemed to have made up his mind upon the matter, -I, of course, had little to say about it. -</p> - -<p> -We did not have much difficulty in finding a -suitable abode. At the foot of the wild gorge -which gives access to the mountains amongst which -the convent of San Martino and the Cathedral of -Monreale lie hidden, we came across a tumble-down, -half-ruined, grey villa, of which several of -the rooms were fairly habitable. We took it from -its owner, a neighbouring farmer, for a sum which -seemed to us ridiculously low. Then, from the -little village of Bocca di Falco, we engaged, for -wages little above their keep, a man and woman, -and with the remainder of the old furniture which -was in the place, and a very few additions from -Palermo, we were fairly set up in housekeeping. -</p> - -<p> -I am quite sure that that period was not -altogether an unhappy one for my father, and, for -my part, I found it very far from such. The -complete novelty of our surroundings and manner -of life was full of interest to me, and it was with -the keenest pleasure, too, that I watched the colour -come slowly back to my father's cheeks, and his -limbs regain their old elasticity and vigour. He -could not conceal the change which my coming had -brought into his life, and he did not attempt to. -Many a time did I feel devoutly thankful that I -had held to and carried out my purpose. -</p> - -<p> -Our life was simple enough, but pleasant. Some -times we spent the whole day trying to shoot the -only bird there is to shoot—a sort of wild duck; -at others we took long walks, exploring the coast -scenery, and frequently winding up by a visit to -our robber friends. Antiquities or sight-seeing -we neither of us cared much about, but we paid -together more than one visit to the vast palatial -convent of San Martino and to the Cathedral of -Monreale. Other places of interest we avoided, for -my father had lost none of his old dread of meeting -any of his fellow-countrymen, although, as I more -than once pointed out to him, the probabilities of -their ever having heard his story were very far -removed. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes we rode on mules across the rich -intervening plain into Palermo, and mingled with -the little crowd of priests and soldiers in the <i>café</i>, -and went down to the Casino to glance through -the papers. It was I who read these, however, for -my father carefully avoided them, and perhaps it -was as well that he did, for more often than not -there was some mention of Rupert Devereux's name, -either presiding at a meeting or heading a -subscription list, or as one of the committee interested -in some great philanthropic work. It could not -have been pleasant for him to have read such -items of news as this, and I was thankful that he -chose never to read English papers. -</p> - -<p> -And so our life passed on for more than a year, -not at all unpleasantly for either of us. My father, -in his previous state of complete solitude, had -developed a taste for profound reading, and seemed -to find much pleasure in studying abstruse works -on Buddhism, the creed of the Mahometans, the -Confucian teaching, the religion of the Brahmins -and the Fetichists, and the strange, fascinating -doctrine of quietism held by so many of the nations -of the East. It was a taste which I never pretended -to share, the only one of our joint interests in -which the other did not participate. I feared it, -although in my ignorance I could do nothing to -check it. I had dim ideas that to a man -circumstanced as my father was, such study must develop -any secret leanings towards fatalism, and it was a -doctrine which he would have many excuses for -embracing. But I was too ignorant to argue with -him, so I contented myself with keeping him from -his books always in the daytime and often in the -evening; for we had improvised in one of the -empty rooms a sort of billiard table, on which, I am -convinced, we executed some of the most extraordinary -strokes that a marker ever gazed upon. -Then, too, we played chess often, and I tried, by -every means in my power, to keep him from -turning bookworm. And, on the whole, I was not -dissatisfied with my success. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap34"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXIV -<br /> -VISITORS FROM ROME -</h3> - -<p> -It was one of those evenings which, to any one -acquainted only with our English climate, seem like -a foretaste of paradise. I sat before a tiny marble -table at one of the open-air <i>cafés</i> at the head of the -Marina, listening idly to the music of the band only -a few yards off, and gazing over the peaceful, -glistening sea which stretched away in front. -There were many people passing backwards and -forwards, but my thoughts were far away, and I -took notice of none of them. With my head -resting upon my arm, and my arm upon the low -balustrade, I had fallen into a semi-somnolent -slumber of thought, and the faces of the people -who lounged by chattering and laughing I saw only -as figures in a dream. My cigarette even had burnt -out between my lips, and the coffee which stood by -my side I had not tasted. -</p> - -<p> -The roadway was completely blocked with the -carriages of the Palermitan nobility and elite, and -the promenade was thronged with a heterogeneous -stream of fishermen and natives and visitors. All -Palermo flocks on to the Marina at nightfall—as -who would not?—to hear the band and breathe in -the freshness of the sea, and with other objects -very similar to those which attract promenaders on -to the esplanades of English watering-places at a -similar hour. Often I had amused myself by -watching them, and looking out for English visitors; -but to-night, early in the evening, I had seen a -Sicilian countess who reminded me slightly of Maud, -and my thoughts had flashed back to Devereux, -and remained there, heedless of my efforts to recall -them, hovering around one fair face, which sometimes -I feared was more to me than anything else -in the world. -</p> - -<p> -What should recall them but the glad, amazed -greeting of an English voice! I sprang to my feet, -and before me, her face radiant with pleasure, and -her little hand stretched out eagerly, stood Lady -Olive. -</p> - -<p> -"Of all the strange meetings I ever heard of, -Mr. Arbuthnot, this is the most extraordinary!" -she exclaimed. "It quite takes my breath away!" -</p> - -<p> -I held her hand in mine forgetful of what I was -doing—amazed and admiring. A warm climate -evidently suited Lady Olive, for I had never seen -her look so charming as she did then in the airy -muslin dress which floated gracefully around her -slight figure, with a great bunch of light-coloured -violets in the bosom of her gown, and with a -decided tinge of colour and delighted sparkle in her -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, am I a ghost that you look at -me so without speaking? And you really must let -go my hand, please." -</p> - -<p> -I dropped it at once. -</p> - -<p> -"Lady Olive," I exclaimed, "I never met any -one whom I was so pleased to see! Whatever -stroke of good fortune brought you to Sicily?" -</p> - -<p> -"This," she laughed, laying her arm within that -of a tall, bearded gentleman who stood wondering -by her side. "Papa, this is Mr. Arbuthnot. Mr. -Arbuthnot, my father, Lord Parkhurst." -</p> - -<p> -He held out his hand cordially. -</p> - -<p> -"Very glad to meet you, Mr. Arbuthnot. I -have heard my daughter speak of you often." -</p> - -<p> -We were blocking up the crowded promenade, -and so we all three turned and walked leisurely -along amongst the others. In a few minutes I -had heard that Lord Parkhurst had brought his -daughter and some other friends here from Rome in -his yacht, and they were uncertain as to their stay. -And in return I had told them that I was living -with my father for a while close to Palermo. -</p> - -<p> -Presently we came up with the remainder of -their party, and Lord Parkhurst, leaving his -daughter in my charge, joined them. A tall, -good-humoured-looking boy strolled up to us, looking at -me questioningly. Lady Olive introduced me to -her brother, who came over to my side, and seemed -disposed to stay with us. -</p> - -<p> -"Now, we're not going to have you, Frank," -Lady Olive declared, laughing. "Mr. Arbuthnot -and I are old friends, and we have a lot to talk -about. Go and take care of Cissy, do!" -</p> - -<p> -He laughed good-humouredly, and then, nodding -to me, strolled off with his hands in his pockets. -Lady Olive rested her little hand upon my arm for -a moment, and guided me down towards the winter -garden, where the throng was less dense. There -we found a low seat, and sat down with our faces -to the sea, and our backs to the ever-increasing -crowd, the murmur of whose conversation reached -us in an incessant subdued hum. -</p> - -<p> -"And now, Mr. Arbuthnot, tell me all the -news, please; I want to know everything about -yourself," exclaimed Lady Olive, making herself -comfortable. "Quick, please; we haven't more -than half-an-hour before some one will be looking -for me." -</p> - -<p> -"Half-a-minute will suffice to tell you my news," -I answered, and I told her the little that had -happened to me since Marian's marriage. Told her -of my meeting with my father, and of our quiet -life together. She listened with more than -interest; and very enchanting she looked in the -golden light which shone upon her up-turned, -piquant face, and in her dark, tender eyes, which -had almost filled with compassionate tears when -I had finished. For, after all, there was something -sad about my story. -</p> - -<p> -"I think it is so good of you, Mr.—Mr. Arbuthnot, -to give up your life, as you are doing, to your -father," she said softly. -</p> - -<p> -I laughed at the idea. -</p> - -<p> -"Give it up! It is no sacrifice. I like being -with him; and life isn't at all unpleasant out here, -I can tell you." -</p> - -<p> -"Isn't it a little dull?" she asked, hesitatingly. -</p> - -<p> -"I had not found it so," I told her. "Perhaps I -should when she were gone," I added. -</p> - -<p> -She made a mocking face at me, and then -suddenly became grave again. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, I wonder whether you will -mind," she said, looking at me very earnestly, "but -papa knows your real name and all about you. I -couldn't help telling him, because I have thought -about you so much. You are not angry?" -</p> - -<p> -I smiled down at her reassuringly. Angry! -Why should I be? Instead, I must confess that I -felt a decided glow of pleasure at her eager words. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell me something about yourself now," I -begged, "and some English news, if there is any." -</p> - -<p> -"English news! Well, old Sir Francis is moping -worse than ever since you left; Mr. Rupert -Devereux has written the novel of the season; -Mr. Francis, from all I can hear of him, is going to -the bad; and Maud—they say Maud is engaged to -that little fop, Lord Annerley. Is that enough news?" -</p> - -<p> -Yes, it was quite enough! Something told me -that she was watching for the effect of her words, -and a sort of stubborn pride held my features rigid, -and enabled me to answer lightly, and to put the -words which I had heard away from me. -</p> - -<p> -We talked for a long time in low tones, exchanging -reminiscences and speeches, my share of which -I have often since repented. But to meet -unexpectedly a countrywoman, especially so charming a -one as Lady Olive, in a strange country, when you -have seen nothing but strange faces for many -months, is sufficient excuse for a little more than -cordiality creeping into the conversation. And -then there was the influence of the scene and of -the night, an influence which no one can properly -appreciate who does not know what the long summer -nights of Southern Europe are like. Everything -seemed steeped in a sort of languid, evanescent -beauty. The dark mountains stretching out like -giant sentinels into the silvery, glistening bay, the -twinkling lights from the low, white houses, the -softened strains of the band, the musky air heavily -laden with the mingled perfume of the orange -grove, the hyacinths, and the more distant vineyards, -and Lady Olive's beautiful dark eyes so close -to mine, and flashing with such a dangerously sweet -light—all these seemed leagued together to stir my -senses and my heart. If Lady Olive spoke in a -lower tone and with a tenderer accent than she -need have done, was I to blame, knowing her to be -a flirt, if I followed suit? The wonder is that I -forbore to answer the mute invitation of her eyes, -and press my lips against the archly tender, oval -face, which more than once almost touched mine. -</p> - -<p> -But for the thought that, gone from me for ever -though she might be, Maud's kiss was the last upon -my lips, assuredly I should have yielded to the -fascination of that moment. -</p> - -<p> -Fewer and fewer became our words, until at last -we ceased talking altogether, and remained silent, -drinking in the exquisite enjoyment of our surroundings. -</p> - -<p> -At last Lady Olive rose reluctantly. