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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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