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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/57947-0.zip b/57947-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1f09471..0000000 --- a/57947-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/57947-h.zip b/57947-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 48dccaa..0000000 --- a/57947-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e08678 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #57947 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57947) diff --git a/old/57947-8.txt b/old/57947-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e284e5b..0000000 --- a/old/57947-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6112 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's In the Dead of Night. Volume 3 (of 3), by T. W. Speight - -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: In the Dead of Night. Volume 3 (of 3) - A Novel - -Author: T. W. Speight - -Release Date: September 21, 2018 [EBook #57947] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT, VOLUME 3 *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the -Internet Web Archive - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive - https://archive.org/details/indeadofnightnov03spei - (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - - - - - -IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. - - - -A Novel. - - - - -IN THREE VOLUMES. - -VOL. III. - - - - -LONDON: -RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. -1874. - -(_All rights reserved_.) - - - - - - -CONTENTS OF VOL. III. - -CHAPTER - I. A WAY OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY. - - II. IN THE SYCAMORE WALK. - - III. MISS CULPEPPER SPEAKS HER MIND. - - IV. KNOCKLEY HOLT. - - V. AT THE THREE CROWNS HOTEL. - - VI. TOM FINDS HIS TONGUE. - - VII. EXIT MRS. MCDERMOTT. - - VIII. DIRTY JACK. - - IX. WHAT TO DO NEXT? - - X. HOW TOM WINS HIS WIFE. - - XI. THE EIGHTH OF MAY. - - XII. GATHERED THREADS. - - - - - - -IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -A WAY OUT OF THE DIFFICULTY. - - -Two hours after the receipt of Mrs. McDermott's second letter, Squire -Culpepper was on his way to Sugden's bank. His heart was heavy, and -his step slow. He had never had to borrow a farthing from any man--at -least, never since he had come into the estate--and he felt the -humiliation, as he himself called it, very bitterly. There was -something of bitterness, too, in having to confess to his friend Cope -how all his brilliant castles in the air had vanished utterly, leaving -not a wrack behind. - -He could see, in imagination, the sneer that would creep over Cope's -face as the latter asked him why he could not obtain a mortgage on -his fine new mansion at Pincote; the mansion he had talked so much -about--about which he had bored his friends; the mansion that -was to have been built out of the Alcazar shares, but of which -not even the foundation-stone would ever now be laid. Then, again, -the Squire was far from certain as to the kind of reception which -would be accorded him by the banker. Of late he had seemed cool, very -cool--refrigerating almost. Once or twice, too, when he had called, -Mr. Cope had been invisible: a Jupiter Tonans buried for the time -being among a cloud of ledgers and dockets and transfers: not to be -seen by any one save his own immediate satellites. The time had been, -and not so very long ago, when he could walk unchallenged through the -outer bank office, whoever else might be waiting, and so into the -inner sanctum, and be sure of a welcome when he got there. But now he -was sure to be intercepted by one or other of the clerks with a "Will -you please to take a seat for a moment while I see whether Mr. Cope is -disengaged." The Squire groaned with inward rage as, leaning on his -thick stick, he limped down Duxley High Street and thought of all -these things. - -As he had surmised it would be, so it was on the present occasion. He -had to sit down in the outer office, one of a row of six who were -waiting Mr. Cope's time and pleasure to see them. "He won't lend me -the money," said the Squire to himself, as he sat there choking with -secret mortification. "He'll find some paltry excuse for refusing me. -It's almost worth a man's while to tumble into trouble just to find -out who are his friends and who are not." - -However, the banker did not keep him waiting more than five or six -minutes. "Mr. Cope will see you, sir," said a liveried messenger, who -came up to him with a low bow; and into Mr. Cope's parlour the Squire -was thereupon ushered. - -The two men met with a certain amount of restraint on either side. -They shook hands as a matter of course, and made a few remarks about -the weather; and then the banker began to play with his seals, and -waited in bland silence to hear whatever the Squire might have to say -to him. - -Mr. Culpepper fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat. The -crucial moment was come at last. "I'm in a bit of a difficulty, Cope," -he began, "and I've come to you, as one of the oldest friends I have, -to see whether you can help me out of it." - -"I should have thought that Mr. Culpepper was one of the last people -in the world to be troubled with difficulties of any kind," said the -banker, in a tone of studied coldness. - -"Which shows how little you know about either Mr. Culpepper or his -affairs," said the Squire, dryly. - -The banker coughed dubiously. "In what way can I be of service to -you?" he said. - -"I want five thousand five hundred pounds by this day week, and I've -come to you to help me to raise it." - -"In other words, you want to borrow five thousand five hundred -pounds?" - -"Exactly so." - -"And what kind of security are you prepared to offer for a loan of -such magnitude?" - -"What security! Why, my I.O.U., of course." - -Mr. Cope took a pinch of snuff slowly and deliberately before he spoke -again. "I am afraid the document in question could hardly be looked -upon as a negotiable security." - -"And who the deuce wanted it to be considered as a negotiable -security?" burst out the Squire. "Do you think I want everybody to -know my private affairs?" - -"Possibly not," said the banker, quietly. "But, in transactions of -this nature, it is a matter of simple business that the person who -advances the money should have some equivalent security in return." - -"And is not my I.O.U. a good and equivalent security as between friend -and friend?" - -"Oh if you are going to put the case in that way, it becomes a -different kind of transaction entirely," said the banker. - -"And how else did you think I was going to put the case, as you call -it?" asked the Squire, indignantly. - -"Commercially, of course: as a pure matter of business between one man -and another." - -"Oh, ho that's it, is it?" said the Squire, grimly. - -"That's just it, Mr. Culpepper." - -"Then friendship in such a case as this counts for nothing, and my -I.O.U. might just as well never be written." - -"Let us be candid with each other," said the banker, blandly. "You -want the loan of a very considerable sum of money. Now, however much -inclined I might be to lend you the amount out of my own private -coffers, you will believe me when I say that I am not in a position to -do so. I have no such amount of available capital in hand at present. -But if you were to come to me with a good negotiable security, I could -at once put you into the proper channel for obtaining what you want. A -mortgage, for instance. What could be better than that? The estate, so -far as I know, is unencumbered, and the sum you need could easily be -raised on it on very easy terms." - -"I took an oath to my father on his deathbed that I would never raise -a penny by mortgage on Pincote, and I never will." - -"If that is the case," said the banker, with a slight shrug of the -shoulders, "I am afraid that I hardly see in what way I can be of -service to you." He coughed, and then he looked at his watch, an -action which Mr. Culpepper did not fail to note and resent in his own -mind. - -"I am sorry I came," he said, bitterly. "It seems to have been only a -waste of your time and mine." - -"Don't speak of it," said the banker, with his little business laugh. -"In any case, you have learned one of the first and simplest lessons -of commercial ethics." - -"I have, indeed," answered the Squire, with a sigh. He rose to go. - -"And Miss Culpepper, is she quite well?" said Mr. Cope; rising also. -"I have not had the pleasure of seeing her for some little time." - -The Squire faced fiercely round. "Look you here, Horatio Cope," he -said; "you and I have been friends of many years' standing. Fast -friends, I thought, whom no reverses of fortune would have separated. -Finding myself in a little strait, I come to you for assistance. To -whom else should I apply? It is idle to say that you could not help me -out of my difficulty, were you willing to do so." - -"No, believe me----" interrupted the banker; but Mr. Culpepper went on -without deigning to notice the interruption. - -"You have not chosen to do so, and there's an end of the matter, so -far. Our friendship must cease from this day. You will not be sorry -that it is so. The insults and slights you have put upon me of late -have all had that end in view, and you are doubtless grateful that -they have had the desired effect." - -"You judge me very hardly," said the banker. - -"I judge you from your own actions, and from them alone," said the -Squire, sternly. "Another point, and I have done. Your son was engaged -to my daughter, with your full sanction and consent. That engagement, -too, must come to an end." - -"With all my heart," said the banker, quietly. - -"For some time past your son, acting, no doubt, on instructions from -his father, has been gradually paving the way for something of this -kind. There have been no letters from him for five weeks, and the last -three or four that he sent were not more than as many lines each. No -doubt he will feel grateful at being released from an engagement that -had become odious to him; and on Miss Culpepper's side the release -will be an equally happy one. She had learned long ago to estimate -at his true value the man to whom she had so rashly pledged her hand. -She had found out, to her bitter cost, that she had promised herself -to a person who had neither the instincts nor the education of a -gentleman--to an individual, in fact, who was little better than a -common boor." - -This last thrust touched the banker to the quick. His face flushed -deeply. He crossed the room and called down an India-rubber tube: -"What is the amount of Mr. Culpepper's balance?" - -Presently came the answer: "Two eighty eleven five." - -"Two hundred and eighty pounds, eleven shillings, and five pence," -said Mr. Cope, with a sneer. "May I ask, sir, that you will take -immediate steps for having this magnificent balance transferred to -some other establishment." - -"I shall take my own time about doing that," said Mr. Culpepper. - -"What a pity that your new mansion was not finished in time--quite a -castle it was to have been, was it not? A mortgage of five or six -thousand could have been a matter of no difficulty then, you know. If -I recollect rightly, all the furniture and decorations were to have -come from London. Nothing in Duxley would have been good enough. I -merely echo your own words." - -The Squire winced. "I am rightly served," he muttered to himself. -"What can one expect from a man who swept out an office and cleaned his -master's shoes?" He rose to go. For all his bitterness, there was a -little pathetic feeling at work in his heart. "So ends a friendship of -twenty years," was his thought. "Goodbye, Cope," he said aloud as he -moved towards the door. - -The banker, standing with his back to the fire, and looking straight -at the opposite wall, neither stirred nor spoke, nor so much as turned -his head to take a last look at his old friend. And so, without -another word, the Squire passed out. - -A bleak north wind was blowing as the Squire stepped into the street. -He paused for a moment to button his coat more closely around him. As -he did so, a poor ragged wretch passed trembling by without saying a -word. The Squire called the man back and gave him a shilling. "My -plight may be bad enough, but his is a thousand times worse," he said -to himself as he walked down the street. - -Where to go, or what to do next, he did not know. He had gone to see -Mr. Cope without any very great expectation of being able to obtain -what he wanted, and yet, perhaps, not without some faint hope nestling -at his heart that his friend would find him the money. But now he knew -for a fact that nothing was to be got from that quarter, he felt a -little chilled, a little lonely, a little lost as to what he should do -next. That something must be done, he knew quite well, but he was at a -nonplus as to what that something ought to be. To raise five thousand -five hundred pounds at a few days' notice, with no better security to -offer than a simple I.O.U., was by no means an easy matter, as the -Squire was beginning to discover to his cost. "Why not ask Sir Harry -Cripps?" he said to himself. But then he bethought himself that Sir -Harry had a very expensive family, and that only six months ago he had -given up his hunter, and dispensed with a couple of carriage-horses, -and had talked of going on to the continent for four or five years. -No: it was evident that Sir Harry Cripps could do nothing for him. - -In what other direction to turn he knew not. "If poor Lionel Dering -had only been alive, I could have gone to him with confidence," he -thought. "Why not try Kester St. George?" was his next thought. "No: -Kester isn't one of the lending kind," he muttered, with a shake of -the head. "He's uncommonly close-fisted, is Kester. What he's got -he'll stick to. No use trying there." - -Next moment he nearly ran against General St. George, who was coming -from an opposite direction. They started at sight of each other, then -shook hands cordially. Their acquaintanceship dated only from the -arrival of the General at Park Newton, but they had already learned to -like and esteem one another. - -After the customary greetings and inquiries were over, said Mr. -Culpepper to the General: "Is your nephew Kester still stopping with -you at Park Newton?" - -"Yes, he is still there," answered the General; "though he has talked -every day for the last month or more about going. Kester is one of -those unaccountable fellows that you can never depend on. He may stay -for another month, or he may take it into his head to go by the first -train to-morrow." - -"I heard a little while ago that he was ill; but I suppose he is -better again by this time?" - -"Yes--quite recovered. He was laid up for three or four days, but he -soon got all right again." - -"Your other nephew--George--Tom--Harry--what's his name--is he quite -well?" - -"You mean Richard--he who came from India? Yes, he is quite well." - -"He's very like his poor brother, only darker, and--pardon me for -saying so--not half so agreeable a young fellow." - -"Everybody seems to have liked poor Lionel." - -"Nobody could help liking him," said the Squire, with energy. "I felt -the loss of that poor boy almost as much as if he had been my own -son." - -"Not a soul in the world had an ill word to say about him." - -"I wish that the same could be said of all of us," said the Squire. -And so, after a few more words, they parted. - -As General St. George had told the Squire, Kester was still at Park -Newton. The doctor who was called in to attend him after his sudden -attack on the night that the footsteps were heard in the nailed-up -room, prescribed a bottle or two of some harmless mixture, and a few -days of complete rest and isolation. As Kester would neither allow -himself to be examined, nor answer any questions, there was very -little more that could be done for him. - -Kester's first impulse after his recovery--and a very strong impulse -it was--was to quit Park Newton at once and for ever. Further -reflection, however, convinced him that such a step would be unwise in -the extreme. It would at once be said that he had been frightened away -by the ghost, and that was a thing that he could by no means afford to -have said of him. For it to get gossiped about that he had been driven -from his own house by the ghost of Percy Osmond, might, in time, tend -to breed suspicion; and from suspicion might spring inquiry, and that -might ultimately lead to nobody knew what. No: he would stay on at -Park Newton for weeks--for months even, if it suited him to do so. The -incident of his sudden illness was a very untoward one: on that point -there could be no doubt whatever; but not if he could anyhow help it -should the faintest breath of suspicion spring therefrom. - -The Squire's troubles had faded into the background for a few minutes -during his interview with General St. George, but they now rushed back -upon him with, as it seemed, tenfold force. There was nothing left for -him now but to go home, and yet he had never felt less inclined to do -so in his life. He dreaded the long quiet evening, with no society but -that of his daughter. Not that Jane was a dull companion, or anything -like it; but he dreaded to encounter her pleading eyes, her pretty -caressing ways, the lingering embrace she would give him when he -entered the house, and her good-night kiss. He felt how all these -things would tend to unman him, how they would merely serve to deepen -the remorse which he felt already. If only he could meet with some one -to take home with him!--he did not care much who it was--some one who -would talk to him, and enliven the evening, and take off for a little -while the edge of his trouble, and so help him to tide over the weary -hours that intervened between now and the morrow, by which time -something might happen--he knew not what--or some light be vouchsafed -to him which would show him a way out of his difficulties. - -These, or something like these, were the thoughts that were floating -hazily in his mind, when in the distance he spied Tom Bristow striding -along at his usual energetic rate. The Squire being still very lame, -wisely captured a passing butcher boy, and, with the promise of -sixpence, bade him hurry after Tom, and not come back without him. - -"You must come back with me to Pincote," he said, when the astonished -Tom had been duly captured. "I'll take no refusal. I've got a fit of -mopes, and if you don't come and help to keep Jenny and me alive this -evening, I'll never speak to you again as long as I live." So saying, -the Squire linked his arm in Tom's, and turned his face towards -Pincote; and nothing loath was Tom to go with him. - -"I've done a fine thing this afternoon," said Mr. Culpepper, as they -drove along in the basket-carriage, which had been waiting for him at -the hotel. "I've broken off Jenny's engagement with Edward Cope." - -Tom's heart gave a great bound. "Pardon me, sir, for saying so," he -said as calmly as he could, "but I never thought that Mr. Cope was in -any way worthy of Miss Culpepper." - -"You are right, boy. He was not worthy of her." - -"From the first time of seeing them together, I felt how entirely -unfitted was Mr. Cope to appreciate Miss Culpepper's manifold charms -of heart and mind. A marriage between two such people would have been -a most incongruous one." - -"Thank Heaven! it's broken now and for ever." - -"I've broken off your engagement to Edward Cope," whispered the Squire -to Jane in the hall, as he kissed her. "Are you glad or sorry, dear?" - -"Glad--very, very glad, papa," she whispered back as she rained a -score of kisses On his face. Then she began to cry, and with that she -ran away to her own room till she could recover herself. - -"Women are queer cattle," said the Squire, turning to Tom, "and I'll -be hanged if I can ever make them out." - -"From Miss Culpepper's manner, sir," said Tom, gravely, "I should -judge that you had told her something that pleased her very much -indeed." - -"Then what did she begin snivelling for?" said the Squire, gruffly. - -"Why not tell him everything?" said the Squire to himself, as he and -Tom sat down in the drawing-room. "He knows a good deal already,--why -not tell him more? I know he can do nothing towards helping me to -raise five thousand pounds, but it will do me good to talk to him. I -must talk to somebody--and I feel sure my secret is quite safe with -him. I'll tell him while Jenny's out of the room." - -The Squire coughed and hemmed, and poked the fire violently before he -could find a word to say. "Bristow," he burst out at last, "I want to -raise five thousand five hundred pounds in five days from now, and as -I'm rather a bad hand at borrowing, I thought that you could, maybe, -give me a hint as to how it could best be done. Cope would have -advanced it for me in a moment, only that he happens to be rather -short of funds just now, and I don't want to trouble any of my other -friends if it can anyhow be managed without." He began to hum the air -of an old drinking-song, and poked the fire again. "Capital coals -these," he added. "And I got 'em cheap, too. The market went up three -shillings a ton the very day after these were sent in." - -"Five thousand five hundred pounds is rather a large amount, sir," -said Tom, slowly. - -"Of course it's a large amount," said the Squire, testily. "If it were -only a paltry hundred or two I wouldn't trouble anybody. But never -mind, Bristow--never mind. I didn't suppose that you could help me -when I mentioned it; and, after all, it's a matter of very little -consequence whether I raise the money or not." - -"I can only suggest one way, sir, by which the money could be raised -in so short a time." - -"Eh!" said the Squire, turning suddenly on him, and dropping the poker -noisily in the grate. "You don't mean to say that you can see how it's -to be done!" - -"I think I do, sir. Do you know the piece of ground called Prior's -Croft?" - -"Very well indeed. It belongs to Duckworth, the publican." - -"Between you and me, sir, Duckworth's hard up, and would be glad to -sell the Croft if he could do it quietly and without its becoming -generally known that he is short of money." - -"Well?" said the Squire, a little impatiently. He could not understand -what Tom was driving at. - -"I dare engage to say, sir, that you could have the Croft for two -thousand pounds, cash down." - -"Confound it, man, what an idiot you must be!" said the Squire -fiercely, bringing his fist down on the table with a tremendous bang. -"Didn't I tell you that I wanted to borrow money, and not to spend it? -In fact, as you know quite well, I've got none to spend." - -"Precisely so," said Tom, coolly. "And that is the point to which I am -coming, if you will hear me out." - -The Squire's only answer was to glare at him, as if in doubt whether -he had not taken leave of his senses. - -"As I said before, sir, Duckworth will take two thousand pounds for -the Croft, cash down. Now I, sir, will engage to raise two thousand -pounds for you by to-morrow, at noon, with which to buy the piece of -ground in question. The purchase can be effected, and the necessary -deeds made out and completed, by ten o'clock the following morning. If -you will entrust those deeds into my possession, I will guarantee to -effect a mortgage for six thousand pounds, in your name, on the -Croft." - -If the Squire had looked suspicious with regard to Tom's sanity -before, he now seemed to have no doubt whatever on the point. He -quietly took up the poker again, as if he were afraid that Tom might -spring at him unexpectedly. - -"So you could lend me two thousand pounds could you?" said the Squire -drily. - -"I did not say that, sir. I said that I could raise two thousand -pounds for you, which is a very different matter from lending it out -of my own pocket." - -"Humph! And who, sir, do you think would be such a consummate ass as -to advance six thousand pounds on a plot of ground that had just been -bought for two thousand?" - -"Strange as such a transaction may seem to you, sir, I give you my -word of honour that I should find no difficulty in carrying it out. -Have I your permission to do so?" - -"I suppose that the two thousand raised by you would have to be repaid -out of the six thousand raised by mortgage, leaving me with a balance -of four thousand in hand?" said the Squire, without heeding Tom's -question, a smile of incredulity playing round his mouth. - -"No, sir," answered Tom. "The two thousand pounds could remain on -interest at five per cent. for whatever term might suit your -convenience. Again, sir, I ask, have I your permission to negotiate -the transaction for you?" - -Mr. Culpepper gazed steadily for a moment or two into Tom's clear, -cold eyes. There were no symptoms of insanity visible there, at any -rate. "And do you mean to tell me in sober seriousness," he said, -"that you can raise this money in the way you speak of?" - -"In sober seriousness, I mean to tell you that I can. Try me." - -"I will try you," answered the Squire, impulsively. "I will try you, -boy. You are a strange fellow, and I begin to think that there's more -in you than I ever thought there was. But here comes Jenny. Not a word -more just now." - - - - -CHAPTER II. -IN THE SYCAMORE WALK. - - -The Park Newton clocks, with more or less unanimity as to time, had -just struck ten. It was a February night, clear and frosty, and Lionel -Dering sat in his dressing-room in slippered ease, musing by -firelight. He had turned out the lamp on purpose; it was too garish -for his mood to-night. He was back again in thought at Gatehouse Farm. -Again he saw the gray old cottage, with its moss-grown eaves--the -cottage that was so ugly outside, but so cosy within. Again he saw the -long low sandhills, where they stretched themselves out to meet the -horizon, and, in fancy, heard again the low, monotonous plash of the -waves, whose melancholy music, heard by day and night, had at one time -been as familiar to him as the sound of his own voice. What a quiet, -happy time that seemed as he now looked back to it--a time of soft -shadows and mild sunshine, with a pensive charm that was all its own, -and that was lost for ever in the hour which told him that he was a -rich man! Riches! What had riches done for him? He groaned in spirit -as he asked himself the question. He could have been happy with Edith -in a garret--how happy none but himself could have told--had fortune -compelled him to earn her bread and his own by the sweat of his strong -right arm. - -His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," he -called out mechanically; and in there came, almost without, a sound, -Dobbs, body-servant to Kester St. George. - -"Oh, Dobbs, is that you?" said Lionel, a little wearily, as he turned -his head and saw who it was. - -"Yes, sir, I have made bold to intrude upon you for a few seconds," -said Dobbs, with the utmost deference, as he slowly advanced into the -room, rubbing the long lean fingers of one hand softly with the palm -of the other. "My master has not yet got back from Duxley, and there's -nobody about just now." - -"Quite right, Dobbs," said Lionel. "Anything fresh to report?" - -"Nothing particularly fresh, sir, but I thought that you might perhaps -like to see me." - -"Very considerate of you, Dobbs, but I am not aware that I have -anything of consequence to say to you to-night." - -"Thank you, sir," said Dobbs, with a faint smile and an extra rub of -his fingers. "Master's still very queer, sir. No appetite worth -speaking about. Obliged to screw himself up with brandy in a morning -before he can finish his toilet. Mutters and moans a good deal in his -sleep, sir." - -"Mutters in his sleep, does he?" said Lionel. "Have you any idea, -Dobbs, what it is that he talks about?" - -"I've tried my best to ascertain, sir, but without much success. I -have listened and listened for hours, and very cold work it is, sir; -but there's never more than a word now and a word then that one can -make out. Nothing connected--nothing worth recollecting." - -"Does Mr. St. George still walk in his sleep?" - -"He does, sir, but not very often--not more than two or three times a -month." - -"Keep your eyes open, Dobbs, and the very next time your master walks -in his sleep come to me at once--never mind what hour it may be--and -tell me." - -"I won't fail to do so, sir." - -"In these sleep-walking rambles does Mr. St. George always confine -himself to the house, or does he ever venture out into the park or -grounds?" - -"He generally goes out of doors, sir, at such times. Three times out -of four he goes as far as the Wizard's Fountain, in the Sycamore Walk, -stops there for a minute or two, and then walks back home. I have -watched him several times." - -"The Wizard's Fountain, in the Sycamore Walk! What should take him -there?" - -"Then you know the place, sir?" - -"I know it well." - -"Can't say what fancy takes him there, sir. Perhaps he doesn't know -hisself." - -"In any case, let me know when he next walks in his sleep. I have no -further instructions for you to-night, Dobbs." - -"Thank you, sir. I have the honour to wish you a very good night, -sir." - -"Good-night, Dobbs. Keep your eyes open, and report everything to me." - -"Yes, sir, yes. You may trust me for doing that, sir." And Dobbs the -obsequious bowed himself out. - -In his cousin's valet Lionel had found an instrument ready to his -hand, but it was not till after long hesitation and doubt that he made -up his mind to avail himself of it. The necessities of the case at -length decided him to do so. No one appreciated the value of a bribe -better than Dobbs, or worked harder or more conscientiously to deserve -one. There was a crooked element in his character which made whatever -money he might earn by indirect means, or by tortuous working, seem -far sweeter to him than the honest wages of everyday life. Kester St. -George was not the kind of man ever to try to attach his inferiors to -himself by any tie of gratitude or kindness. At different times and in -various ways he suffered for this indifference, although the present -could hardly be considered as a case in point, seeing that it was not -in the nature of Dobbs to resist a bribe in whatever shape it might -offer itself, and that gratitude was one of those virtues which had -altogether been omitted from his composition. - -Late one afternoon, a few days after the interview between Lionel and -Dobbs, Kester St. George had his horse brought round, and rode out -unattended, and without leaving word in what direction he was going, -or at what hour he might be expected back. The day was dull and -lowering, with fitful puffs of wind, that blew first from one point -and then from another, and seemed the forerunners of a coming storm. -Buried in his own thoughts, Kester paid no heed to the weather, but -rode quickly forward till several miles of country had been crossed. -By-and-by he diverged from the main road, and turned his horse's head -into a tortuous and muddy lane, which, after half an hour's bad -travelling, landed him on the verge of a wide stretch of brown -treeless moor, than which no place could well have looked more -desolate and cheerless under the gray monotony of the darkening -February afternoon. Kester halted for awhile at the end of the lane to -give his horse breathing time. Far as the eye could see, looking -forward from the point where he was standing, all was bare and -treeless, without one single sign of habitation or life. - -"Whatever else may be changed, either with me or the world," he -muttered, "the old moor remains just as it was the first day that I -can remember it. It was horrible to me at first, but I learned to like -it--to love it even, before I left it; and I love it now--to-day--with -all its dreariness and monotony. It is like the face of an old friend. -You may go away for twenty years, and when you come back you know that -you will find on it just the same look that it wore when you went -away. Not that I have ever cared to cultivate such friendships," he -added, half regretfully. "Well, the next best thing to having a good -friend is to have a good enemy, and I can thank heaven for granting me -several such." - -He touched his horse with the spur, and rode slowly forward, taking a -narrow bridle path that led in an oblique direction across the moor. -"This ought to be the road if my memory serves me aright," he -muttered, "but they are all so much alike, and intersect each other so -frequently, that it's far more easy to lose one's way than to know -where one is." - -"I suppose I shall have the rough side of Mother Mim's tongue when I -do find her," he went on. "I've neglected her shamefully, without a -doubt. But such ties as the one between her and me become tiresome in -the long run. She ought to have died off long ago, but she's as tough -as leather. Poor devils in this part of the country, that haven't a -penny to bless themselves with, think nothing of living till they're a -hundred. Is it a superfluity of ozone, or a want of brains, that keeps -them alive so long?" - -He rode steadily forward till he had nearly crossed one angle of the -moor. At length, but not without some difficulty, he found the place -he had come in search of. It was a rudely-built hut--cottage it could -hardly be called--composed of mud, and turf, and great boulders all -unhewn. Its roof of coarsest thatch was frayed and worn with the wind -and rain of many winters. Its solitary door of old planks, roughly -nailed together, opened full on to the moor. - -At the back was a patch of garden-ground, which was supposed to grow -potatoes in the season, but which had never yet been known to grow any -that were fit to eat. Mr. St. George looked round with a sneer as he -dismounted. - -"And it was in this wretched den that I spent the first eight years of -my existence!" he muttered. "And the woman whom this place calls its -mistress was the first being whom I learned to love! And, faith, I'm -rather doubtful whether I've ever loved anybody half so well since." - -Putting his horse's bridle over a convenient hook, and dispensing with -the ceremony of knocking, Kester St. George lifted the latch, pushed -open the door, stooped his head, and went in. Inside the hut -everything was in semi-darkness, and Kester stood for a minute with -the door in his hand, striving to make out the objects before him. - -"Come in and shut the door: I expected you," said a hollow voice from -one corner of the room; and the one room, such as it was, comprised -the whole hut. - -"Is that you, Mother Mim?" asked Kester. - -"Ay--who else should it be?" answered the voice. "But come in and shut -the door. That cold wind gives me the shivers." - -Kester did as he was told, and then made his way to a wretched pallet -at the other end of the hut. Of furniture there was hardly any, and -the aspect of the whole place was miserable in the extreme. Over the -ashes of a wood fire crouched a girl of sixteen, ragged and unkempt, -who stared at him with black, glittering eyes as he passed her. Next -moment he was standing by the side of a ragged pallet, on which lay -the figure of a woman who looked ill almost unto death. - -"Why, mother, whatever has been the matter with you?" asked Kester. "A -little bit out of sorts, eh? But you'll soon be all right again now." - -"Yes, I shall soon be all right now--soon be quite well," answered the -woman grimly. "A black box and six feet of earth cure everything." - -"You mustn't talk in that way, mother," said