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, we must really go. They'll be -coming to look for us directly, and, really, if it -hadn't been too ridiculous, people might almost -imagine that we'd been spooning, mightn't they?" -</p> - -<p> -She blushed as she smoothed down the folds of -her white dress, and waited whilst I lit a cigarette. -Certainly, if people had entertained that very -ridiculous notion there would have been some -excuse for them, for our hands had been very close -together—very close indeed—and there was a soft -light in Lady Olive's lustrous eyes which, to any -one who had not known that she was a flirt, and -could command them at will, might have suggested -love-making. Our <i>tête-à-tête</i>, such as it was, was -over for the present, at any rate, for we had scarcely -gone a dozen yards when we came upon Lord -Parkhurst, with Miss Cissy, who, I found out -afterwards, was Lady Olive's youngest sister, and -Master Frank, and a tall, sandy-haired man, with -bushy eyebrows and an intelligent forehead, whom -Lord Parkhurst introduced to me as Mr. Burton -Leigh. -</p> - -<p> -We all walked up the promenade together, but -presently Lord Parkhurst took an opportunity to -draw me a little behind the others. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear fellow," he said kindly, "my daughter -told me all your sad history when she came to rue -from England. Do you know, I should like to -know your father, Mr. Devereux, very much. My -cousin was in his regiment, and always swore that -there was something wrong about that court-martial. -Do you think that he would mind my -calling on him?" -</p> - -<p> -I hesitated, at a loss how to decide. -</p> - -<p> -"Well, well, let it be until you have asked him," -Lord Parkhurst went on, good-humouredly. "We -shall be here for a week or two, at any rate, and I -hope that we shall see a good deal of you. We -thought of going to see the convent at San Martino -to-morrow. Will you join us?" -</p> - -<p> -"The convent of San Martino?" I exclaimed. -"Why, you will pass our house." -</p> - -<p> -"Indeed! Then we will look in and see your -father on our way back, if he has no objection. -You'll come in for an hour?" -</p> - -<p> -We had reached the entrance to the hotel, and -Lady Olive was looking behind to see that I was -following. But I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -"I have a six-mile ride over a rough country," -I said, "and though the patience of mules is supposed -to be inexhaustible, experience has taught me -that that idea is a popular delusion. I've kept mine -waiting four hours already, and I really must go." -</p> - -<p> -"If you must, then," Lord Parkhurst said, holding -out his hand, "where shall we see you -to-morrow?" -</p> - -<p> -"I'll come and meet you if you'll tell me what -time you'll start." -</p> - -<p> -They consulted, and fixed upon an hour. Then I -shook hands with Lady Olive and the rest of the -party, and walked back along the now nearly -deserted Marina to the inn where I had left my -mule. -</p> - -<p> -Jacko was a faithful beast and sure of foot. But -he was slow, and by the time we had reached home -it was past midnight. My father was sitting up -for me, poring over a musty old volume, which he -laid down, as I entered. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy, I thought you were lost. -Disgraceful hour, sir," he added, with a mild -attempt at facetiousness. -</p> - -<p> -I laughed, and throwing my whip into a corner, -poured myself out a cup of coffee. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, what do you think has happened?" I -explained. "I have met some English friends in -Palermo." -</p> - -<p> -"Who are they?" he asked nervously. -</p> - -<p> -"Lord Parkhurst and his daughter. Lady Olive -is a friend of Miss Devereux's, and a very jolly -little girl she is." -</p> - -<p> -My father nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"Glad you've been enjoying yourself," he -remarked. "I hope they are going to stay for a -time. They'll be company for you." -</p> - -<p> -"And you too, father," I added quickly. -"Lord Parkhurst wants to call and see you. He -knows all about us, and he seems very anxious to -make your acquaintance. Do you mind?" -</p> - -<p> -My father considered for some time before he -answered. I could see that the idea half pleased -him, although he could not quite make up his mind -to break through his old habit. -</p> - -<p> -"I don't think I should mind much, Hugh," he -said at last. "But there's no one else, is there?" -</p> - -<p> -"Only a son, and two daughters. Lady Olive is -quite as anxious to know you as her father. -Oh! and there's a fellow called Burton Leigh." -</p> - -<p> -"Burton Leigh!" repeated my father. "Burton -Leigh! There is no man whom I should like to -meet more if it's the same Burton Leigh who wrote -this treatise on Modern Mahometanism." -</p> - -<p> -"Same fellow," I declared, without hesitation. -"He looks beastly clever, and Lady Olive said that -he'd lived for years in Egypt with a tribe of Arabs. -Same fellow for certain." -</p> - -<p> -"How strange! When are they coming, Hugh?" -</p> - -<p> -"To-morrow," I answered, invoking secret blessings -on the head of Mr. Burton Leigh. "They are -coming this way to San Martino, and I was to let -them know whether they might call." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap35"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXV -<br /> -WE ENTERTAIN AT THE VILLA -</h3> - -<p> -My father and I were sitting at breakfast on the -following morning, out of doors, on the wooden -balcony, when I again recurred to the visit which -we were to receive. -</p> - -<p> -Below us stretched a wild, neglected garden, -picturesque but overgrown, and further away was a -flourishing vineyard and a bare stretch of heath, -only redeemed from absolute ugliness by the -brilliant patches of wild-flowers and frequent -groups of olive-trees. Although it was early -morning the warm air was already laden with the -languid, almost oppressive, scent of wild hyacinths -and other odorous plants, and there seemed to be -every promise of a scorching hot day. As usual, -our breakfast consisted almost entirely of different -sorts of fruits and the wine of the country, and -until we had nearly finished and my father had -leaned back in his low wicker chair, with the blue -smoke from a cigarette curling around him, we -scarcely interchanged a word. -</p> - -<p> -"I wonder if there's anything in the house for -lunch?" I remarked, rather abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -My father looked at me with a mild astonishment, -for we seldom asked one another questions of -that sort, leaving almost everything to our -housekeeper. -</p> - -<p> -"I haven't the faintest idea," he acknowledged, -languidly fanning himself with his hat. "Better -ask Marie. Why this premature curiosity?" -</p> - -<p> -I shrugged my shoulders. "We may have -company," I remarked. -</p> - -<p> -My father arched his eyebrows, and looked at me -incredulously. -</p> - -<p> -"Company, nonsense! You haven't asked your -friends to luncheon, have you?" -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. "Haven't asked them, but -I shouldn't wonder if they weren't here all the -same. They are going to San Martino, and it -occurs to me that by the time they reach here they -may be glad of a rest. It's going to be a warmish -day." -</p> - -<p> -Marie had come out to take away the remains of -our breakfast, and I appealed to her. She shrugged -her massive shoulders discouragingly, and held up -her hands. We were not often home for lunch, and -she had provided nothing. -</p> - -<p> -We looked at one another helplessly, my father and -I, and then simultaneously broke into a short laugh. -</p> - -<p> -"Let us hope your friends will have had a good -breakfast, Hugh," my father said. "But, Marie," -he added, "surely there were chickens?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ah, surely, there were chickens, so many that -they were becoming a nuisance! Pietro should kill -some at once, that they might be cooked and cold -by luncheon time." -</p> - -<p> -"And omelettes, Marie; you can make omelettes?" -I suggested. -</p> - -<p> -She was half indignant at the idea of there being -any doubt about it! Omelettes there could be, -surely! Were not her omelettes equal to any -one's? And if the signers were expecting visitors, -they need have no fear! They might make their -minds quite at rest. Lunch there should be, fit for -any one. -</p> - -<p> -We both breathed more freely, and decided that -Marie was a treasure. Then I lounged off into the -garden on a very womanish errand—namely, to -gather some flowers to decorate the table with, and -finally, having seen all things in a state of preparation, -I mounted Jacko and rode off towards Palermo, -leaving my father vastly amused at the orders I had -given. -</p> - -<p> -Just outside the city I met them in a heavy -native carriage, and, turning round, I rode by their -side. Frank and Mr. Leigh were also on mules, but -Lady Olive, in a cream-coloured costume, and with -a bunch of hyacinths, which I had given her the -night before, in her bosom, was sitting in the -carriage by her father's side. She welcomed me -with the most becoming blush, and, as I touched -her hand, I could not help thinking how fresh, and -cool, and English-like she appeared. Perhaps my -eyes told her something of my admiration, for she -turned hers quickly away, and seemed eager to -commence a conversation. -</p> - -<p> -"Mr. Arbuthnot, how strange you look on that -animal after the Black Prince! Aren't you afraid -of your feet touching the ground?" -</p> - -<p> -"Jacko is not to be despised," I assured her. -"I'm afraid the Black Prince's knees would suffer -in this country. Ever ridden one of these animals -before?" I asked Mr. Leigh, who was by my -side. -</p> - -<p> -He smiled at the question. -</p> - -<p> -"In very many countries," he answered. "I've -crossed the Pyrenees, and cantered into Jerusalem -on one. They're sure-footed beasts." -</p> - -<p> -I looked at him with interest. Evidently he had -been a traveller, and he was doubtless the man -whom my father desired to meet. -</p> - -<p> -There was not much opportunity for conversation, -for the road was such that it took all our -attention to remain safely in our saddles. Our -progress, too, or rather the progress of the carriage, -was slow, and long before we had arrived at the -villa Lord Parkhurst began to look hot and Lady -Olive a little bored. Only Frank seemed to be -thoroughly enjoying himself, with that indifference -to the weather which a hardy school-boy generally -displays, galloping round in circles, and urging his -animal, a respectable and highly disgusted old mule, -into the most extraordinary antics. At last the -ruined front of the villa, half hidden amongst the -grove of orange-trees which stretched behind it, -came in sight. -</p> - -<p> -"What a dear old place!" remarked Lady Olive. -"Who lives there, Mr. Arbuthnot?" -</p> - -<p> -"At present we do," I said, riding up to the side -of the carriage. "If you would really like to make -my father's acquaintance, Lord Parkhurst, we should -find him at home now, and he would be pleased to -see you." -</p> - -<p> -Lord Parkhurst seized upon the idea with avidity. -</p> - -<p> -"I should like it above all things," he declared, -"and a change from this beastly rackety machine -and this broiling sun will be very welcome. What -do you say, Olive?" -</p> - -<p> -Lady Olive was quite of her father's opinion, and -so in a few minutes a halt was made at the rusty -iron gates supported by tottering grey stone pillars, -and we all trooped up the grass-grown avenue. -</p> - -<p> -My father met us at the door, and welcomed our -guests with an air of dignified courtesy of which -many years of seclusion had not robbed him. He -brought up the rear, exchanging affable common-placisms -with Lord Parkhurst, whilst I, with Lady -Olive and the rest of the party, crossed the marble -floor of the entrance-hall, stained and discoloured -by age, and entered the larger of the two rooms -which we had made some attempt at furnishing. -The close-drawn blinds had kept out the burning -sun, and after the fierce heat outside the room -seemed cool and pleasant enough, although its -decorations were faded and its walls in places -dilapidated. Lady Olive, stretched in my father's -easy chair, pronounced her firm intention of -remaining where she was until the sun had lost some -of its fierceness, and Lord Parkhurst, who was -fanning himself with an air of great contentment, -seemed by no means reluctant. So we sat there, a -merry, chattering party, my father and Mr. Leigh -deep in the discussion of some vexed point in the -latter's book—a discussion in which Lord Parkhurst -seemed also interested—and we younger ones talking -in a somewhat lighter vein. -</p> - -<p> -Presently Marie threw open the folding doors and -announced luncheon, and my father, with Lady -Olive on his arm—how many years was it, I wonder, -since he had performed a like ceremony?