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diff --git a/old/7dunb10.txt b/old/7dunb10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..178b44a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7dunb10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18206 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Henry Dunbar, by M. E. Braddon +#3 in our series by M. E. Braddon + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Henry Dunbar + A Novel + +Author: M. E. Braddon + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9189] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HENRY DUNBAR *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + HENRY DUNBAR + + A Novel + + By + + M.E. Braddon + + + + + DEDICATION + + THIS STORY IS INSCRIBED TO + + JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ. + + IN SINCERE ADMIRATION OF + + HIS GENIUS AS A DRAMATIC AUTHOR + + AND POPULAR ACTOR. + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND + BALDERBY + + II. MARGARET'S FATHER + + III. THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION + + IV. THE STROKE OF DEATH + + V. SINKING THE PAST + + VI. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY + + VII. AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS + + VIII. THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME + + IX. HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER + + X. LAURA DUNBAR + + XI. THE INQUEST + + XII. ARRESTED + + XIII. THE PRISONER IS REMANDED + + XIV. MARGARET'S JOURNEY + + XV. BAFFLED + + XVI. IS IT LOVE OR FEAR? + + XVII. THE BROKEN PICTURE + + XVIII. THREE WHO SUSPECT + + XIX. LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT + + XX. NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM + + XXI. A NEW LIFE + + XXII. THE STEEPLE-CHASE + + XXIII. THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON + + XXIV. THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING + + XXV. AFTER THE WEDDING + + XXVI. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR, OF THE BANKING-HOUSE + + XXVII. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING + + XXVIII. BUYING DIAMONDS + + XXIX. GOING AWAY + + XXX. STOPPED UPON THE WAY + + XXXI. CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE + + XXXII. WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY + + XXXIII. MARGARET'S RETURN + + XXXIV. FAREWELL + + XXXV. A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG + + XXXVI. LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT + + XXXVII. MARGARET'S LETTER + +XXXVIII. NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS + JOURNEY TO WINCHESTER + + XXXIX. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL, CONTINUED + + XL. FLIGHT + + XLI. AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY + + XLII. THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE + + XLIII. ON THE TRACK + + XLIV. CHASING THE "CROW" + + XLV. GIVING IT UP + + XLVI. CLEMENT'S STORY,--BEFORE THE DAWN + + XLVII. THE DAWN + +THE EPILOGUE: ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND BALDERBY. + + +The house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, East India bankers, was one +of the richest firms in the city of London--so rich that it would be +quite in vain to endeavour to describe the amount of its wealth. It was +something fabulous, people said. The offices were situated in a dingy +and narrow thoroughfare leading out of King William Street, and were +certainly no great things to look at; but the cellars below their +offices--wonderful cellars, that stretched far away underneath the +church of St. Gundolph, and were only separated by party-walls from the +vaults in which the dead lay buried--were popularly supposed to be +filled with hogsheads of sovereigns, bars of bullion built up in stacks +like so much firewood, and impregnable iron safes crammed to overflowing +with bank bills and railway shares, government securities, family +jewels, and a hundred other trifles of that kind, every one of which was +worth a poor man's fortune. + +The firm of Dunbar had been established very soon after the English +first grew powerful in India. It was one of the oldest firms in the +City; and the names of Dunbar and Dunbar, painted upon the door-posts, +and engraved upon shining brass plates on the mahogany doors, had never +been expunged or altered: though time and death had done their work of +change amongst the owners of that name. + +The last heads of the firm had been two brothers, Hugh and Percival +Dunbar; and Percival, the