Kester, as he sat down on -the only chair in the place, and took one of the woman's lean, hot -hands in his. "You will live to plague us for many a year to come." - -"Kester St. George, this is the last time you and I will meet in this -world." - -"I hope not, with all my heart," said Kester, feelingly. - -"I know what I know, and I know that what I say is true," answered -Mother Mim. "You would not have come now if I had not worked a spell -strong enough to bring you here even against your will. I worked it -four nights ago, at midnight, when that young viper there"--pointing a -finger at the girl, who was still cowering over the ashes--"was fast -asleep, and there were no eyes to see but those of the cold stars. Ah! -but it was horrible! and if it had not been that I felt I must see you -before I died, I could never have gone through with it." She paused -for a moment, as though overcome by some dreadful recollection. "Then, -when it was over, I crept back to bed, and waited quietly, knowing -that now you could not choose but come." - -"I ought to have come and seen you long ago--I know it--I feel it," -said Kester. "But let bygones be bygones, and I give you my solemn -promise never to neglect you again. I am rich now, mother, and you -shall never want for anything as long as you live." - -"Too late--too late!" sighed the woman. "Yes, you're rich now, rich -enough to bury me, and that's all I ask you to do." - -"Don't talk like that, mother," said Kester. - -"If you had only come to see me!" said the woman. "That was all I -wanted. Just to see your face, and squeeze your hand, and have you to -talk to me for a little while. I wanted none of your money--no, not a -single shilling of it. It was only you I wanted." - -Kester began to feel slightly bored. He squeezed Mother Mim's hand, -and then dropped it, but he did not speak. - -"But you didn't come," moaned the woman, "and you wouldn't have come -now if I hadn't worked a charm to bring you." - -"There you wrong me," said Kester, decisively. "Your charm, or spell, -or whatever it may have been, had no effect in bringing me here. I -came of my own free will." - -"Self-conceited, as you always were and always will be," muttered the -woman. Then, half raising herself in bed, and addressing the girl, she -cried: "Nell, you hussy, just you hook it for a quarter of an hour. -The gent and I have something to talk about." - -The girl rose sullenly, went slowly out, and banged the door behind -her. - -Kester wondered what was coming next. He had dropped the woman's hand, -but she now held it out for him to take again. He took it, and she -pressed his hand passionately to her lips three or four times. - -"If the great secret of my life is to be told at all on this side the -grave, the time to tell it is now come. I always thought to die -without revealing it, but somehow of late everything has seemed -different to me, and I feel now as if I couldn't die easy without -telling you." She paused for a minute, exhausted. There was some -brandy on the chimney-piece, and Kester gave her a little. Again she -took his hand and kissed it passionately. - -"You will, perhaps, curse me for what I am about to tell you," she -went on, "but whether you do so or not, so may Heaven help me if it is -anything more than the simple truth! Kester St. George, you have no -right to the name you bear--to the name the world knows you by!" - -Kester was so startled that for a moment or two he sat like one -suddenly stricken dumb. "Go on," he said at last. "There's more to -follow. I like boldness in lying as in everything else." - -"Again I swear that I am telling you no more than the solemn truth." - -"If I am not Kester St. George," he said with a sneer, "perhaps you -will kindly inform me who I really am." - -"You are my son!" - -He flung the woman's hand savagely from him, and sprang to his feet -with an oath. "Your son!" he said. "Ha! ha! ha! Your son, indeed! -Since when have your senses quite left you, Mother Mim? A dark cell in -Bedlam and a strait waistcoat would be your best physic." - -"I am rightly punished," moaned the woman--"rightly punished. I ought -to have told you years ago--ay--before you ever grew to be a man. But -I loved you so, and had such pride in you, that I couldn't bear the -thought of telling you, and it's only now when I'm on my deathbed that -the secret forces itself from me. But it will go no farther, never you -fear that. No living soul but you will ever hear it from my lips; and -you have only got to keep your own lips tightly shut, and you will -live and die as Kester St. George." - -She sank back with the exhaustion of speaking. Mechanically, and -almost without knowing what he was doing, Kester again gave her a -little brandy. Then he sat down; and Mother Mim, finding his hand -close by, took possession of it again. He shuddered slightly, but did -not withdraw it. - -Although Mother Mim had advanced no proofs in support of the strange -story she had just told him, there was something in her tone which -carried conviction to his inmost heart. - -"I must know more of this," he said, after a little while, speaking -almost in a whisper. - -"How well I remember everything about it! It seems only like yesterday -that it all happened," sighed the woman. "You--my own child, and -he--the other one that was sent to me to nurse, were born within a few -hours of one another. His father broke a blood-vessel about six weeks -after the child was brought to me. The mother went with her husband to -Italy to take care of him, and the child was left with me. A week or -two afterwards he was taken suddenly ill, and died. Then the devil -tempted me to put my own boy into the place of the lost heir. When -Mrs. St. George came back from Italy she came to see her child, and -you were shown to her as that child. She accepted you without a -moment's suspicion. They let you stay with me till you were eight -years old, and then they took you away and sent you to school. My -husband and my sister were the only two beside myself who knew what -had been done, and they both died years ago without saying a word. I -shall join them in a few days, and then you alone will be the keeper -of the secret. With you it will die, and on your tombstone they will -write: 'Here lies the body of Kester St. George.'" - -She had told her story with great difficulty, and with frequent -interruptions to gather strength and breath to finish it. She now lay -back, utterly exhausted. Her eyes closed, her hand relaxed its hold on -Kester's, her jaw dropped slightly, the thin white face grew thinner -and whiter: it seemed as if Death, passing that way, had looked in -unexpectedly, and had beckoned her to go with him. Kester rose -quickly, and struck a match and lighted a fragment of candle that he -found on the chimney-piece. His next impulse was to try and revive her -with a little brandy, but he paused with the glass in his hand. Why -try to revive her? Would it not be better for him, for her, for every -one, if she were really dead? If such were the case, it would do away -with all fear of her strange secret being ever divulged to any one -else. Yes--in every way her death would be a welcome release. - -It was not without a tremor, it was not without a faster beating of -the heart, that Kester took the bit of cracked looking-glass from the -wall and held it to the woman's lips. His very life seemed to stand -still for a moment or two while he waited for the result. It came. The -glass clouded faintly. The woman was not dead. With a muttered curse -Kester dashed the glass across the floor and put back the candle on -the chimney-piece. Then he took up his hat. Where was the use of -staying longer? She could tell him nothing more when she should have -come to her senses than she had told him already: nothing, that is, of -any consequence; and as for details, he did not want them--at least, -not now. What he had been told already held food enough for thought -for some time to come. He paused for a moment before going out. -Was it really possible--was it really credible, that that haggard, -sharp-featured woman was his mother?--that his father had been a -coarse, common labouring man, a mere hedger and ditcher, who had lived -and died in that mean hut, and that he himself, instead of being the -Kester St. George he had always believed himself to be, was no other -than the son of those two--the boy whose supposed death he remembered -to have heard about when little more than a mere child? - -Fiercely and savagely he told himself again and again that such a -thing could not be--that what Mother Mim had told him was nothing more -than a pack of devil's lies--the invention of a brain weakened and -distorted by illness and the clouds of coming death. It was high time -to go. He put five sovereigns on the chimney-piece, went softly out, -and shut the door behind him. The girl was sitting on the low mud-wall -near the door, with the skirt of her dress drawn over her head as some -protection from the bitter wind. Her black, glittering eyes took him -in from head to foot as he walked up to her. "Go inside at once. She -has fainted," said Kester. The girl nodded and went. Then Kester -mounted his horse and rode slowly homeward through the chilly -twilight. Bitterest thoughts held him as with a vice. When he came -within sight of the chimneys of Park Newton, he gave a sigh of relief, -and put spurs to his horse. "That is mine, and no power on earth shall -take it from me," he muttered. "That and the money that comes with it. -I am Kester St. George. Let those disprove who can!" - -A few nights later, as Lionel Dering was sitting in his dressing-room, -smoking a last cigar before turning in, there came three low, distinct -taps at the door, which he recognized as the peculiar signal of Dobbs. -It was nearly an hour past midnight, and in that early household every -one had been long abed, or, at least, had retired long ago to their -own rooms. - -Lionel opened the door, and Dobbs slid softly in. Such visits were by -no means infrequent, but they were usually paid at a somewhat earlier -hour than on the present occasion. - -"Come in, Dobbs," said Lionel. "You are later to-night than usual." - -"Yes, sir, I am, and I must ask you to pardon me for intruding at such -an hour; but, if you remember, sir, you told me, a little while ago, -that I was to let you know without fail the very next time my master -took to walking in his sleep." - -"Quite right, Dobbs. I am glad that you have not forgotten my -instructions." - -"Well, sir, Mr. St. George left his rooms, a few minutes ago, fast -asleep." - -"In which direction did he go?" - -"He went down the side staircase, and through the conservatory, and -let himself out through the little glass door into the garden." - -"And then which way did he go?" - -"I did not follow him any farther, but ran at once to tell you." - -"Have you any idea as to what direction he would be most likely to -take?" - -"There is little doubt, sir, but that he has gone towards the Wizard's -Fountain, in the Sycamore Walk. Three times already, that is the place -to which he has gone." - -"We must follow him, Dobbs." - -"Yes, sir." - -"We must watch him, but be careful not to disturb him." - -"Yes, sir." - -"I suppose there is little or no fear of his waking before he gets -back to the house?" - -"None whatever, sir, as far as my experience goes. As a rule, he goes -quietly back to his own rooms, undresses himself as quietly and -soberly as if he was wide awake, and gets into bed; and when he does -really wake up in the morning, he never seems to know anything about -what has happened over-night. But we must make haste, sir, if we wish -to overtake him." - -"I will be ready in one minute." - -Lionel wrapped a warm furred cloak about him, and put a travelling-cap -on his head. Three minutes later he and Dobbs stood together in the -open air. - -The night was clear, crisp, and cold. The moon was just rising above -the tree-tops, bathing the upper part of the quaint old house in its -white glory, but as yet the shrubbery and the garden-paths lay in -deepest shadow. Nowhere could they discern the figure of the man whom -they had come out to follow; but the Wizard's Fountain was a good half -mile from the Hall, so they struck at once into the nearest footway -that led towards it. A few minutes' quick walking took them there. -Lionel knew the place well. It had been a favourite haunt of his when -living at Park Newton during the few happy weeks that preceded the -murder. Very weird and solemn the whole place looked, as seen by -moonlight at that still hour of the night. - -Although known as the Sycamore Walk, there were only two trees of that -particular kind growing there, and they threw their antique shadows -immediately over the fountain itself. The rest of the avenue consisted -of beech, and oak, and elm. But all the trees were huge, and old, and -fantastic: untended and uncared for--growing together year after year, -whispering their leafy secrets to each other with every spring that -came round, and standing shoulder to shoulder against the winds of -winter: a hoary brotherhood of forest sages. - -The fountain itself, whatever it might have been in years long gone -by, was now nothing more than a confused heap of huge stones, -overgrown with lichens and creepers. From the midst of them, and from -what had doubtless at one time been a representation in marble of the -head of a leopard or other forest animal, but which now was almost -worn past recognition, trickled a thin stream of coldest water; which, -falling into a broken basin below, over-brimmed itself there, and was -lost among the cracks and interstices in the masses of broken masonry -that lay scattered around. - -"You had better, perhaps, wait here," said Lionel to Dobbs, as they -halted for a moment at the entrance to the avenue. - -Dobbs did as he was bidden, and Lionel advanced alone, keeping well -within the shade of the trees. When within a dozen yards of the -fountain, he halted and waited. The low, ceaseless monotone of the -falling water was the only sound that broke the moonlit silence. - -From out the dense shadow of the trees on the opposite side of the -avenue, and as if he himself were part of that shadow, Kester St. -George slowly emerged. In the middle of the avenue, and in the full -light of the moon, he paused. His right hand was thrust into the bosom -of his vest, as if he were hiding something there. Standing thus, he -seemed, as it were, to shrink within himself. Still hugging that -hidden something, he seemed to listen--to listen as if his very life -depended on the act. Then, with a slow, creeping motion, as though his -feet were weighted with lead, he stole towards the fountain. He -reached it. He grasped the stonework with one hand, and then he turned -to gaze, as though in dread of some hidden pursuer. Then slowly, -almost reluctantly, he seemed to draw something from within his vest, -and, while still gazing furtively around him, he thrust his arm, elbow -deep, into a crevice in the masonry, let it rest there for a single -moment, and then withdrew it. With the same furtively restless look, -and ears that seemed to listen more intently than ever, he paused for -an instant. Then he stole swiftly back across the moonlit avenue, and -so vanished among the black shadows from whence he had come. - -So natural had been his actions, so unstudied his every movement, that -it seemed impossible to believe that he was indeed asleep. - -Hardly had Kester St. George disappeared before Lionel Dering was by -the fountain, on the very spot where his cousin had stood half a -minute before. He had noted well the place. There, before him, was the -very crevice into which Kester had thrust his arm. Into that same -crevice was Lionel's arm now thrust--elbow deep--shoulder deep. His -groping fingers soon laid hold of that which was hidden there. He drew -out his arm quickly, and the something that he had found glittered -steel-blue in the moonlight. With a cry of horror he dropped it, and -it fell with a dull clash among the stones. Lionel Dering had -recognized it in a moment as a dagger which he had last seen in the -possession of Percy Osmond. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -MISS CULPEPPER SPEAKS HER MIND. - - -Mrs. McDermott had reached Pincote, and she did not fail to let every -one know it. As the Squire had predicted, the moment she had taken off -her waterproof, and changed her boots, she marched straight into the -library, and asked for her money. It was with a feeling of profound -satisfaction that her brother unlocked his bureau, and handed her a -roll of notes representing five thousand seven hundred and fifty -pounds. She counted the notes over twice, slowly and carefully. - -"What are the seven hundred and fifty pounds for?" she asked. - -"Interest for three years at five per cent. per annum." - -"I thought you would have got me seven per cent. at the least," she -said ungraciously. "My man of business tells me that seven is quite a -common thing nowadays. He says that he can get me nine or ten per -cent. on real property, without any difficulty." - -"I should advise you to be careful what you are about," said the -Squire, gravely. "Big profits, big risks; little profits, little -risks." - -"I know perfectly well what I'm doing," said Mrs. McDermott, with a -toss of her antiquated curls. "It's you slow, sleepy, country folks, -who crawl behind the times, and miss half the golden chances that come -to people who keep their eyes wide open." - -The Squire shook his head, but said no more. He groaned in spirit when -he thought what his "golden chance" had done for him. - -"Let her buy her experience as I've bought mine," he said to himself. -"From a girl she was always pig-headed: let her pay for it." - -"Have you any idea how long your aunt is likely to stay?" he asked -Jane, a day or two later. - -"No idea whatever, papa. If the quantity of her luggage is anything to -go by, I should say that her stay is likely to be a long one." - -"I hope not, with all my heart," sighed the Squire. - -Mrs. McDermott, in truth, was not a lady who ever troubled herself to -make her presence agreeable to those with whom she might be staying. -Consideration for the comfort of others was a thought that never -entered her mind. From the day of her arrival at Pincote she began to -interfere with the existing arrangements of the house; finding fault -with everything: changing this, altering the other, and evidently -determined to have her own way in all. The first thing she did was to -find fault with her bedroom, although it was one of the pleasantest -apartments in the house, and had been especially arranged by Jane -herself with a view to her aunt's comfort. But it was not the best -bedroom--the state bedroom, therefore Mrs. McDermott would have none -of it. Into the state bedroom, a gloomy apartment fronting the north, -which was never used above once or twice in half a dozen years, she -migrated at once with all her belongings. Her next act, she being -without a maid of her own at the time, was to induct one of the -Pincote servants into that office, taking her altogether from her -proper duties, and not permitting her to do a stroke of work for any -one but herself. Then she talked her brother into allowing the dinner -hour to be altered from six to half-past seven; so that, as the Squire -grumbled to himself, the cloth was hardly removed before it was time -to go to bed. Then the Squire must never appear at dinner without a -dress coat, and a white tie--articles which, or late years, he had -been tacitly allowed to dispense with when dining en famille. A white -cravat especially was to him an abomination. He never could tie the -knot properly, and after crumpling three or four, and throwing them -across the room in a rage, Jane's services would generally have to be -called into requisition as a last resource. - -One other infliction there was which the Squire found it very -difficult to bear patiently. After dinner, when there was no -particular company at Pincote, it was an understood thing that the -Squire should have the dining-room to himself for half an hour, in -order that he might enjoy the post-prandial snooze which long custom -had made almost a necessity with him. But this was an arrangement that -failed to meet with the approbation of Mrs. McDermott. She insisted -that the Squire should either accompany the ladies, or, otherwise, she -herself would keep him company in the dining-room; and woe be to him -if he dared so much as close an eye for five seconds! It was "Where -are your manners, sir? I'm thoroughly ashamed of you;" or else, -"Falling asleep, sir, in the presence of a lady? a clodhopper could do -no more than that!" till the Squire felt as if his life were being -slowly tormented out of him. - -Nor did Jane fail to come in for a share of her aunt's strictures. -Mrs. McDermott evidently looked upon her as little more than a child. -Firstly, her hair was not arranged in accordance with her aunt's ideas -of propriety in such matters, which, truth to say, belonged to a -somewhat antiquated school. Then the girl was altogether too bright -and sunny-looking, with her bows of ribbon and bits of lace showing -daintily here and there. And she was too forward in introducing topics -of conversation at meal-times, instead of allowing the introduction of -appropriate themes to come from her elders and her betters. Then Jane -was addicted to the heinous offence of laughing too heartily, and too -often. Altogether her aunt saw in her much that stood in need of -reformation. Jane bore everything with a sort of good-humoured -indifference. "The time to speak is not come yet. I will see how much -further she will go," she said to herself. But when the cook came to -her one morning and said: "If you please, miss, Mrs. Dermott says that -for the future I am to take my dinner orders from her," then Jane -thought that the time to speak was drawing very near indeed. - -"Do as Mrs. McDermott tells you," she said quietly to the astonished -cook. - -"Well, I never! I thought that the mistress had more spirit than -that," said the woman as she went back to her duties in the kitchen. - -Next day brought the coachman. "Beg pardon, miss," he said, with a -touch of his hair; "but Mrs. McDermott have given orders that the -brougham and gray mare is to be ready for her every afternoon at three -o'clock to the minute. I am to take the order, miss, I suppose?" - -"Quite right, John, till I give you orders to the contrary." - -Next came the gardener. "Very sorry, miss, but I shall have to give -notice--I shall really." - -"Why, what's amiss now, Gibson?" - -"It's all Mrs. McDermott, miss; begging your pardon for saying so. Why -will she pretend to understand gardening better than me that has been -at it, man and boy, for fifty year? Why will she come finding fault -with this, that, and the other, in a way that neither the Squire nor -you, miss, ever thinks of doing? And she not only finds fault, but -gives orders, ridiculous orders, about things she knows nothing of. I -can't stand it, miss, I really can't." - -"Mrs. McDermott will give you no more orders, Gibson, after to-day. -You can go back to your work with an easy mind." - -Jane waited till next morning, and then having ascertained that her -aunt had again given orders to the cook respecting dinner, she walked -straight into the breakfast-room where she knew that she should find -Mrs. McDermott alone, and busy with her correspondence--for she was a -great letter writer at that hour of the morning. - -"What a noisy girl you are," she said crossly, as her niece drew up a -chair and sat down beside her. "I was just writing a few lines to dear -Lady Clark when you came in in your usual brusque way and put all my -ideas to flight." - -"They must be poor, timid, little ideas, aunt, to be so easily -frightened away," said Jane. - -"Jane, there has been a flippant tone about you for the last day or -two that I don't at all approve of. Flippancy in young people is -easily acquired, but difficult to get rid of. The sooner you get rid -of yours the better I shall be pleased." - -Jane rose from her chair and swept Mrs. McDermott a stately curtsey. -"Is it not almost time, aunt," she said quietly, "that you gave up -treating me, and talking to me, as if I were a child?" - -"If you are no longer a child in years, you are still very childish in -many of your ways." - -"You are quite epigrammatic this morning, aunt." - -"Don't be impertinent, young lady." - -"I have no intention of being impertinent. But I have come to see you -about the order for dinner which you gave the cook half an hour ago." - -"What about that?" asked Mrs. McDermott snappishly. "In what way does -it concern you?" - -"It concerns me very materially indeed," answered Jane. "You have -ordered several things for dinner that papa does not care about; some, -in fact, that he never eats. Fried soles, for instance, and veal -cutlets--articles he never touches. So I have told the cook to -supplement your order with some turbot and a boiled fowl à la -marquise. I have also told her that for the future she will receive -from me every evening the menu for next day. Should my list contain -nothing that you care about, the cook has orders to obtain specially -for you any articles that you may wish to have." - -"Upon my word! what next?" was all that Mrs. McDermott could gasp out -at the moment, so overcome was she with rage and surprise. - -"This next," said Jane. "From to-day the dinner hour will be altered -back to six o'clock. Half-past seven suits neither papa nor me. Should -the latter hour be a necessity with you, you can always have your -dinner served at that time in your own room. But papa and I will dine -at six." - -"I shall talk to your papa about this, and ascertain from his own lips -whether I am to be dictated to and insulted by a chit like you." - -"That is just what I must forbid you to do," said Jane. "Papa's health -has not been what it ought to be for a long time past. - -"Only a few weeks ago he had a slight stroke. Happily he soon recovered -from it, but Dr. Davidson says that all exciting topics must be kept -carefully from him. You know how little things will often excite him; -and if you begin to worry him about any petty differences that may -arise between you and me, you will do so at your peril, and must be -satisfied to take whatever consequences may arise from your so doing." - -Mrs. McDermott stared at her niece in open-mouthed wonder. - -"Perhaps you have something more to say to me," she gasped out. - -"Yes, several things. Before ordering the brougham to be at your beck -and call every day at three o'clock, it might, perhaps, be just as -well to make sure that your brother is not likely to want it. He has -taken to using it rather frequently of late." - -"Oh, indeed; I'll make due inquiry," was all that Mrs. McDermott could -find to say. - -"And if I were you, I wouldn't go quite so often into the greenhouses, -or near the men at work in the garden." - -"Anything else, Miss Culpepper? You may as well finish the list while -you are about it." - -"Simply this: that after dinner papa must be left to himself for an -hour. He is used to have a little sleep at such times, and he cannot -do without it. This is most imperative." - -"I was never so insulted in the whole course of my life." - -"Then your life must have been a very fortunate one. There is no -intention to insult you, aunt, as your own common sense will tell you -when you come to think calmly over all that I have said. You are here -as papa's guest, and both he and I will do our best to make you -comfortable. But there can be only one mistress at Pincote, and that -mistress, at present, is your niece, Jane Culpepper." - -And before Mrs. McDermott could find another word to say, Jane had -bent over her, kissed her, and swept from the room. - -For two days Mrs. McDermott dined in solitary state, at half-past -seven, in her own room. But she found it so utterly wretched to have -no one to talk to but her maid, that on the third day her resolution -failed her; and when six o'clock came round she found herself in the -dining-room, sitting next her brother, with something of the feeling -of a school-girl who has been whipped and forgiven. - -Her manner towards her brother and her niece was very frigid and -stand-off-ish for several days to come. Towards the Squire she -imperceptibly thawed, and the old familiar intimacy was gradually -resumed between them. But between herself and Jane there was -something--a restraint, a coldness--which no time could altogether -remove. It was impossible for the older woman to forget that she had -been worsted in the encounter with her niece. Could she have seen some -great misfortune, some heavy trouble, fall upon Jane, she could then -have afforded to forgive her, but hardly otherwise. - -It was with a sense of intense relief that Squire Culpepper handed -over to his sister the five thousand pounds that he was indebted to -her. It was a great weight off his mind, and although he did not say -much to Tom Bristow about it, he was none the less grateful in his -secret heart. He was still as much at a loss as ever to understand by -what occult means Tom had been able to raise the mortgage of six -thousand pounds on Prior's Croft. He had hinted more than once that he -should like to know the secret by means of which a result so -remarkable had been achieved, but to all such hints Tom seemed utterly -impervious. - -Still more surprised was the Squire when, a few days after the six -thousand pounds had been put into his hands, Tom came to him and said: -"With regard to Prior's Croft, sir. You have taken my advice once in -the matter: perhaps you won't object to it a second time." - -"What is it, Bristow, what is it?" said the Squire, graciously. "I -shall be glad to listen to anything you may have to say." - -"What I want you to do, sir," said Tom, "is to have some plans at once -drawn up, and have the foundations laid of a number of houses--twenty -to thirty at the least--on Prior's Croft." - -"I thought you crazy about the mortgage," said the Squire, with a -twinkle in his eye. "Are you quite sure you are not crazy now?" - -"I am just as sane now as I was then." - -"But to build houses on Prior's Croft! Why, nobody would ever live in -them. The place is altogether out of the way." - -"That has nothing whatever to do with the question. If you will only -take my advice, sir, you will get the foundations down without an -hour's unnecessary delay." - -"And where should I be at the end of a month, when the contractor came -to me for the first instalment of his money?" - -"All that can be arranged for without difficulty. Your credit is sound -in the market, and that is the one thing indispensable." - -"But what is to be the ultimate result of all these mysterious -proceedings?" - -"Now you get me in a corner. But I must again crave your indulgence, -and ask you to let the mystery remain a mystery a little while longer. -If you have sufficient faith in me, why, take my advice. If not--you -will simply be missing a chance of making an odd thousand or so." - -"And that is what I can by no means afford to do," said the Squire -with emphasis. - -The result was that a week later some forty or fifty men were busily -at work cutting the turf and digging the foundations for the score of -grand new villas which Mr. Culpepper had decided on building at -Prior's Croft. - -Everybody's verdict was that the Squire must be mad. New villas, -indeed! Why there were hardly people enough in sleepy old Duxley to -occupy the houses that fell vacant as the older inhabitants died off. - -"That may be," said the Squire, when this plea was urged on his -notice; "but I mean to make my villas so handsome, so commodious, and -so healthy, that a lot of the old rattletrap dens will at once be -deserted, and I shall not have house-room for half the people who will -want to become my tenants." So spoke the Squire, putting a brave face -on the matter, but really as much in the dark as any one. - -But if there was one person more puzzled than another, that person was -certainly Mr. Cope the banker. He had ascertained for a fact that -within a few days of their interview--their very painful interview, he -termed it to himself--his quondam friend had actually become the -purchaser of Prior's Croft; and what was a still greater marvel, had -actually paid down two thousand pounds in hard cash for it! And now -the town's talk was of nothing but the grand villas which the Squire -was going to build on his new purchase. Mr. Cope could hardly credit -it all till he went and saw with his own eyes the men hard at work. -Still, it was altogether incomprehensible to him. Could the Squire -have merely been playing him a trick; have only been testing the -strength of his friendship, when he came to him to borrow the five -thousand pounds? No, that could hardly be; else why had his balance at -the bank been allowed to dwindle to a mere nothing? Besides which, he -knew from words that the Squire had let drop at different times, that -he must have been speculating heavily. Could it be possible that his -speculations had, after all, proved successful? If not, how account -for this sudden flood of prosperity? For several days Mr. Cope failed -to enjoy his dinner in the hearty way that was habitual with him: for -several nights Mr. Cope's sleep failed to refresh him as it usually -did. - -Although the Squire's heaviest burden had been lifted off his mind -with the payment of his sister's money, he had by no means forgotten -the loss of his daughter's dowry. And now that his mind was easy on -one point, this lesser trouble began to assume a magnitude that it had -not possessed before. He could not get rid of the thought that there -was nothing but his own frail life between his daughter and all but -absolute penury. A few hundred pounds Jane would undoubtedly have, but -what would that be to a young lady brought up as she had been brought -up? "Not enough," as the Squire put it in his homely way, "to find her -in bread-and-cheese and cotton gowns." - -But what was to be done? Life assurance was out of the question. He -was too old and too infirm. There was nothing much to be got out of -the estate. It was true that he might thin the timber a little and -make a few hundreds that way; but the heir-at-law had too shrewd an -eye to his own ultimate interests to allow very much to be done in -that line. Besides which, the Squire himself could not for very shame -have impaired what was the chief beauty of the Pincote property--its -magnificent array of timber. - -There was, perhaps, a little cheese-paring to be done in the way of -cutting down domestic expenses. A couple of servants might be -dispensed with indoors. The under-gardener and the stable-boy might be -sent about their business. The gray mare and the brougham might be -disposed of. The wine merchant's bill might be lightened a little; and -fewer coals, perhaps, might be burnt in winter--and that was nearly -all. - -But even such reductions as these, trifling though they were, could -not be made secretly--could not be made, in fact, without becoming the -talk of the whole neighbourhood; and if there was one thing the Squire -detested more than another, it was having his private affairs -challenged and discussed by other people. And what, after all, would -the saving amount to? How many years of such petty economy would be -needed to scrape together even as much as one-fourth of the sum he had -lost by his mad speculations? It was all a muddle, as he said to -himself; and his brain seemed getting hopelessly muddled, too, with -asking the same questions over and over again, and still finding -himself as far from a satisfactory answer as ever. - -There was one thing that he could do, and one only, that had about it -any real basis of satisfaction. He could sell that piece of ground -which has already been spoken of as not forming part of the entailed -estate--the piece of ground on which his new mansion was to have been -built. Land, just now, was fetching good prices. Yes, he would -certainly sell Knockley Holt, and fund in Jenny's name whatever money -it might fetch--not that it would command a very high price, being a -poor piece of land, as everybody knew. Still it would be a nest egg, -though only a little one, for a rainy day. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -KNOCKLEY HOLT. - - -About this time Tom Bristow found himself very often at Pincote. The -Squire would have him there. It seemed as if he could not do without -Tom's society. Since the loss of his money he had been getting more -and more disinclined either for going out himself or having company at -home. Still he could not altogether do without somebody to talk to now -and then; and Tom being either a good listener or a lively talker, as -occasion might require, and having already rendered the Squire an -important service, it seemed somehow to fall into the natural order of -things that he should be invited three or four times a week to dine at -Pincote. Nor after Mrs. McDermott's arrival was he there less -frequently. Not that the Squire did not find his sister very lively -company. In fact, he often found her too lively. She had too much to -say: her tongue was never quiet. In season and out of season, she -overwhelmed her brother with an unending flow of small-talk and petty -gossip about things that had little or no interest for him; but about -which he was obliged to feign an interest, unless, as he himself -expressed it, "he wanted to know the length of his sister's tongue." - -But when Tom was there the case was different. He acted as a sort of -buffer between Mrs. McDermott and the Squire. By means of a few adroit -questions, and a clever assumption of ignorance with regard to -whatever topic Mrs. McDermott might be dilating on, he generally -succeeded in drawing the full torrent of her conversation on his own -devoted head, thereby affording the Squire a breathing space for which -he was truly grateful. Sometimes, but not very often, Tom let the -demon of mischief get the mastery of him. On such occasions he would -lead Mrs. McDermott on by one artful question after another till she -began to contradict herself and eat her own words, and ended by -floundering helplessly in a sort of mental quagmire, and so -relapsing into sulky silence, with a dim sense upon her that she had -somehow been coaxed into making an exhibition of herself by that -demure-looking young scamp of a Bristow, who seemed hand and glove -with both her brother and her niece after a fashion that she neither -liked nor understood. - -Yet was the love of hearing herself talk so ingrained in Mrs. -McDermott's nature, that by the time of Tom's next visit to Pincote -she was ready to fall into the same trap again, had he been inclined -to lead her on. - -"Who is that young Bristow that you and Jane make such a pet of?" she -asked her brother one day. "I don't seem to recollect any family of -that name hereabouts." - -"Pet, indeed! Nobody makes a pet of him, as you call it," growled the -Squire. "He's the son of the doctor who attended poor Charlotte in her -last illness. He's a sharp young fellow who has got his head screwed -on the right way, and he's been useful to me in one or two business -matters, and may be so again; so there's no harm in asking him to -dinner now and then." - -"Now and then with you seems to mean three or four times a week," -sneered Mrs. McDermott. - -"And what if it does?" retorted the Squire. "As long as I can call the -house my own, I'll ask anybody I like to dinner, and as often as I -like." - -"Only if I were you, I wouldn't forget that I'd a daughter who was -just at a marriageable age." - -"Nor a sister who wouldn't object to a husband number two," chuckled -the Squire. - -"Why not set your cap at young Bristow, eh, Fanny? You might do worse. -He's young and not bad looking, and if he has no money of his own, -he's just the right sort to look well after yours." - -Mrs. McDermott fanned herself indignantly. "You never were very -refined, Titus," she said; "but you certainly get coarser every time I -see you." - -Mr. Culpepper only chuckled to himself, and poked the fire vigorously. - -"I'll have that young Bristow out of this house before I'm three weeks -older!" vowed the 'widow to herself. "The way he and Jane carry on -together is simply disgusting, and yet that poor weak brother of mine -can't see it." - -From that day forth she took to watching Tom and Jane more -particularly than she had done before. Not satisfied with watching -them herself, she induced her maid Emma to act as a spy on their -actions. With her assistance, Mrs. McDermott was not long in gathering -sufficient evidence to warrant her, as she thought, in seeking a -private interview with her brother on the subject. "And high time -too," she said grimly to herself. "That minx of a Jane is carrying on -a fine game under the rose. The arrant little flirt! And as for that -young Bristow--of course it's Jane's money that he's after. Titus must -be as blind as a bat, or he would have seen it all long ago. I've no -patience with him--none!" - -Having worked herself up to the requisite pitch, downstairs she -bounced and burst into the Squire's private room--commonly called his -study. She burst into the room, but halted suddenly the moment she had -crossed the threshold. The Squire was there, but not alone. Tom -Bristow was with him. The two were in deep consultation--so much she -could see at a glance--bending towards each other over the little -table, and speaking, as it seemed to her, almost in a whisper. The -Squire turned with a gesture of impatience at the opening of the door. -"Oh, is that you, Fanny?" he said. "I'll see you presently; I'm busy -with Mr. Bristow, just now." - -She went out without a word, but her face flushed deeply, and an evil -look came into her eyes. "That's the way you treat your only sister, -Mr. Titus Culpepper, is it?" she muttered under her breath. "Not a -penny of my money shall ever come to you or yours." - -Tom had walked over to Pincote that morning to see the Squire -respecting the building going on at Prior's Croft. When their -conference had come to an end, said the Squire to Tom: "You know that -scrubby bit of ground of mine--Knockley Holt?" - -Tom started. "Yes, I know it very well," he said. "It is rather -singular that you should be the first to speak about it; because it -was partly about that very piece of ground that I am here this morning -to see you." - -"Ay--ay--how's that?" said the Squire, suddenly brightening up from -the apathy that had begun to creep over him so often of late. - -"Why, it doesn't seem to be of much use to you, and I thought that -perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me have a lease of it." - -The Squire laughed heartily: a thing he had not done for several -weeks. "And I had just made up my mind to sell it, and was going to -ask your advice about it!" - -Tom's face flushed suddenly. "And do you really think of selling -Knockley Holt?" he asked, with his keen bright eyes bent on the -Squire's face more keenly than usual. - -"Of course I think of selling it, or I shouldn't have said what I have -said. As things have gone with me, the money would be more useful to -me than the land is ever likely to be. It won't fetch much I know, but -then I didn't give much for it, and whoever may get it won't have much -of a bargain." - -"Perhaps you wouldn't object to have me for a purchaser?" - -"You! You buy Knockley Holt? Why, man alive, you must know that I -should want money down, and---- But I needn't say more about it." - -"If you choose to sell Knockley Holt to me, I will give you twelve -hundred pounds for it, cash down." - -The Squire was getting into the way of not being astonished at -anything that Tom might say, but he did look across at him for a -moment or two in blank amazement. - -"Well, you are a queer fish, and no mistake!" were his first words. -"And pray, my young shaver, how come you to be possessed of twelve -hundred pounds?" - -"Oh, I'm worth a little more than twelve hundred pounds," said Tom, -with a smile. "Why, only the other week I cleared a thousand by one -little stroke in cotton." - -"Well done, young one," said the Squire, heartily. "You are not such a -fool as you look. And now take an old man's advice. Don't speculate -any more. Fortune has given you one little slice of her cake. Don't -tempt her again. Be content with what you've got, and speculate no -more." - -"At any rate, I won't forget your advice, sir," said Tom. "I wonder," -he added to himself, "what he would think and say if he knew that it -was by speculation, pure and simple, that I earn my bread and cheese." - -"And so you would really like to buy Knockley Holt, eh?" - -"I should indeed, if you are determined to sell it." - -"Oh, I shall sell it, sure enough. But may I ask what you intend to do -with it when you have got it?" - -"Ah, sir, that is just one of those questions which you must not ask -me," said Tom, laughingly. "If I buy it, it will be entirely on -speculation. It may turn out a dismal failure: it may prove to be a -big success." - -"Well, well, that will be your look out," said the Squire, -good-naturedly. "But, Bristow, it's not worth twelve hundred pounds, -nor anything like that sum." - -"I think it is, sir--at least to me, and I am quite prepared to pay -that amount for it." - -"I only gave nine fifty for it; and I thought that if I could get a -clear thousand I should have every reason to be perfectly satisfied." - -"I have made you an offer, sir. It is for you to say whether you are -willing to accept it." - -"Seeing that you offer me two hundred pounds more than I ever hoped to -get, I'm not such an ass as to say, No. Only I think you are robbing -yourself. I do indeed, Bristow; and that's what I don't like to see." - -"I think, sir, that I'm pretty well able to look after my own -interests," said Tom, with a meaning smile. "Am I to consider that -Knockley Holt is to become my property?" - -"Of course you are, boy--of course you are. But I must say that you -are a little bit of a simpleton to give me twelve hundred when you -might have it for a thousand." - -"An offer's an offer, and I'll abide by mine." - -"Then there's nothing more to be said: I'll see my lawyer about the -deeds to-morrow." - -Tom shook hands with the Squire and went in search of Jane. - -"Perhaps I may come in now," said Mrs. McDermott five minutes later, -as she opened the door of her brother's room. - -"Of course you may," said the Squire. "Young Bristow and I were -talking over some business affairs before, that would have had no -interest for you, and that you know nothing about." - -"It's about young Bristow, as you call him, that I have come to see -you this morning." - -"Oh, indeed," said the Squire drily. Then he took off his spectacles, -and rubbed them with his pocket handkerchief, and began to whistle a -tune under his breath. - -Mrs. McDermott glared fiercely at him, and her voice took an added -tone of asperity when she spoke again. "I suppose you are aware that -your protégé is making violent love to your daughter, or else that -your daughter is making violent love to him: I hardly know which it -is!" - -"What!" thundered the Squire, as he started to his feet. "What is that -you say, Fanny McDermott?" - -"Simply this: that there is a lot of lovemaking going on between Jane -and Mr. Bristow. If it is done with your sanction, I have not another -word to say. But if you tell me that you know nothing about it, I can -only say that you must have been as blind as a bat and as stupid as an -owl." - -"Thank you, Fanny--thank you," said the Squire sadly, as he sat down -in his chair again. "I dare say I have been both blind and stupid; and -if what you tell me is true, I must have been." - -"Miss Jane couldn't long deceive me," said the widow spitefully. - -"Miss Jane is too good a girl to deceive anybody." - -"Oh, in love matters we women hold that everything is fair. Deceit -then becomes deceit no longer. We call it by a prettier name." - -Her brother was not heeding her: he was lost in his own thoughts. - -"The young vagabond!" he said at last. "So that's the way he's been -hoodwinking me, is it? But I'll teach him: I'll have him know that I'm -not to be made a fool of in that way. Make love to my daughter, -indeed! I'll have him here to-morrow morning, and tell him a bit of my -mind that will astonish him considerably." - -"Why wait till to-morrow? Why not send for him now?" - -"Because he left here a quarter of an hour ago. - -"Oh, you would not have far to send for him." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Simply that he and Jane are in the shrubbery together at the present -moment." - -The Squire stared at her helplessly for a moment or two. "How do you -know that?" he said at last, speaking very quietly. - -"Because my maid, who was returning from an errand, saw them walking -there, arm in arm." She paused, as if expecting her brother to say -something, but he did not speak. "I have not had my eyes shut, I -assure you," she went on. "But in these matters women are always more -quick-sighted than men. From the very first hour of my seeing them -together I had my suspicions. All their walking and talking together -couldn't be for nothing. All their hand-shakings and sly glances into -each other's eyes couldn't be without a meaning." - -The Squire got up from his chair and rang the bell. A servant came in. -"Ascertain whether Mr. Bristow is anywhere about the house or grounds; -and, if he is, tell him that I should like to see him before he goes." - -Mrs. McDermott rose in some alarm. It was no part of her policy to be -seen there by Tom. "I am glad you have sent for him," she said. "I -hope matters have not gone too far to be stopped without difficulty." - -He looked up in a little surprise. "There will be no difficulty. Why -should there be?" he said. - -"No, of course not. As you say, why should there be? But I must now -bid you good-morning for the present. There will be hardly any need, I -think, for you to mention my name in the affair." - -"There will be no need to mention anybody's name. Good-morning." - -Mrs. McDermott went out and shut the door gently behind her. "Breaking -fast, poor man," she said to herself. "He's not long for this world, -I'm afraid. Well, I've the consolation of knowing that I've always -done a sister's duty by him. I wonder what he'll die worth. Thousands, -no doubt; and all to go to that proud minx of a Jane. We are not -allowed to hate one another, or else I'm afraid I should hate that -girl." - -She shook her fist at an imaginary Jane, went straight upstairs, and -gave her maid a good blowing-up. - -Some three weeks had now come and gone since Tom, breaking for once -through the restraint which had hitherto kept him back, did and said -something which made Jane very happy. What he did was to draw her face -down to his and kiss it: what he said was simply, "Good-night, my -darling." Nothing more, but quite enough to be understood by her to -whom the words were spoken. But since that evening not one syllable -more of love had been breathed by Tom. For anything that had since -passed between them Jane might have imagined that she had merely -dreamt the words--that the speaking of them was nothing more than a -fancy of her own lovesick brain. - -Under similar circumstances many young ladies would have considered -themselves aggrieved, and would not have been deemed unreasonable in -so thinking, But Jane had no intention whatever of adopting an -injured tone even in her own inmost thoughts. She had never been in -the habit of looking upon herself in the light of a victim, and she -had no intention of beginning to do so now. Surprised--slightly -surprised--she might be, but that was all. In Tom's manner towards -her, in the way he looked at her, in the very tone of his voice, there -was that indescribable something which gave her the sweet assurance -that she was still loved as much as ever. Such being the case, she was -well satisfied to wait. She felt that her lover's silence had a -meaning, that he was not dumb without a reason. When the proper time -should come he would speak, and to some purpose. Till then Eros should -keep a finger on his lips, and speak only the language of the eyes. - -"So this is the way you treat me, is it, young man?" said the Squire, -sternly, as Tom re-entered the room. - -"I beg your pardon, sir," said Tom, looking at him in sheer amazement. - -"Oh, don't pretend that you don't know what I mean." - -"It may seem stupid on my part, but I must really plead ignorance." - -"You worm yourself into my confidence till you get the run of the -house, and can come and go as you like, and you finish up by making -love to my daughter!" - -"It is no crime to love Miss Culpepper, I hope, sir. There are few -people, I imagine, who could know her without loving her." - -"That's all very well, but you don't get over me in that way, young -sir. What right have you to make love to my daughter? That's what I -want to know." - -"I may love Miss Culpepper, but I have never told her so." - -"Do you mean to say that you have never asked her to marry you?" - -"Never, sir; on that point I give you my word of honour." - -"A good thing for you that you haven't. The sooner you get that love -tomfoolery out of your head the better." - -"I promise you one thing, sir," said Tom; "if I ever do marry Miss -Culpepper, it shall be with your full consent and good wishes." - -The Squire could not help chuckling. "In that case, my boy, you will -never have her--not if you live to be as old as Methuselah." - -"Time will prove, sir." - -"And look ye here. There must be no more walks in the shrubbery, no -more gallivanting together among the woods. Do you understand?" - -"Perfectly, sir. Your words could not be plainer." - -"I mean them to be plain. There seems to be no harm done so far, but -it's time this nonsense was put a stop to. Miss Culpepper must marry -in a very different sphere from yours." - -"Pardon the remark, sir, but you were quite willing to take Mr. Edward -Cope as your son-in-law. Now, I consider myself quite as good a man as -Mr. Cope--quite as eligible a suitor for your daughter's hand." - -"Then I don't. Besides, young Cope would never have had the chance of -getting her if he hadn't been the son of my oldest friend; the son of -the man to whose bravery I owe my life itself. Master Edward owes it -to his father and not to himself that I ever sanctioned his engagement -to Miss Culpepper." - -"I am indebted for this good turn to Mrs. McDermott," said Tom to -himself, as he walked homeward through the park. "It will only have -the effect of bringing matters to a climax a little earlier than I -intended, but it will not alter my plans in the least." - -"Fanny has been exaggerating as usual," was the Squire's comment. -"There was something in it, no doubt, and it's just as well to have -crushed it in the bud; but I think it's hardly worth while to say -anything to Jenny about it." - -A week later, the Squire happened to be riding on his white pony along -the high road that fringed one side of Knockley Holt, when, to his -intense astonishment, he heard the regular monotonous puffing and saw -the smoke of a steam engine that was apparently hard at work behind a -clump of larches in the distance. Riding up to the spot, he found some -score or so of men all busily engaged. They were excavating a hole in -the hill-side, filling-in stout timber supports as they got deeper -down; the engine on the top being employed to hoist up the earth in -big bucketfuls as fast as it was dug out. - -"What's all this about?" inquired the Squire of one of the men; "and -who's gaffer here?" - -"Mr. Bristow, he be the gaffer, sur, and this hole be dug by his -orders." - -"Oh, ho! that's it, is it? And how deep are you going to dig the hole, -and what do you expect to find when you get to the bottom?" - -"I don't rightly know, sur, but I should think we be digging for -water." - -"A likely tale that! What the dickens should anybody want water for -when we haven't had a dry day for seven weeks?" - -"Our foreman did say, sur, as how Mr. Bristow was going to have a hole -dug clean through, so as to make a short cut like to the other side of -the world. Anyhow, it be mortal dry work." - -The Squire gave a grunt of dissatisfaction, and rode off. "What queer -crotchet has that young jackanapes got into his head now?" he muttered -to himself. "It's just possible, though, that there may be a method in -his madness." - - - - -CHAPTER V. -AT THE THREE CROWNS HOTEL. - - -"Hi! Jean, whose is this luggage?" cried Pierre Janvard one morning to -his head waiter. He pointed at the same time to a large portmanteau -which lay among a pile of other luggage in the hall of the Three -Crowns Hotel, Bath. - -With that restless curiosity which was such a marked trait in his -character, Janvard had a habit of peering about among the luggage of -his guests, and even of prying stealthily about their bedrooms when he -knew that their occupants were out of the way, and he himself safe -from detection. It was not that he hoped to benefit himself in any -way, or even to pick up any information that would be of value to him, -by such a mode of proceeding; but it had been a habit with him from -boyhood to do this kind of thing, and it was a habit that he could by -no means overcome. - -Passing through the hall this morning, his eye had been attracted by a -pile of luggage belonging to several fresh arrivals, and he at once -began to peer among the labels. The second label that took his eye was -inscribed, "Richard Dering, Esq., Passenger to Bath." Janvard stood -aghast as he read the name. A crowd of direful memories rushed to his -mind. For a moment or two he could not speak. Then he called Jean as -above. - -"That portmanteau," answered Jean, "belongs to a gentleman who came in -by the last train. He and another gentleman came together. They wanted -a private sitting-room, and I put them into number twenty-nine." - -"Has the other gentleman any luggage?" - -"Yes, this large black bag belongs to him." Janvard stooped and read: -"Tom Bristow, Esq., Passenger to Bath." "Quite strange to me, that -name," he muttered to himself. At this moment the boots came, and -shouldering the luggage, hurried with it upstairs. - -"They have ordered dinner, I suppose?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Did you hear them say how long they were likely to stay here?" - -"No, sir." - -"Wait on them yourself at dinner. Bear in mind all that they talk -about, and report it to me afterwards." - -"Yes, sir." - -Pierre Janvard retired to his sanctum considerably disturbed in mind. -Was the fresh arrival any relation or connection of the dead Lionel -Dering, or was it merely one of those coincidences of name common -enough in everyday life? These were the two questions that he put to -himself again and again. - -One thing was quite evident to him. Himself unseen, he must contrive -to see this unknown Richard Dering. If there were a possibility of the -slightest shadow of danger springing either from this or from any -other quarter, it behoved him to be on his guard. He would see these -people, after which, if requisite, he would at once write to Mr. -Kester St. George for instructions. - -He had just brought his cogitations to an end, and had opened his -banker's passbook, the contemplation of which was a never-failing -source of joy to him, when a tap came to the door, and next moment in -walked Mr. Richard Dering and Mr. Tom Bristow. - -It was on the face of this Richard Dering that Pierre Janvard's eyes -rested first. In one brief glance he took in every detail of his -appearance. Then his eyes fell. His sallow face grew sallower still. -His thin lips quivered for a moment, and then his hands began to -tremble slightly, so that in a little while he was obliged to take -them off the table and bury them in his pockets. - -He saw at once that this Mr. Dering must be a near relative of that -other Mr. Dering whose face he remembered so well--whose face it was -impossible that he should ever forget. They were alike, and yet -strangely unlike: the same in many points, and yet in others most -different. But the moment this dark-looking stranger opened his lips, -it seemed indeed as if Lionel Dering had come back from the grave. A -covert glance at Mr. Bristow assured Janvard that in him he beheld a -man whose face he had no recollection of having ever seen before. - -"Your name is Janvard, I believe?" said Mr. Dering, with a slight bow. - -"Pierre Janvard at your service," answered the Frenchman, -deferentially. - -"You were formerly, I believe, in the service of Mr. Kester St. -George?" - -"I had that honour." - -"My name is Dering--Richard Dering. It is probable that you never -heard of me before, seeing that I have only lately returned from -India. I am cousin to Mr. Kester St. George." - -The Frenchman bowed. "I have no recollection of having heard -monsieur's name mentioned by my late employer." - -"I suppose not. But my brother's name--Lionel Dering--must be well -known to you." - -Janvard could not repress a slight start So that was the relationship, -was it? - -"Ah, yes," he said. "I have seen Mr. Lionel Dering many times, and -done several little services for him at one time or another." - -"You were one of the chief witnesses on the trial, if I recollect -rightly?" - -Janvard coughed, to gain a moment's time. The conversation was taking -a turn that he did not approve of. "I certainly was one of the -witnesses on the trial," he said, with an air of deprecation. "But -monsieur will understand that it was a misfortune which I had no means -of avoiding. I could not help seeing what I did see, and they made me -tell all about it." - -"Oh, we quite understand that," said Mr. Dering. "You were not to -blame in any way. You could not do otherwise than as you did." - -Janvard smiled faintly, and bowed his gratification. - -"My friend here, Mr. Bristow, and myself, have come down to stay a -week or two in your charming city. The doctors tell me there is -something the matter with my spleen, and have recommended me to drink -the Bath waters. Hearing casually that you were the proprietor of one -of the most comfortable hotels in the place, and looking upon you -somewhat in the light of a connection of the family, we thought that -we could not do better than take up our quarters with you." - -Again Janvard smiled and bowed his gratification. "Monsieur may depend -upon my using my utmost endeavours to make himself and his friend as -comfortable as possible. Pardon my presumption, but may I venture to -ask whether Mr. St. George was quite well when monsieur saw or heard -from him last?" - -"My cousin was a little queer a short time ago, but I believe him to -be well again by this time." Mr. Dering turned to go. "We have given -your waiter instructions as to dinner," he said. - -"I hope my chef will succeed in pleasing you," said Janvard., with a -smile. "He has the reputation of being second to none in the city." -With the same smile on his face he followed them to the door and bowed -them out, and, still smiling, watched them till they turned the corner -of the street. "No danger there, I think," he said to himself. "None -whatever. Still I must keep on the watch--always on the watch. I must -look to their dinners myself, and leave them nothing to complain of. -But I shall be very much pleased indeed when they call for their bill: -very much pleased to see the last of them." - -Said Tom to Lionel, as they were walking arm-in-arm towards the -pump-room: "Did you notice that magnificent ring which Janvard wore on -the third finger of his left hand?" - -"I could not fail to notice it. I was thinking about it at the very -moment you spoke." - -"I have not seen so splendid a ruby for a long time. The setting, too, -is rather unique." - -"Yes, it was the peculiar setting that caused me to recognize it -again." - -"That caused you to recognize it! You don't mean to say that you have -ever seen the ring before?" - -"I certainly have seen it before." - -"Where?" - -"On the finger of Percy Osmond." - -Tom halted suddenly and stared at Lionel as if he could hardly believe -the evidence of his ears. - -"I am stating nothing but the simple truth," continued Lionel. "The -moment I saw the ring on Janvard's finger the thought flashed through -me that I had certainly seen it somewhere before. All the time I was -talking to Janvard I was trying to call that somewhere to mind, but it -did not come to me till after we had left the hotel--not, in fact, -till a minute before you spoke about it." - -"Are you sure you are not mistaken? There are many ruby rings in the -world." - -"I don't for one moment think that I am mistaken," answered Lionel -deliberately. "If the ring worn by Janvard be the one I mean, it has -three initial letters engraved inside the hoop. What particular -letters they are I cannot now recollect. I chanced to express my -admiration of the ring one night in the billiard-room, and Osmond took -it off his finger in order that I might examine it. It was then I saw -the letters, but without noticing them with sufficient particularity -to remember them again." - -"I always had an idea," said Tom, "that Janvard was in some way mixed -up with the murder, and this would seem to prove it. He must have -stolen the ring from Osmond's room either immediately before or -immediately after the murder." - -"I must see that ring," said Lionel decisively. "It must come into my -possession, if only for a minute or two, if only while I ascertain -whether the initials are really there." - -"I don't think that there will be much difficulty about that," said -Tom. "The fellow has no suspicion as to whom you really are, or as to -the object of our visit to Bath. To admire the ring is the first step: -to ask to look at it the second." - -A quarter of an hour later Lionel gripped Tom suddenly by the arm. -"Bristow," he whispered, "I have just remembered something. Osmond had -that ruby ring on his finger the night before he was murdered! I have -a distinct recollection of seeing it on his hand when we were playing -that last game of billiards together." - -"If this ring," said Tom, "prove to be the one you believe it to be, -the finding of it will be another and a most important link in the -chain of evidence." - -"Yes--almost, if not quite, the last one that we shall need," said -Lionel. - -At dinner that evening Janvard in person took in the wine. The eyes of -both Lionel and Tom fixed themselves instinctively on his left hand. -The ring was no longer there. - -"Can he suspect anything?" asked Lionel of Tom, as soon as they were -alone. - -"I think not," answered Tom. "The fellow is evidently uneasy, and will -continue to be so as long as you stay under his roof But the very -openness of our proceedings, and the frank way in which we have told -him who we are, will go far to disarm any suspicions which he might -otherwise have entertained." - -Two or three days passed quietly over. Lionel drank the waters with -regularity, and he and Tom drove out frequently in the neighbourhood -of King Bladud's beautiful city. Janvard always gave them a look in in -the course of dinner to see that everything was to their satisfaction; -but he still carefully abstained from wearing the ring. - -By-and-by there came a certain evening when Janvard failed to put in -his usual appearance at the dinner table. Said Tom to the man who -waited upon them: "Where is your master this evening? Not ill, I -hope?" - -"Gone to a masonic banquet, sir," answered the man. - -"Then he won't be home till late, I'll wager." - -"Not till eleven or twelve, I dare say, sir. - -"Gone in full fig, of course?" said Tom, laughingly. - -"Yes, sir," answered the man with a grin. - -"Diamond studs and ruby ring, and everything complete, eh?" went on -Tom. - -"I don't know about diamond studs, sir," said the man, "but he -certainly had his ring on, for I saw it on his finger myself." - -"Now is our time," said Tom to Lionel, as soon as the man had left the -room. "We may not have such an opportunity again." - -It was close upon midnight when Pierre Janvard, alighting from a fly -at the door of his hotel, found his two lodgers standing on the steps -smoking a last cigar before turning in for the night. In this there -was nothing unusual--nothing to excite suspicion. - -"Hallo! Janvard, is that you?" cried Tom, assuming the tone and manner -of a man who has taken a little too much wine. "I was just wondering -what had become of you. This is my birthday: so you must come upstairs -with us, and drink my health in some of your own wine." - -"Another time, sir, I shall be most happy; but to-night----" - -"But me no buts," cried Tom. "I'll have no excuses--none. Come along, -Dering, and we'll crack another bottle of Janvard's Madeira. We'll -poison mine host with his own tipple." - -He seized Janvard by the arm, and dragged him upstairs, trolling out -the last popular air as he did so. Lionel followed leisurely. - -"You're a good sort, Janvard--a deuced good sort!" said Tom. - -"Monsieur is very kind," said Janvard, with a smile and a shrug; and -then in obedience to a wave from Tom's hand, he sat down at table. Tom -now began to fumble with a bottle and a corkscrew. - -"Allow me, monsieur," said Janvard, politely, as he relieved Tom of -the articles in question, and proceeded to open the bottle with the -ease of long practice. - -"That's a sweet thing in rings you've got on your finger," said Tom, -admiringly. - -"Yes, it is rather a fine stone," said Janvard, dryly. - -"May I be allowed to examine it?" asked Tom, as he poured out the wine -with a hand that was slightly unsteady. - -"I should be most happy to oblige monsieur," said Janvard, hastily, -"but the ring fits me so tightly that I am afraid I should have some -difficulty in getting it off my finger." - -"Hang it all, man, the least you can do is to try," cried Tom. - -The Frenchman flushed slightly, drew off the ring with some little -difficulty, and passed it across the table to Tom. Tom's fingers -clutched it like a vice. Janvard saw the movement and half rose, as if -to reclaim the ring; but it was too late, and he sat down without -speaking. - -Tom pushed the ring carelessly over one of his fingers, and turned it -towards the light. "A very pretty gem, indeed!" he said. "And worth -something considerable in sovereigns, I should say." - -"Will you allow me to examine it for a moment?" asked Lionel gravely, -as he held out his hand. For the second time Janvard half rose from -his seat, and for the second time he sat down without a word. Tom -handed the ring across to Lionel. - -"A magnificent stone, indeed," said the latter, "but somewhat -old-fashioned in the setting. But that only makes it the more valuable -in my eyes. A family heirloom, without doubt. And see! inside the hoop -are three initials. They are somewhat difficult to decipher, but if I -read them aright they are M. K. L." - -"Yes, yes, monsieur," said Janvard, uneasily. "As you