—led the -way out into the wide shaded balcony where lunch -had been prepared. We were quite out of the sun, -and the air here was fresh and cool, and laden with -sweet scents from the orange-grove close at hand. -</p> - -<p> -"I call this perfectly delicious," Lady Olive -declared, sinking into her bamboo chair at the -bottom end of the table. "Mr. Arbuthnot, your -house is an enchanted one! I was just thinking -how nice a bunch of grapes would be, and—behold!" -</p> - -<p> -There were certainly plenty of grapes, and, with a -snowy white cloth and the flowers which were -intermingled with the fruit, and strewn all over it, -the table looked very well for a bachelor abode. -My father made a dignified but courteous host, and -several times I found myself admiring his easy, -natural manners, whilst Lady Olive, opposite to him, -looked charming and bright, and kept us all talking -and amused. After lunch was over my father and -Mr. Leigh again became absorbed in a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, -and, as Lord Parkhurst showed decided symptoms -of indulging in a siesta, Lady Olive and I, with her -brother Frank and the younger sister following, -strolled down the steps into the neglected and -luxuriantly overgrown but picturesque old garden. -I am afraid we talked a good many soft nothings -that afternoon, Lady Olive and I, my share in -which I have often bitterly repented. But then, -how many excuses there were! Lady Olive had -openly professed herself to be a flirt, and as such I -always regarded her, light-hearted, gay, and with -winning manners, but a thorough-paced coquette. -Her tender looks, and the soft light which so often -shone in her dark eyes, had never been dangerous -to me, for I had never believed in their sincerity. -They had been very pleasant to respond to, and the -occasional pressure of her small white fingers had -been pleasant enough to feel. But I had always -responded to these with a half-laughing acquiescence, -feeling that I was playing my part in a game -dangerous to neither of us. Experience has taught -me that danger is an element never absent from -such mocking interchanges of assumed affection, -and that flirting, even in the most innocent manner, -and even with one who calls herself a flirt, is better -left alone. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap36"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXVI -<br /> -MR. BURTON LEIGH -</h3> - -<p> -Soon after four o'clock Lord Parkhurst suddenly -woke up, and remembered that the convent of -San Martino was still unvisited. We were recalled -from the garden, and after a hasty afternoon tea—<i>à -l'Anglaise</i>—the mules were brought round, and we -prepared to make a start. At the last moment -Mr. Leigh, whose conversation with my father had never -flagged, begged to be left behind and called for on our -return, a proposition to which Lord Parkhurst at -once good-humouredly assented. -</p> - -<p> -"I'm sure we have to thank you heartily for your -hospitality, Mr. Arbuthnot," his lordship remarked, -as he bade my father farewell. "We came to call on -you for a few minutes, and have quartered ourselves -upon you for the day. I do hope you'll return our -visit. I've taken the Palazzo Pericilo, in Palermo, -for a month. Your son'll soon be able to show you -where it is, I hope," he added, turning to me. -</p> - -<p> -My father made some courteous but indefinite -reply as he walked down the hall with his departing -guests. To have looked at the two men, any one -would certainly have supposed the positions reversed, -and that my father had been the distinguished -diplomatist and peer, whose visit was an honour, -and Lord Parkhurst the man without a name. -</p> - -<p> -"Your father is a veritable grand seigneur," Lady -Olive said to me as we stood at the gate prepared -to start. "I never saw a more distinguished-looking -man." And, though I only laughed at her, -I was pleased. -</p> - -<p> -The ride to San Martino was a delightful one. -We entered at once, after leaving the villa, into -a narrow, rugged glen, which led us higher and -higher, until at last Palermo, with its marvellously -beautiful plain, and the blue water of the -Mediterranean sweeping into its bay, lay stretched out -behind us like a beautiful panorama. Though we -were high up in the mountains, we were still -surrounded by the most luxuriant vegetation, and a -sudden turn in the road showed us, thousands of -feet below, a beautifully-cultivated valley, in the -bed of which were dense groves of orange-trees, -while its sides were laid out as vineyards and -wheatfields. But perhaps the most beautiful sight of all -was the huge façade of the convent of San Martino, -which we came upon unexpectedly, and which -seemed to be heaved out of the earth by some -caprice of nature. -</p> - -<p> -More than an hour we spent wandering about -its vast open corridors and magnificent staircases, -and, melancholy and silent though it was, its -grandeur and solemnity, and, above all, the silence -which reigned throughout the enormous building, -made a strong impression upon us. Even Lady -Olive forbore to chatter, and we none of us felt -inclined to speak above a whisper. For my part I -was not sorry when our tour of inspection was over, -for the place seemed to me depressing in its vast -emptiness, and I think the others were of the same -opinion, for we all gave a simultaneous gesture of -relief when we stood again in the open air. -</p> - -<p> -"We'll go back now, I think," said Lord Parkhurst, -yawning. "What do you say, Olive? Had -enough sight-seeing?" -</p> - -<p> -Lady Olive was content to do anything, so I -handed her into the carriage, and we started -homewards, with the fresh breeze from the Mediterranean -blowing in our faces, and the glorious prospect -of Palermo at the edge of the most luxurious plain -of Southern Europe before our eyes. -</p> - -<p> -In about an hour we reached the villa, and found -my father and Mr. Leigh, with a pile of books -before them, still eagerly conversing. I had -promised Lady Olive in a weak moment to return -and dine with them, but when Lord Parkhurst -cordially extended the invitation to my father, I -could scarcely believe my ears when I heard him, -after a moment's indecision, accept. But he did -so, and after a few very minutes' delay we all set -out together for Palermo. -</p> - -<p> -That was a very pleasant day—so pleasant that -I felt almost inclined to echo Lady Olive's words -whispered to me as we lounged about on the -Marina, pretending to listen to the band, and call it -one of the happiest of my life. I had never seen -my father so thoroughly interested as he was with -Mr. Leigh, and as we rode home together in the -moonlight I asked him about it. -</p> - -<p> -"I never met a man to whom I took such a liking, -or in whom I was more interested," my father -declared. "He has lived for a long time amongst -the Arabs, and seems to have been much impressed -by them. He is a disciple of a very curious -Calvinistic doctrine of fatalism, which has a good -deal of resemblance to the creed of the nomad -Arabs. I don't think it ever struck him till I -pointed it out." -</p> - -<p> -"He is going back to Egypt, isn't he?" I asked. -</p> - -<p> -"He is. There is a storm brewing there, and he -is going to try and see what he can do to prevent -mischief. He has asked me to go with him, Hugh," -my father added, quietly. -</p> - -<p> -"But you won't go?" I cried. -</p> - -<p> -He looked at me with one of his old sweet -smiles, which it filled me with joy to see again, and -he rested his arm for a moment on my shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, I have promised to think it over. Before -I decide, we will have a talk about it; but not -to-night." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap37"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXVII -<br /> -CUT DOWN -</h3> - -<p> -It must have been a little before six o'clock on the -following morning, when I was suddenly aroused -from sleep, and, opening my eyes, saw my father, -half-dressed, bending over me with his hand on my -shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Wake up, Hugh!" he cried, "wake up!" -</p> - -<p> -I sat up in bed, bewildered and amazed. My -father, with an anxious face, was rapidly putting -on his boots. -</p> - -<p> -"What has happened?" I asked, springing out -of bed. "Is there anything wrong?" -</p> - -<p> -"Dress yourself quick, and follow me. I am -going to José's. Pietro has just come, and says -that there was some desperate fighting last night -between the brigands and some travellers on their -way to Palermo. Two of the brigands were killed, -but they have captured the man who killed them. -Pietro thinks he was an Englishman. They will -hang him this morning unless we can prevent it. -Hurry, Hugh, and come after me. You don't know -what those fellows are if they can lay their hands -on any one who has killed one of their band. Sure -as fate they'll hang him. I fear that we may be -too late now. I shall take the mountain road." -</p> - -<p> -All the time my father had been talking he had -been completing a hasty toilet, and, now he had -finished, he hurried from the room, and directly -afterwards I heard Jacko cantering down the avenue. -In a very few minutes I too was dressed and following -him on foot. -</p> - -<p> -Our villa was about four miles and a half from -the hill on which Monsieur José and his friends had -pitched their habitation, and it was uphill all the -way, and a very rough road. The path—it was a -mere mountain track—was covered with loose -stones, and in many places was but a few feet wide. -Below sloped, with the abruptness of a precipice, -the green hillside, dotted with olive-trees and aloe -shrubs, and above the vegetation grew more and -more stunted, and great masses of rock jutted out -and lay about the barren brown summit. I was -running towards the sea, and the soft invigorating -breeze which blew steadily in my teeth seemed to -lend me an added vigour, for when I caught my -father up, close to our destination, I was as fresh as -at the start. Side by side we reached the chasm-like -gorge which separated the range of hills which -we had been traversing from the solitary one -behind which was the brigands' dwelling-place. -Here we halted, and my father, dismounting, put -two of his fingers in his mouth and whistled a -peculiar screech-like whistle, which I had often -vainly tried to imitate. -</p> - -<p> -At first there was no answer, save the echoes -which came mockingly back again and again. -Again he gave the signal, and this time one of the -band made a cautious appearance from behind a -knoll of trees, and, seeing who we were, came -forward and threw a rough bridge, formed from the -trunk of a tree, across the chasm. We were on the -other side in a moment, and I hurried up the steep -hillside, whilst my father remained behind to -exchange a few sentences with the man whose vile -patois I could not pretend to understand. He -caught me up at the summit, and, without stopping, -ran down the green footpath, calling out to me— -</p> - -<p> -"Quick, Hugh, we shall only be just in time. -They are going to hang him!" -</p> - -<p> -Below us stretched the deep blue waters of the -Mediterranean, gleaming and sparkling in the -morning's sun, and though we were within a couple -of hundred yards of our destination, not a sound -broke the dead silence, nor was there any sign of -human life anywhere about. We reached the edge -of the cliff and half-fearfully looked down below. -Instantly the whole view burst upon us, and we -saw that we were but barely in time. As we -looked upon the little scene, with its picturesque -grouping, it seemed hard to believe that it was not -some elaborate tableau which met our horrified -eyes, rather than a grim, ghastly reality. Standing -about on the smooth, velvety little stretch of turf, -which seemed to hang right over the sea like a -suspended platform, were the brigands, most of -them with folded arms, and all with eyes fixed upon -the little grove of cypresses. Foremost amongst -them stood José, with a long cigarette between his -thin lips, and a fierce, satisfied look upon his dark -face. Simultaneously our eyes followed theirs, and -a sickening horror crept over me, for, dangling from -the boughs of one of the trees, was the struggling, -quivering body of a man, whose feet, only a few -inches from the ground, were making spasmodic -but vain efforts to reach it. It was a fearful sight. -</p> - -<p> -With a cry which rang out like the angry roar -of a lion, my father sprang forward. For a moment -he balanced himself on the edge of the cliff, and -then with a single bound, which turned my heart -sick to see, he leaped on to the plateau below. -With fascinated eyes I watched him rush to the -tree with the gleaming blade of a knife in his hand, -and in a second the rope was severed, and the man -lay in a heap on the ground, and then with a wild -cry and a look on his face which no mortal painter -could have depicted and no words describe, my -father threw his hands up towards the heavens, -and staggered backwards. -</p> - -<p> -I rushed down the narrow path and stood by -his side. His whole frame was shaking as though -with a great horror; but his face, white to the lips, -was rigid as solid marble. As he felt my touch -upon his arm, he pointed with quivering finger to -the man who lay doubled up upon the ground, -although no sound came from them. With a new -horror my eyes followed his gesture, and the man -was my Uncle Rupert. -</p> - -<p> -The momentary torpor into which my father's -sudden appearance and action had thrown the little -company of brigands had passed away, and with -an angry exclamation José sprung forward. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Mille diable!</i> what did the Monsieur Anglais -mean by this interference! How dared he thus -presume to interfere with a simple act of justice!" -</p> - -<p> -"Carlo! Paulato! String the fellow up again -at once," he added, turning rapidly round. -</p> - -<p> -My father seemed to have recovered himself; but, -to my surprise, he stood stock still. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, they will hang him again," I cried; but -he never moved. -</p> - -<p> -I looked into his face, and shrunk back terrified. -The passionate hatred of a lifetime was convulsing -and blackening his features, and flashing fiercely -from his blazing eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Let them," he muttered, "let them. A dog's -death is fittest for him!" -</p> - -<p> -One swift thought saved him. He was Maud's -father. I hastened forward and wrenched the rope -from the hands of the men who were binding it -together. -</p> - -<p> -"Monsieur José," I cried, "tell me for what you -hang this man? What has he done?" -</p> - -<p> -"Killed two of my best comrades," was the -prompt reply, "and by heaven he shall swing for -it." -</p> - -<p><a id="theysprang"></a></p> - -<p> -The rope was wrenched from my hands and -adjusted round Rupert Devereux's neck. He was -conscious now, but half dazed, and unable to make -any resistance. Seizing him by the collar, I released -him from the men's grasp, and dragged him with -me to the side of the hill, against which I set my -back. They sprang after me, but started back with -a quick exclamation, for they looked into the black -muzzle of my father's revolver. -</p> - -<p> -"You are right, Hugh," he cried, "I was mad! -Monsieur José, listen to me," he added quickly. -"This man is an Englishman, and you know very -well what that means! To take his life would be -to compass your own extermination. He is a man -of great position, and if you killed him, sure as there -is a heaven above us you would be hunted out and -hanged, every man of you." -</p> - -<p> -"Who is to tell of his death?" José answered. -</p> - -<p> -"I shall," was the firm reply. "And if you kill -us, your fate is all the surer, for we too are English, -and it is known that we have come here. Be -sensible, José. Why kill him? What good will -that do you? Why not a ransom?" -</p> - -<p> -The battle was won, but Monsieur José did not -yield all at once. -</p> - -<p> -"He has killed two of my best fellows," he said -sullenly. -</p> - -<p> -"What of that? It was done in fair fight, I -suppose? He did not attack them." -</p> - -<p> -Monsieur José retired and consulted with his men. -Presently he reappeared, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -"Monsieur Arbuthnot," he said, "we are anxious -to oblige a friend whom we value so much as you, -but, at the same time, we feel the loss of two such -well-beloved comrades as Pintro and Salino deeply; -so deeply, in fact, that we cannot see our way to fix -the ransom at less than two thousand pounds -English." -</p> - -<p> -"They shall have it," groaned Rupert Devereux, -lifting his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Good! Where is the money to be got?" -inquired José, with twinkling eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"There is as much in Rothschild's bank at Rome. -Send one of your men to Palermo with a telegram, -and let him wait till the money is wired to my -credit. If you will give me something to write -with, I will give him authority to draw it." -</p> - -<p> -It was done, and then, whilst José withdrew to -consult with his followers as to who should be the -messenger, my Uncle Rupert turned slowly round -and looked into my father's face. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap38"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXVIII -<br /> -AN OMINOUS NOTE -</h3> - -<p> -It was a strange meeting. Full of a great throbbing -hope, I glanced from one to another of their faces. -My father's was white and set and stern. My -Uncle Rupert's was ghastly pale, sad, and expressionless. -</p> - -<p> -"I owe my life to you and your son," he said, -slowly. "Would to God it had been to any other -man!" -</p> - -<p> -"You speak well," my father answered. "You -owe your life to the man whose life you have made -a living hell. Strange things have happened, but -none stranger than this! Why, I have prayed with -a sinking heart, Rupert Devereux, that if chance -should bring us face to face I might not kill you. -And I have saved your life. How came you here?" -</p> - -<p> -"Bound to Palermo with a letter for Lord Parkhurst -from England. They told me at Rome that -he was here, so I followed." -</p> - -<p> -There was a dead silence save for the hum of -clamorous voices from the little group of brigands. -My father's eyes were fixed upon Rupert Devereux's -white, anguish-smitten face, full of stern expectation. -But neither spoke for many minutes. -</p> - -<p> -"I am waiting to hear what you have to say to -me," my father said at last. "I have saved your -life. 'Tis a deed which most men would deem -deserving of reward. I ask no reward, but I -demand justice of you, Rupert Devereux. For the -long, weary years of my wasted life you can return -me—nothing. But you can give me back my name -to die under and to leave to my son. Speak." -</p> - -<p> -Like a man who is torn asunder by a passionate -indecision, Rupert Devereux hid his face in his -hands, and rocked himself to and fro. -</p> - -<p> -"Herbert," he moaned, "would to God you had -let me die! Oh, how can I do this thing, how can -I? It is not for myself I care, but for my son, for -my daughter. They would never speak to me again. -They would hate me." -</p> - -<p> -"That they should do so would be a just -punishment," was my father's stern reply. "You have -built up your life upon a lie, and this is your reward. -Rupert Devereux, I demand that you make a full -confession, and restore to me my honour! If you -have one single spark of conscience left, you cannot -deny me. You shall not deny me!" -</p> - -<p> -He turned away again and groaned. Almost I -could have pitied him. -</p> - -<p> -"I cannot do it. I cannot do it," he moaned. -"Oh! think what it means! To cut myself off -from life and the world. To make myself an object -of contempt for all men. To forfeit everything -that I have won. To endure the everlasting scorn -of my children. Oh! Herbert, will you really ask -me to do all this?" -</p> - -<p> -"Ask! No! I demand it!" my father thundered. -"Think of my sufferings; think of my five-and-twenty -years, the best part of my life, hidden away -in a secret corner of the earth, never setting eyes on -my country or the home I love—a stranger to my -children and a stranger to my father. What can -you suffer more than this? Speak, Rupert Devereux, -and quickly, or I shall kill you where you stand." -</p> - -<p> -He turned around white and resolute. -</p> - -<p> -"Kill me, then. I wish for nothing else. There -is not a more miserable man than I on earth. You -talk of your wasted years and weary exile, and yet -you have not suffered as I have. You have had a -clear conscience; I have had a guilty one. Everything -I have won, every success, every joy I have -stretched out my hand for has tasted like ashes -between my teeth. Yours has been a passive -sorrow—my life has been one long hell of remorse. -But I will not do this thing. I will not pull down -with my own hand what it has taken so many years -to build up. I will not make my children hate me. -Go your way, Herbert, or kill me if you like—I am -indifferent." -</p> - -<p> -I saw my father's arm lifted to strike him, but -the blow never fell. Instead, his arm sank to his -side and he turned away. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh," he said to me in a low hollow voice, -"let us go. Let us go now. God keep him and -me apart. I thought I saw him at that moment -dead! murdered by me. I will not kill him! I will -not kill him!" -</p> - -<p> -José came hurrying out to us. -</p> - -<p> -"Messieurs," he said anxiously, "I must ask of -you for a pledge before you go. Not to a soul will -you mention the presence of that <i>gentilhomme lâ</i> in -our tents, and you will attempt no rescue, or to -interfere with the ransom. You must swear this." -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, I swear it," said my father, and I echoed -his words. -</p> - -<p> -"It is good," José declared, smiling and twirling -his long black moustachios. "Messieurs will oblige -me by accepting a cigarette. No? Very good. -Monsieur will allow me, at any rate, to render him -my most hearty thanks for having prevented us from -committing an act of great folly. This ransom will -be a gift from heaven. It will enable me to leave -this country, and seek a more stirring life. Life -here is dull—very dull." -</p> - -<p> -My father nodded, and passed on. -</p> - -<p> -"Good-day, Monsieur José," he said briefly, and -then we strode away to where Jacko was still -patiently waiting. He mounted and rode on, -leaving me far behind, for the sun was high in the -heavens, and the heat was great. When I reached -home he had gone to his room, and on trying the -door softly I found it locked. So I stole away -again down-stairs and waited. -</p> - -<p> -Hour after hour passed, but still he did not come -down. At last, to my inexpressible relief, I heard -the door of his room open, and he slowly descended. -He opened the door and stood before me, gaunt and -hollow-eyed, but with an air of resolution about him -which struck me with a chill foreboding. -</p> - -<p> -I greeted him cheerfully, and asked whether I -should have some lunch brought in for him, but he -took no notice. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh," he said quietly, "I wonder whether -you would mind riding into Palermo with this -letter and bringing me an answer." -</p> - -<p> -I rose up and took it at once, glancing nervously -at the address. As I had feared, it was directed to -Burton Leigh, Esq. -</p> - -<p> -"I will go, father," I said; and with a heavy -heart I saddled Jacko and started off. In the -grounds of Lord Parkhurst's villa, fast asleep in a -miniature kiosk, I came upon Mr. Leigh. I woke -him and gave him the note. -</p> - -<p> -He read it through, and when he had finished -smiled as though well pleased. -</p> - -<p> -"Tell your father," he said, "that I will breakfast -with him to-morrow morning. You are coming -up to the villa?" -</p> - -<p> -But I shook my head and turned away. I was -in no mood for Lord Parkhurst's kindly talk or -Lady Olive's merry chatter. Already I began to -see that a great trouble was looming before me. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap39"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXXIX -<br /> -"MY FATHER'S RESOLUTION" -</h3> - -<p> -The whole of the following morning my father -spent with Mr. Leigh, who arrived in answer to his -invitation soon after nine o'clock. When I returned -to lunch he was still there, and it was not until -evening that I found myself alone with my father. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, I have something to say to you," he -began gravely, "something important." -</p> - -<p> -I waited in silence, preparing to do battle with a -sinking heart. But as I looked into his worn, sad -face, I saw there was a change in it which favoured -little the chances of my opposition. The vacuity of -hopeless weariness had gone, and in its place shone -the light of a great resolution. How should I hope -to bend it! -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy," my father began, "I owe -to you a greater debt than father ever owed -son." -</p> - -<p> -I would have interrupted him, but he held up -his hand with an imperative gesture, which I could -not choose but to obey. And so I listened in -silence. -</p> - -<p> -"I am not going to speak of this black cloud, -which fate seems to have decreed should never be -rolled away from my head," he went on. "What -would be the use? Twelve months ago I tasted -the very bottom-most depths of misery. It seemed -to me then that I must either go mad or take my -life. It was your letter, Hugh, which saved me -from either fate. God bless you for it!" -</p> - -<p> -He turned away as though to watch the sun -shoot down its parting rays on the brown hillside. -But I knew that he had another reason for looking -away, and a womanish longing came over me to -seize his hands and breathe out fond words. But -somehow I could not. I don't know how others -find it, but it always seems to me to be as difficult -for a man to give vent to his feelings as it is for -women to conceal them. Between man and man -there is always a curious shrinking from the -displayal of any emotion, more especially when it -takes the form of affection. To me, at any rate, it -has always seemed so, and, though my heart was -full of a wild sympathy, and there was a great lump -in my throat, I said nothing. -</p> - -<p> -"From the moment when you came to me, Hugh," -my father proceeded, "life began to be endurable. -The months which we have spent together here -have been by far the brightest I have ever known -since we were all together in Devonshire. But we -cannot go on for ever like this." -</p> - -<p> -"Why not?" I dissented. "Life is very pleasant -here to me, at any rate. Where could we find a -better dwelling-place?" -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Life is not given to us to drone away," he -answered. "A man's life should include a career, -should be always shaping itself towards a definite -end. It is a crime against nature, against our great -destiny, for a young man like you to live as we are -doing; and it must not be." -</p> - -<p> -"What would you have me do?" I cried; "cannot -we do something together?" -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head with a sad yet pleased smile. -</p> - -<p> -"I have already decided," he said gravely; -"chance has been kind to me, and has thrown in -my way the man most likely to be of use to me. -I will tell you more of this presently. For me the -field of choice has not been large—for you it is -illimitable. Hugh, this is what I chiefly want to -say to you. It is my wish, my strong, heartfelt -wish, that you should accept your grandfather's -offer and take your rightful name and position." -</p> - -<p> -I looked at him, incredulous, bewildered, hurt. -Of all things I had least expected this. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," he went on, speaking more rapidly, and -with a deep earnestness in his tone and manner, -"it is my great wish. Do not think, Hugh, my -boy, that I have not appreciated your chivalrous -renunciation of it. The thought has been very -dear to me, that my son has preferred poverty and -obscurity out of mere resentment for my bitter -wrongs. But of late I have seen this matter in a -different light. Between my father and I, Hugh, -there has been no injustice. He was hard, but he -is a soldier, bred and born with all a soldier's -instincts. He has honestly believed me guilty, and -I bear him no resentment. He too must have -suffered, Hugh, for I was his favourite son." -</p> - -<p> -Suffered! Aye, I knew that he had suffered; -but what were all his sufferings to me compared -with my father's! -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, it has become a bitter thought to me -that, innocent as I am of all offence against him, I -am keeping away from him by keeping you with me—a -great consolation; and not only that, but I am -keeping you away from a great name, and a great -position. It has grown upon me, Hugh, this bitter -thought, and now I pray you, I command you as -my son, that when you leave me, as leave me you -must, you go to him." -</p> - -<p> -"Why must I leave you, father?" I asked. -"Let me go with you where you are going." -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"It is absolutely impossible. I am going, Hugh, -with Mr. Leigh to travel in Northern Egypt. There -is no race in the world in whom I have felt more -interest, and Mr. Leigh has strengthened it. He -has spent long years with them, living with a tribe -of Arabs in a tent, and sharing their life. He -knows their language and their customs. He has -been as one of themselves, and, save in the forms -of their religion, he has become one of them, and -now he has had disquieting news of his favourite -race. False prophets are working upon their imagination, -and stirring them up to no good end, striving -to incite them to rise against their best friends the -English! Matters are fast coming to a crisis, and -Mr. Leigh is going back to his old tribe to try and -regain his former influence with them, and to keep -them, at any rate, out of the troubles which are -fast arising. He has asked me to go with him, -Hugh, and I have consented. It is the sort of -enterprise which I most desired. There is a little -danger, it is true, but if the worst should happen I -shall end my days not by my own hand, as one -day I had feared that I should, but sword in hand -with a clear conscience. Could a soldier wish for -anything better?" -</p> - -<p> -"I will go with you," I cried passionately. -"Father, you shall not leave me thus!" -</p> - -<p> -He left his chair, and, coming to me, laid his -hand upon my shoulder. He had drawn himself -up to his full height, and stood looking there every -inch a soldier, stately, imperious, and commanding. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh," he said firmly, "you have been the -best son to me a father ever had, and you will not -thwart me now. Go with me to Egypt you cannot. -I forbid it. Command you to take your rightful -name, I cannot; but I desire it above all things. -Take a day to think it over, and let me know your -decision to-morrow. Shall we leave it like that?" -</p> - -<p> -Sorrowfully I bowed my head, and then I left the -room, wandering aimlessly out into the twilight, I -cared not whither. Down the grass-grown avenue -I went, and out on to the white road, with a great -weight of grief upon my heart, and a dull despair -numbing my senses. It seemed to me that the -crisis of my life had come at last, and whichever -way I looked black clouds were looming before me. -Almost I wished that I might die. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap40"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XL -<br /> -A HORRIBLE MISTAKE -</h3> - -<p> -What led me there I cannot imagine, save it was -a wild desire to escape for a brief while from the -thoughts that were tormenting me, but an hour or -two later I was on the Marina, mixing with gay -throngs of merry pleasure-seekers, stalking amongst -them like a Banquo at a feast. And whom should -I meet there but Lady Olive! Lady Olive alone, -for her brother and sister had left her for a moment -to buy bonbons. -</p> - -<p> -She greeted me with some laughing speech, but -her face grew grave as she looked into my face. -</p> - -<p> -"Something has happened, Mr. Arbuthnot?" she -said quickly; and then, as I made no answer, she -placed her hand in my arm, and led me away from -the people down towards the seat on which we had -sat the first evening of our meeting there. -</p> - -<p> -It was a night which mocks description. The -sweet, subtle perfumes with which the soft night -breeze was laden, the dark boughs of the cypress-trees -over our heads, the glittering, sparkling sea -stretching away before us to the horizon, the -picturesque town with its white villas and rows of -houses standing out clear and distinct in the brilliant -moonlight—all these had a softening effect upon -me. I looked into Lady Olive's dark expressive -eyes, and I felt as though I must weep. -</p> - -<p> -I do not believe that there lives a man who has -not, at some time or other of his existence, felt a -longing for a woman's sympathy. There is an art -and a tact in its bestowal which only a woman -properly understands. A man may speak words of -comfort in a rough, hearty sort of way; but the -chances are that he will strike the wrong vein and -leave unsaid the words which would have been most -efficient. He has not the keen, fine perceptions -which a woman has in such matters, and which -have made it her peculiar province to play the part -of comforter. -</p> - -<p> -I was not then, or at any other time, in love with -Lady Olive. But as I looked into her dark, eager -eyes as we sat side by side on the seat under the -cypress-trees, I could not help thinking that it would -be very pleasant to win from her a few kind words -and the sympathy which I knew was there waiting -to be kindled, and so, when she asked me again -what was the matter, I hesitated only for a moment -and then told her. -</p> - -<p> -She knew most of my history; why should she -not know all? And so I told her, and she listened -with all the gaiety gone from her face, and her eyes -growing sadder and sadder. When I had finished -there were great tears in them. -</p> - -<p> -"What can I say to comfort you?" she whispered, -softly. "Tell me, and I will say it—anything!" -</p> - -<p> -My sorrow had blunted my senses, or I must -have seen whither we were drifting; but I was -blind, blind with the selfishness of a great grief, and -I caught at her sympathy like a drowning man at -a straw. -</p> - -<p> -"I am alone in the world, Lady Olive, or I shall -be in a week or two's time," I said. "Tell me what -to do with myself." -</p> - -<p> -"How can I tell you?" she answered with -streaming eyes. "But you must not say that you -are alone in the world. My father would be your -friend if you would let him—and so would I." -</p> - -<p> -I took her hand, which yielded itself readily to -mine, and raised it to my lips. I felt just then as -though I dare not speak, lest my voice should be -unsteady. I looked instead into her face gratefully, -and it seemed to me that a change had come over -it, a change which puzzled me. The lips were -quivering, and out of her soft, tender eyes the -laughing sparkle seemed to have gone. It was -another Lady Olive, surely, this grave, sweet-faced, -tremulous woman, with her eyes cast down, and a -faint pink glow in her cheeks! Nothing of the gay, -light-hearted, chattering little flirt, with her arch -looks and piquant attitude, seemed left. I was -puzzled. Was she indeed so tender-hearted? -</p> - -<p> -"And do you really mean," she whispered, -stealing a glance up at me, "that if your father -goes away, there is nothing left in the world which -could give you any pleasure? Nothing you would -wish for?" -</p> - -<p> -I thought of Maud—when was I not thinking of -her?—and sighed bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -"Only one thing," I said, "and that I cannot have." -</p> - -<p> -"Won't you tell me what it is?" she asked, -hesitatingly, with her eyes fixed upon the ground. -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. "I think not. No, it would -be better not." -</p> - -<p> -There was a short silence. Then she lifted her -beautiful eyes to mine for a moment, and dropped -them again, instantly, with a deep blush: I was -puzzled. There was something in them which I -could not read, something inviting, beseeching, -tender. Knowing what I know now, it seems to -me that I must have been a blind, senseless fool. -But it is easy to be wise afterwards, and my own -sorrows were absorbing every sense. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you tell me this?" she asked. "Does this -one thing include somebody else?" -</p> - -<p> -She had read my secret, then; she knew that I -loved Maud. Well, it was not very strange that -she should have guessed it after all! -</p> - -<p> -"Yes, you have guessed it, Lady Olive," I said -quietly, with my eyes fixed upon the line of the -horizon where a star-bespangled sky seemed to -touch the glistening, dancing sea. "You have -guessed it; but remember, I never told you." -</p> - -<p> -I felt a soft breath on my cheek, and before I -could move a pair of white arms were thrown -around my neck, and a tear-stained, half-blushing, -half-smiling face, with a mass of ruffled hair, was -lying on my shoulder. -</p> - -<p> -"Wh—why have you made me guess, Hugh? -Why could you not tell me? You know that—that -I—I love you." -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -"Father, I have decided." -</p> - -<p> -I stood before him dishevelled and weary, for I -had been out all night, seeking to ease my heart of -its pain by physical fatigue. -</p> - -<p> -He turned and looked at me in surprise—a surprise -which changed into a look of grave sorrow as -his eyes dwelt upon me. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, you have been up all night," he said, -reprovingly; "you will be ill!" -</p> - -<p> -I laughed recklessly. -</p> - -<p> -"What matters? Do men die of a broken heart, -I wonder? I would that they did." -</p> - -<p> -He came to me and laid his hands upon my -shoulders. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, my boy, do you want to break mine?" -</p> - -<p> -I turned away, and buried my face in my hands. -This last sorrow, which had come to me filling me -with shame, with self-reproach, with pity, had been -the filling of my cup. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Olive's white, horror-struck face, as my -blundering words had told her the truth, had been -before me all the night, and like a haunting, -reproachful shadow, seemed as though it would never -leave me. I was unnerved and weak, and before I -well knew what was going to happen, the hot tears -were streaming from my eyes. -</p> - -<p> -I was the better for them. When I stood before -my father again I felt more like myself. -</p> - -<p> -"I have decided," I said calmly. "I have -prayed you to let me go with you, and you have -refused. God knows I would rather go with you; -but, if you will not have me, I must stay behind. -I will take the name of Devereux, since you wish it, -and since you say that my taking it will make you -happier. But into Devereux Court I will not go. -I have sworn it before heaven, and I will not break -my oath!" -</p> - -<p> -"But you will see your grandfather?" -</p> - -<p> -"I will see him anywhere else but at Devereux. -I shall write him and tell him so. And as to my -future, I have but one desire—to enter the army." -</p> - -<p> -A look almost of peace came into my father's face. -</p> - -<p> -"You have made me very glad, Hugh," he said -simply. "But about our home? Supposing your -grandfather and I both die, and you became Sir -Hugh Devereux?" -</p> - -<p> -"Then my oath ceases, and I shall go there. -But whilst he holds out his hand to me, and not -to you, I will not take it. That will I not depart -from." -</p> - -<p> -My father said never another word; but I knew -that he was satisfied. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap41"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XLI -<br /> -"TWO YEARS AFTER" -</h3> - -<p> -"Colonel Sir Francis Devereux to see you, sir." -</p> - -<p> -I turned away from the window of my room, -whence I had been gazing idly into the dreary -barrack square below, and advanced to greet the -stately, grey-headed old man who stood in the -doorway. -</p> - -<p> -"Surprised to see me, Hugh, eh?" he asked, -sinking into my one easy chair. -</p> - -<p> -"I didn't expect you in town again so soon," I -acknowledged. "But I'm very glad to see you. -You know that." -</p> - -<p> -"Are you?" he said shortly. "Then why the -devil can't you come and see me sometimes? A -nice thing to bring an old man over seventy years -of age a couple of hundred miles whenever he wants -to have a word or two with his grandson! Damn -it, sir, you're as obstinate as a mule!" -</p> - -<p> -I did not answer him. He knew very well why -I would not go to Devereux. What was the use -of treading all over the old ground again? -</p> - -<p> -"More rumours in the <i>Times</i> this morning, I -see, about Burton Leigh and Mr. Arbuthnot," he -remarked, after a short silence. "They say they've -been handed over to the Mahdi now. Don't believe -a word of it!" -</p> - -<p> -"I hope to God that it's not true," I groaned; -"but in any case they must be in terrible danger. -The Mahdi is gaining fresh followers every day, and -they must be in the very centre of the most perilous -district. Why on earth the Government doesn't -make a decided move, I can't imagine!" -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis looked at me for a moment, half -sadly, with an expression on his face which I -scarcely understood. Then he sighed. -</p> - -<p> -"I have brought you news, Hugh," he said slowly. -</p> - -<p> -"News!" I repeated; and then a sudden light -flashed in upon me. "Tell me quick," I cried. -"You have been with Lord Cannington?" -</p> - -<p> -My grandfather nodded. -</p> - -<p> -"I left him only a quarter of an hour ago, at -Whitehall, and came down here as fast as a hansom -could bring me. The 17th, 19th, and 21st are -ordered out. 'Twill be in to-night's Gazette." -</p> - -<p> -I could have shouted, done any mad thing, in -my great joy. But I sat quite still in my chair, -grasping its sides, and struggling to conceal my -excitement. -</p> - -<p> -"Thank God!" I murmured fervently, "this is -what I have prayed for. I am sick of playing at -being a soldier, of lounging about here, whilst -he—others—were in such mortal peril." -</p> - -<p> -He sat looking at me, nodding his head slowly. -</p> - -<p> -"He! others! Ah, well. But I have more news -for you, Hugh. Who do you think is appointed to -the colonelcy of the 18th?" -</p> - -<p> -"Utterson? Haigh?" -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Your Uncle Rupert." -</p> - -<p> -I was not surprised, for I had heard rumours -that it might be so. But it seemed very strange -when I thought it over. Were we three to meet -again? I wondered. -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," my grandfather went on with a shade of -sadness in his tone, "I am to be left quite alone -again, you see." -</p> - -<p> -"Miss Devereux will be with you, I suppose?" -</p> - -<p> -"Maud! Oh, yes, Maud will be with me. -What's come to her I don't know. She's refused -Lord Annerley and Captain Bryant, and I don't -know how many others, and seems settling down -into an old maid. Hugh, I'm getting a nervous -old man, I think, but I shall have no peace till you -get back again. When I think that if anything -happened to you—which God forbid—that -dissipated, low young cub of a nephew of mine would -be my heir, it makes me feel sick. I'd burn -Devereux Court above my head rather than that -should be." -</p> - -<p> -"It is not likely that anything will happen to -me, grandfather," I said, bitterly. "There is one -who should be dearer to you than I, who stands in -greater peril." -</p> - -<p> -He shook his head sadly. -</p> - -<p> -"He is nothing to me—nothing. He is your -father, Hugh, and I have never blamed you -for——" -</p> - -<p> -"And he is your son," I interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Francis looked at me sternly. -</p> - -<p> -"He is nothing to me. I disowned him." -</p> - -<p> -"Ay, disowned him! I know that. You disowned -him. You believed that accursed lie against -your own son's words." -</p> - -<p> -"I believed in the decision of the court-martial," -he said, with all his old severity of tone and -manner. "And if the same thing were to happen -over again with you, Hugh, I should do exactly -the same. I would never look upon your face -again." -</p> - -<p> -"I am in no danger," I answered bitterly. "I -have no younger brother who would gain a fortune -by my ruin." -</p> - -<p> -"What do you mean, sir?" -</p> - -<p> -"What I say. 'Tis simple enough! I tell you -now, what I have told you before, that your son -Rupert forged that lie against my father that he -might take his place as your heir. It was done in -a mad impulse of jealousy, and thank God his -conscience has punished him for it! Look at his life! -Can't you see that there is something amiss with it? -Has he not always seemed like a man haunted by -some guilty shadow? From one career he has -passed to another, never satisfied, never happy. -He made two great speeches in Parliament, and -then resigned his seat to travel abroad. He became -famous as a writer and a novelist, and now never -touches a pen. Can't you see it written into his -face—a guilty conscience? Why, if it had not -been for that, I should have killed him, on my -word and honour, grandfather. I have heard him -with his own lips acknowledge it, and in my desk -there is the confession of John Hilton, whom he -bribed. Grandfather, chance may bring him and -me together before long. You know in your heart -that the man who is braving all the worst terrors -of death amongst a fanatical people to save them -from bloodshed and to urge them against a hopeless -struggle, you know that this man is not a coward! -Go into the clubs and listen to what they are -saying about these two Englishmen who have pushed -their way alone into an unknown country amongst -a savage people. Say that you believe Burton -Leigh's companion to be a coward, and you will be -ridiculed. Grandfather, if he escapes—they say -that escape is almost impossible for them—but if -fate does bring us together again, may I take him -a message from you—one word?" -</p> - -<p> -"You may not." -</p> - -<p> -The words came with a hard and cutting distinctness. -I drew back chilled and bitterly disappointed. -</p> - -<p> -"You are blinded, Hugh, by your love for your -father. I do not blame you for it, but I am sorry -that you re-opened this subject. When a court-martial -shall reverse the decision of five-and-twenty -years ago, then and then only will I crave my son's -pardon, and welcome him back to Devereux. Enough -of the subject." -</p> - -<p> -Proud, obstinate old soldier. For a moment my -heart leaped with anger, but it died away again -almost immediately. Surely it was more his -misfortune than his fault that his military training and -instincts should have made him a soldier first and a -father afterwards, and I thought of his long, -cheerless life, and of the agony under which he had -writhed because of the blot upon the name which -he loved, and I pitied him. -</p> - -<p> -"Will you dine with me at the Army and Navy, -Hugh?" he asked, in an altered tone. "I must -see as much as I can of you now." -</p> - -<p> -I shook my head. -</p> - -<p> -"Dine away from mess to-night? Why, not a -man will do that with this glorious news to talk -about! You must mess with us, sir!" -</p> - -<p> -He smiled grimly. -</p> - -<p> -"Glorious news, indeed! Because you're going -out to cut a lot of half-naked savages to pieces! -Well, well, perhaps it's a good thing it's nothing -more serious. The more chance of seeing you -home safe and sound. Yes, I'll mess with you if -you like, and if your mess will not mind an old -fogie like me." -</p> - -<p> -He spoke lightly, for no one knew better than -he that Colonel Devereux, V.C., would have been -a welcome and an honoured guest at the table of -any regiment in Great Britain. -</p> - -<p> -"Give me your arm down these infernal stairs, -Hugh," he said, rising and making his way to the -door. "I have some commissions to do for Maud, -and I want to see my lawyer, so I must be off. I'll -be back before seven." -</p> - -<p> -I watched him cross the square, with his head -thrown back and his shoulders very slightly stooped, -notwithstanding his seventy-five years. Then I -returned to my rooms to think over the great news. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap42"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XLII -<br /> -A TRAITOROUS LOVE -</h3> - -<p> -In three days we were to leave England. In three -days I should be started upon the journey which -would lead me into the land where, above all others, -I desired to be. And where was I? Standing on -a Yorkshire moor, with a wild west wind blowing -in my face and singing in my ears, a wind that -came booming up the hollows and across the open -country towards me like the sound of a cannonade -within the earth. But what cared I for the wind, -for was it not bearing towards me on its bosom her -whom I had come to see? -</p> - -<p> -On she came like a phantom shadow out of the -twilight, for her horse's hoofs sank noiselessly into -the soddened earth. On she came with her golden -hair streaming in the wind, and her habit flying -wildly around her. Fair and proud as ever was her -exquisite face, and blue as ever her flashing eyes. -But it seemed to me that she was pale and thin, -and my heart leaped with a sudden joy, and then -stood still. -</p> - -<p> -Maud! my princess! my beloved! Would she -see me? Would she pass me without a word, with -only a tightening of those proud lips, and a haughty -flash from those beautiful eyes? -</p> - -<p> -I had meant to look upon her and come away. -There may be men who could have done it. I -could not. As she came upon me, I stood out from -the shadows upon the dark moor, and right in her -path. -</p> - -<p> -Fool that I was! Back on his haunches reared -the Black Prince, trembling with fright, and -she—she must have fallen, but that I sprung forward -and caught her. The Black Prince galloped away -into the darkness, and she, my Maud, lay in my -arms. -</p> - -<p> -A great madness came upon me. Every -thought save one was blotted out from my memory. -Maud was in my arms, with her face close to mine, -and bending down, our lips met in one long -passionate kiss. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh!" -</p> - -<p> -"Maud!" -</p> - -<p> -No sound but the sound of Black Prince's furious -gallop as he tore across the country moor! No one -in sight, no one near. I was alone with Maud, my -Maud, by the colour which had chased the ivory -pallor from her cheeks, and the love-light which -shone in her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Why have you kept away so long?" she -whispered softly. -</p> - -<p> -Why had I come at all! His daughter in my -arms yielding herself to my embrace, and her lips -to my wild kiss! Oh, it was madness! I was a -traitor. -</p> - -<p> -"I should not have come," I groaned, "but to -bid you farewell. We sail for Egypt in three -days. I struggled hard to keep away, but I could -not." -</p> - -<p> -"Why should you wish to, Hugh?" she whispered, -burying her face on my shoulder. "Do you -hate me so much?" -</p> - -<p> -"Hate you!" I drew her unresistingly into my -arms again, and again my traitorous lips touched -hers. Never a thought of a miserable exile dwelling -amongst a strange people in deadly peril under -a scorching sun, or of a hermit sybarite with the -blast of fame in his ears, and all the luxuries of -wealth ready to his touch, and a black lie burning -in his heart! Never a thought of any save of her! -Weak traitor that I was. -</p> - -<p> -What is there so maddeningly sweet as to love -and be loved again! The world died away from me -and time ceased, whilst Maud, with her lovely face -wet with tears, and happy with smiles, stood clasped -in my arms on the wild open moor. The wind -howled around us, and the driving rain and mist -beat in our faces, and the twilight deepened into -darkness; but what did we care! The only light -I looked for was the gleam in her soft eyes, and the -only touch I felt was the beating of her heart -against mine. But the time came when memory -swept again into my mind, and I trembled. -</p> - -<p> -She saw the change pass over my face, and with -a woman's marvellous quickness she divined what -had caused it. But she clung the closer to me. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, is this to be the end of it?" she cried. -"When you leave me, will you never come back?" -and I turned away with a great sob. -</p> - -<p> -"Oh, that you were another man's daughter, -Maud!" and she was answered. -</p> - -<p> -Black clouds were driving across the sky, and a -black cloud settled upon my heart. The words rang -in my ears. Never come back! Never come back! -Never come back! -</p> - -<p> -A dark shape stole up to us, and stood by our -side. Then there was a glad neigh and a prolonged -snort. The Black Prince had recognised me, -and was rubbing his nose against my coat-sleeve. -</p> - -<p> -"I must go, Hugh!" Slowly I lifted her into -the saddle, and stood by her side in silence because -I could not speak. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, kiss me once more!" -</p> - -<p> -She stooped down and held a white, strained -face close to mine. One clinging kiss I pressed -upon her quivering lips, and then I drew aside. -But as she rode away into the darkness, she called -to me a wild sobbing cry which the wind clashed -into my ears. -</p> - -<p> -"Come back to me, Hugh, my love. You will -come back to me," and scarce knowing what I did -I answered her passionately— -</p> - -<p> -"I will! I will!" -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -We were together on H.M.S. <i>Orontes</i>, eastward -bound, her father and I, but though we sat opposite -one another at the Captain's table, we never spoke. -Sometimes I caught him looking at me wistfully, -and then I remembered that I had saved his life. -But I wanted no thanks for it, and from him I -would receive none. -</p> - -<p> -"Queer lot those Devereux," I heard one of my -brother officers remark, unconscious of my presence. -"Uncle and nephew, and don't speak! Must be -something wrong, I should think." -</p> - -<p> -"Looks like it. If the Colonel hadn't written -that tremendously clever book, I should think he -was a bit cracked." -</p> - -<p> -"Might be further from the mark, I think. The -young 'un isn't such a bad sort, only he's so -confoundedly proud and close. Most unsociable fellow -we ever had in the regiment!" -</p> - -<p> -"He's a bit of a prig, I must say, but I don't -dislike him. Splendid family, you know, and -rolling in money. By the bye," dropping his voice a -little, "wasn't there something queer about one of -'em? This one's father, I believe?" -</p> - -<p> -"Hush! Yes, I'll tell you all about it -presently;" and then they strolled up the deck and -I heard no more. -</p> - -<p> -Something queer about one of them! I turned -away with the old pain at my heart. Would the -something queer ever be made right? Yes, and -the time was not far distant. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap43"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XLIII -<br /> -EXPIATION -</h3> - -<p> -Whether it was the stifling desert air, or the -anticipation of the morrow's battle, I cannot tell; -but sleep for me was a thing impossible. We were -encamped on the outskirts of a mighty plain, and -within an hour's march the Mahdi lay entrenched -awaiting our attack. Outside my tent all was -bustle and stir in preparation for the morrow's -fight, and a yellow moon was shining with a grim -ghostly light upon our white tents, and the figures -moving silently about. -</p> - -<p> -There were many other reasons why I should be -restless. We were within a day's march—they could -not be further away, and they might be nearer—of -my father and Burton Leigh. Every day came -tidings of the two white men on whose heads the -Mahdi had set an enormous price, and who lived -in deadly peril for fear of the treachery of their -wavering friends, and to-morrow their fate would -be decided, for if the tribe of the Asarees seceded -to the false prophet and joined in the fight, then -they were most surely doomed. But if, on the -other hand, they held aloof from the fight, then -would my father and Burton Leigh have succeeded -in their daring mission, and would reach us in -safety to be received as heroes. -</p> - -<p> -A shadow darkened my tent, and an orderly -stood before me, saluting. -</p> - -<p> -"Colonel Devereux would like particularly to see -you in his tent, sir." -</p> - -<p> -What could it mean! Neither word nor glance -had passed between us since we left England on -board the same ship. I followed the man with -beating heart. -</p> - -<p> -The vision of a man physically weak, who, after -a mortal struggle with some fiendish sin, has cast -it from him and come out of the fight dying but -triumphant with a spiritual joy; it seemed to me -that this was what I saw when I stood face to face -with my Uncle Rupert. Ghastly pale, but firm, -with deep lines suddenly engraven across his forehead, -but with the light of a great, calm resolution -in his eyes, he stood before me, and I trembled, for -strong and clear the conviction of the truth flashed -upon me. The day for which I had longed with -such a sickening desire had come. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh," he said, quietly, "to-night is my last -on earth. People may scoff at presentiments who -never feel them. Like a still whisper from another -world I have heard the truth. In to-morrow's fight -I shall die!" -</p> - -<p> -I would have spoken, but it was impossible. The -words stuck in my throat. -</p> - -<p> -"One word about this sin of mine, Hugh," he -went on in a strange, calm tone. "It was done in -a mad impulse of jealousy, in a moment of madness -which a lifetime of misery has not expiated. -Every one knows that I have been an unhappy -man. Success and fame have only been glow-worms -leading me on into a marsh of discontent. -With a guilty conscience no man on earth can be -happy!" -</p> - -<p> -He took up a roll of papers from a table by his -side, and summoned his servant. -</p> - -<p> -"Greasely, go to General Fielding's tent and tell -him I am ready." -</p> - -<p> -I stood there still in silence. My uncle sank -into a low chair and half covered his face. In less -than a minute the opening to the tent was lifted, -and our commander-in-chief, followed by a younger -officer, entered. -</p> - -<p> -"Colonel Devereux," he said, kindly but promptly, -"in accordance with my promise I am here and I -have brought Captain Luxton. I can spare you -five minutes." -</p> - -<p> -Like a gaunt spectre my uncle came out from -the shades of the tent, and his sad, weary tone -moved even my pity. -</p> - -<p> -"Three will be sufficient," he said. "General -Fielding, a quarter of a century ago you heard -me commit perjury against my brother; and your -father, Captain Luxton, pronounced the sentence. -It is for this reason that I have asked you to -witness my confession. You have already read it." -</p> - -<p> -He took up his pen and signed the roll of paper. -General Fielding and Captain Luxton immediately -followed suit, and the former took possession of the -document. -</p> - -<p> -"General Fielding," my uncle continued, with -a voice that commenced to shake a little, "I am -already your debtor, inasmuch as you permit me to -retain my commission until after to-morrow's fight. -But I ask you still another favour." -</p> - -<p> -The General bowed, and there was a decided -gleam of compassion in his stern face. -</p> - -<p> -"Let this matter be cleared up immediately after -to-morrow's fight. If my brother be found alive, -which God grant that he may, let my confession -be read in open court-martial, however informal, at -once," he pleaded. -</p> - -<p> -"It shall be done. Luxton, we must be off. -Gentlemen, good-night." -</p> - -<p> -We were alone, my uncle and I. His unnatural -calm seemed to be breaking up, and the look of -agony on his face filled me with compassion—aye, -compassion even towards him. -</p> - -<p> -"There is something troubling you," I said -quietly. "You are thinking of Maud." -</p> - -<p> -He looked at me wildly. I knew that I was right. -</p> - -<p> -"Maud's future will be in my hands," I told him -in a low tone. "She loves me, and she will be my -wife." -</p> - -<p> -At first he seemed dazed, then, as he began to -realise my words, a great sob of relief shook him -from head to foot. -</p> - -<p> -"And Francis," I added, after a short pause, -"I will remember that he is my cousin—and my -brother." -</p> - -<p> -He stood up like one who has passed through -the Valley of the Shadow of Death, yet with -a look almost of peace upon his spiritualised -face. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, will you take my hand?" -</p> - -<p> -I took it, wrung it warmly, and left him. What -more could I have done? He was better alone. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -Like the sands of the desert before a fierce -sirocco, the followers of the false prophet were -flying far and wide. It had been a fierce fight. -They had come down upon us like a whirlwind, -with their lances gleaming like silver in the -sunlight, and wild cries of "Allah! Allah!" bursting -from their lips. But the maddening enthusiasm -of fanatical zeal had quickly burnt itself out. We -had driven them behind their trenches, only to -carry them at the point of the bayonet and drive -them out into the desert. The victory was complete. -</p> - -<p> -With my broken sword still in my hand, and -my face streaming with blood and perspiration, I -kneeled with wildly beating heart by the side of -my father's prostrate body. For I had found him -lying white and still at the bottom of one of the -trenches, and—oh, the horror of it!—with a great -gaping wound in his side. -</p> - -<p> -"My father! My father, speak to me!" I cried. -"O God! if this should be death!" -</p> - -<p> -He opened his eyes slowly, and, dimmed though -they were, he recognised me at once. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh, Hugh, my boy. Thank God!" he -faltered out. -</p> - -<p> -"You are wounded," I sobbed. "Are you in -pain? Tell me, father." -</p> - -<p> -A spasm of agony passed over his face, but he -answered me in a while. -</p> - -<p> -"My side—a spear-head. 'Twill soon be over." -</p> - -<p> -I passed my arm around him, and gazed into his -face with streaming eyes. -</p> - -<p> -"Father, you must live," I sobbed. "Rupert -Devereux has confessed. All is known!" -</p> - -<p> -He nodded, and smiled faintly. -</p> - -<p> -"I know, Hugh. He was first over the trenches. -They were murdering me. He fought like a devil. -There they lie—five of them. He saved my life, and -crawled here as he was dying—told me—everything. -I forgave him. See." -</p> - -<p> -I looked around, and there, scarcely a yard away, -lay my Uncle Rupert, with a calm peace in his white -face, turned to heaven, which in life he had never -known. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -A strange scene. General Fielding, with a little -crowd of officers around him at one end of the tent, -and a little distance away my father lying on a -stretcher, with a surgeon on one side striving to -stanch the blood which flowed from that hideous, -gaping wound, whilst on the other I knelt clasping -his hands, and anxiously watching his face. -</p> - -<p> -General Fielding had done all in his power. He -had read my Uncle Rupert's confession, and had -formally rescinded the verdict of General Luxton. -The black stain of dishonour no longer rested upon -my father's name. But this greatest of joys had -surely come too late; for the hand which I held -passionately clasped in mine was growing colder -and colder every moment, and the surgeon's face -was very grave. -</p> - -<p> -"Is there hope?" I faltered out. But the doctor -shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -"Very little, I fear," he whispered. "I am -expecting hemorrhage every moment." -</p> - -<p> -A deep silence reigned in the tent, a silence -which seemed ominously like the silence of death. -Suddenly he re-opened his eyes, and a feeling of -sickening agony stole over me, for there was a -deeper film than ever upon them. -</p> - -<p> -He smiled very faintly and struggled to speak, -but the words died away on his lips. I bent closer -still, and strove to catch his meaning. -</p> - -<p> -"Hugh—my—s——" The fingers of his right -hand were moving nervously about, and I knew what -he meant. -</p> - -<p> -"General Fielding," I said, standing up, with hot -burning eyes, and with a choking in my throat, "he -wants his sword." -</p> - -<p> -The General stepped forward, and unsheathing -his own, held it by the blade, and my father's long -fingers, trembling with eagerness, wound themselves -around it. Then he sank back with a little satisfied -gasp, and I knew that he was at rest. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap44"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XLIV -<br /> -"HERO" -</h3> - -<p> -I had kept my vow, for though I was again within -the park of Devereux, and in sight of the grand old -mansion, my father was by my side. A splendid -constitution had saved him from the very jaws of -death, and he had recovered to find his country -ringing with his name, and himself a hero. Our journey -had been like a triumphal progress. Distinguished -men, amongst whom old General Luxton, had met -us at London to welcome my father back to his -country, and all the way down we had been besieged -by newspaper reporters, and little knots of people -were gathered on the platform at every station, to -gaze at us and shout a welcome; and at the little -wayside station such crowds of the country folk -were gathered together that progress along the -narrow winding lane was almost an impossibility. -And now we were at the last sweep of the drive, -surrounded by lines of shouting tenants and -servants, who stood uncovered as we approached, and -made the air vibrate with lusty Yorkshire cheers. -</p> - -<p> -It was one of those days which a man may live -to be a hundred years old, and never forget; and -yet it would dwell in his mind less by its actual -events than by the effect which it left. I remember -a noble-looking, grey-haired old man standing out -in the sunlight, with outstretched hands and a great -joy in his face, and I remember a deep hush falling -upon the assembled crowd as father and son met -after so many years—a hush which lasted until they -stood there, hand grasping hand, and the first words -were spoken—then it gave place to a shout which -seemed to shake the air. -</p> - -<p> -And I remember Maud's greeting—how could I -ever forget it? Cold she was at first, cold but -kind—after the manner of the days when I was -Hugh Arbuthnot, a presumptuous boy. But when -I told her of my interview with her father on the -night before the battle, when I took her into my -arms with words of passionate love, and bade her -recall our last parting, then she yielded and became -my Maud, and mine she has been ever since. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -Had I told this story of mine as a professed -story-writer, there are many things now omitted which -would in their proper place have been recounted. -I should have said more of Marian, the happiest of -young wives, and of the joy with which she -welcomed us home. I should have told of Lady -Olive's brilliant marriage to the Earl of ——, and -of Francis Devereux's reformation and success at -the Bar, and of Burton Leigh's extraordinary -reappearance in the world after having long been -mourned as dead, and of my father's joy at -meeting again his old companion. There are other -things, too, which should have been told, but -let them pass! One more incident alone shall I relate. -</p> - -<p class="thought"> -***** -<br /> -</p> - -<p> -Again I stood in the grand old picture gallery of -the Court, amongst the shades of many generations -of Devereux. We three were there—Sir Francis, -my father, and I; Sir Francis out of sight, my -father and I bending over a curious piece of -armour. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly we both looked up. Out of the dark -shades of the lower end of the chamber my -grandfather was coming towards us, walking steadily -down between the long rows of pictures, with -measured military tramp and head thrown back. -But we could see by his fixed gaze, and the strange -rapt look on his face, that something was wrong, -and almost simultaneously we sprang forward to -him. -</p> - -<p> -We were just in time. Suddenly he threw up -his arms over his head, and cried out with a loud -voice: "It was a lie! It was a lie! Thank God, -Herbert, my son! Hugh, my boy. God bless -you both." -</p> - -<p> -He sank back into my arms. And the moon-light, -streaming in upon his face, showed it gentle -and peaceful as a child's. Death struggle there -was none. With a calm, satisfied smile of perfect -happiness the life seemed to glide away from him, -and with his last breath we heard him murmur -softly— -</p> - -<p> -"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in -peace—in peace." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -THE END -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -WARD, LOCK & CO., LTD., LONDON. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="thought"> -******** -<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap45"></a></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE GREAT AWAKENING<br /> - THE SURVIVOR<br /> - A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY<br /> - AS A MAN LIVES<br /> - MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN<br /> - THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM<br /> - A MONK OF CRUTA<br /> - A DAUGHTER OK THE MARIONIS<br /> - THE WORLD'S GREAT SNARE<br /> - THE MYSTERY OF MR. BERNARD BROWN<br /> - THE TRAITORS<br /> - A PRINCE OF SINNERS<br /> - THE YELLOW CRAYON<br /> - ANNA, THE ADVENTURESS<br /> - THE BETRAYAL<br /> - THE MASTER MUMMER<br /> - MR. WINGRAVE, MILLIONAIRE<br /> - A LOST LEADER<br /> - THE SECRET<br /> - CONSPIRATORS<br /> - A MAKER OF HISTORY<br /> - THE MISSIONER<br /> - THE GOVERNORS<br /> - THE LONG ARM<br /> - JEANNE OF THE MARSHES<br /> - MR. MARX'S SECRET<br /> - BERENICE<br /> - THE PEER AND THE WOMAN<br /> - THE POSTMASTER OF MARKET DEIGNTON<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="thought"> -******** -<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap46"></a></p> - -<p class="t2b"> - Ward, Lock & Co.'s<br /> - POPULAR FICTION -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - A. E. W. MASON<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - LAWRENCE CLAVERING<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - STANLEY WEYMAN<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - MY LADY ROTHA<br /> - A Romance of the Thirty Years' War.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - SIR A. CONAN DOYLE<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - A STUDY IN SCARLET<br /> - With a note on Sherlock Holmes by Dr. Joseph Bell.<br /> - Illustrations by George Hutchinson.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - ANTHONY HOPE<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - COMEDIES OF COURTSHIP<br /> - HALF A HERO<br /> - MR. WITT'S WIDOW<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - EDEN PHILLPOTTS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE MOTHER<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - H. RIDER HAGGARD<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - AYESHA<br /> - The Sequel to "She." Thirty-two full-page illustrations.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - S. R. CROCKETT<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - JOAN OF THE SWORD HAND<br /> - STRONG MAC<br /> - LITTLE ESSON<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - MAX PEMBERTON<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - PRO PATRIA<br /> - CHRISTINE OF THE HILLS<br /> - A GENTLEMAN'S GENTLEMAN<br /> - THE GOLD WOLF<br /> - THE LODESTAR<br /> - WHITE WALLS<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - ROBERT BARR<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - YOUNG LORD STRANLEIGH<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - JUSTUS MILES FORMAN<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - BIANCA'S DAUGHTER<br /> - JOURNEYS' END<br /> - MONSIGNY<br /> - THE GARDEN OF LIES<br /> - TOMMY CARTERET<br /> - BUCHANAN'S WIFE<br /> - A MODERN ULYSSES<br /> - THE QUEST<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE PEER AND THE WOMAN<br /> - BERENICE<br /> - MR. MARX'S SECRET<br /> - JEANNE OF THE MARSHES<br /> - THE LONG ARM<br /> - THE GOVERNORS<br /> - THE MISSIONER<br /> - CONSPIRATORS<br /> - THE SECRET<br /> - A MAKER OF HISTORY<br /> - THE MASTER MUMMER<br /> - THE BETRAYAL<br /> - ANNA, THE ADVENTURESS<br /> - THE YELLOW CRAYON<br /> - A PRINCE OF SINNERS<br /> - THE TRAITORS<br /> - A LOST LEADER<br /> - MR. WINGRAVE, MILLIONAIRE<br /> - AS A MAN LIVES<br /> - A DAUGHTER OF THE MARIONIS<br /> - MR. BERNARD BROWN<br /> - THE MAN AND HIS KINGDOM<br /> - THE WORLD'S GREAT SNARE<br /> - A MONK OF CRUTA<br /> - MYSTERIOUS MR. SABIN<br /> - A MILLIONAIRE OF YESTERDAY<br /> - THE SURVIVOR<br /> - THE GREAT AWAKENING<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - FRED M. WHITE<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE FIVE KNOTS<br /> - THE SUNDIAL<br /> - THE CRIMSON BLIND<br /> - THE CARDINAL MOTH<br /> - THE CORNER HOUSE<br /> - THE WEIGHT OF THE CROWN<br /> - THE SLAVE OF SILENCE<br /> - A FATAL DOSE<br /> - CRAVEN FORTUNE<br /> - THE LAW OF THE LAND<br /> - A CRIME ON CANVAS<br /> - NETTA<br /> - THE SCALES OF JUSTICE<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - LOUIS TRACY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE STOWAWAY<br /> - A FATAL LEGACY<br /> - RAINBOW ISLAND<br /> - THE ALBERT GATE AFFAIR<br /> - THE PILLAR OF LIGHT<br /> - HEART'S DELIGHT<br /> - THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE<br /> - FENNELLS' TOWER<br /> - THE SILENT BARRIER<br /> - THE MESSAGE<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - HAROLD BINDLOSS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE LIBERATIONIST<br /> - HAWTREY'S DEPUTY<br /> - THE IMPOSTOR<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - HEADON HILL<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE HIDDEN VICTIM<br /> - RADFORD SHONE<br /> - HER SPLENDID SIN<br /> - A TRAITOR'S WOOING<br /> - FOES OF JUSTICE<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - J. C. SNAITH<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - FIERCEHEART, THE SOLDIER<br /> - MISTRESS DOROTHY MARVIN<br /> - LADY BARBARITY<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - GUY BOOTHBY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE RACE OF LIFE<br /> - FOR LOVE OF HER<br /> - THE CRIME OF THE UNDER SEAS<br /> - A BID FOR FREEDOM<br /> - A TWO-FOLD INHERITANCE<br /> - CONNIE BURT<br /> - THE KIDNAPPED PRESIDENT<br /> - MY STRANGEST CASE<br /> - FAREWELL, NIKOLA<br /> - MY INDIAN QUEEN<br /> - LONG LIVE THE KING<br /> - A PRINCE OF SWINDLERS<br /> - A MAKER OF NATIONS<br /> - THE RED RAT'S DAUGHTER<br /> - LOVE MADE MANIFEST<br /> - PHAROS THE EGYPTIAN<br /> - ACROSS THE WORLD FOR A WIFE<br /> - THE LUST OF HATE<br /> - THE FASCINATION OF THE KING<br /> - DR. NIKOLA<br /> - THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL<br /> - A BID FOR FORTUNE<br /> - IN STRANGE COMPANY<br /> - THE MARRIAGE OF ESTHER<br /> - BUSHIGRAMS<br /> - SHEILAH McLEOD<br /> - DR. NIKOLA'S EXPERIMENT<br /> - THE MAN OF THE CRAG<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - WHEN I WAS CZAR<br /> - BY SNARE OF LOVE<br /> - THE QUEEN'S ADVOCATE<br /> - A COURIER OF FORTUNE<br /> - BY WIT OF WOMAN<br /> - IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM<br /> - THE LITTLE ANARCHIST<br /> - AN IMPERIAL MARRIAGE<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - JOSEPH HOCKING<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD<br /> - ROGER TREWINION<br /> - THE COMING OF THE KING<br /> - ESAU<br /> - GREATER LOVE<br /> - LEST WE FORGET<br /> - AND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE?<br /> - JABEZ EASTERBROOK<br /> - THE WEAPONS OF MYSTERY<br /> - ZILLAH: A ROMANCE<br /> - THE MONK OF MAR-SABA<br /> - THE PURPLE ROBE<br /> - THE SCARLET WOMAN<br /> - ALL MEN ARE LIARS<br /> - ISHMAEL PENGELLY: AN OUTCAST<br /> - THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX<br /> - THE BIRTHRIGHT<br /> - MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH<br /> - FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - MARIE CONNOR LEIGHTON<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - CONVICT 413L<br /> - JOAN MAR, DETECTIVE<br /> - SEALED LIPS<br /> - PUT YOURSELF IN HER PLACE<br /> - MONEY<br /> - AN EYE FOR AN EYE<br /> - DEEP WATERS<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - NATURE BOOKS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE HOUSE IN THE WATER<br /> - THE BACKWOODSMEN<br /> - KINGS IN EXILE<br /> - NEIGHBOURS UNKNOWN<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - L. G. MOBERLY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - IN THE BALANCE<br /> - JOY<br /> - THAT PREPOSTEROUS WILL<br /> - HOPE, MY WIFE<br /> - DIANA<br /> - DAN—AND ANOTHER<br /> - A TANGLED WEB<br /> - ANGELA'S MARRIAGE<br /> - THE SIN OF ALISON DERING<br /> - A VERY DOUBTFUL EXPERIMENT<br /> - A WOMAN AGAINST THE WORLD<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of False Evidence, by E. Phillips Oppenheim - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FALSE EVIDENCE *** - -***** This file should be named 55798-h.htm or 55798-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/9/55798/ - -Produced by Al Haines -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. 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