younger of these brothers, had lately died at +eighty years of age, leaving his only son, Henry Dunbar, sole inheritor +of his enormous wealth. + +That wealth consisted of a splendid estate in Warwickshire; another +estate, scarcely less splendid, in Yorkshire; a noble mansion in +Portland Place; and three-fourths of the bank. The junior partner, Mr. +Balderby, a good-tempered, middle-aged man, with a large family of +daughters, and a handsome red-brick mansion on Clapham Common, had never +possessed more than a fourth share in the business. The three other +shares had been divided between the two brothers, and had lapsed +entirely into the hands of Percival upon the death of Hugh. + +On the evening of the 15th of August, 1850, three men sat together in +one of the shady offices at the back of the banking-house in St. +Gundolph Lane. + +These three men were Mr. Balderby, a confidential cashier called Clement +Austin, and an old clerk, a man of about sixty-five years of age, who +had been a faithful servant of the firm ever since his boyhood. + +This man's name was Sampson Wilmot. + +He was old, but he looked much older than he was. His hair was white, +and hung in long thin locks upon the collar of his shabby bottle-green +great coat. He wore a great coat, although it was the height of summer, +and most people found the weather insupportably hot. His face was wizen +and wrinkled, his faded blue eyes dim and weak-looking. He was feeble, +and his hands were tremulous with a perpetual nervous motion. Already he +had been stricken twice with paralysis, and he knew that whenever the +third stroke came it must be fatal. + +He was not very much afraid of death, however; for his life had been a +joyless one, a monotonous existence of perpetual toil, unrelieved by any +home joys or social pleasures. He was not a bad man, for he was honest, +conscientious, industrious, and persevering. + +He lived in a humble lodging, in a narrow court near the bank, and went +twice every Sunday to the church of St. Gundolph. + +When he died he hoped to be buried beneath the flagstones of that City +church, and to lie cheek by jowl with the gold in the cellars of the +bank. + +The three men were assembled in this gloomy private room after office +hours, on a sultry August evening, in order to consult together upon +rather an important subject, namely, the reception of Henry Dunbar, the +new head of the firm. + +This Henry Dunbar had been absent from England for five-and-thirty +years, and no living creature now employed in the bank, except Sampson +Wilmot, had ever set eyes upon him. + +He had sailed for Calcutta five-and-thirty years before, and had ever +since been employed in the offices of the Indian branch of the bank; +first as clerk, afterwards as chief and manager. He had been sent to +India because of a great error which he had committed in his early +youth. + +He had been guilty of forgery. He, or rather an accomplice employed by +him, had forged the acceptance of a young nobleman, a brother officer of +Henry Dunbar's, and had circulated forged bills of accommodation to the +amount of three thousand pounds. + +These bills were taken up and duly honoured by the heads of the firm. +Percival Dunbar gladly paid three thousand pounds as the price of his +son's honour. That which would have been called a crime in a poorer man +was only considered an error in the dashing young cornet of dragoons, +who had lost money upon the turf, and was fain to forge his friend's +signature rather than become a defaulter. + +His accomplice, the man who had actually manufactured the fictitious +signatures, was the younger brother of Sampson Wilmot, who had been a +few months prior to that time engaged as messenger in the +banking-house--a young fellow of nineteen, little better than a lad; a +reckless boy, easily influenced by the dashing soldier who had need of +his services. + +The bill-broker who discounted the bills speedily discovered their +fraudulent nature; but he knew that the money was safe. + +Lord Adolphus Vanlorme was a customer of the house of Dunbar and Dunbar; +the bill-brokers knew that _his_ acceptance was a forgery; but they knew +also that the signature of the drawer, Henry Dunbar, was genuine. + +Messrs. Dunbar and Dunbar would not care to see the heir of their house +in a criminal dock. + +There had been no hitch, therefore, no scandal, no prosecution. The +bills were duly honoured; but the dashing young officer was compelled to +sell his commission, and begin life afresh as a junior clerk