say, M. K. L. -The initials of the friend who gave me the ring." He held out his -hand, as if expecting that the ring should at once be given back to -him, but Lionel took no notice of the action. - -"Three very curious initials, indeed," said Lionel, musingly. "One -could not readily fit them to many names. M. K. L. They put me in mind -of a curious coincidence--of a very remarkable coincidence indeed. I -once had a friend who had a ruby ring very similar to this one, and -inside the hoop of my friend's ring were three initials. The initials -in question were M. K. L. Precisely the same as the letters engraved -on your ring, Monsieur Janvard. Curious, is it not?" - -"Mille diables! I am betrayed!" cried Janvard, as he started from his -seat, and made a snatch at the ring. But Lionel was too quick for him. -The ring had disappeared, but Janvard had it not. - -He turned with a snarl like that of a wild animal brought to bay, and -looked towards the door. But between him and the door now stood Tom -Bristow, no longer with any signs of inebriety about him, but as cold, -quiet, and collected as ever he had looked in his life. Tom's right -hand was hidden in the bosom of his vest, and Janvard's ears were -smitten by the ominous click of a revolver. His eyes wandered back to -the stern dark face of Lionel. There was no hope for him there. The -pallor of his face deepened. His wonderful nerve for once was -beginning to desert him. He was trembling visibly. - -"Sit down, sir," said Lionel, sternly, "and refresh yourself with -another glass of wine. I have something of much importance to say to -you." - -The Frenchman hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders -and sat down. His sang-froid was coming back to him. He drank two -glasses of wine rapidly one after another. - -"I am ready, monsieur," he said, quietly, as he wiped his thin lips, -and made a ghastly effort to smile. "At your service." - -"What I want from you, and what you must give me," said Lionel, "is a -full and particular account of how this ring came into your -possession. It belonged to Percy Osmond, and it was on his finger the -night he was murdered." - -"Ah ciel! how do you know that?" - -"It is enough that what I say is true, and that you cannot gainsay it. -But this ring was not on the finger of the murdered man when he was -found next morning. Tell me how it came into your possession." - -For a moment or two Janvard did not speak. Then he said, sulkily: "Who -are you that come here under false pretences, and question me and -threaten me in this way?" - -"I am not here to answer your questions. You are here to answer mine." - -"What if I refuse to answer them?" - -"In that case the four walls of a prison will hold you in less than -half an hour. In your possession I find a ring which was on the finger -of Mr. Osmond the night he was murdered. Less than that has brought -many a better man than you to the gallows: be careful that it does not -land you there?" - -"If you know anything of the affair at all, you must know that the -murderer of Mr. Osmond was tried and found guilty long ago." - -"What proof have you--what proof was there adduced at the trial, that -Lionel Dering was the murderer of Percy Osmond? Did your eyes, or -those of any one else, see him do the bloody deed? Wretch! You knew -from the first that he was innocent! If you yourself are not the -murderer, you know the man who is." - -Again Janvard was silent for a little while. His eyes were bent on the -floor. He was considering deeply within himself. At length he spoke, -but it was in the same sullen tone that he had used before. - -"What guarantee have I that when I have told you anything that I may -know, the information will not be used against me to my own harm?" - -"You have no guarantee whatever. I could not give you any such -promise. For aught I know to the contrary, you, and you alone, may be -the murderer of Percy Osmond." - -Janvard shuddered slightly. "I am not the murderer of Percy Osmond," -he said quietly. - -"Who, then, was the murderer?" - -"My late master--Mr. Kester St. George." - -There was a pause which no one seemed inclined to break. Although -Janvard's words were but a confirmation of the suspicions which Lionel -and Tom had all along entertained, they seemed to fall on their ears -with all the force of a startling revelation. Of the three men there, -Janvard was the one who seemed least concerned. - -Lionel was the first to speak. "This is a serious charge to make -against a gentleman like Mr. St. George," he said. - -"I have made no charge against Mr. St. George," said Janvard. "It is -you who have forced the confession from me." - -"You are doubtless prepared to substantiate your statement--to prove -your words?" - -"I do not want to prove anything. I want to hold my tongue, but you -will not let me." - -"All I want from you is the simple truth, and that you must tell me." - -"But, monsieur----" began Janvard, appealingly, and then he stopped. - -"You are afraid, and justly so. You are in my power, and I can use -that power in any way that I may deem best. At the same time, -understand me. I am no constable--no officer of the law--I am simply -the brother of Lionel Dering, and knowing, as I do, that he was -accused and found guilty of a crime of which he was as innocent as I -am, I have vowed that I will not rest night or day till I have -discovered the murderer and brought him to justice. Such being the -case, I tell you plainly that the best thing you can do is to make a -full and frank confession of all that you know respecting this -terrible business, leaving it for me afterwards to decide as to the -use which I may find it requisite to make of your confession. Are you -prepared to do what I ask of you?" - -Janvard's shoulders rose and fell again. "I cannot help myself," he -said. "I have no choice but to comply with the wishes of monsieur." - -"Sensibly spoken. Try another glass of wine. It may help to refresh -your memory." - -"Alas! monsieur, my memory needs no refreshing. The incidents of that -night are far too terrible to be forgotten." With a hand that still -shook slightly he poured himself out another glass of wine and drank -it off at a draught. Then he continued: "On the night of the quarrel -in the billiard-room at Park Newton I was sitting up for my master, -Mr. St. George. About midnight the bell rang for me, and on answering -it, my master put Mr. Osmond into my hands, he being somewhat the -worse for wine, with instructions to see him safely to bed. This I -did, and then left him. As it happened, I had taken a violent fancy to -Mr. Osmond's splendid ruby ring--the very ring monsieur has now in his -possession--and that night I determined to make it my own. There were -several new servants in the house, and nobody would suspect me of -having taken it. Mr. Osmond had drawn it off his finger, and thrown it -carelessly into his dressing-bag which he locked before getting into -bed, afterwards putting his keys under his pillow. - -"When the house was quiet, I put on a pair of list slippers and made -my way to Mr. Osmond's bedroom. The door was unlocked and I went in. A -night-lamp was burning on the dressing-table. The full moon shone in -through the uncurtained window, and its rays slanted right across the -sleeper's face. He lay there, sleeping the sleep of the drunken, with -one hand clenched, and a frown on his face as if he were still -threatening Mr. Dering. It was hardly the work of a minute to possess -myself of the keys. In another minute the dressing-case was opened and -the ring my own. Mr. Osmond's portmanteau stood invitingly open: what -more natural than that I should desire to turn over its contents -lightly and delicately? In such cases I am possessed by the simple -curiosity of a child. I was down on my knees before the portmanteau, -admiring this, that, and the other, when, to my horror, I heard the -noise of coming footsteps. No concealment was possible, save that -afforded by the long curtains which shaded one of the windows. Next -moment I was safely hidden behind them. - -"The footsteps came nearer and nearer, and then some one entered the -room. The sleeping man still breathed heavily. Now and then he moaned -in his sleep. All my fear of being found out could not keep me from -peeping out of my hiding-place. What I saw was my master, Mr. Kester -St. George, standing over the sleeping man, with a look on his face -that I had never seen there before. He stood thus for a full minute, -and then he came round to the near side of the bed, and seemed to be -looking for Mr. Osmond's keys. In a little while he saw them in the -dressing-bag where I had left them. Then he crossed to the other side -of the room and proceeded to try them one by one, till he had found -the right one, in the lock of Mr. Osmond's writing-case. He opened the -case, took out of it Mr. Osmond's cheque book, and from that he tore -either one or two blank cheques. He had just relocked the writing-case -when Mr. Osmond suddenly awoke and started up in bed. 'Villain! what -are you doing there?' he cried, as he flung back the bedclothes. But -before he could set foot to the floor, Mr. St. George sprang at his -throat, and pinned him down almost as easily as if he had been a boy. -What happened during the next minute I hardly know how to describe. It -would seem that Mr. Osmond was in the habit of sleeping with a dagger -under his pillow. At all events, there was one there on this -particular night. As soon as he found himself pinned down in bed, his -hand sought for and found this dagger, and next moment he made a -sudden stab with it at the breast of Mr. St. George. But my master -was too quick for him. There was an instant's struggle--a flash--a -cry--and--you may guess the rest. - -"A murmur of horror escaped my lips. In another instant my master had -sprung across the room and had torn away the curtains from before me. -'You here!' he said. And for a few seconds I thought my fate would be -the same as that of Mr. Osmond. But at last his hand dropped. -'Janvard, you and I must be friends,' he said. 'From this night your -interests are mine, and my interests are yours.' Then we left the room -together. A terrible night, monsieur, as you may well believe." - -"You have accounted clearly enough for the murder, but you have not -yet told us how it happened that Lionel Dering came to be accused of -the crime." - -"That is the worst part of the story, sir. Whose thought it was first, -whether Mr. St. George's or mine, to lay the murder at the door of Mr. -Dering, I could not now tell you. It was a thought that seemed to come -into the heads of both of us at the same moment. As monsieur knows, my -master had no cause to love his cousin. He had every reason to hate -him. Mr. Dering had got all the estates and property that ought to -have been Mr. St. George's. But if Mr. Dering were to die without -children, the estate would all come back to his cousin. Reason enough -for wishing Mr. Dering dead. - -"We did not talk much about it, my master and I. We understood one -another without many words. There were certain things to be done which -Mr. St. George had not the nerve to do. I had the nerve to do them, -and I did them. It was I who put Mr. Dering's stud under the bed. It -was I who took his handkerchief, and----" - -"Enough!" said Lionel, with a shudder. "Surely no more devilish plot -was ever hatched by Satan himself! You--you who sit so calmly there, -had but to hold up your finger to save an innocent man from disgrace -and death!" - -"What would monsieur have?" said Janvard, with another of his -indescribable shrugs. "Mr. St. George was my master. I liked him, and -I was, besides, to have a large sum of money given me to keep silence. -Mr. Dering was a stranger to me. Voilà tout." - -"Janvard, you are one of the vilest wretches that ever disgraced the -name of man!" - -"Monsieur s'amuse." - -"I shall at once proceed to put down in writing the heads of the -confession which you have just made. You will sign the writing in -question in the presence of Mr. Bristow as witness. You need be under -no apprehension that any immediate harm will happen to you. As for Mr. -St. George, I shall deal with him in my own time, and in my own way. -There are, however, two points that I wish you to bear particularly in -mind. Firstly, if, even by the vaguest hint, you dare to let Mr. St. -George know that you have told me what you have told me to-night, it -will be at your own proper peril, and you must be prepared to take the -consequences that will immediately ensue. Secondly, you must hold -yourself entirely at my service, and must come to me without delay -whenever I may send for you, and wherever I may be. Do you clearly -understand?" - -"Yes, sir. I understand." - -"For the present, then, I have done with you. Two hours later I will -send for you again, in order that you may sign a certain paper which -will be ready by that time. You may go." - -"But, monsieur----" - -"Not a word. Go." - -Tom held open the door for him, and Janvard passed out without another -word. - -"At last, Dering! At last everything is made clear!" said Tom, as he -crossed the room and laid his hand affectionately on Lionel's -shoulder. "At last you can proclaim your innocence to the world." - -"Yes, my task is nearly done," said Lionel, sadly. "And I thank heaven -in all sincerity that it is so. But the duty that I have still to -perform is a terrible one. I almost feel as if now, at this, the -eleventh hour, I could go no farther. I shrink in horror from the last -and most terrible step of all. Hark! whose voice was that?" - -"I hear nothing save the moaning of the wind, and the low muttering of -thunder far away among the hills." - -"It seemed to me that I heard the voice of Percy Osmond calling to me -from the grave--the same voice that I have heard so often in my -dreams." - -"How your hand burns, Dering! Shake off these wild fancies, I implore -you," said Tom. "What a blinding flash was that!" - -"They are no wild fancies to me, but most dread realities. I tell you -it is Osmond's voice that I hear. I know it but too well, 'Thou shalt -avenge!' it says to me. Only three words: 'Thou shalt avenge!'" - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -TOM FINDS HIS TONGUE. - - -Nearly a fortnight elapsed after Tom's last interview with the Squire -before he was again invited to Pincote, and after what had passed -between himself and Mr. Culpepper he would not go there again without -a special invitation. It is probable that the Squire would not have -sent for him even at the end of a fortnight had he not grown so -thoroughly tired of having to cope with Mrs. McDermott single-handed -that he was ready to call in assistance from any quarter that promised -relief. He knew that Tom would assist him if only a hint were given -that he was wanted to do so. And Tom did relieve him; so that for the -first time for many days the Squire really enjoyed his dinner. - -Notwithstanding all this, matters were so arranged between the Squire -and Mrs. McDermott that no opportunity was given Tom of being alone -with Jane even for five minutes. The first time this happened he -thought that it might perhaps have arisen from mere accident. But the -next time he went up to Pincote he saw too clearly what was intended -to allow him to remain any longer in doubt. That night, after shaking -hands with Tom at parting, Jane found in her palm a tiny note, the -contents of which were three lines only. "Should you be shopping in -Duxley either to-morrow or next day, I shall be at the toll-gate on -the Snelsham road from twelve till one o'clock." - -Next day, at half-past twelve to the minute, Jane and her -pony-carriage found themselves at the Snelsham toll-gate. There was -Tom, sure enough, who got into the trap and took the reins. He turned -presently into a byroad that led to nowhere in particular, and there -earned the gratitude of Diamond by letting him lapse into a quiet walk -which enabled him to take sly nibbles at the roadside grass as he -crawled contentedly along. - -Two or three minutes passed in silence. Then Tom spoke. "Jane," he -said, and it was the first time he had ever called her by her -Christian name, "Jane, your father has forbidden me to make love to -you." - -It seemed as if Jane had nothing to say either for or against this -statement. She only breathed a little more quickly, and a lovelier -colour flushed her cheeks. But just then Diamond swerved towards a -tempting tuft of grass. The carriage gave a slight jerk, and Tom -fancied--but it might be nothing more than fancy--that, instinctively, -Jane drew a little closer to him. And when Diamond had been punished -by the slightest possible flick with the whip between his ears, and -was again jogging peacefully on, Jane did not get farther away again, -being, perhaps, still slightly nervous; and when Tom looked down there -was a little gloved hand resting, light as a feather, on his arm. It -was impossible to resist the temptation. Dispensing with the whip for -a moment he lifted the little hand tenderly to his lips and kissed it. -He was not repulsed. - -"Yes, dearest," he went on, "I am absolutely forbidden to make love to -you. I can only imagine that your aunt has been talking to your father -about us. Be that as it may, he has forbidden me to walk out with you, -or even to see you alone. The reason why I asked you to meet me to-day -was to tell you of these things." - -Still Jane kept silence. Only from the little hand, which had somehow -found its way back on to his arm, there came the faintest possible -pressure, hardly heavy enough to have crushed a butterfly. - -"I told him that I loved you," resumed Tom, "and he could not say that -it was a crime to do so. But when I told him that I had never made -love to you, or asked you to marry me, he seemed inclined to doubt my -veracity. However, I set his mind at rest by giving him my word of -honour that, even supposing you were willing to have me--a point -respecting which I had very strong doubts indeed--I would not take -you for my wife without first obtaining his full consent to do so." - -Here Diamond, judging from the earnestness of Tom's tone that his -thoughts were otherwhere, and deeming the opportunity a favourable one -to steal a little breathing-time, gradually slackened his slow pace -into a still slower one, till at last he came to a dead stand. -Admonished by a crack of the whip half a yard above his head that Tom -was still wide awake, he put on a tremendous spurt--for him--which, as -they were going down hill at the time, was not difficult. But no -sooner had they reached a level bit of road again than the spurt toned -itself down to the customary slow trot, with, however, an extra whisk -of the tail now and then which seemed to imply: "Mark well what a -fiery steed I could be if I only chose to exert myself." - -"All this but brings me to one point," said Tom: "that I have never -yet told you that I loved you, that I have never yet asked you to -become my wife. To-day, then--here this very moment, I tell you that I -do love you as truly and sincerely as it is possible for man to love; -and here I ask you to become my wife. Get along, Diamond, do, sir." - -"Dearest, you are not blind," he went on. "You must have seen, you -must have known, for a long time past, that my heart--my love--were -wholly yours; and that I might one day win you for my own has been a -hope, a blissful dream, that has haunted me and charmed my life for -longer than I can tell. I ought, perhaps, to have spoken of this to -you before, but there were certain reasons for my silence which it is -not necessary to dilate upon now, but which, if you care to hear them, -I will explain to you another time. Here, then, I ask you whether you -feel as if you could ever learn to love me, whether you can ever care -for me enough to become my wife. Speak to me, darling--whisper the one -little word I burn to hear. Lift your eyes to mine, and let me read -there that which will make me happy for life." - -Except these two, there was no human being visible. They were alone -with the trees, and the birds, and the sailing clouds. There was no -one to overhear them save that sly old Diamond, and he pretended to be -not listening a bit. For the second time he came to a stand-still, and -this time his artfulness remained unreproved and unnoticed. - -Jane trembled a little, but her eyes were still cast down. Tom tried -to see into their depths but could not. "You promised papa that you -would not take me from him without his consent," she said, speaking in -little more than a whisper. "That consent you will never obtain." - -"That consent I shall obtain if you will only give me yours first." - -He spoke firmly and unhesitatingly. Jane could hardly believe her -ears. She looked up at him in sheer surprise. For the first time their -eyes met. - -"You don't know papa as well as I do--how obstinate he is--how full of -whims and crotchets. No--no; I feel sure that he will never consent." - -"And I feel equally sure that he will. I have no fear on that -score--none. But I will put the question to you in another way, in the -short business-like way that comes most naturally to a man like me. -Jane, dearest, if I can persuade your father to give you to me, will -you be so given? Will you come to me and be my own--my wife--for -ever?" - -Still no answer. Only imperceptibly she crept a little closer to his -side--a very little. He took that for his answer. First one arm went -round her and then the other. He drew her to his heart, he drew her to -his lips; he kissed her and called her his own. And she? Well, painful -though it be to write it, she never reproved him in the least, but -seemed content to sit there with her head resting on his shoulder, and -to suffer Love's sweet punishment of kisses in silence. - -It is on record that Diamond was the first to move. - -While standing there he had fallen into a snooze, and had dreamt that -another pony had been put into his particular stall and was at that -moment engaged in munching his particular truss of hay. Overcome by -his feelings, he turned deliberately round, and started for home at a -gentle trot. Thus disturbed, Tom and Jane came back to sublunary -matters with a laugh, and a little confusion on Jane's part. Tom drove -her back as far as the toll-gate and then shook hands and left her. -Jane reached home as one in a blissful dream. - -Three days later Tom received a note in the Squire's own crabbed -hand-writing, asking him to go up to Pincote as early as possible. He -was evidently wanted for something out of the ordinary way. Wondering -a little, he went. The Squire received him in high good humour and was -not long in letting him know why he had sent for him. - -"I have had some fellows here from the railway company," he said. -"They want to buy Prior's Croft." - -Tom's eyebrows went up a little. "I thought, sir, it would prove to be -a profitable speculation by-and-by. Did they name any price?" - -"No, nothing was said as to price. They simply wanted to know whether -I was willing to sell it." - -"And you told them that you were?" - -"I told them that I would take time to think about it. I didn't want -to seem too eager, you know." - -"That's right, sir. Play with them a little before you finally hook -them." - -"From what they said they want to build a station on the Croft." - -"Yes, a new passenger station, with plenty of siding accommodation." - -"Ah! you know something about it, do you?" - -"I know this much, sir, that the proposal of the new company to run a -fresh line into Duxley has put the old company on their mettle. In -place of the dirty ram-shackle station with which we have all had to -be content for so many years, they are going to give us a new station, -handsome and commodious; and Prior's Croft is the place named as the -most probable site for the new terminus." - -"Hang me, if I don't believe you knew something of this all along!" -said the Squire. "If not, how could you have raised that heavy -mortgage for me?" - -There was a twinkle in Tom's eyes but he said nothing. Mr. Culpepper -might have been still further surprised had he known that the six -thousand pounds was Tom's own money, and that, although the mortgage -was made out in another name, it was to Tom alone that he was -indebted. - -"Have you made up your mind as to the price you intend to ask, sir?" - -"No, not yet. In fact, it was partly to consult you on that point that -I sent for you." - -"Somewhere about nine thousand pounds, sir, I should think, would be a -fair price." - -The Squire shook his head. "They will never give anything like so much -as that." - -"I think they will, sir, if the affair is judiciously managed. How can -they refuse in the face of a mortgage for six thousand pounds?" - -"There's something in that, certainly." - -"Then there are the villas--yet unbuilt it is true--but the plans of -which are already drawn, and the foundations of some of which are -already laid. You will require to be liberally remunerated for your -disappointment and outlay in respect of them." - -"I see it all now. Splendid idea that of the villas." - -"Considering the matter in all its bearings, nine thousand pounds may -be regarded as a very moderate sum." - -"I won't ask a penny less." - -"With it you will be able to clear off both the mortgage and the loan -of two thousand, and will then have a thousand left for your expenses -in connection with the villas." - -The Squire rubbed his hands. "I wish all my speculations had turned -out as successful as this one," he said. "This one I owe to you, -Bristow. You have done me a service that I can never forget." - -Tom rose to go. "Mrs. McDermott quite well, sir?" he said, with the -most innocent air in the world. - -"If the way she eats and drinks is anything to go by, she was never -better in her life. But if you take her own account, she's never -well--a confirmed invalid she calls herself. I've no patience with the -woman, though she is my sister. A day's hard scrubbing at the wash-tub -every week would do her a world of good. If she would only pack up her -trunks and go, how thankful I should be!" - -"If you wish her to shorten her visit at Pincote, I think you might -easily persuade her to do so." - -"I'd give something to find out how. No, no, Bristow, you may depend -that she's a fixture here for three or four months to come. She -knows--no woman alive better--when she's in comfortable quarters." - -"If I had your sanction to do so, sir, I think that I could induce her -to hasten her departure from Pincote." - -The Squire rubbed his nose thoughtfully. - -"You are a queer fellow, Bristow," he said, "and you have done some -strange things, but to induce my sister to leave Pincote before she's -ready to go will cap all that you've done yet." - -"I cannot of course induce her to leave Pincote till she is willing to -go, but after a little quiet talk with me, it is possible that she may -be willing, and even anxious, to get away as quickly as possible." - -The Squire shook his head. "You don't know Fanny McDermott as well as -I do," he said. - -"Have I your permission to try the experiment?" - -"You have--and my devoutest wishes for your success. Only you must not -compromise me in any way in the matter." - -"You may safely trust me not to do that. But you must give me an -invitation to come and stay with you at Pincote for a week." - -"With all my heart." - -"I shall devote myself very assiduously to Mrs. McDermott, so that you -must not be surprised if we seem to be very great friends in the -course of a couple of days." - -"Do as you like, boy. I'll take no notice. But she's an old soldier, -is Fan, and if for a single moment she suspects what you are after, -she'll nail her colours to the mast, defy us all, and stop here for -six months longer." - -"It is, of course, quite possible that I may fail," said Tom, "but -somehow I hardly think that I shall." - -"We'll have a glass of sherry together and drink to your success. -By-the-by, have you contrived yet to purge your brain of that -lovesick tomfoolery?" - -"If, sir, you intend that phrase to apply to my feelings with regard -to Miss Culpepper, I can only say that they are totally unchanged." - -"What an idiot you are in some things, Bristow!" said the Squire, -crustily. "Remember this--I'll have no lovemaking here next week." - -"You need have no fear on that score, sir." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -EXIT MRS. MCDERMOTT. - - -Tom and his portmanteau reached Pincote together a day or two after -his last conversation with the Squire. Mrs. McDermott understood that -Tom had been invited to spend a week there in order to assist her -brother with his books and farm accounts. It seemed to her a very -injudicious thing to do, but she did not say much about it. In truth, -she was rather pleased than otherwise to have Tom there. It was -dreadfully monotonous to have to spend one evening after another with -no company save that of her brother and Jane. She was tired of her -audience, and her audience were tired of her. Mr. Bristow, as she knew -already, could talk well, was lively company, and, above all things; -was an excellent listener. She had done her duty by her brother in -warning him of what was going on between Mr. Bristow and her niece; -if, after that, the Squire chose to let the two young people come -together, it was not her place to dispute his right to do so. - -Tom was very attentive to her at dinner that day. Of Jane he took no -notice beyond what the occasion absolutely demanded. Mrs. McDermott -was agreeably surprised. "He has come to his senses at last, as I -thought he would," she said to herself. "Grown tired of Jane's -society, and no wonder. There's nothing in her." - -As soon as the cloth was removed, Jane excused herself on the score of -a headache, and left the room. The Squire got into an easy-chair and -settled himself down for a post-prandial nap. Tom moved his chair a -little nearer that of the widow. - -"I have grieved to see you looking so far from well, Mrs. McDermott," -he said, as he poured himself out another glass of wine. "My father -was a doctor, and I suppose I caught the habit from him of reading the -signs of health or sickness in people's faces." - -Mrs. McDermott was visibly discomposed. She was a great coward with -regard to her health, and Tom knew it. - -"Yes," she said, "I have not been well for some time past. But I was -not aware that the traces of my indisposition were so plainly visible -to others." - -"They are visible to me because, as I tell you, I am half a doctor -both by birth and bringing up. You seem to me, Mrs. McDermott, pardon -me for saying so--to have been fading--to have been going backward, as -it were, almost from the day of your arrival at Pincote." - -Mrs. McDermott coughed and moved uneasily on her chair. "I have been a -confirmed invalid for years," she said, querulously, "and yet no one -will believe me when, I tell them so." - -"I can very readily believe it," said Tom, gravely. Then he lapsed -into an ominous silence. - -"I--I did not know that I was looking any worse now than when I first -came to Pincote," she said at last. - -"You seem to me to be much older-looking, much more careworn, with -lines making their appearance round your eyes and mouth, such as I -never noticed before. So, at least, it strikes me, but I may be, and I -dare say I am, quite wrong." - -The widow seemed at a loss what to say. Tom's words had evidently -rendered her very uneasy. "Then what would you advise me to do?" she -said, after a time. "If you can detect the disease so readily, you -should have no difficulty in specifying the remedy." - -"Ah, now I am afraid you are getting beyond my depth," said Tom, with -a smile. "I am little more than a theorizer, you know; but I should -have no hesitation in saying that your disorder is connected with the -mind." - -"Gracious me, Mr. Bristow!" - -"Yes, Mrs. McDermott, my opinion is that you are suffering from an -undue development of brain power." - -The widow looked puzzled. "I was always considered rather -intellectual," she said, with a glance at her brother. But the Squire -still slept. - -"You are very intellectual, madam; and that is just where the evil -lies." - -"Excuse me, but I fail to follow you." - -"You are gifted with a very large and a very powerful brain," said -Tom, with the utmost gravity. The Squire snorted suddenly in his -sleep. The widow held up a warning finger. There was silence in the -room till the Squire's gentle long-drawn snores announced that he was -again happily fast asleep. - -"Very few of us are so specially gifted," resumed Tom. "But every -special gift necessitates a special obligation in return. You, with -your massive brain, must find that brain plenty of work to do--a -sufficiency of congenial employment--otherwise it will inevitably turn -upon itself, grow morbid and hypochondriacal, and slowly but surely -deteriorate, till it ends by becoming--what I hardly like to say." - -"Really, Mr. Bristow, this conversation is to me most interesting," -said the widow. "Your views are thoroughly original, but, at the same -time, I feel that they are perfectly correct." - -"The sphere of your intellectual activity is far too narrow and -confined," resumed Tom; "your brain has not sufficient pabulum to keep -it in a state of healthy activity. You want to mix more with the -world--to mix more with clever people like yourself. It was never -intended by nature that you should lose yourself among the narrow -coteries of provincial life: the metropolis claims you: the world at -large claims you. A conversationalist so brilliant, so incisive, with -such an exhaustless fund of new ideas, can only hope to find her -equals among the best circles of London or Parisian society." - -"How thoroughly you appreciate me, Mr. Bristow!" said the widow, all -in a flutter of gratified vanity, as she edged her chair still closer -to Tom. "It is as you say. I feel that I am lost here--that I am -altogether out of my element. I stay here more as a matter of duty--of -principle--than of anything else. Not that it is any gratification to -me, as you may well imagine, to be buried alive in this dull hole. But -my brother is getting old and infirm--breaking fast, I'm afraid, poor -man," here the Squire gave a louder snore than common; "while Jane is -little more than a foolish girl. They both need the guidance of a kind -but firm hand. The interests of both demand a clear brain to look -after them." - -"My dear madam, I agree with you in toto. Your Spartan views with -regard to the duties of everyday life are mine exactly. But we must -not forget that we have still another duty--that of carefully -preserving our health, especially when our lives are invaluable to the -epoch in which we live. You, my dear madam, are killing yourself by -inches." - -"Oh, Mr. Bristow, not quite so bad as that, I hope!" - -"What I say, I say advisedly. I think that, without difficulty, I can -specify a few symptoms of the cerebral disorder to which you are a -victim. You will bear me out if what I say is correct." - -"Yes, yes; please go on." - -"You are a sufferer from sleeplessness to a certain extent. The body -would fain rest, being tired and worn out, but the active brain will -not allow it to do so. Am I right, Mrs. McDermott?" - -"I cannot dispute the accuracy of what you say." - -"Your nature being large and eminently sympathetic, but not finding -sufficient vent for itself in the narrow circle to which it is -condemned, busies itself, for lack of other aliment, with the concerns -and daily doings of those around it, giving them the benefit of its -vast experience and intuitive good sense; but being met sometimes with -coldness instead of sympathy, it collapses, falls back upon itself, -and becomes morbid for want of proper intellectual companionship. May -I hope that you follow me?" - -"Yes--yes, perfectly," said the widow, but looking somewhat mystified, -notwithstanding. - -"The brain thus thrown back upon itself engenders an irritability of -the nerves, which is altogether abnormal. Fits of peevishness, of -ill-temper, of causeless fault-finding, gradually supervene, till at -length all natural amiability of disposition vanishes entirely, and -there is nothing left but a wretched hypochondriac, a misery to -himself and all around him." - -"Gracious me! Mr. Bristow, what a picture! But I hope you do not put -me down as a misery to myself and all around me." - -"Far from it--very far from it--my dear Mrs. McDermott. You are only -in the premonitory stage at present. Let us hope that in your case, -the later stages will not follow." - -"I hope not, with all my heart." - -"Of course, you have not yet been troubled with hearing voices?" - -"Hearing voices! Whatever do you mean, Mr. Bristow?" - -"One of the worst symptoms of the cerebral disorder, from the earlier -stages of which you are now suffering, is that the patient hears -voices--or fancies that he hears them, which is pretty much the same -thing. Sometimes they are strange voices; sometimes they are the -voices of relatives, or friends, no longer among the living. In short, -to state the case as briefly as possible, the patient is haunted." - -"I declare, Mr. Bristow, that you quite frighten me!" - -"But there are no such symptoms as these about you at present, Mrs. -McDermott. The moment you have the least experience of them--should -such a misfortune ever overtake you--then take my advice, and seek the -only remedy that can be of any real benefit to you." - -"And what may that be?" - -"Immediate change of scene--a change total and complete. Go abroad. Go -to Italy; go to Egypt; go to Africa;--in short to any place where the -change is a radical one. But I hope that in your case, such a -necessity will never arise." - -"All this is most deeply interesting to me, Mr. Bristow, but at the -same time it makes me very nervous. The very thought of being haunted -in the way you mention is enough to keep me from sleeping for a week." - -At this moment Jane came into the room, and a few minutes later the -Squire awoke. Tom had said all that he wanted to say, and he gave Mrs. -McDermott no further opportunity for private conversation with him. - -Next day, too, Tom carefully avoided the widow. His object was to -afford her ample time to think over what he had said. That day the -vicar and his wife dined at Pincote, and Tom became immersed in local -politics with the Squire and the Parson. Mrs. McDermott was anxious -and uneasy. That evening she talked less than she had ever been known -to do before. - -The rule at Pincote was to keep early hours. It was not much past ten -o'clock when Mrs. McDermott left the drawing-room, and having obtained -her bed candle, set out on her journey to her own room. Half way up -the staircase stood Mr. Bristow. The night being warm and balmy for -the time of year, the staircase window was still half open, and Tom -stood there, gazing out into the moonlit garden. Mrs. McDermott -stopped, and said a few gracious words to him. She would have liked to -resume the conversation of the previous evening, but that was -evidently neither the time nor the place to do so; so she said -good-night, shook hands, and went on her way, leaving Tom still -standing by the window. Higher up, close to the head of the stairs, -stood a very large, old-fashioned case clock. As she was passing it -Mrs. McDermott held up her candle to see the time. It was nearly -twenty minutes past ten. But at the very moment of her noting this -fact, there came three distinct taps from the inside of the case, -and next instant from the same place came the sound of a hollow, -ghost-like voice. "Fanny--Fanny--list! I want to speak to you," said -the voice, in slow, solemn tones. But Mrs. McDermott did not wait to -hear more. She screamed, dropped her candle, and staggered back -against the opposite wall. Tom was by her side in a moment. - -"My dear Mrs. McDermott, whatever is the matter?" he said. - -"The voice! did you not hear the voice!" she gasped. - -"What voice? whose voice?" said Tom, with an arm round her waist. - -"A voice which spoke to me out of the clock!" she said, with a shiver. - -"Out of the clock?" said Tom. "We can soon see whether anybody's -hidden there." Speaking thus, he withdrew his arm, and flung open the -door of the clock. Enough light came from the lamp on the stairs to -show that the old case was empty of everything, save the weights, -chains, and pendulum of the clock. - -"Wherever else the voice may have come from, it is plain that it -couldn't come from here," said Tom, as he proceeded to relight the -widow's candle. - -"It came from there, I'm quite certain. There were three distinct raps -from the inside as well." - -"Is it not possible that it may have been a mere hallucination on your -part? You have not been well, you know, for some time past." - -"Whatever it may have been, it was very terrible," said Mrs. -McDermott, drawing her skirts round her with a shudder. "I have not -forgotten what you told me yesterday." - -"Allow me to accompany you as far as your room door," said Tom. - -"Thanks. I shall feel obliged by your doing so. You will say nothing -of all this downstairs?" - -"I should not think of doing so." - -The following day Mr. Bristow was not at luncheon. There were one or -two inquiries, but no one seemed to know exactly what had become of -him. It was Mrs. McDermott's usual practice to retire to the library -for an hour after luncheon--which room she generally had all to -herself at such times--for the ostensible purpose of reading the -newspapers, but, it may be, quite as much for the sake of a quiet -sleep in the huge leathern chair that stood by the library fire. On -going there as usual after luncheon to-day, what was the widow's -surprise to find Mr. Bristow sitting there fast asleep, with the -"Times" at his feet where it had dropped from his relaxed fingers. - -She stepped up to him on tiptoe and looked closely at him. "Rather -nice-looking," she said to herself. "Shall I disturb him, or not?" - -Her eyes caught sight of some written documents lying out-spread on -the table a little distance away. The temptation was too much for her. -Still on tiptoe, she crossed to the table in order to examine them. -But hardly had she stooped over the table when the same hollow voice -that had sounded in her ears the previous night spoke to her again, -and froze her to the spot where she was standing. "Fanny McDermott, -you must get away from this house," said the voice. "If you stop here -you will be a dead woman in three months!" - - She was too terrified to look round or even to stir, but her -trembling lips did at last falter out the words: "Who are you?" - -The answer came. "I am your husband, Geoffrey. Be warned in time." - -Then there was silence, and in a minute or two the widow ventured to -look round. There was no one there except Mr. Bristow, fast asleep. -She managed to reach the door without disturbing him, and from thence -made the best of her way to her own room. - -Two hours later Tom was encountered by the Squire. The latter was one -broad smile. "She's going at last," he said. "Off to-morrow like a -shot. Just told me." - -"Then, with your permission, I won't dine with you this evening. I -don't want to see her again." - -"But how on earth have you managed it?" asked the Squire. - -"By means of a little simple ventriloquism--nothing more. But I see -her coming this way. I'm off." And off he went, leaving the Squire -staring after him in open-mouthed astonishment. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -DIRTY JACK. - - -There was one thing that puzzled both General St. George and Lionel -Dering, and that was the persistent way in which Kester St. George -stayed on at Park Newton. It had, in the first place, been a matter of -some difficulty to get him to Park Newton at all, and for some time -after his arrival it had been evident to all concerned that he had -made up his mind that his stay there should be as brief as possible. -But after that never-to-be-forgotten night when the noise of ghostly -footsteps was heard in the nailed-up room--a circumstance which both -his uncle and his cousin had made up their minds would drive him from -the house for ever--he ceased to talk much about going away. Week -passed after week and still he stayed on. Nor could his uncle, had he -been desirous of doing so, which he certainly was not, have hinted to -him, even in the most delicate possible way, that his room would be -more welcome than his company, after the pressure which he had put -upon him only a short time previously to induce him to remain. - -Nothing could have suited Lionel's plans better than that his cousin -should continue to live on at Park Newton, but he was certainly -puzzled to know what his reason could be for so doing; and, in such a -case, to be puzzled was, to a certain extent, to be disquieted. - -But much as he would have liked to do so, Kester had a very good -reason for not leaving Park Newton at present. He was, in fact, afraid -to do so. After the affair of the footsteps he had decided that it -would not be advisable to go away for a little while. It would never -do for people to say that he had been driven away by the ghost of -Percy Osmond. It was while thus lingering on from day to day that he -had ridden over to see Mother Mim. One result of his interview was -that he felt how utterly unsafe it would be for him to quit the -neighbourhood till she was safely dead and buried. She might send for -him at any moment, she might have other things to speak to him about -which it behoved him to hear. She might change her mind at the last -moment, and decide to tell to some other person what she had already -told him; and when she should die, it would doubtless be to him that -application would be made to bury her. All things considered, it was -certainly unadvisable that he should leave Park Newton yet awhile. - -Day after day he waited with smothered impatience for some further -tidings of Mother Mim. But day after day he waited in vain. Most men, -under such circumstances, would have gone to the place and have made -personal inquiries for themselves. This was precisely what Kester St. -George told himself that he ought to do, but for all that he did not -do it. He shrank, with a repugnance which he could not overcome, from -the thought of any further contact with either Mother Mim or her -surroundings. His tastes, if not refined, were fastidious, and a -shudder of disgust ran through him as often as he remembered that if -what Mother Mim had said were true--and there was something that rang -terribly like truth in her words--then was she--that wretched -creature--his mother, and the filthy hut in which she lay dying -his sole home and heritage. He knew that for the sake of his own -interest--of his own safety--he ought to go and see again this woman -who called herself his mother, but three weeks had come and gone -before he could screw his courage up to the pitch requisite to induce -him to do so. - -But before this came about, Kester St. George had been left for the -time being, with the exception of certain servants, the sole occupant -of Park Newton. Lionel Dering had gone down to Bath to seek an -interview with Pierre Janvard, with what result has been already seen. -Two days after Lionel's departure, General St. George was called away -by the sudden illness of an old Indian friend to whom he was most -warmly attached. He left home expecting to be back in four or five -days at the latest; whereas, as it fell out, he did not reach home -again for several weeks. - -It was one day when thus left alone, and when the solitude was -becoming utterly intolerable to him, that Kester made up his mind that -he would no longer be a coward, but would go that very afternoon and -see for himself whether Mother Mim were alive or dead. But even after -he had thus determined that there should be no more delay on his part, -he played fast and loose with himself as to whether he should go or -not. Had there come to him any important letter or telegram demanding -his presence fifty miles away, he would have caught at it as a -drowning man catches at a straw. The veriest excuse would have -sufficed for the putting off of his journey for at least one day. But -the dull hours wore themselves away without relief or change of any -kind for him, and when three o'clock came, having first dosed himself -heavily with brandy, he rang the bell and ordered his horse to be -brought round. - -What might not the next few hours bring to him? he asked himself as he -rode down the avenue. They might perchance be pregnant with doom. Or -death might already have lifted this last bitter burden from his life -by sealing with his bony fingers the only lips that had power to do -him harm. - -For nearly a fortnight past the weather had been remarkably mild, -balmy, and open for the time of year. Everybody said how easily old -winter was dying. But during the previous night there had come a -bitter change. The wind had suddenly veered round to the north-east, -and was still blowing steadily from that quarter. Steadily and -bitterly it blew, chilling the hearts of man and beast with its icy -breath, stopping the growth of grass and flowers, killing every -faintest gleam of sunshine, and bringing back the reign of winter in -its cruellest form. - -Heavy and lowering looked the sky, shrilly through the still bare -branches whistled the ice-cold wind, as Kester St. George, deep in -thought, rode slowly through the park. He buttoned his coat more -closely around him, and pulled his hat more firmly over his brows as -he turned out of the lodge gates, and setting his face full to the -wind, urged his horse into a gallop, and was quickly lost to view down -the winding road. - -It would not have taken him long to reach the edge of Burley Moor had -not his horse suddenly fallen lame. For the last two miles of the -distance his pace was reduced to a slow walk. This so annoyed Kester -that he decided to leave his horse at a roadside tavern in the last -hamlet he had to pass through, and to traverse the remainder of the -distance on foot. A short three miles across the moor would take him -to Mother Mim's cottage. - -To a man such as Kester a three miles' walk was a rather formidable -undertaking--or, at least, it was an uncommon one. But there was no -avoiding it on the present occasion, unless he gave up the object of -his journey and went back home. But he could by no means bear the -thought of doing that. In proportion with the hesitation and -reluctance which he had previously shown, to ascertain either the best -or the worst of the affair, was the anxiety which now possessed him to -reach his journey's end. His imagination pictured all kinds of -possible and impossible evils as likely to accrue to him, and he -cursed himself again and again for his negligence in not making the -journey long ago. - -Very bleak and cold was that walk across the desolate, lonely moor, -but Kester St. George, buried in his own thoughts, hardly felt or -heeded anything of it. All the sky was clouded and overcast, but far -away to the north a still darker bank of cloud was creeping slowly up -from the horizon. - -The wind blew in hollow fitful gusts. Any one learned in such lore -would have said that a change of weather was imminent. - -When about half-way across the moor he halted for a moment to gather -breath. On every side of him spread the dull treeless expanse. Nowhere -was there another human being to be seen. He was utterly alone. "If a -man crossing here were suddenly stricken with death," he muttered to -himself, "what a place this would be to die in! His body might lie -here for days--for weeks even--before it was found." - -At length Mother Mim's cottage was reached. Everything about it looked -precisely the same as when he had seen it last. It seemed only like -a few hours since he had left it. There, too, crouched on the low -wall outside, with her skirt drawn over her head, was Mother Mim's -grand-daughter, the girl with the black glittering eyes, looking as if -she had never stirred from the spot since he was last there. She made -no movement or sign of recognition when he walked up to her, but her -eyes were full of a cold keen criticism of him, far beyond her age and -appearance. - -"How is your grandmother?" said Kester, abruptly. He did not like -being stared at as she stared at him. - -"She's dead." - -"Dead!" It was no more than he expected to hear, and yet he could not -hear it altogether unmoved. - -"Ay, as dead as a door nail. And a good job too. It was time she -went." - -"How long has she been dead?" asked Kester, ignoring the latter part -of the girl's speech. - -"Just half an hour." - -Another surprise for Kester. He had expected to hear that she had been -dead several days--a week perhaps. But only half an hour! - -"Who was with her when she died?" he asked, after a minute's pause. - -"Me and Dirty Jack." - -"Dirty Jack! who is he?" - -"Why Dirty Jack. Everybody knows him. He lives in Duxley, and has a -wooden leg, and does writings for folk." - -"Does writings for folk!" A shiver ran through Kester. "And has he -been doing anything for your grandmother?" - -"That he has. A lot." - -"A lot--about what?" - -"About you." - -"About me? Why about me?" - -"Oh, you never came near. Nobody never came near. Granny got tired of -it. 'I'll have my revenge,' said she. So she sent for Dirty Jack, and -he took it all down in writing." - -"Took it all down in writing about me?" She nodded her head in the -affirmative. "If you know so much, no doubt you know what it was that -he took down--eh?" - -"Oh, I know right enough." - -"Why not tell me?" - -"I know all about it, but I ain't a-going to split." - -Further persuasion on Kester's part had no other effect than to induce -the girl to assert in still more emphatic terms that "she wasn't -a-going to split." - -Evidently nothing more was to be got from her. But she had said enough -already to confirm his worst fears. Mother Mim, out of spite for the -neglect with which he had treated her, had made a confession at the -last moment, similar in purport to what she had told him when last -there. Such a confession--if not absolutely dangerous to him--she -having assured him that none of the witnesses were now living--might -be made a source of infinite annoyance to him. Such a story, once made -public, might bring forth witnesses and evidence from twenty hitherto -unsuspected quarters, and fetter him round, link by link, with a chain -of evidence from which he might find it impossible to extricate -himself. At every sacrifice, Mother Mim's confession must be destroyed -or suppressed. Such were some of the thoughts that passed through -Kester's mind as he stood there biting his nails. Again and again he -cursed himself in that he had allowed any such confession to emanate -from the dead woman, whose silence a little extra kindness on his part -would have effectually secured. - -"And where is this Dirty Jack, as you call him?" he said, at last. - -"He's in there"--indicating the hut with a jerk of her head--"fast -asleep." - -"Fast asleep in the same room with your grandmother?" - -"Why not? He had a bottle of whiskey with him which he kept sucking -at. At last he got half screwy, and when all was over he said he would -have a snooze by the fire and pull himself together a bit before going -home." - -Kester said no more, but going up to the hut, opened the door and went -in. On the pallet at the farther end lay the dead woman, her body -faintly outlined through the sheet that had been drawn over her. A -clear fire was burning in the broken grate, and close to it, on the -only chair in the place, sat a man fast asleep. His hands were grimy, -his linen was yellow, his hair was frowsy. He was a big bulky man, -with a coarse, hard face, and was dressed in faded threadbare black. -He had a wooden leg, which just now was thrust out towards the fire, -and seemed as if it were basking in the comfortable blaze. - -On the chimney-piece was an empty spirit-bottle, and in a corner near -at hand were deposited a broad-brimmed hat, greasy and much the worse -for wear, and a formidable looking walking-stick. - -Such was the vision of loveliness that met the gaze of Kester St. -George as he paused for a moment or two just inside the cottage door. -Then he coughed and advanced a step or two. As he did so the man -suddenly opened his eyes, got up quickly but awkwardly out of his -chair, and laid his hand on something that was hidden in an inner -pocket of his coat. "No, you don't!" he cried, with a wave of his -hand. "No, you don't! None of your hanky-panky tricks here. They won't -go down with Jack Skeggs, so you needn't try 'em on!" - -Kester stared at him in unconcealed disgust. It was evident that he -was still under the partial influence of what he had been drinking. - -"Who are you, sir, and what are you doing here?" asked Kester, -sternly. - -"I am John Skeggs, Esquire, attorney-at-law, at your service. And who -may you be, when you're at home? But there--I know who you are well -enough. You are Mr. Kester St. George, of Park Newton. I have seen you -before. I saw you on the day of the murder trial. You were one of the -witnesses, and white enough you looked. Anybody who had a good look at -you in the box that day would never be likely to forget your face -again." - -Kester turned aside for a moment to hide the sudden nervous twitching -of his lips. - -"I'm sorry the whiskey is done," said Mr. Skeggs with a regretful look -at the empty bottle. "I should like you and I to have had a drain -together. I suppose you don't do anything in this line?" From one -pocket he produced an old clasp knife, and from the other a cake of -leaf tobacco. Then he cut himself a plug and put it into his mouth. -"When one friend fails me, then I fall back upon another," he said. -"When I can't get whiskey I must have tobacco." - -There was no better known character in Duxley than Mr. Skeggs. "Dirty -Jack," or "Drunken Jack," were the sobriquets by which he was -generally known, and neither of those terms was applied to him without -good and sufficient reason. There could be no doubt as to the man's -shrewdness, ability, and knowledge of common law. He was a great -favourite among the lower and the very lowest classes of Duxley -society, who in their legal difficulties never thought of employing -any other lawyer than Skeggs, the universal belief being that if -anybody could pull them through, either by hook or crook, Dirty Jack -was that man. And it is quite possible that Mr. Skeggs's clients were -not far wrong in their belief. - -"No good stopping here any longer," said Skeggs, when he had put back -his knife and tobacco into his pocket. - -"No, I suppose not," said Kester. - -"I suppose you will see that everything is done right and proper by -our poor dear departed?" - -"Yes, I suppose there is no one to look to but me. She was my -foster-mother, and very kind to me when I was a lad." - -"His foster-mother! Listen to that! His foster-mother! ha! ha!" -sniggered Dirty Jack. Then laying a finger on one side his nose, and -leering up at Kester with horrible familiarity, he added: "We know all -about that little affair, Mr. St. George, and a very pretty romance it -is." - -"Look you here, Mr. Skeggs, or whatever your dirty name may be," said -Kester, sternly, "I'd advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head -or it may be worse for you. I've thrashed bigger men than you in my -time. Be careful, or I shall thrash you." - -"I like your pluck, on my soul I do!" said Skeggs, heartily. "If -you're not genuine silver--and you know you ain't--you're a deuced -good imitation of the real thing. Thoroughly well plated, that's what -you are. Any one would take you to be a born gentleman, they would -really. Which way are you going back?" - -Kester hesitated a moment. Should he quarrel with this man and set him -at defiance, or should he not? Could he afford to quarrel with him? -that was the question. Perhaps it would be as well to keep from doing -so as long as possible. - -"I'm going to walk back across the moor as far as Sedgeley," said -Kester. - -"Then I'll walk with you--though three miles is rather a big stretch -to do with my game leg. I can get a gig from there that will take me -home." - -Kester shrugged his shoulders, but made no comment. Skeggs took up his -hat and stick, and proceeded to polish the former article with his -sleeve. - -"Queer woman that," he said, with a jerk of his thumb towards the -bed--"very queer. Hard as nails. With something heroic about her, to -my mind--something that, under different circumstances, might have -developed her into a remarkable woman. Well, that's the way with heaps -of us. Circumstances are dead against us, and we are not strong enough -to overmaster them; else should we smite the world with surprise, and -genius would not be so scarce an article in the market as it is now." - -Kester stared. Was this the half-drunken blackguard who had been -jeering at him but two minutes ago? "And yet, drunk he must be," added -Kester to himself. "No fellow in his senses would talk such precious -rot." - -"Your obedient servant, sir," said Skeggs, with a purposely -exaggerated bow as he held open the door for Mr. St. George to pass -out. - -The girl was still sitting on the wall with her skirt drawn over her -head. Kester went up to her. "I will send some one along first thing -to-morrow morning to see to the funeral and other matters," he said, -"if you can manage till then." - -"Oh, I can manage right enough. Why not?" said the girl. - -"I thought that perhaps you might not care to be in the house by -yourself all night." - -"Oh, I don't mind that." - -"Then you are not afraid?" - -"What's there to be frittened of? She's quiet enough now. I shall make -up a jolly fire, and have a jolly supper, and then a jolly long sleep. -And that's what I've not had for weeks. And I shall read the Dream -Book. She can't keep that from me now. I know where it is. It's in the -bed right under her. But I'll have it." She laughed and nodded her -head, then putting a nut into her mouth she cracked it and began to -pick out the kernel. Kester turned away. - -"Nell, my good girl," said Mr. Skeggs, insinuatingly, "just see -whether there isn't such a thing as a drop of whiskey somewhere about -the house. I've an awful pain in my chest." - -"There's no whiskey--not a drop--but I know where there's half a -bottle of gin. Give me five shillings and I'll fetch it." - -"Five shillings for half a bottle of gin! Why, Nell, what a greedy -young pig you must be!" - -"Don't have it then. Nobody axed you. I can drink it myself." - -"I'll give you three shillings for it. Come now." - -"Not a meg less than five will I take," said Nell, emphatically, as -she cracked another nut. - -"Why, you young viper, have you no conscience at all?" he cried -savagely. Then seeing that Nell took no further notice of him, he -turned to Kester. "I find that I have no loose silver about me," he -said. "Oblige me with the loan of a couple of half-crowns till we get -to Sedgeley." Whenever Mr. Skeggs made a new acquaintance he always -requested the loan of a couple of half-crowns before parting from him. -But the half-crowns were never paid back until asked for, and asked -for more than once. - -A few premonitory flakes of snow were darkening the air as Kester St. -George and Mr. Skeggs started on their way back across Burley Moor, -the latter with a thick comforter round his neck and the bottle of gin -stowed carefully away in the tail pocket of his coat. The cold seemed -more intense than ever, but the wind had fallen altogether. - -"We are going to have a rough night," said Skeggs as he stepped -sturdily out. "We must contrive to get across the moor before the snow -comes down very thick, or we shall stand a good chance of losing our -way. Only the winter before last a pedlar and his wife were lost in -the snow within a mile of here, and their bodies not found for a -fortnight. This sudden change will play the devil with the young -crops." - -Kester did not answer. Far different matters occupied his thoughts. In -silence they walked on for a little while. - -"I suppose you could give a pretty good guess," said Skeggs at length, -"at my reasons for asking you which way you were going to walk this -afternoon?" - -"Indeed, no," said Kester with a shrug. "I have not the remotest idea, -nor do I care to know. It was you who chose to accompany me. I did not -thrust my company upon you." - -Skeggs laughed a little maliciously. "I don't think there's much good, -Mr. Kester St. George, in you and I beating about the bush. I'm a -plain man of business, and that reminds me,"--interrupting himself -with a chuckle--"that when I once used those very words to a client of -mine, he retorted by saying, 'You are more than a plain man of -business, Mr. Skeggs, you are an ugly one.' I did my very utmost for -that man, but he was hanged. Mais revenons. I am a plain man of -business, and I intend to deal with this question in a business-like -way. The simple point is: What is it worth your while to give me for -the document I have buttoned up here?" tapping his chest with his left -hand as he spoke. - -"I am at a loss to know to what document you refer," said Mr. St. -George, coldly. - -"A very few words will tell you the contents of it, though, if I am -rightly informed, you can give a pretty good guess already as to what -they are likely to be. In this document it is asserted that you, sir, -have no right to the name by which the world has known you for so long -a time--that you have no right to the position you occupy, to the -property you claim as yours. That you are, in fact, none other than -the son of Mother Mim herself--of the woman who lies dead in yonder -hut." - -Kester drew in his breath with something like a sigh. It was as he had -feared. Mother Mim had told everything, and, of all people in the -world, to the wretch now walking by his side. He braced his nerves for -the coming encounter. "I have heard something before to-day of the -rigmarole of which you speak," he said, haughtily; "but I need hardly -tell you that the affair is nothing but a tissue of vilest lies from -beginning to end." - -"I dare say it is," said Skeggs, good humouredly. "But it may be -rather difficult for you to prove that it is so." - -"It will be still more difficult for you to prove that it is not so." - -"Oh! I am quite aware of all the difficulties both for and against--no -man more so. You have got possession, and a hundred other points in -your favour. Still, with what evidence I have already, and with what -evidence I can get elsewhere, I shall be able to make out a strong -case--a very strong case against you in a court of justice." - -"Evidence elsewhere!" said Kester, disdainfully. "There is no such -thing, unless you are clever enough to make the dead speak." - -"Even that has been done before now," said Skeggs quietly. "But in -this case we have no need to go to the churchyard to collect our -evidence. I have a living, breathing witness whom I can lay my hands -on at a day's notice." - -"You lie," said Kester, emphatically. - -"I'll wash that down," said Skeggs, halting for a moment and -proceeding to take a good pull at his bottle of gin. "If you so far -forget yourself again, I shall begin to feel sure that you are not a -St. George. What I told you was not a lie. There were four witnesses -who had all a personal knowledge of a certain fact. Three of those -witnesses are dead: the fourth still lives. Of the existence of this -fourth witness Mother Mim never even hinted to you. It was her trump -card, and she was far too cunning to let you see it." - -Kester walked on in silence. He felt that just then he had hardly a -word to say. Was all that he had sacrificed so much for in other ways, -all that he had run such tremendous risks for, to be torn from him by -the machinations of a vile old hag, and the drunken, ribald scoundrel -by his side? Through what strange ambushes, through what dusky -by-paths, doth Fate oft-times overtake us! We look back along the -broad highway we have been traversing, and seeing no black shadow -dogging our footsteps, we go rejoicing on our way; when suddenly, from -some near-at-hand shrub, is shot a poisoned arrow, and the sunlight -fades from our eyes for ever. - -"And now, after this little skirmish," said Skeggs, "we come back to -my first question: What can you afford to give me for the document in -my pocket?" - -"Suppose I say that I will give you nothing--what then?" said Kester, -sullenly. - -"Then I shall get my evidence together, work out my case on paper, and -submit it to the heir-at-law." - -"And supposing the heir-at-law, acting under advice, were to decline -having anything to do with your case, as you call it?" - -"He would be a fool to do that, because my case is anything but a weak -one. I tell you this in confidence. But supposing he were to decline, -then I should say to him: 'I am willing to conduct this case on my own -account. If I fail, it shall not cost you a penny. If I succeed, you -shall pay all expenses, and give me five thousand pounds.' That would -fetch him, I think." - -"You have been assuming all along," said Kester, "that your case is -based on fact. I assure you again that it is not--that it is nothing -but a devilish lie from beginning to end." - -"Really, my dear sir, that has little or nothing to do with the -matter. I dare say it is a lie. But it is my place to believe it to be -the truth, and to make other people believe the same as I do. Here's -your very good health, sir." Again Mr. Skeggs took a long pull and a -strong pull at his bottle of gin. - -"Knowing what you know," said Kester, "and believing what you believe, -are you yet willing to sell the document now in your possession?" - -"Of course I am. What else is all this jaw for?" - -"And don't you think you are a pretty sort of scoundrel to make me any -such offer? Don't you think----" - -"Now look you here, Mr. St. George--if that is your name, which I very -much doubt--don't let you and me begin to fling mud at one another, -because that is a game at which I could lick you into fits. I have -made you a fair offer. If we can't come to terms, there's no reason -why we shouldn't part friendly." - -Once again Kester walked on in silence. The snow had been coming down -more thickly for some time past, and already the dull gray moor began -to look strange and unfamiliar, but neither of the two men gave more -than a passing thought to the weather. - -"If you feel and know your case to be such a strong one," said Kester, -at last, "why do you come to me at all? Why send a white flag into -your enemy's camp? Why not fight him à l'outrance at once?" - -"Because I'm neither so young nor so pugnacious as I once was," -answered Skeggs. "I go in for peace and quiet nowadays. I don't want -the bother and annoyance of a law-suit. I have no ill-feeling towards -you, and if you will only make me a fair offer, I shall be the last -man in the world to disturb you in any way. Gemini! how the snow comes -down! We are only