in the +Calcutta banking-house. + +This was a terrible mortification to the high-spirited young man. + +The three men assembled in the quiet room behind the bank on this +oppressive August evening were talking together of that old story. + +"I never saw Henry Dunbar," Mr. Balderby said; "for, as you know, +Wilmot, I didn't come into the firm till ten years after he sailed for +India; but I've heard the story hinted at amongst the clerks in the days +when I was only a clerk myself." + +"I don't suppose you ever heard the rights of it, sir," Sampson Wilmot +answered, fumbling nervously with an old horn snuff-box and a red cotton +handkerchief, "and I doubt if any one knows the rights of that story +except me, and I can remember it as well as if it all happened +yesterday--ay, that I can--better than I remember many things that +really did happen yesterday." + +"Let's hear the story from you, then, Sampson," Mr. Balderby said. "As +Henry Dunbar is coming home in a few days, we may as well know the real +truth. We shall better understand what sort of a man our new chief is." + +"To be sure, sir, to be sure," returned the old clerk. "It's +five-and-thirty years ago,--five-and-thirty years ago this month, since +it all happened. If I hadn't good cause to remember the date because of +my own troubles, I should remember it for another reason, for it was the +Waterloo year, and city people had been losing and making money like +wildfire. It was in the year '15, sir, and our house had done wonders on +'Change. Mr. Henry Dunbar was a very handsome young man in those +days--very handsome, very aristocratic-looking, rather haughty in his +manners to strangers, but affable and free-spoken to those who happened +to take his fancy. He was very extravagant in all his ways; generous and +open-handed with money; but passionate and self-willed. It's scarcely +strange he should have been so, for he was an only child; he had neither +brother nor sister to interfere with him; and his uncle Hugh, who was +then close upon fifty, was a confirmed bachelor,--so Henry considered +himself heir to an enormous fortune." + +"And he began his career by squandering every farthing he could get, I +suppose?" said Mr. Balderby. + +"He did, sir. His father was very liberal to him; but give him what he +would, Mr. Percival Dunbar could never give his son enough to keep him +free of gambling debts and losses on the turf. Mr. Henry's regiment was +quartered at Knightsbridge, and the young man was very often at this +office, in and out, in and out, sometimes twice and three times a week; +and I expect that every time he came, he came to get money, or to ask +for it. It was in coming here he met my brother, who was a handsome +lad--ay, as handsome and as gentlemanly a lad as the young cornet +himself; for poor Joseph--that's my brother, gentlemen--had been +educated a bit above his station, being my mother's favourite son, and +fifteen years younger than me. Mr. Henry took a great deal of notice of +Joseph, and used to talk to him while he was waiting about to see his +father or his uncle. At last he asked the lad one day if he'd like to +leave the bank, and go and live with him as a sort of confidential +servant and amanuensis, to write his letters, and all that sort of +thing. 'I shan't treat you altogether as a servant, you know, Joseph,' +he said, 'but I shall make quite a companion of you, and you'll go about +with me wherever I go. You'll find my quarters a great deal pleasanter +than this musty old banking-house, I can tell you.' Joseph accepted this +offer, in spite of everything my poor mother and I could say to him. He +went to live with the cornet in the January of the year in which the +fabricated bills were presented at our counter." + +"And when were the bills presented?" + +"Not till the following August, sir. It seems that Mr. Henry had lost +five or six thousand pounds on the Derby. He got what he could out of +his father towards paying his losses, but he could not get more than +three thousand pounds; so then he went to Joseph in an awful state of +mind, declaring that he should be able to get the money in a month or so +from his father, and that if he could do anything just to preserve his +credit for the time, and meet the claims of the vulgar City betting +fellows who were pressing him, he should be able to make all square +afterwards. Then, little by little, it came out that he wanted my +brother, who had a wonderful knack of imitating any body's handwriting, +to forge the acceptance of Lord Vanlorme. 