about half way yet. We shall have some difficulty in -picking our road across." - -"I myself am as anxious as you can be, Mr. Skeggs, to be saved the -trouble and annoyance of a law-suit, however sure I may feel that the -result would be in my favour. But you must give me a little time to -think this matter over. It is far too important to be decided at a -moment's notice." - -"Time? To be sure. You can make up your mind in about a couple of -days, I suppose. Shall I call upon you, or will you call upon me?" - -Hardly were the words out of Mr. Skeggs's mouth when his wooden leg -sunk suddenly into a hidden hole in the pathway. Thrown forward by the -shock, the lawyer came heavily to the ground, and at the same moment -his leg snapped short off just below the knee. - -Kester took him by the shoulders and assisted him to assume a sitting -posture on the footpath. - -Mr. Skeggs's first action was to pick up his broken limb and look at -it with a sort of comical despair. "There goes a friend that has done -me good service," he said; "but he might have lasted till he got me -home, for all that. How the deuce am I to get home?" he asked, turning -abruptly to Kester. - -Kester paused for a minute and looked round before answering. The snow -was coming down faster than ever. The moor was being gradually turned -into a huge white carpet. Already its zig-zag paths and winding -footways were barely distinguishable from the treacherous bog which -lay on every side of them. In an hour and a half it would be dark with -a darkness that would be unrelieved by either moon or stars. If it -kept on snowing all night at this rate the drift would be a couple of -feet deep by morning. Skeggs's casual remark about the pedlar and his -wife, unheeded at the time, now flashed vividly across Kester's mind. - -"You will have to wait here till I can get assistance," he said, in -answer to his companion's question. "There is no help for it." - -"I suppose not," growled Skeggs. "Was ever anything so cursedly -unfortunate?" - -"Sedgeley is the nearest place to this," said Kester. "There are -plenty of men there who know the moor thoroughly. I will send half a -dozen of them to your help." - -"How soon may I expect them here?" - -"In about three-quarters of an hour from now." - -"Ugh! I'm half frozen already. What shall I be in another hour?" - -"Oh, you'll pull through that easily enough. Your bottle is not empty -yet." - -"Jove! I'd forgotten the bottle," said Skeggs, with animation. - -He took it out of his pocket, and held it up to the light. "Not more -than a quartern left. Well, that's better than none at all." - -"Goodbye," said Kester, as he shook some of the snow off his hat. -"You may look for help in less than an hour." - -"Goodbye, Mr. St. George," said Skeggs, looking very earnestly at him -as he did so. - -"You won't forget to send the help, will you? because if you do -forget, it will be nothing more nor less than wilful murder." - -Kester laughed a short grating laugh. "Fear nothing, Skeggs," he said. -"I won't forget. About that other trifle, I will write you in two or -three days. Again goodbye." - -Skeggs's face had turned very white. He could not speak. He took off -his hat and waved it. Kester responded by a wave of his hand. Then -turning on his heel he strode away through the snowy twilight. In -three minutes he was lost to sight. Skeggs could no longer see him. -Tears came into his eyes. "He'll send no help, not he. I shall die -here like a dog. The snow will be my winding-sheet. If ever there was -mischief in a man's eye, there was in his, as he bade me goodbye." - -Onward strode Kester St. George through the blinding snow. Altogether -heedless of the weather was he just now. He had other things to think -about. As instinctively as an Indian or a backwoodsman tracks his way -across prairie or forest did he track his way across the moor, all -hidden though the paths now were. He was a child of the moor. He had -learned its secrets when a boy, and in his present emergency, reason -and intellect must perforce give way to that blind instinct which was -left him as a legacy of his youth. - -At length the last patch of moorland was crossed, and a few minutes -later he found himself close by a well-remembered finger-post, where -three roads met. One of these roads led to Sedgeley, which was but a -short quarter of a mile away; another of them led to Duxley and Park -Newton. At Sedgeley his horse was waiting for him. There, too, was to -be had the help which he had so faithfully promised Skeggs that he -would send. Leaning against the finger-post, he took a minute's rest -before going any farther. Which road should he take? That was the -question which at present he was turning over and over in his mind. -Not long did he hesitate. Taking out his pocket-handkerchief, he made -a wisp of it, and tied it round his throat. Then he turned up the -collar of his coat. Then once again he shook the snow off his hat. -Then plunging his hands deep in his pockets, and turning his back on -the finger-post, he set out resolutely along the road that led towards -Park Newton. Once, and once only did he pause, even for a moment, -before reaching home. It was when he fancied that he heard, away in -the far distance, a low, wild, melancholy cry--whether the cry of an -animal or a man he could not tell--but none the less a cry for help. -Whatever it was, it did not come again, and after that Kester pursued -his way homeward steadily and without pause. It was quite dark long -before he reached his own room. - -He changed his clothes and went down to dinner. Both his uncle and -Richard Dering were away, and he dined alone, for which he was by no -means sorry. Every half-hour or so he inquired as to the weather. They -had nothing to tell him except that it was still snowing hard. The -evening was one of slow torture, but at length it wore itself away. He -went to bed about midnight. Dobbs's last report to him was that the -weather was still unchanged. But several times during the night Dobbs -heard his master pacing up and down his room, and had he been there he -might, ever and again, have seen a haggard face peering out with eager -eyes into the darkness. - -"Twelve inches of snow, sir, on the drive," was Dobbs's first news -next morning. "They say there has not been a fall like it in these -parts for a dozen years." - -The snow had ceased to fall hours before. By-and-by there came a few -gleams of sunshine to brighten the scene, but the wind was still in -the north, and all that day the weather kept bitterly cold. Soon after -sunset, however, there was a change. Little by little the wind got -round to the south-west. At ten o'clock Dobbs reported: "Snow going -fast, sir. Regular thaw. Not be a bit left by breakfast-time." - -"Call me at four," said his master, "and have some coffee ready, and a -horse brought round by four thirty." - -He was quite tired out by this time, and when he went to bed he felt -sure that he should have four or five hours' sound sleep. But his -sleep was several times disturbed by a strange dream: always the same -thing repeated over and over again. He dreamt that he was standing -under the finger-post on the edge of the moor. But the finger-post was -neither more nor less than a gigantic skeleton, of which the -outstretched arms formed the direction boards. On the bony palm of one -outstretched arm, in letters of blood, was written the words: "To -Sedgeley." Then as he read the words in his dream, again would sound -in his ears the low, weird, melancholy cry which had arrested his -steps for a moment as he walked home through the snow, and hearing the -cry he would start up in bed and stare round him, and wonder for a -moment where he was. - -Dobbs duly called his master at four, and at four thirty he mounted -his horse and rode away. The roads were heavy and sloppy with the -melting snow. The morning was intensely dark, but Kester knew the -country thoroughly, and was never at a loss as to which turn he ought -to take. Not one human being did he meet during the whole of his ride. -But, indeed, his nearest friend would have passed him by in the dark -without recognition. He wore an old shooting suit, with a Glengarry -bonnet and a macintosh, and had a thick shawl wrapped round his throat -and the lower part of his face. - -Day was just breaking as he reached the edge of the moor. He tethered -his horse to the stump of an old tree behind a hedge. He had brought a -powerful field-glass in his pocket. He scanned the moor carefully -through it before proceeding farther on his quest. No living being was -in sight anywhere. Satisfied of this, he set out without further -delay, leaving his horse by itself to await his return. Not without a -tremor--not without a faster beating of the heart--did he again set -foot on the moor. A drizzling rain now began to fall, but Kester was -not sorry for this. The worse the weather, the fewer the people who -would be abroad in it. Onward he strode, keeping a wary eye about him -as he went. - -At length he reached a curve in the path from whence he ought to be -able to discern the bulky form of John Skeggs, Esq., if that gentleman -was still where he had last seen him. He looked, but the morning was -still heavy and dark: he could see nothing. Then he adjusted his -glass, and looking through that he could just make out a heap--a -bundle--a shapeless something. It required a powerful effort on his -part to brace his nerves to the pitch requisite to carry him through -the task he had still before him. He had filled a small flask with -brandy, and he now drank some of it. Then he started again. A few -minutes more and the end of his journey was reached. - -There lay Skeggs, on the very spot where he had left him, resting on -his side, with one hand under his head, as if asleep. His hat had -fallen off. On the ground near him were the empty bottle, his -walking-stick, and his broken wooden leg. Numbed by the intense cold, -he had fallen asleep while waiting for the help which was never to -come, and had so died, frozen to death. Doubtless his death had been a -painless one, but none the less, as he himself would have said, was -Kester St. George his murderer. - -Gloved though he was, it was not without a feeling of indescribable -loathing that Kester could bring himself to touch the body. But it was -absolutely necessary to do so. The paper he had come in quest of was -in the breast pocket of the dead man's coat. It did not take him long -to find it. Having made sure that he had got the right document, he -fastened it up in the breast pocket of his own coat. "Now I am safe!" -he said to himself. Then he took off his gloves and buried them -carefully under a large stone. Then with one last glance at the body, -he slunk hurriedly away, cursing in his heart the daylight that was -now creeping up so rapidly from the east. In the clear light of dawn -the foul deed he had done looked a thousand times fouler than it had -looked before. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -WHAT TO DO NEXT? - - -Not to every one among the children of men is given the power, the -faculty, to act as comforter to others. To listen to another's sorrow, -to be told the history of another's trouble, is one thing: to be able -to give back comfort is another. That delicate intuitive sympathy with -another's woe which draws away the sting even while listening to it, -which makes that woe its own property as it were, which sheds balm -round the sufferer in every word and look and touch: this is surely as -much a special gift as the gift of song or the poet's fine phrenzy, -and without it the world would be a much poorer place than it is. - -This rare gift of sympathy was possessed by Edith Dering in a -pre-eminent degree. She was at once emotional and sympathetic. To -Lionel in his dire trouble she was a comforter in the truest sense of -the word. It was she who preserved his mental balance--the equipoise -of his mind. But for her sweet offices he would have become a -monomaniac or a misanthrope of the bitterest kind. Naturally she had -him with her as much as possible, but still his home was of necessity -at Park Newton. To the world he was simply Richard Dering, the -unmarried nephew of General St. George. It would not do for him to be -seen going to Fern Cottage sufficiently often to excite either scandal -or suspicion. He could only visit there as the intimate friend of Mrs. -Garside and her niece. Sometimes he took his uncle with him, sometimes -Tom, in order to divert suspicion. For him to enter the garden gate of -Fern Cottage was to cross the threshold of his earthly paradise. Edith -and he had been married in the depth of a great trouble--troubles and -danger had beset the path of their wedded life ever since. Owing, -perhaps, to that very cause week by week, and month by month, their -love seemed only to grow in depth and intensity. As yet it had lost -nothing of its pristine charm and freshness. The gold-dust of romance -lingered about it still. They were man and wife, they had been man and -wife for months, but to the world at large they seemed nothing more -than ordinary friends. - -But all Edith's care and watchful love could not lift her husband, -except by fits and starts, out of those moods of glom and depression -which seemed to be settling more closely down upon him day by day. As -link after link was added to the chain of evidence, each one tending -to incriminate his cousin still more deeply, his moods seemed to grow -darker and more difficult of removal. With his cousin Lionel -associated no more than was absolutely necessary. They rarely met each -other till dinner-time, and then they met with nothing more than a -simple "How do you do?" and in conversation they never got beyond some -half-dozen of the barest commonplaces. Lionel always left the table as -soon as the cloth was drawn. - -On Kester's side there was no love lost. That dark, stern-faced cousin -was a perpetual menace to him, and he hated him accordingly. He hated -him for his likeness to his dead and gone brother. He hated him -because of the look in his eyes--so coldly scrutinizing, so searching, -so immovable. He hated him because it was a look that he could in -nowise give back. Try as he might, he could not face Lionel's steady -gaze. - -For some two or three weeks after his return from Bath with Janvard's -written confession, Lionel was perfectly quiescent. He took no further -action whatever. He was, indeed, debating in his own mind what further -action it behoved him to take. There was no need to seek for any -further evidence, if, indeed, any more would have been forthcoming. -All that he wanted he had now got; it was simply a question as to what -use he should make of it. Day and night that was the question which -presented itself before his mind: what use should he make of the -knowledge in his possession? His mind was divided this way and that; -day passed after day, and still he could by no means decide as to the -course which it would be best for him to adopt. Of all this he said -not a word to Edith: he could not have borne to discuss the question -even with her; but it is possible that she surmised something of it. -She knew that she had only to wait and everything would be told her. -Perhaps to Bristow, who knew all the details of the case as well as he -did, he might have said something as to the difficulty by which he was -beset, but as it happened, Tom was not at home just then. Much of his -time was spent by Lionel in long solitary walks far and wide through -the country. He could think better when he was walking than when -sitting quietly at home, he used to say; and, indeed, the country folk -who encountered him often turned to look at him, as he stalked along, -with his eyes set straight before him, gazing on vacancy, and with -lips that moved rapidly as he whispered to himself of his dreadful -secret. - -But, little by little, the need of counsel, of sympathy, grew more -strongly upon him. He was still as much at a loss as ever as to the -step which he ought to take next. - -"They shall decide for me," he said at last; "I will put myself into -their hands: by their verdict I will abide." - -General St. George at this time was away from Park Newton. As has been -already stated, he had been summoned to the sick-bed of a very old and -valued friend. The illness was a long and tedious one, and at the -request of his friend the General stayed on and kept him company. -Truth to tell, he was by no means sorry to get away from Park Newton -for awhile. Of late his position there had been anything but a -pleasant one. The silent, deadly feud between his two nephews troubled -him not a little. If Kester would only have gone away, then, so far, -all would have been well. But having pressed him so earnestly to visit -Park Newton, he could not, with any show of conscience, ask him to go -till he was ready to do so of his own accord. Knowing what he knew, -that Kester was all but proved to have been the murderer of Percy -Osmond, he might well not care to live under the same roof with him, -hiding his feelings under a mask, and, while pretending to know -nothing, to be in reality cognisant of the whole dreadful story. -Knowing what he knew, that Richard was none other than Lionel, and -knowing the quest on which he was engaged, and that, sooner or later, -the climax must come, he might well wish to be away from Park Newton -when that most wretched day should dawn--a day which would prove the -innocence of one nephew at the price of the other's guilt. Therefore -did General St. George accept his old friend's invitation to stay with -him for an indefinite length of time--till, in fact, Kester should -have left Park Newton, or till the tangled knot of events should, in -some other way, have unravelled itself. - -When, at length, Lionel had decided that he would take the advice of -his friends as to what his future course should be, he was obliged to -await Tom Bristow's return before it was possible to do anything. -Then, when Tom did get back home, the General had to be written to. -When he understood what he was wanted for, he agreed to come on -certain conditions. He was to come to Fern Cottage, spend one night -there, and go back to his friend's house next day. No one, except -those assembled at the cottage, was to know anything of his journey. -Above all, it was to be kept a profound secret from Kester St George. - -Thus it fell out that on a certain April evening there were assembled, -in the parlour of the cottage, Edith, Mrs. Garside, General St. -George, Tom Bristow, and Lionel. It was a very serious occasion, and -they all felt it to be such. - -The General would sit close to Edith, whom he had not seen for a -little while; and several times during the evening he took possession -of one of her hands, and patted it affectionately between his own -withered palms. - -"You are not looking quite so well, my dear, as when I saw you last," -had been his first words after kissing her. Her cheeks were, indeed, -just beginning to look in the slightest degree hollow and worn, nor -did her eyes look quite so bright as of old. The wonder was, -considering all that she had gone through during the last twelve -months, that she looked as fair and fresh as she did. Of Mrs. Garside, -whom we have not seen for some little time, it may be said that she -looked plumper and more matronly than ever. But then nothing could -have kept Mrs. Garside from looking plump and matronly. She was one of -those people off whom the troubles and anxieties of life slip as -easily as water slips off a duck's back. Although she had a copious -supply of tears at command, nothing ever troubled her deeply or for -long, simply because there was no depth to be troubled. She was always -cheerful, because she was shallow; and she was always kind-hearted so -long as her kindness of heart did not involve any self-sacrifice on -her part. "What a very pleasant person Mrs. Garside is," was the -general verdict of society. And so she was--very pleasant. If her -father had been hanged on a Monday for sheepstealing, by Tuesday she -would have been as pleasant and cheerful as ever. - -But we must not be unjust to Mrs. Garside. She had one affection, and -one only, her love for Edith. During all the days of Edith's -tribulation, her aunt had never deserted her--had not even thought of -deserting her; and now, for Edith's sake, she had buried herself alive -in Fern Cottage, where her only excitement was a little mild shopping, -now and then, in Duxley High Street, under the incognito of a thick -veil, or a welcome visit once and again from Miss Culpepper. Under -these depressing circumstances, it ought perhaps to be put down to the -credit of Mrs. Garside, rather than to her discredit, that her -cheerfulness was not one whit abated, and that her face was a picture -of health and content. - -"I think you know why I have asked you to meet me here to-night," -began Lionel. "I want your advice: I want you to tell me what step I -must take next. You know what the purpose of my life has been ever -since the night I escaped from prison. You know how persistently I -have pursued that purpose--that I have allowed nothing to deter me or -turn me aside from it. The result is that there has grown under my -hands a fatal array of evidence, all tending to implicate one man--all -pointing with deadly accuracy to one person, and to one only, as the -murderer of Percy Osmond. I have but to open my mouth, and the four -walls of a prison would shut him round as fast as ever they shut round -me; I have but to speak of half I know and that man would have to take -his trial for Wilful Murder even as I took mine. But shall I do this -thing? That is the question that I want you to help me to answer. So -long as the chain of evidence remained incomplete, so long as certain -links were wanting to it, I felt that my task was unfinished. But at -last I have all that I need. There is nothing more to search for. My -task, so far, is at an end. Knowing, then, what I know, and with such -proofs in my possession, am I to stop here? Am I to rest content with -what I have done, and go no step farther? Or am I to go through with -it to the bitter end? What that end would involve you know as well as -I could tell you." - -He ceased, and for a little while they all sat in silence. General St. -George was the first to speak. "Lionel knows, and you all know, that -from the very first he has had my heartfelt sympathy in this unhappy -business. He has not had my sympathy only, he has had my help, -although I have seen for a long time the point to which we were all -tending, and the terrible consequences that must necessarily ensue. Me -those consequences affect with peculiar force. One nephew can only be -saved at the expense of the irretrievable ruin and disgrace of the -other. It is not as though we had been searching in the dark, and had -there found the bloodstained hand of a stranger. The hand we have so -grasped is that of one of our own kin--one of ourselves. And that -makes the dreadful part of the affair. Still, I would not have you -misunderstand me. I am as closely bound to Lionel--my sympathy and -help are his as much to-day as ever they were, and should he choose to -go through with this business in the same way as he would go through -with it in the case of an utter stranger, I shall be the last man in -the world to blame him. More: I will march with him side by side, -whatever be the goal to which his steps may lead him. Such -unparalleled wrongs as his demand unparalleled reparation. For all -that, however, it is still a most serious question whether there is -not a possibility of effecting some kind of a compromise: whether -there is not somewhere a door of escape open by means of which we may -avert a catastrophe almost too terrible even to bear thinking about." - -"What is your opinion, Bristow?" said Lionel, turning to Tom. "What -say you, my friend of friends?" - -"I have a certain diffidence in offering any opinion," said Tom, -"simply on account of the relationship of the two persons chiefly -involved. To tell the world all that you know, would, undoubtedly, -bring about a family catastrophe of a most painful nature. It -therefore seems to me that the members of that family, and they alone, -should be empowered to offer an opinion on a question so delicate as -the one now under consideration." - -"Not so," said Lionel, emphatically. "No one could have a better -right, or even so great a right, to offer an opinion as you. But for -you, I should not have been here to-night to ask for that opinion." - -"Nor I here but for you," interrupted Tom. - -"I will put my question to you in a different form," said Lionel; "and -so put to you, I shall expect you to answer it in your usual clear and -straightforward way. Bristow, if you were circumstanced exactly as I -am now circumstanced, what would you do in my place?" - -"I would go through with the task I had taken in hand, let the -consequences be what they might," said Tom, without a moment's -hesitation. "Nothing should hold me back. I would clear my own name -and my own fame, and let punishment fall where punishment is due. You -are still young, Dering, and a fair career and a happy future may -still be yours if you like to claim them." - -Tom's words were very emphatic, and for a little while no one spoke. -"We have yet to hear what Edith has to say," said the General. "Her -interests in the matter are second only to those of Lionel." - -"Yes, it is my wife's turn to speak next," said Lionel. - -"What my opinion is, you know well, dearest, and have known for a long -time." - -"My uncle and Bristow would like to hear it from your own lips." - -"Uncle," began Edith, with a little blush, "whatever Lionel may -ultimately decide to do will doubtless be for the best. The last wish -I have in the world is to lead him or guide him in any way in -opposition to his own convictions. But I have thought this: that it -would be very terrible indeed to have to take part in a second -tragedy--a tragedy that, in some of its features, would be far more -dreadful than that first one, which none of us can ever forget. No one -can know better than I know how grievously my husband has been sinned -against. But nothing can altogether undo the wrong that has been done. -Would it make my husband a happy man if, instead of being the accused, -he should become the accuser? Let us for a few moments try to imagine -that this second tragedy has been worked out in all its frightful -consequences. That my husband has told everything. That he who is -guilty has been duly punished. That Lionel's fair fame has been -re-established, and that he and I are living at Park Newton as if -nothing had ever happened to disturb the commonplace tenor of our -lives. In such a case, would my husband be a happy man? No. I know him -too well to believe it possible that he could ever be happy or -contented. The image of that man--one of his own kith and kin, we must -remember--would be for ever in his mind. He would be the prey of a -remorse all the more bitter in that the world would hold him as -without blame. But would he so hold himself? I think not--I am sure -not. He would feel as if he had sought for and accepted the price of -blood." Overcome by her emotion, she ceased. - -"I think in a great measure as you think, my dear," said the General. -"What course do you propose that your husband should adopt?" - -"It is not for me to propose anything," answered Edith. "I can only -suggest certain views of the question, and leave it for you and Lionel -to adopt them or reject them, as may seem best to you." - -"Holding the proofs of his innocence in his hands as he does," said -the General, "is it your wish that Lionel should sit down contented -with what he has already achieved, and knowing that the real facts of -his story are in the keeping of you and me, and two or three trusted -friends, rest satisfied with that and ask for nothing more?" - -"No, I hardly go so far as that," said Edith, with a faint smile. "I -think that the man who committed the crime should know that Lionel -still lives, and that he holds in his hands the proof at once of his -own innocence and of the other's guilt. Beyond that I say this: The -world believes my husband to be dead: rather than re-open so terrible -a wound, let the world continue so to believe. My husband and I can do -without the world, as well as it can do without us. We have our mutual -love, which nothing can deprive us of: against that the shafts of -Fortune beat as vainly as hailstones against a castle wall. On this -earth of ours are places sweet and fair without number. In one of -them--not altogether dissevered from those ties of friendship which -have already made our married life so beautiful--my husband and I could -build up a new home, with no sad memories of the past to cling around -it; and when this haunting shadow that now broods over his life shall -have been brushed away for ever, then I think--I know--I feel sure -that I can make him happy!" Her voice, her eyes, her whole manner were -imbued with a sweet fervour that it was impossible to resist. - -Lionel crossed over and kissed her. "My darling!" he said. "But for -your love and care I should long ago have been a madman." - -"You, my dear, have put into words," said the General, "the very ideas -that for a long time have been floating about, half formed, in my own -mind. Lionel, what have you to say to your wife's suggestions?" - -"Only this: that I have made up my mind to follow them. _He_ shall -know that I am alive, and that I hold the proofs of his guilt, ready -to produce them at a moment's notice, should I ever be compelled to do -so. Beyond that, I will leave him in peace--to such peace as his own -conscience will give him. The world believes Lionel Dering to be dead -and buried. Dead and buried he shall still remain, and 'requiescat in -pace' be written under his name." - -The General got up with tears in his eyes and shook Lionel warmly by -the hand. "Good boy! good boy! You will not go without your reward," -was all that he could say. - -"The eighth of May will soon be here," said Lionel--"the anniversary -of poor Osmond's murder. On that day he shall be told. But I shall -tell him in my own fashion. On that day, uncle, you must promise to -give me your company; and you yours, Tom. After that I shall trouble -you no more." - -If Tom Bristow dissented from the conclusion thus come to, he said no -word to that effect. There was one point, however, that struck his -practical mind as having been altogether overlooked; and as soon as -Edith and Mrs. Garside had left the room he did not fail to mention -it. - -"What about the income of eleven thousand a year?" he said. "You are -surely not going to let the whole of that slip through your fingers?" - -"Ah, by-the-by, that point never struck me," said the General. "No, it -would be decidedly unjust both to yourself and your wife, Lionel, to -give up the income as well as the position." - -"Now you are importing a mercenary tone into the affair that is -utterly distasteful to me. It looks as if I were being bribed to keep -silence." - -"That is sheer nonsense," said the General. "You have but to hold out -your hand to take the whole." - -Lionel said no more, but went and sat down dejectedly on the sofa. - -"You and I must settle this matter between us," said the General to -Tom. "It is most important. It shall be my place to see that whatever -is agreed upon shall be duly carried out in the arrangement between -the two men. I should think that if the income were divided it would -be about as fair a thing as could be done. What say you?" - -"I agree with you entirely," said Tom. "The other one will have the -name and position to keep up, and that can't be done for nothing." - -"Then it shall be so settled." - -"There is one other point that I think ought to be settled at the same -time. Who is to have Park Newton after _his_ death? Lionel may have -children. _He_ may marry and have children. But, in common justice, -the estate ought to be secured on Dering's eldest child, whether the -present possessor die with or without an heir." - -"Certainly, certainly. Good gracious me! a most valuable suggestion. -Strange, now, that it never struck me. Yes, yes: Lionel's eldest child -must have the estate. I will see that there is no possible mistake on -that score." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -HOW TOM WINS HIS WIFE. - - -After Mrs. McDermott's departure from Pincote, life there slipped back -into its old quiet groove--into its old dull groove which was growing -duller day by day. The Squire had altogether ceased to see company: -when any of his old friends called he was never at home to them; and -on the score of ill health he declined every invitation that was sent -to him. But it was not altogether on account of his health that these -invitations were declined, because three or four times a week he would -be seen somewhere about the country roads being driven out by Jane in -the basket-carriage. There was another reason for this state of -things--a reason to which his friends and neighbours were not slow in -giving a name. The Squire in his old age was becoming a miser: that is -what the said friends and neighbours averred. But to dub him as a -miser was altogether unjust: he was simply becoming penurious for his -daughter's sake, as many other men are penurious for ends much more -ignoble. He had, in fact, decided upon carrying out that modest scheme -of domestic retrenchment of which mention has been made in a previous -chapter, and the mode of living adopted by him now did undoubtedly, to -many people, seem miserly in comparison with that lavish hospitality -for which Pincote had heretofore been noted. The Squire knew that he -could not go much into society without giving return invitations. Now -the four or five state dinners which he had been in the habit of -giving every year were very elaborate and expensive affairs, and he no -longer felt himself justified in keeping them up. Instead of spending -so many pounds per annum in entertaining a number of people for whom -he cared little or nothing, would it not be better to add the amount, -trifling though it might seem, to that other trifling amount--only -some few hundreds of pounds when all was told--which he had already -managed to scrape together as a little nest-egg for Jane when he -should be gone from her side for ever, and Pincote could no longer be -her home? "If I had only died a year ago," he would sometimes say to -himself, "then Jenny would have had a handsome fortune to call her -own. Now she's next door to being a pauper." - -Half his journeys into Duxley nowadays were to the bank--not to -Sugden's Bank, we may be sure, but to the Town and County--and he -gloated over every five pounds added to the fund invested in his -daughter's name as something more added to the nest-egg; and to be -able to put away fifty pounds in a lump now afforded him far more -genuine delight than the putting away of a thousand would have done -six months previously. - -There had been little or no conversation between Jane and her father -respecting the loss of her fortune since that memorable night when the -Squire himself first heard the fatal tidings, and Jane was far more -anxious than he was that the topic should never be broached between -them again. She guessed in part what his object might be when he began -to cut down the house expenses at Pincote discharging some half dozen -of his people; raising his farm rents where it was possible to do so; -letting out the whole, instead of a portion only, of the park as -pasturage for sheep; selling some of his horses, and the whole of his -famous cellar of wines; besides arranging for part of the produce of -his kitchen garden to be taken by a greengrocer at Duxley. She -guessed, but that was all. Her father said nothing definite as to his -reasons for so doing, and she made no inquiry. The sphere of his -enjoyment had now become a very limited one. If it gave him -pleasure--and she could not doubt that it did--to live penuriously so -as to be enabled to put away a few extra pounds per annum, she would -not mar the edge of that pleasure by seeming even to notice what was -going on, much less make any inquiry as to its meaning. The Squire, on -his part, had many a good chuckle in the solitude of his own room. -"After I'm gone, she'll know what it all means," he would say to -himself. "She's puzzled now--they are all puzzled. They call me a -miser, do they? Let 'em call me what they like. Another twenty put -away to-day. That makes----" and out would come his passbook and his -spectacles. - -The fact that the Squire no longer either received company or went -into society compelled Jane, in a great measure, to follow his -example. There were two or three houses to which, if she chose, she -could still go without its being thought strange that there was no -return invitation to Pincote; and there were two or three old school -friends whom she could invite to a cup of tea in her own little room -without their feeling offended that they were not asked to stay to -dinner. But of society, in the general sense of the term, Jane now saw -little or nothing. To her this was no source of regret. Just now she -was far too deeply in love to care very much for company of any kind. - -Happy was it for Jane that the only exception to her father's -no-society rule was in favour of the man she loved. The Squire had by -no means forgotten Mrs. McDermott's warning words, nor Tom's frank -confession of his love for Jane; and it had certainly been no part of -his intention to encourage Tom's visits to Pincote after the widow's -abrupt departure. In honour of that departure, there had been, next -day, a little dinner of state, at which Mr. Culpepper had made his -appearance in a dress coat and white cravat, at which there had been -French side dishes, and at which the Squire had drunk Tom's health in -a bumper of the very best port which his cellar contained. But when -they parted that night, when the Squire, having hobbled to the front -door, shook hands with Tom, and bade him good-night, it was with a -sort of half intimation that some considerable time would probably -elapse before they should have the pleasure of seeing him at Pincote -again. In the first flush of his delight at having got rid of his -sister, the Squire thought that he could be content and happy at home -of an evening with no company save that of Jane, even as he had been -content and happy long before he had known Tom Bristow. But in so -thinking he had overlooked one very important point. The Titus -Culpepper of six months ago had been a prosperous, well-to-do -gentleman, satisfied with himself and all the world, in tolerable -health, and excited by the prospect of making a magnificent fortune -without trouble or anxiety. The Titus Culpepper of to-day was a -broken-down gambler--a gambler who had madly speculated with his -daughter's fortune, and had lost it. Broken-down, too, was he in -health, in spirits, and in temper; and, worst sign of all, a man who -no longer found any pleasure in the company of his own thoughts, and -who began to dislike to sit alone even for half an hour at a time. Of -this change in himself the Squire knew and suspected nothing: how few -of us do know of such changes! Other people may change--nay, do we not -see them changing daily around us, and smile good-naturedly as we note -how querulous and hard to please poor Jones has become of late? But -that we--we--should so change, becoming a burden to ourselves and a -trial to those around us, with our queer, cross-grained ways, our -peevish, variable tempers, and our general belief that the sun shines -less brightly, and that the world is less beautiful than it was a -little while ago--that is altogether impossible. The change is always -in others, never in our immaculate selves. - -The Squire was a man who, all his life, had preferred men's company to -that of the opposite sex. His tastes were not at all æsthetic. He -liked to talk about cattle, and crops, and the state of the markets; -to talk a little about imperial politics--chiefly confined to -blackguarding "the other side of the House"--and a great deal about -local politics. He had been in the habit of talking by the hour -together about paving, and lighting, and sewage, and the state of the -highways: all useful matters without a doubt, but hardly topics -calculated to interest a lady. Though he liked to have Jane play to -him now and then--but never for more than ten minutes at any one -time--he always designated it as "tinkling;" and as often as not, when -he asked her to sing, he would say, "Now, Jenny, lass, give us a -squall." But for all this, in former times Jane and he had got on very -well together on the occasions when they had been without company at -Pincote. He was moving about a good deal in the world at that time, -mixing with various people, talking to and being talked to by -different friends and acquaintances, and was at no loss for subjects -to talk about, even though those subjects might not be particularly -interesting to his daughter. But Jane made a capital listener, and -could always give him a good commonplace answer, and that was all he -craved--that and three-fourths of the talk to himself. - -Of late, however, as we have already seen, the Squire had all but -given up going into society, by which means he at once dried up the -source from which he had been in the habit of obtaining his -conversational ideas. When he came to dine alone with Jane he found -himself with nothing to talk about. Under such circumstances there was -nothing left for him but grumbling. But even grumbling becomes -tiresome after a time, especially when the person to whom such -complainings are addressed never takes the trouble to contradict you, -and is incapable of being grumbled at herself. - -It was after one of these tedious evenings that the Squire said to -Jane, "We may as well have Bristow up to-morrow, I think. I want to -see him about one or two things, and he may as well stop for dinner. -So you had better drop him a line." - -The Squire had nothing of any importance to see Tom about, but he was -too stubborn to own, even to himself, that it was the young man's -lively company that he was secretly longing for. The weather next -morning happened to be very bad, and Jane smiled demurely to herself -as she noted how anxious her father was lest the rain should keep Tom -from coming. Jane knew that neither rain nor anything else would keep -him away. "Papa is almost as anxious to see him as I am," she said to -herself. "He thought that he could live without him: he now begins to -find out his mistake." - -Sure enough, Tom did not fail to be there. The Squire gave him a -hearty greeting, and took him into the study before he had an -opportunity of seeing Jane. "I've heard nothing more from those -railway people about the Croft," he said. "Penfold was here yesterday -and wanted to know whether he was to go on with the villas--all the -foundations are now in, you know. I hardly knew what instructions to -give him." - -"If you were to ask me, sir," said Tom, "I should certainly say, let -him begin to run up the carcases as quickly as possible. I happen to -know that the company must have the Croft--that they cannot possibly -do without it. They are only hanging fire awhile, hoping to get you to -go to them and make them an offer, instead of their being compelled to -come to you; which, in a transaction of this nature, makes all the -difference." - -"I don't think you are far wrong in your views," said Mr. Culpepper. -"I'll turn over in my mind what you've said." Which meant that the -Squire would certainly adopt Tom's advice. - -"No lovemaking, you know, Bristow," whispered the old man, with a dig -in the ribs, as they entered the dining-room. - -"You may trust me, sir," said Tom. - -"I'm not so sure on that score. We are none of us saints when a pretty -girl is in question." - -Tom did not fail to keep the Squire alive during dinner. To the old -man his fund of news seemed inexhaustible. In reality, his resources -in that line were never put to the test. Three or four skilfully -introduced topics sufficed. The Squire's own long-winded remarks, -unknown to himself, filled up three-fourths of the time. Then Tom made -a splendid listener. His attention never flagged. He was always ready -with his "I quite agree with you, sir;" or his "Just so, sir;" or his -"Those are my sentiments exactly, sir." To be able to talk for half an -hour at a time to an appreciative listener on some topic that -interested him strongly was a treat that the Squire thoroughly -enjoyed. - -After the cloth was drawn he decided that instead of remaining by -himself for half an hour, he would go with the young people to the -drawing-room. He could have his snooze just as well there as in the -dining-room, and he flattered himself that his presence, even though -he might be asleep, would be a sufficient safeguard against any of -that illicit lovemaking respecting which Bristow had been duly -cautioned. - -As a still further precaution, he nudged Tom again, as they went into -the drawing-room, and whispered, "None of your tomfoolery, remember." -Five minutes later he was fast asleep. - -They could not play, or sing, or talk much, while the Squire slept, so -they fell back upon chess. "There's to be no lovemaking, you know, -Jenny," whispered Tom, across the table, with a twinkle in his eye. - -"None, whatever," whispered Jane back, with a little shake of the -head, and a demure smile. - -A mutual understanding having thus been come to, there was no need for -any further conversation, except about the incidents of the game, -which, truth to tell, was very badly played on both sides. In place of -studying the board, as a chess-player ought to do, Jane found her -eyes, quite unconsciously to herself, studying the face of her -opponent, while Tom's hand, wandering purposelessly about the board, -frequently found itself taking hold of Jane's hand instead of a knight -or a pawn; so that when at last the game did contrive to work itself -out to an ineffective conclusion, they could hardly have said with -certainty which one of them had checkmated the other. The Squire woke -up, smiling and well-pleased. He had not heard them talking to each -other, and there could be no harm in their playing a simple game of -chess. If he were content, they had no reason to be otherwise. - -After this the Squire would insist on having Tom up at Pincote, as -often as the latter could possibly contrive to be there. In spite of -himself the old man's heart warmed imperceptibly towards him, and when -it so happened that business took Tom away from home for two or three -days, then the Squire grew so fretful and peevish that all Jane's tact -and good temper were needed to make life at all endurable. She tried -her best to persuade him to invite some of his old friends to come and -see him, or go himself and call up on some of them, but in vain. -Bristow he wanted, and no one but Bristow would he have. He looked -upon himself as a ruined man, as a man whom it behoved to economize in -every possible way. To keep company costs money: Tom Bristow was a -sensible fellow, with whom it was not necessary to stand on ceremony, -or be at any extra expense--a man who was content with a chop and a -rice pudding, and a glass of St. Julien. "He doesn't come here for -what he gets to eat and drink. I like his society, and he likes mine. -He finds that he can learn a good many things from me, and he's not -above learning." - -All this time the works at Knockley Holt were being pushed busily -forward, much to the bewilderment and aggravation of the good people -of Duxley. They were aggravated, and they considered they had a right -to be aggravated, because they could not understand, and had not -been told, what it was that was intended to be done there. In a -small town like Duxley, no inhabitant has a right to put before his -fellow-citizens a problem which they find incapable of solution, and -then when asked to solve it for them decline to do so. Such conduct -merits the severest social reprehension. - -Surely next to the madness of building a row of villas on Prior's -Croft, was the puzzling folly of digging a hole in Knockley Holt. -After much discussion pro and con, amongst the townspeople--chiefly -over sundry glasses of whiskey toddy, in sundry bar parlours, after -business hours--it seemed to be settled that Culpepper's Hole, as some -wag had christened it, could be intended for nothing else than an -artesian well--though what was the exact nature of an artesian well it -would have puzzled some of the Duxley wiseacres to tell, and why water -should be bored for there, and to what uses it could be put when so -obtained, they would have been still more at a loss to say. The Squire -could not drive into Duxley without being tackled by one or another of -his friends as to what he was about at Knockley Holt. But the old man -would only wink and shake his head, and try to look wise, and say, "It -doesn't do to blab everything nowadays, but between you and me and the -post--this is in confidence, mind--I'm digging a tunnel to the -Antipodes." Then he would chuckle and give the reins a shake, and -Diamond would trot off with him, leaving his questioner angry or -amused, as the case might be. - -It was not known to any one in Duxley, except the Squire's lawyer, -that Knockley Holt was now the property of Tom Bristow. That the works -there were under Tom's direction was a well-known fact, but he was -merely looked upon as Mr. Culpepper's foreman in the matter. "Gets a -couple of hundred or so a year for looking after the Squire's -affairs," one wiseacre would remark to another. "If not, how does he -live? Seems to have nothing to do when he's not at Pincote. A poor way -of getting a living. Serve him right: he should have stopped with old -Hoskyns when he had the chance, and not have thought he was going to -set the Thames on fire with his six thousand pounds." - -No one could be possessed by a more burning desire than the Squire -himself to know the meaning of the works at Knockley Holt, but having -asked once and asked in vain, his pride would not allow him to make -any further direct inquiry. Not a day passed on which he saw Tom, that -he did not try, by one or two vague hints, to lead up to the subject, -but when Tom turned the talk into another channel, then the old man -would see that the time for him to be enlightened had not yet come. - -But it did come at last, and after what was, in reality, no very long -waiting. On a certain afternoon--to be precise in our dates, it was -the fifth of May--Tom walked over to Pincote, in search of the Squire. -He found him in his study, wearying his brain over a column of -figures, which would persist in coming to a different total every time -it was added up. The first thing Tom did was to take the column of -figures and bring it to a correct total. This done, his next act was -to produce something from his pocket that was carefully wrapped up in -a piece of brown paper. He pushed the parcel across the table to the -Squire. "Will you oblige me, sir," he said, "by opening that paper, -and giving me your opinion as to the contents?" - -"Why, bless my heart, this is neither more nor less than a lump of -coal!" said the Squire, when he had opened the paper. - -"Exactly so, sir. As you say, this is neither more nor less than a -lump of coal. But where do you think it came from?" - -"There you puzzle me. Though I don't know that it can matter much to -me where it came from." - -"But it matters very much to you, sir. This lump of coal came from -Knockley Holt." - -The Squire was rather dull of comprehension. "Well, what is there so -wonderful about that?" he said. "I dare say it was stolen by some of -those confounded gipsies, and left there when they moved." - -"What I mean is this, sir," answered Tom, with just a shade of -impatience in his tone. "This piece of coal is but a specimen of a -splendid seam which has been struck by my men at the bottom of the -shaft at Knockley Holt." - -The Squire stared at him, and gave a long, low whistle. "Do you mean -to say that you have found a bed of coal at the bottom of the hole you -have been digging at Knockley Holt?" - -"That is precisely what I have found, sir, and it is precisely what I -have been trying to find from the first." - -"I see it all now!" said the Squire. "What a lucky young scamp you -are! But what on earth put it into your head to go looking for coal at -Knockley Holt?" - -"I had a friend of mine, who is a very clever mining engineer, staying -with me for a little while some time ago. But my friend is not only an -engineer--he is a practical geologist as well. When out for a -constitutional one day, we found ourselves at Knockley Holt. My friend -was struck with its appearance--so different from that of the country -around. 'Unless I am much mistaken, there is coal under here,' he -said, 'and at no great distance from the surface either. The owner -ought to think himself a lucky man--that is, if he knows the value of -it.' Well, sir, not content with what my friend said, I paid a heavy -fee and had one of the most eminent geologists of the day down from -London to examine and report upon it. His report coincided exactly -with my friend's opinion. You know the rest, sir. I came to you with a -view of getting a lease of the ground, and found you desirous of -selling it. I was only too glad to have the chance of buying it. I set -a lot of men and a steam engine to work without a day's delay, and -that lump of coal, sir, is the happy result." - -The Squire rubbed his spectacles for a moment or two without speaking. -"Bristow, that's an old head of yours on those young shoulders," he -said at last. "With all my heart congratulate you on your good -fortune. I know no man who deserves it more than you do. Yes, Bristow, -I congratulate you, though I can't help saying that I wish that I had -had a friend to have told me what was told you before I let you have -the ground. For want of such a friend I have lost a fortune." - -"That is just what I have come to see you about, sir," said Tom, as he -rose and pushed back his chair. The Squire looked up at him in -surprise. "Although I bought Knockley Holt from you as a speculation, -I had a pretty good idea when I bought it as to what I should find -below the surface. If I had not found what I expected, my bargain -would have been a dear one; but having found what I expected, it is -just the opposite. In fact, sir, you have lost a fortune, and I have -found one." - -"I know it--I know it," groaned the Squire. "But you needn't twit me -with it." - -"So far the speculation was a perfectly legitimate one, as -speculations go nowadays. But that is not the sort of thing I wish -to exist between you and me. You have been very kind to me in many -ways, and I have much to thank you for. I could not bear to treat you -in this matter as I should treat a stranger. I could not bear to think -that I was making a fortune out of a piece of ground that but a few -short weeks ago was your property. The money so made would seem to me -to bring a curse with it, rather than a blessing. I should feel as if -nothing would ever prosper with me afterwards. Sir, I will not have -this coal mine. There are plenty of other channels open to me for -making money. Here are the title deeds of the property. I give -them back to you. You shall repay me the twelve hundred pounds -purchase-money, and reimburse me for the expenses I have been put to -in sinking the shaft. But as for the pit itself, I will have nothing -to do with it." - -Tom had produced the title deeds from his pocket and had laid them on -the table while speaking. He now pushed them across to the Squire. -Then he took the deed of sale tore it across, and threw the fragments -into the grate. - -It is doubtful whether Titus Culpepper had ever been more astonished -in the whole course of his life than he was at the present moment. For -a little while he seemed utterly at a loss for words, but when he did -speak, his words were not lacking in force. - -"Bristow, you are a confounded fool!" he said with emphasis. - -"I have been told that many times before." - -"You are a confounded fool--but you are a gentleman." - -Tom merely bowed. - -"You propose to give me back the title deeds of Knockley Holt, after -having found what may literally be termed a gold mine there--eh?" - -"I don't propose to do it, sir. I have done it already. There are the -title deeds," pointing to the table. "There is the deed of sale," -pointing to the fire-grate. - -"And do you think, sir," said the Squire, with dignity, "that Titus -Culpepper is the man to accept such a romantic piece of generosity -from one who is little more than a boy! Not so.--It would be -impossible for me to forgive myself, were I to do anything of the kind -The property is fairly and legally yours, and yours it must remain." - -"It shall not, sir! By heaven! I will not have it. There are the title -deeds. Do with them as you will." He buttoned his coat, and took up -his hat, and turned to leave the room. - -"Stop, Bristow, stop!" said the Squire, as he rose from his chair. Tom -halted with the handle of the door in his hand, but he did not go back -to the table. - -Mr. Culpepper walked to the window and stood there looking out for -full three minutes without uttering a word. Then he turned and -beckoned Tom to go to him. - -"Bristow," he said, laying his hand affectionately on Tom's shoulder, -"as I said before, you are a gentleman--a gentleman in mind and -feeling. More than that a man cannot be, whether his family be old or -new. You propose to do a certain thing which I can only accede to on -one condition." - -"Name it, sir," said Tom briefly. - -"I cannot take Knockley Holt from you without giving you something -like an equivalent in return. Now, I only possess one thing that you -would care to receive at my hands--and that is the most precious thing -I have on earth. Exchange is no robbery. I will agree to take back -Knockley Holt from you, if you will take in exchange for it--my -daughter Jane." - -"Oh! Mr. Culpepper." - -"That you love her, I know already, and I dare say the sly hussy is -equally as fond of you. If such be the case, take her. I know no man -who so thoroughly deserves her, or who has so much right to her as you -have." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -THE EIGHTH OF MAY. - - -The eighth of May had come round at last. - -Of all days in the year this was the one that Kester St. George -intended least to spend at Park Newton, but, as circumstances fell -out, he could not well avoid doing so. - -After the death and burial of Mother Mim--the expenses of the -last-named ceremony being defrayed out of Kester's pocket--it had been -his intention to leave Park Newton at once and for ever. But it so -fell out that in the document purloined by him from the pocket of -Skeggs when that individual lay dead on the moor, there was given the -name of a certain person, still living, who could depose, of his own -personal knowledge, to the truth of the facts as put down in the dying -woman's confession. This person was the only witness to the facts -there stated who was now alive. The name of the man in question was -William Bendall, and the point that Kester had now to clear up was: -Who was this William Bendall, and where was he to be found? There was -no address given in the Confession, nor any hint as to the man's -whereabouts; but Skeggs had doubtless known where he was to be found, -and had, in fact, told Kester that he could put his hand on the man at -a day's notice. - -With such a sword as this hanging over his head, Kester felt that it -was impossible for him to leave Park Newton. When the man should learn -that Mother Mim was dead, which he probably would do in the course of -a few days, and when the restraining power which had doubtless kept -him silent should be removed for ever, what was to prevent him from -telling all that he knew, or, at least, from giving such broad hints -as to the information in his possession as might lead to inquiry--to -many inquiries, perchance: to far more than Kester would care to -encounter--unless he should ever be so unfortunate as to be driven to -bay? - -But, as yet, he was not driven to bay, nor anything like it. It -behoved him, therefore, or so it seemed to him, to make certain -cautious inquiries as to the whereabouts of Mr. William Bendall, with -the view of ascertaining what kind of a man he was, or whether there -was any danger to be apprehended from him. And if so, how could the -danger best be met? - -It was quite evident that it would be unadvisable for Kester to leave -Park Newton while these inquiries were afoot. He might be wanted at -any hour should Mr. Bendall, when found, prove intractable; so he -stayed on at the old place, very much against his will in other -respects. But, to a certain extent, his patience had already been -rewarded. Mr. Bendall's address had been discovered, and Mr. Bendall -himself had been found to be first cousin to Mother Mim, and a railway -ganger by profession. But just at this time he was away from home--his -home being at Swarkstone, a great centre of railway industry, about -twenty miles from Duxley--he having been sent out to Russia in charge -of a cargo of railway plant. He was now expected back in the course of -a few days, and Kester determined not to leave the neighbourhood till -he had found out for himself what manner of man he was. - -We may here finally dispose of Skeggs. His body was not found till two -days after Kester's visit to it. There, too, was found his broken leg, -so that the nature of the accident he had met with was clearly seen, -and it was at once understood how he had come by his death. No one -except the girl Nell had seen Kester St. George in his company, so, as -it fell out, that gentleman's name was never even whispered in -connexion with the affair. - -The future of Nell had been a point that Mr. St. George had anxiously -discussed in his own mind, after Mother Mim's death. What to do with -such a strange girl he knew not, nor how best to secure her silence. -Did she really know anything, as she asserted that she did, or did she -not? If anything, how much did she know, and to what use did she -intend to put her knowledge? Kester had no opportunity of talking to -her in private before the funeral, so he made an appointment with her -for the morning following that event. She was to meet him at a certain -milestone on the Duxley Road at eleven o'clock. Kester was there to -the minute. But Miss Nell was not there, nor did she come at all. -Kester went back home in a fume, and after luncheon he rode over to -Mother Mim's cottage without once slackening rein. There he found the -old woman who had been looking after matters previously to the -funeral: From her he ascertained that Nell had disappeared about two -hours after her return from seeing the last of her grandmother, taking -with her her new black frock and a few other things tied up in a -bundle, and had given no hint as to where she was going, or whether it -was her intention ever to come back. - -The girl's disappearance had been a source of considerable disquietude -to Kester for several days, but as time passed on without bringing any -sign of her, or any information as to where she was, his uneasiness -gradually wore itself away, till he came at last to persuade himself -that from that quarter at least there was no possible danger to be -apprehended. - -But had it not been for another and a much more potent reason, Kester -St. George would certainly not have spent the eighth of May at Park -Newton, not even though he could not have left it till the seventh, -and had been compelled to come back to it on the ninth. He would have -gone somewhere--anywhere if only for a dozen hours--if only from -sunset till sunrise, had it in anyway been possible for him to do so. -But it so happened that it was not possible for him to do so. On the -fifth he received a letter from his uncle, which astonished him very -much. General St. George was still staying at Salisbury with his sick -friend, Major Beauchamp. He wrote as under: - - -"All being well, I shall be back at Park Newton on the eighth instant, -but for a few hours only. I don't know whether your cousin Richard has -told you that he is tired of England, and has decided upon going out -to New Zealand, and that he has persuaded me to go with him." - - -"The old fool! To think of going to New Zealand at his time of life!" -muttered Kester. "Of course, it's Master Richard's dodge to take him -with him, so as to make sure of his money when he dies. Well, if I can -only get rid of the young one, the old one may go with him, and -welcome." Then he went on with his uncle's letter. - - -"I shall reach Park Newton on the eighth, about four P.M., when I hope -to spend the evening with you. It will be my last evening at the old -place, and there are several things I wish to talk to you about. -We--that is, Richard and I, leave by the eight o'clock train next -morning direct for Gravesend, where the ship will be waiting for us. -By this day next week, I shall have bidden a final farewell to dear -Old England." - - -"So deucedly sudden. I hardly know what to make of it," said Kester, -as he folded up the letter. "I would give much if it was any other day -than the eighth. I never thought to spend that day here. But there's -no help for it. Well, it will be better to spend it in company than to -spend it here alone. Nothing could have persuaded me to do that." - -"Yes, if the old boy goes to the other side of the world, there's no -chance of any of his money coming to me," he said to himself later on. -"That scowling cousin of mine will come in for the lot. Poor devil! I -don't suppose he's got enough of his own to pay his passage out. I -wouldn't mind giving a thousand pounds myself to be rid of him for -ever." - -The eighth dawned at last, cold and dull as English May days so often -are. Breakfast was hardly over before Kester ordered his horse, and -away he started without telling any one where he was going. He was out -all day, and did not get back till five o'clock, an hour after the -arrival of his uncle, with whom had come Mr. Perrins, the family -lawyer. Him Kester knew of old, but had not seen for a long time. He -was rather surprised to see him, but it struck Kester that his uncle -had probably some private arrangements to make before leaving England, -in which the aid of Mr. Perrins might be required. - -"This is very sudden, uncle, about your leaving England," said Kester. - -"Yes, it is very sudden," replied the General. "It is not more than -three weeks since Dick told me that he intended to go out. The reasons -he gave me for coming to that conclusion were such that I could not -blame him. I have no son of my own, and, somehow, since poor Lionel -left us, I seem to cling to that boy; and so it fell out, that I -presently made up my mind to go with him. I cannot bear the idea of -living alone. I have only you and him--and you; Kester, are too much -of a Bohemian, too much a citizen of the world--a wandering Arab who -strikes his tent a dozen times a year--for me ever to think of staying -with you. Dick is far more of an old fogey than you are, and he and -I--I don't doubt--will get on very well together." - -"All the same, uncle, I shall be deucedly sorry to lose you." - -Kester was destined to be still more surprised when he came down to -dinner, for there he found Mr. Hoskyns and the Reverend Mr. Wharton, -the octogenarian Vicar of Duxley. Mr. Hoskyns he had seen incidentally -during the course of the trial, but not since. The vicar he had known -from boyhood. - -It was by Lionel's express desire that the two lawyers and the vicar -had been invited to-day to Park Newton. What he was going to tell -Kester to-night should be told to them also. They were all, in a -certain sense, friends of the family; they were all men of honour; -with them his secret would be safe. In simple justice to himself, he -felt that it was not enough that his uncle and Bristow should be the -sole depositories of that secret. There ought to be at least two or -three family friends to whose custody it might be implicitly trusted, -and whose good wishes and friendship would be sweet to him even in -exile. - -None of the three gentlemen had any suspicion as to the one particular -reason why they had been invited to Park Newton: not one of them had -any suspicion that Richard Dering was none other than the Lionel whom -they all so sincerely mourned. They had simply been invited to a -little dinner party given by General St. George on the eve of his -departure from England for ever. - -The last to arrive at Park Newton--and he did not arrive till two -minutes before dinner was served--was Mr. Tom Bristow. He had driven -Miss Culpepper from Pincote to Fern Cottage, and had stayed talking -with Edith till the last minute. - -Tom was an entire stranger to Kester St. George. The General -introduced them to each other. Tom had seen Kester several times, -knowing well who he was, but the latter had no recollection of having -ever seen Tom. - -Neither the General, nor Tom, nor even Edith herself, had any idea as -to the particular mode which Lionel would adopt for telling his cousin -that which he had made up his mind to tell him. On that point he had -kept his own counsel, having spoken no word to any one. It was a -subject on which even his wife felt that she could not question him. -During the past week he had been even more silent and distrait than -usual. His thoughts were evidently occupied with one subject, to the -exclusion of all others. He seemed hardly to notice, or be aware of, -what was going on around him. For Edith the time was a very anxious -one. All the preparations for the approaching voyage devolved upon -her: that she did not mind in the least; what she prayed and longed -for was that the fatal eighth might come and go in peace: might come -and go without any encounter between her husband and his cousin. -Lionel and Tom were to ride across from Park Newton to Fern Cottage at -the close of the evening--Tom, in order that he might escort Jane back -to Pincote: Lionel, because he should then have bidden the old house a -last farewell, because he should then have done with the past for -ever, and because he should then be ready to start with his wife for -their new home on the other side of the world. - -"And will nothing that any of us can say or do, persuade you to -reconsider your determination?" said Jane to Edith, as they sat, hand -in hand, after Tom had gone forward to Park Newton. Mrs. Garside had -gone into Duxley to make some final purchases, and they had the little -parlour all to themselves. - -"I'm afraid not," answered Edith with a melancholy smile - -"It seems so hard to lose you, just when everything is made straight -and clear--just as your husband is able to prove his innocence to the -world! Yes, and were I in his place I would prove it. I would cry it -aloud on the housetops, and let that other one pay the penalty which -he deserves to pay. I would never banish myself from my native country -for his sake; he is not worthy of such a sacrifice." - -"You must not talk like that," said Edith, with a little extra squeeze -of Jane's hand; "but it is easy to see who has been inoculating you -with his wild doctrines." - -"They are my own original sentiments, and not second-hand ones," said -Jane emphatically. "There's nothing wild about them; they are plain -common sense." - -"There could be no happiness for either Lionel or me were we to follow -the course suggested by you. Depend upon it, Jane, that what we are -about to do is best for all concerned." - -"I will never believe that it is good for me to lose my friends in -this way. Do you know, I feel almost tempted to go with you." - -"I wish, with all my heart, that you were going with us; but I'm -afraid Mr. Culpepper is too deeply rooted in English soil to bear -transplanting to a foreign clime." - -"Yes, I suppose so," said Jane, with a little sigh. "Only I should so -like to travel: I should so like a six months' voyage to somewhere." - -"The voyage is just what I dread, only it would not do to tell Lionel -so." - -"You might have fixed on some place a little nearer than New Zealand, -some place within four or five days' journey, where one could run over -for a little holiday now and then and see you. It is very ridiculous -of you to go so far away." - -"When you say that, dear, you forget certain peculiarities of the -case. If Lionel were to settle down at any place where there would be -the least possibility of his being recognized, it would necessitate a -perpetual disguise. This, in a little while, would become intolerable. -He must go to a place where there will be no need for him to stain his -face, or dye his hair, and where he can go about freely, and without -fear of detection." - -"I can quite understand what an immense relief it must be to -you to get away from this neighbourhood, with all its painful -associations--to hide yourself in some remote valley where no shadow -of the past can darken your door; but it seems to me that you need -not go quite so far away in order to do that." - -"It will be all for the best, dear, depend upon it." - -"No; I cannot see it. If you had only gone to America, now! No one -would recognize Mr. Dering there, and it would not be too far away for -me to pay you a visit once every now and again. In fact, I should make -it a condition of marrying Tom, that he gave me a promise to that -effect. But, New Zealand!" - -As the evening wore itself on, so did Edith's uneasiness increase, but -she did her best to hide it from Jane and Mrs. Garside. Lionel had -told her that she must not expect him much before midnight, and up to -the time of the clock striking eleven she contrived to take her share -in the conversation with tolerable composure, but after that time she -was unable to altogether control herself. What terrible scenes might -not even then be enacting at Park Newton! To what danger might not her -husband be exposed, while, only a mile away, they three were idly -chatting about twenty indifferent topics! How intolerable it was to be -a woman, to be condemned to inaction, to have no share in the dangers -of those one loved, to be able to do nothing but wait--wait--wait! If -she went to the window once, she went twenty times, to listen for the -sound of coming hoofs. The roads were hard and dry, and it would be -possible to hear the horsemen while they were still some distance -away. To and fro she paced the little room like an imprisoned -leopardess. White-faced, eager-eyed, her long slender fingers clasping -and unclasping themselves unceasingly, she looked like some priestess -of old, who sees in her mind's eye a vision of doom--a vision of -things to come, pregnant with woe unutterable. The two women watched -her in silence: her mood infected them: it could not be otherwise; but -there was nothing for them to do; they could only wait and listen. - -"I can bear this no longer," said Edith, at last; "the room suffocates -me. I must get out into the fresh air. I must go and meet Lionel." She -snatched up a shawl of Mrs. Garside's, that lay on the sofa, and flung -it over her head and shoulders. - -"Let me go with you," cried Jane, "I am almost as anxious as you are." - -"Hush! hush!" cried Edith, suddenly, "I hear them coming!" - -Hardly breathing, they all listened. - -"I can hear nothing but the low moaning of the wind," cried Mrs. -Garside, after a few moments. - -"Nor I," said Jane. - -"I tell you they are coming," said Edith. "There are two of them. -Listen! Surely you can hear them now!" She flung open the window as -she spoke; then could be plainly heard the sound of hoofs on the hard -highroad. A minute or two later the horsemen drew rein at the cottage -door. Martha Vince, candle in hand, lighted them up the stairs, at the -top of which the ladies stood waiting to receive them. - -Very stern and very pale looked the face of Lionel Dering as, followed -by Tom Bristow, he walked slowly upstairs as a man in a dream. He was -no longer disguised: face, hands, and hair were their natural colour. -To see him thus sent a thrill to every heart there. To each, and all -of them, he seemed like a man newly risen from the grave. - -Hardly had he reached the top of the stairs before Edith's white arms -were round his neck. - -"My darling: what is it?" she said. "What dreadful thing has -happened?" He stooped his head still lower, and whispered something -in her ear. She stared up into his face for a moment, then his arms -tightened suddenly round her, and they all saw that she had fainted. - - -At Park Newton the evening wore itself slowly and gloomily away. Tom -and Mr. Hoskyns, assisted occasionally by Mr. Perrins and the vicar, -did their best to keep the conversation from flagging, but at times -with only indifferent success. None of them could forget what day it -was--could forget what took place that night twelve months ago, only a -few yards from where they were sitting; and so remembering, who could -wonder that the dinner seemed tasteless and the wines without flavour, -that the lights seemed to burn low, and that to the imagination of -more than one there a shrouded figure was with them in the room, -invisible to mortal eyes, but none the less surely there, drinking -when they drank, pledging a health when they pledged one, and knowing -well all the time which one of the company would be the first to join -it in that Land of Shadows to which it now belonged. - -Kester was altogether gloomy and preoccupied, and Lionel hardly spoke -at all except when spoken to. General St. George was obliged to keep -up some show of conversation out of compliment to his guests; but no -one but himself knew how irksome it was to do so. What did Lionel -intend to do? Would there be a scene--a fracas--between the two -cousins? What would be the end of the wretched business? How fervently -he wished that the morrow was safely come, that he had seen that -unhappy man's face for the last time, and that he, and Lionel, and -Edith were fairly started on their long journey to the other side of -the world! - -The vicar and the two men of law had naturally expected that the party -would break up by ten o'clock at the latest. Not that it mattered -greatly to either Perrins or Hoskyns, who were to stay at Park Newton -all night. But the vicar was an old man, and anxious to get home in -decent time, so that when he began to fidget and look at his watch, -Lionel, who was only waiting for him to make a move, knew that it -would be impossible to detain him much longer. - -"I must really ask you to excuse me, General," said the old man at -last. "But I see that it is past ten o'clock, and quite time for gay -young sparks like me to be thinking of their night-caps." - -"I hope you are not particular to a few minutes, vicar," said Lionel. -"I have ordered coffee to be served in my room, and, with my uncle's -permission, we will all adjourn there." - -"You must not keep me long," said the vicar. - -"I will not," said Lionel. "But I know that you like to finish up your -evening with a little café noir; and I have, besides, a picture which -I want to show you, and which I think will interest you very much--a -picture--which I want to show not only to you, Dr. Wharton, but to all -the other gentlemen who are here to-night." - -They all rose and made a move towards the door. - -"As I don't care for café noir, and don't understand pictures, you -will perhaps excuse me," said Kester, ignoring Lionel, and addressing -himself to his uncle. - -"You had better go with us," said Lionel, turning to his cousin. "You -are surely not going to be the first to break up the party." - -"I don't want to break up the party. I will wait here till you come -back," answered Kester, doggedly. - -"You had better go with us," said Lionel, meaningly, but speaking so -that the others could not hear him. - -"Pray who made you dictator here?" said Kester haughtily. "I don't -choose to go with you. That is enough." - -"You had better go with us," said Lionel for the third time. "If you -still decline, I can only assume that you are afraid to go." - -"Afraid!" sneered Kester. "Of whom and what should I be afraid?" - -"That is best known to yourself." - -"Anyhow, I'm neither afraid of you nor of anything that you can do." - -"If you decline going to my rooms, I can only conclude that you are -kept away by some abject fear." - -"Lead on.--I'll follow.--But mark my words, you and I will have this -little matter out in the morning--alone." - -"Willingly." - -The rooms occupied by Lionel were in the opposite wing of the house to -those occupied by Kester. They were, in fact, in the same wing as, and -no great distance from, the room where Percy Osmond had been murdered: -a good and sufficient reason why Kester should get as far away as -possible. - -Lionel's sitting-room was a good-sized apartment, but it was divided -into two by large folding doors, now closed. A moderator lamp stood on -the table, together with coffee, cognac, and cigars. - -"Gentlemen, I must ask you to excuse me for a few minutes," said -Lionel. "My picture requires a little preparation before I can show it -to you." So speaking he left the room. There was no servant. Each of -the gentlemen, Kester excepted, helped himself to a cup of coffee. - -Kester seated himself apart on a chair near the door. His eyes were -bent on the floor. He played absently with his watch-guard. Just now, -as he was coming slowly upstairs, a shadowy hand had been laid on his -shoulder, a ghostly voice had whispered in his ear. It was only that -one little word that he had heard whispered oft-times before. "Come!" -was all the voice said, but it was followed, this time, by a little -malicious laugh, such as Kester had never heard before. Round his -heart there was a cold, numb feeling, that was altogether strange to -him; a dull singing in his ears like the faint echo of a tide beating -on some far-away shore. No one spoke to him. No one seemed to know -that he was there. He felt at that moment, with an unspeakable -bitterness, how utterly alone he was in the world. There was no human -being anywhere who, if he were to die that moment, would really regret -him--not one single creature who would drop a solitary tear over his -grave.--But such thoughts were miserable; they must be driven away -somehow. He rose and went to the table, poured himself out half a -tumbler of brandy, and drank it off without water. "It puts fresh life -into me as it goes down," he muttered to himself. - -He was in the act of replacing the glass on the table when a sudden -noise caused all eyes to turn in one direction. The folding doors were -being unbolted from the inner side. Then they were opened till they -stood about half a yard apart, but as yet all within was in darkness. -Then from out this darkness issued the voice of Lionel--or, as most -there took it to be, the voice of Richard--but Lionel himself was -unseen. - -"Gentlemen," said the voice, "you all know what day this is. It is the -eighth of May. Twelve months ago to-night Percy Osmond was murdered. -About that crime I have often thought and often dreamed. I dreamed -about it only a little while ago, and in my dream I seemed to see how -the murder really was done. What I then saw in my sleep, I have -painted. What I have painted I am now going to show to you." - -The folding doors were closed for a minute, and then flung wide open. -The farther room was now a blaze of light. Facing this light, so that -every minute detail could be plainly seen, was a large unframed -canvas, on which in colours the most vivid, was painted Lionel -Dering's Dream. - -The scene was Percy Osmond's bedroom, and the moment selected by the -artist was the one when, after the brief struggle between Osmond and -Kester, the latter has obtained possession of the dagger, and while -pinning Osmond down with one knee and one arm, has, with his other -hand, forced the dagger deep into his opponent's heart. Peeping from -behind the curtains could be seen the white, terror-stricken, face of -Pierre Janvard. The figures were all life-size, and the likenesses -takable. - -Awe-struck they crowded round the folding doors, and gazed silently at -the picture, forgetting for the moment that the man thus strangely -accused was one of themselves. - -"Now you see how the murder really happened--now you know who the -murderer really was," said Lionel, speaking from some place in the -farther room where he could not be seen. "This is no dream but a most -dread reality that you see pictured before you. I have proofs--ample -proofs--of the truth of that which I now state. The murderer of Percy -Osmond stands among you. Kester St. George is that man!" - -At these words, every eye was turned instinctively on Kester. He was -still standing at the table where he had put down his glass. His right -hand was hidden in his waistcoat. With his left hand he supported -himself against the table. A strange lividity had overspread his face; -his lips twitched nervously. His frightened eyes wandered from one -face to another of those who were now gazing on him. He tried to -speak, but could not. Then his eyes fixed themselves on the brandy. -Tom interpreted the look and poured some into a glass. He drank it -greedily and then he spoke. - -"What you have just been told," he said, "is nothing but a cruel, -cowardly; devilish lie! Where is this man who accuses me? Why does he -hide himself? He hides himself because he is a liar--because he dare -not face either you or me. We all know who was the murderer--we all -know that Lionel Dering----" - -"Lionel Dering is here to answer for himself. It is he who tells you -to your face that you are the murderer of Percy Osmond!" - -Yes, there, framed by the archway, full in the blaze of light, stood -Lionel, no longer disguised--the dye washed off his face, his hands, -his hair--the Lionel that they all remembered so well come back from -the dead--his own dear self, and none but he, as they could all see at -a glance, and yet looking strangely different without his long fair -beard. - -For a full minute Kester St. George stood as rigid as a statue, -glaring across the room at the man whom he had so bitterly wronged. - -One word his lips tried to form, but only half succeeded in doing so. -That one word was _Forgive_. Then a strange spasm passed across his -face; he pressed his hand to his left side, and turning suddenly half -round, fell back into the arms of the man nearest to him. - -"He has fainted," said the General. - -"He is dead," said Tom. - -"Heaven knows, I had no thought of knowledge of this," said Lionel. -"None whatever!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -GATHERED THREADS. - - -The terribly sudden death of Kester St. George, left Lionel Dering -with two courses to choose between. On the one hand he could carry out -his original intention of going abroad, under an assumed name, leaving -the world still to believe that he was dead. On the other hand, he -could give himself up to justice, under his real name, and, his first -trial never having been finished--take his stand at the bar again -under the original charge, and with the proofs he had gathered in his -possession, let his innocence of the crime imputed to him work itself -out through a legitimate channel to a verdict of Not Guilty. This -latter course was the only one open to him if he wished to clear -himself in the eyes of the world from the stain of blood, or even if -he wished to assume his own name and his position as the owner of Park -Newton. But did he really wish this thing? That idea of going abroad, -of burying himself and his wife in some far-away nook of the New -World, had taken such hold on his imagination, that even now it had by -no means lost its sweetness in his thoughts. Then, again, Kester -having died without a will, if he--Lionel were to leave himself -undeclared, the estate would go to General St. George, as next of kin, -and after the old soldier's time it would go, in the natural course of -events, to his brother Richard. Why, then, declare himself? why give -himself into custody and undergo the pain and annoyance of another -term of imprisonment, and another trial--and they would be both -painful and annoying, even though his innocence were proved at the end -of them? Why not rather bind over to silence those few trusted friends -to whom his secret was already known, and going abroad with Edith, -spend the remainder of his days in happy obscurity. Why re-open that -bloodstained page of family history, over which the world had of a -surety gloated sufficiently already? - -But in this latter view he was opposed by everybody except his wife; -by his uncle, by Tom, by the vicar, and by nobody more strongly than -by Messrs. Perrins and Hoskyns. The cry from all was--take your trial; -let your innocence be proved, as proved it must be, and assume the -name and position that are rightfully yours. Edith, with her head -resting on his shoulder, only said: "Do that which seems best to you -in your own heart, dearest, and that alone. Whether you go or stay, my -place is by your side--my love unalterable. Only to be with you--never -to lose you again--is all I ask. Give me that: I crave for nothing -more." - -Strange to say, the person who brought matters to a climax, and -finally decided Lionel as to his future course of action, was the girl -Nell, Mother Mim's plain-spoken grand-daughter. Through some channel -or other she had heard of the death of Mr. St. George, and one day she -marched up the steps at Park Newton, and rang the big bell, and asked, -as bold as brass, to see the General. The General was one of the most -accessible of men, and when told that the girl wanted to see him -privately, he marched off at once to the library, and ordered her to -be admitted. - -It was a strange story the girl had to tell--so strange that the -General at first put her down as a common impostor. Fortunately Mr. -Perrins happened to be still at Park Newton, and he at once called the -shrewd old lawyer to his assistance. - -But Miss Nell was now taken with a stubborn fit, and refused either to -say any more or to answer any more questions, till five pounds had -been given her as an earnest of more to follow, in case her -information should prove to be correct. The five pounds having been -put into her hands, she told all that she knew freely enough, and -answered every question that was put to her. Then she was dismissed -for the time being, having first left an address where she might be -found when wanted. - -Nell had told them how the body of Dirty Jack had been found dead on -the moor, and the first point to ascertain was, what had become of the -confession which was known to have been in his possession when he left -Mother Mim's cottage? Had it been found on his person? If so, where -was it now? It was rather singular that Mr. St. George should be the -last person known to have been seen in the company of Skeggs. The -second question was, where was Mr. Bendall to be found? Mr. Perrins -set to work without delay to solve this latter problem, by engaging -one of Mr. Hoskyns's confidential clerks to make the requisite -inquiries for him. To the first question, the whereabouts of the -confession, he determined to give his own personal attention. But -before he had an opportunity of doing this, he found among the papers -of Kester the very document itself--the original confession, duly -witnessed by Skeggs and the girl Nell. A day or two later Mr. Bendall -was also found, and--for a consideration--had no objection to tell all -he knew of the affair. His evidence, and that given in the confession, -tallied exactly. There could no longer be any moral doubt as to the -fact of Kester St. George having been a son of Mother Mim. - -This revelation was not without its effect on the question Lionel was -still debating in his own mind. It armed his uncle and Tom with one -weapon more in favour of the course they were desirous that he should -pursue. If Kester St. George were not Lionel's cousin, if he were not -related to the family in any way, there was less reason than ever why -Lionel should not declare himself, why he should not give himself up, -and let his own innocence be proved once and for ever, by proving the -guilt of this other man. - -Even Edith at last added her persuasions to those of his uncle and the -others, and when this became the case Lionel could hold out no longer. -Exactly a week after the death of Kester St. George (as we may as well -continue to call him) Lionel Dering walked into the police-station at -Duxley, and gave himself up into the hands of the sergeant on duty. - -Mr. Drayton was astounded, as well he might be. "How can you be Mr. -Dering?" he said. Lionel being now close-shaved, did not tally with -the superintendent's recollection of him. "I saw that gentleman lying -dead in his coffin in the church of San Michele, in Italy, and I could -have sworn to him anywhere." - -"What you saw, Mr. Drayton, was a cleverly-executed waxen effigy, and -not the man himself. Me you did see and talk to, but without -recognizing me. At all events here I am, alive and well, and if you -will kindly lock me up, I shall esteem it a favour." - -"I was never so sold in the whole course of my life," said Drayton. -"But there's one comfort--Sergeant Whiffins was just as much sold as I -was." - -At the ensuing summer assizes Lionel Dering was again put on his trial -for the murder of Percy Osmond. Janvard, whose safety had been -carefully looked after by a private detective in the guise of a guest -at his hotel, was admitted as evidence for the Crown, and without -leaving their box a verdict of Not Guilty was found by the jury. Never -had such a scene been known in Duxley as was enacted that summer -afternoon, when Lionel Dering walked down the steps of the Court-house -a free man. A landau was in waiting, into which he was lifted by main -force. No horses were needed, or would have been allowed. Relays of -the crowd dragged the carriage all the way to Park Newton, in company -with two brass bands, and all the flags that the town could muster. -Lionel's arm had never ached so much as it did that evening, after he -had shaken hands with a great multitude of his friends--and every man -and boy prided himself upon being Mr. Dering's friend that day. As for -the ladies, they had their own way of showing their sympathy with him. -Half the children in the parish that came to light during the next -twelve months were christened either Edith or Lionel. - -The post-mortem examination showed that heart disease of long standing -was the proximate cause of Kester St. George's death. He was buried -not in the family vault where the St. Georges for two centuries lay in -silent state, but in the town cemetery. The grave was marked by a -plain slab, on which was engraved simply the initials of the name he -had always been known by, and the date of his death. - -"I warned him of it long ago," said Dr. Bolus to two or three fellows -at Kester's old club, as he stood with his back to the fire and his -coat tails thrown over his arms. "But whose warnings are sooner -forgotten than a doctor's? By living away from London, and leading a -perfectly quiet and temperate life, he might have been kept going for -years. But, above all things, he should have avoided excitement of -every kind." - -Lionel and Edith put off for a little while their long-talked-of tour -in order that they might be present at the wedding of Tom and Jane. -The ceremony took place in August. Tom and his bride went to Scotland -for their honeymoon. Lionel and his wife started for Switzerland, en -route for Italy, where they were to spend the ensuing winter. - -Of late the Squire had recovered his health wonderfully. He seemed to -have grown ten years younger in a few weeks. In the working of that -wonderful coal-shaft, and in the prospect of his making a far larger -fortune for his daughter than the one he so foolishly lost, he found a -perpetual source of healthy excitement, which, by keeping both his -mind and body actively and legitimately employed, had an undoubted -tendency to lengthen his life. Besides this, Tom had asked him to -superintend the construction of his new house. It was just the sort of -job that the Squire delighted in--to look sharply after a lot of -working men, and while pretending that they were all in a league to -cheat him, blowing them up heartily all round one half-hour, and -treating them to unlimited beer the next. - -"I should like to see you in the Town Council, Bristow," said the -Squire one day to his son-in-law. - -"Thank you, sir, all the same," said Tom, "but it's hardly good -enough. There will be a general election before we are much older, -when I mean, either by hook or by crook, to get into the House." - -"Bristow, you have the cheek of the Deuce himself," was all that the -astonished Squire could say. - -It may just be remarked that Tom's ambition has since been gratified. -He is now, and has been for some time, member for W----. He is clever, -ambitious, and a tolerable orator, as oratory is reckoned nowadays. -What may not such a man aspire to? - -Mr. Hoskyns is a frequent guest both of Tom and Lionel. Chatting with -the former one day over the "walnuts and the wine," said the old man: -"I have often puzzled my brain over that affair of Baldry's--that -positive assertion of his that he saw and spoke to me one night in the -Thornfield Road when I was most certainly not there. Have you ever -thought about it since?" - -"Once or twice, I dare say, but I could have enlightened you at the -time had I chosen to do so. It was I whom Baldry met. I had made -myself up to resemble you, and previously to my visit to the prison in -your character, I thought I would try the effect of my disguise upon -somebody who had known you well for years. As it so happened, Baldry -was the first of your acquaintances whom I encountered on my nocturnal -ramble. The rest you know." - -"You young vagabond! And yet you have the audacity to call yourself a -respectable member of society. Perhaps you can explain the mystery of -the ghostly footsteps at Park Newton when poor Pearce, the butler, was -frightened out of the small quantity of wit that he could lay claim -to?" - -"That, too, I can explain. The ghostly footsteps, as it happened, were -very corporeal footsteps, being those of none other than your humble -servant." - -"But how did you get into the room? It had been nailed up months -before." - -"The nailing up was more apparent than real. The nails were sham -nails. The door could be unlocked at any time, and the room entered in -the ordinary way." - -"But how about the cough--Mr. Osmond's peculiar cough?" - -"That was an imitation by me from lessons given me by Mr. Dering. It -answered the purpose admirably for which it was intended." - -"To hear such sounds at midnight in a room where a man had been -murdered was enough to shake the strongest nerves. I wonder you were -not frightened yourself to be in the room." - -"That would have been ridiculous. There was nothing to be afraid of." - -"In any extraordinary circumstances I shall never believe the evidence -of my own senses again." - -Mr. Cope was not long in perceiving that he had committed a grave -error of judgment in refusing Mr. Culpepper the assistance he had -asked for. There would be a splendid fortune for Jane after all. It -was enough to make a man tear his hair with vexation--only Mr. Cope -hadn't much hair to tear--to think what a golden chance he had let -slip through his fingers. Edward was recalled at once on the slight -chance that if a meeting could anyhow be brought about between him and -Jane, the old flame might spring up with renewed ardour in the young -lady's bosom, in which case she might insist upon her engagement with -Edward being carried out. But Edward bore his disappointment very -philosophically, and had not been three hours in Duxley before he -found himself eating pastry, and being ministered to by Miss Moggs, -who was still unmarried, and still as plump and smiling as ever. - -Three weeks later the good people of Duxley were treated to a -delightful sensation. Mr. Cope, Junior, had run away with the daughter -of Mr. Moggs, the confectioner, and Mr. Cope, Senior, had threatened -to cut his son off with the well-known metaphorical shilling. - -The latest news of young Mr. Cope is, that he is living in furnished -apartments in a cheap suburb of London. The late Miss Moggs, her -plumpness notwithstanding, has developed into a Tartar. They have six -children. Mr. Cope's income is exactly two hundred a-year, left him by -his mother. His father will not give him a penny, and he is either too -lazy, or too incompetent, to attempt to add to his means by a little -honest work. He is very stout and very short of breath. When he has -any money he spends his time in a neighbouring billiard-room, smoking -a short pipe and drinking half-and-half, and watching other men play. -When he has no money he stops at home and rocks the cradle, and -listens to his wife's reproaches. Mrs. Cope vows that she will buy a -mangle and make her husband turn it, and try whether she cannot shame -him into work that way. And all this is the result of eating pastry -and being waited upon by a pretty girl. - -After the trial was over, Nell, by means of some speciously-concocted -tale, contrived to cozen General St. George out of twenty pounds. With -this she disappeared, and was never either seen or heard of in Duxley -or its neighbourhood again. - -During the time that Lionel and his wife were abroad the General went -with his friend, Major Beauchamp, to Madeira, and wintered there. - -It had been Lionel's intention to stay abroad for about three years. -But as it fell out, he and Edith were back at Park Newton by the end -of twelve months, being brought thither by the expectation of an -all-important event. Lionel has not since then left home for more than -a month at a time. So full of painful memories was Park Newton to him, -that it was only by Edith's persuasion that he was induced to settle -there at all. But years have come and gone since then, and nothing -would now induce him to live anywhere else. Whatever gloomy -associations might otherwise have clung to the old house have been -exorcised long ago by the merry laughter of children. It was difficult -at first for the Echoes of that murder-haunted roof to bring -themselves to mimic the soft syllables of childhood, but when one -little stranger after another came to teach them, then their voices, -rusty and creaky at first through long disuse, gradually won back to -themselves a long-forgotten sweetness; and now the Echoes follow the -children wherever they go, and all the grim old pile is musical with -the laughter and songs and free joyous shouts of childhood. Many a -time they have a bout together--the children and the Echoes--trying -which of them can make the more noise; and then the children call to -the Echoes and bid them come out of their hiding-places and show -themselves in the dusky twilight; but the Echoes only laugh back their -answer, and are ever too timid to let themselves be seen. - -Who, of all people in the world, should be the children's primest -favourite and slave but General St. George? His heart is in the -nursery, and there he spends hours every day. He "keeps shop" with -them, he plays at soldiers with them, he is their horse, their roaring -lion, their wild man of the woods. It is certainly amusing to see the -old warrior, whose very name was once a word of terror among the -lawless hill-tribes of the far East see him led about by one boy by -means of a piece of string tied round his arm, and while another -youthful scapegrace deafens you with the noise of a drum, to watch him -imitate, with dangling paws, the uncouth gracefulness of a dancing -bear. There can be no doubt on one point--that the old soldier enjoys -himself quite as much as the children do. - -After his year's imprisonment was at an end--to which mitigated -punishment Janvard was condemned, in consideration of his having acted -as witness for the Crown--he and his sister went over to Switzerland, -and opened an hotel there at one of the chief centres of tourist -travel. There, not long ago, he was encountered by Lionel. Smirking, -bowing, and rubbing his hands, Janvard went up to him, with a request -that Monsieur Dering would do him the honour of stopping at his hotel. -But Lionel would have nothing to do with him, and when Janvard could -be made to comprehend this, his face became a study of mortification -and surprise. His feelings, such as they were, were evidently hurt. He -never could be made to understand why Monsieur Dering had refused so -positively to take up his quarters at the Lion d'Or. - -In a world that is full of permutation and change, there are happily a -few things that change not. One of these is the friendship between -Lionel and Tom, which neither time nor absence, nor the growth of -other interests has power to alter in the least. When they both happen -to be in Midlandshire at the same time, a week never passes without -their seeing more or less of each other, and between their wives there -is almost as firm a friendship as there is between themselves. Four -people more united, more happy in each other's society, it would be -impossible to find. - -It was only last summer, during the long spell of hot weather, that -Edith and Jane, with their youngsters, went over to Gatehouse Farm -together, for the sake of the fresh sea breezes that seem to blow -perpetually round the old house. They were sitting one day on the -broad yellow sands, idling through the glowing afternoon, with their -embroidery and a novel, when one of Jane's little girls happened to -fall and hurt her finger. She began to cry, and Edith's little boy was -by her side in a moment. - -"Don't cry," he said, as he stooped and kissed her. "I will marry you -when I grow to be a big man." - -The little girl's tears at once ceased to flow. The two ladies looked -up. Their eyes met, and they both smiled. - -"Such a thing is by no means improbable," said Edith. - -"I shall not be a bit surprised if it really comes to pass," replied -Jane. - - - - -THE END. - - - - ------------------------------------ -BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD, SURREY - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Dead of Night. Volume 3 (of 3), by -T. W. 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