'I shall get the bills back +into my own hands before they fall due, Joe,' he said; 'it's only a +little dodge to keep matters sweet for the time being.' Well, gentlemen, +the poor foolish boy was very fond of his master, and he consented to do +this wicked thing." + +"Do you believe this to be the first time your brother ever Committed +forgery?" + +"I do, Mr. Balderby. Remember he was only a lad, and I dare say he +thought it a fine thing to oblige his generous-hearted young master. +I've seen him many a time imitate the signature of this firm, and other +signatures, upon a half-sheet of letter-paper, for the mere fun of the +thing: but I don't believe my brother Joseph ever did a dishonest action +in his life until he forged those bills. He hadn't need have done so, +for he was only eighteen at the time." + +"Young enough, young enough!" murmured Mr. Balderby, compassionately. + +"Ay, sir, very young to be ruined for life. That one error, that one +wicked act, was his ruin; for though no steps were taken against him, he +lost his character, and never held his head up in an honest situation +again. He went from bad to worse, and three years after Mr. Henry sailed +for India, my brother, Joseph Wilmot, was convicted, with two or three +others, upon a charge of manufacturing forged Bank of England notes, and +was transported for life." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby; "a sad story,--a very sad story. I +have heard something of it before, but never the whole truth. Your +brother is dead, I suppose." + +"I have every reason to believe so, sir," answered the old clerk, +producing a red cotton handkerchief and wiping away a couple of tears +that were slowly trickling down his poor faded cheeks. "For the first +few years of his time, he wrote now and then, complaining bitterly of +his fate; but for five-and-twenty years I've never had a line from him. +I can't doubt that he's dead. Poor Joseph!--poor boy!--poor boy! The +misery of all this killed my mother. Mr. Henry Dunbar committed a great +sin when he tempted that lad to wrong; and many a cruel sorrow arose out +of that sin, perhaps to lie heavy at his door some day or other, sooner +or later, sooner or later. I'm an old man, and I've seen a good deal of +the ways of this world, and I've found that retribution seldom fails to +overtake those who do wrong." + +Mr. Balderby shrugged his shoulders. + +"I should doubt the force of your philosophy in this case, my good +Sampson," he said; "Mr. Dunbar has had a long immunity from his sins. I +should scarcely think it likely he would ever be called upon to atone +for them." + +"I don't know, sir," the old clerk answered; "I don't know that. I've +seen retribution come very late, very late; when the man who committed +the sin had well nigh forgotten it. Evil trees bear evil fruit, Mr. +Balderby: the Scriptures tell us that; and take my word for it, evil +consequences are sure to come from evil deeds." + +"But to return to the story of the forged bills," said Mr. Austin, the +cashier, looking at his watch as he spoke. + +He was evidently growing rather impatient of the old clerk's rambling +talk. + +"To be sure, sir, to be sure," answered Sampson Wilmot. "Well, you see, +sir, one of the bills was brought to our counter, and the cashier didn't +much like the look of my lord's signature, and he took the bill to the +inspector, and the inspector said,' Pay the money, but don't debit it +against his lordship.' About an hour afterwards the inspector carried +the bill to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and directly he set eyes upon it, he +knew that Lord Vanlorme's acceptance was a forgery. He sent for me to +his room; and when I went in, he was as white as a sheet, poor +gentleman. He handed me the bill without speaking, and when I had looked +at it, he said-- + +"'Your brother is at the bottom of this business, Sampson. Do you +remember the half-sheet of paper I found on a blotting-pad in the +counting-house one day; half a sheet of paper scrawled over with the +imitation of two or three signatures? I asked who had copied those +signatures, and your brother came forward and owned to having done it, +laughing at his own cleverness. I told him then that it was a fatal +facility, a fatal facility, and now he has proved the truth of my words +by helping my son to turn forger and thief. That signature must be +honoured, though I should have to sacrifice half my fortune to meet the +demands upon us. Heaven knows to what amount such paper as that may be +in circulation. There are some forged bills that are as good as genuine +documents; and the Jew who discounted these knew that. If my son comes +into the bank this morning send him to me.'" + +"And did the young man come?" asked the junior partner. + +"Yes, Mr. Balderby, sir; in less than half an hour after I left Mr. +Percival Dunbar's room, in comes Mr. Henry, dashing and swaggering into +the place as if it was his own. + +"'Will you please step into your father's room, sir?' I said; 'he wants +to see you very particular.' + +"The cornet's jaw dropped, and his face turned ghastly white as I said +this; but he tried to carry it off with a swagger, and followed me into +Mr. Percival Dunbar's room. + +"'You needn't leave us, Sampson,' said Mr. Hugh, who was sitting +opposite his brother at the writing-table. 'You may as well hear what I +have to say. I wish somebody whom I can rely upon to know the truth of +this business, and I think we may rely upon you.' + +"'Yes, gentlemen,' I answered, 'you may trust me.' + +"'What's the meaning of all this?' Mr. Henry Dunbar asked, pretending to +look innocent and surprised; but it wouldn't do, for his lips trembled +so, that it was painful to watch him. 'What's the matter?' he asked. + +"Mr. Hugh Dunbar handed him the forged bill. + +"'This is what's the matter,' he said. + +"The young man stammered out something in the endeavour to deny any +knowledge of the bill in his hand; but his uncle checked him. 'Do not +add perjury to the crime you have already committed,' he said. 'How many +of these are in circulation?' + +"'How many!' Mr. Henry repeated, in a faltering voice. 'Yes,' his uncle +answered; 'how many--to what amount?' 'Three thousand pounds,' the +cornet replied, hanging his head. 'I meant to take them up before they +fell due, Uncle Hugh,' he said. 'I did, indeed; I stood to win a hatful +of money upon the Liverpool Summer Meeting, and I made sure I should be +able to take up those bills: but I've had the devil's own luck all this +year. I never thought those bills would be presented; indeed, I never +did.' + +"'Henry Dunbar,' Mr. Hugh said, very solemnly, 'nine men out of ten, who +do what you have done, think what you say you thought: that they shall +be able to escape the consequences of their deeds. They act under the +pressure of circumstances. They don't mean to do any wrong--they don't +intend to rob any body of a sixpence. But that first false step is the +starting point upon the road that leads to the gallows; and the worst +that can happen to a man is for him to succeed in his first crime. +Happily for you, detection has speedily overtaken you. Why did you do +this?' + +"The young man stammered out some rambling excuse about his turf losses, +debts of honour which he was compelled to pay. Then Mr. Hugh asked him +whether the forged signature was his own doing, or the work of any body +else. The cornet hesitated for a little, and then told his uncle the +name of his accomplice. I thought this was cruel and cowardly. He had +tempted my brother to do wrong, and the least he could have done would +have been to try to shield him. + +"One of the messengers was sent to fetch poor Joseph. The lad reached +the banking house in an hour's time, and was brought straight into the +private room, where we had all been sitting in silence, waiting for him. + +"He was as pale as his master, but he didn't tremble, and he had +altogether a more determined look than Mr. Henry. + +"Mr. Hugh Dunbar taxed him with what he had done. + +"'Do you deny it, Joseph Wilmot?' he asked. + +"'No,' my brother said, looking contemptuously at the cornet. 'If my +master has betrayed me, I have no wish to deny anything. But I dare say +he and I will square accounts some day.' + +"'I am not going to prosecute my nephew,' Mr. Hugh said; 'so, of course +I shall not prosecute you. But I believe that you have been an evil +counsellor to this young man, and I give you warning that you will get +no character from me. I respect your brother Sampson, and shall retain +him in my service in spite of what you have done; but I hope never to +see your face again. You are free to go; but have a care how you tamper +with other men's signatures, for the next time you may not get off so +easily.' + +"The lad took up his hat and walked slowly towards the door. + +"'Gentlemen--gentlemen!' I cried, 'have pity upon him. Remember he is +little more than a boy; and whatever he did, he did out of love for his +master.' + +"Mr. Hugh shook his head. 'I have no pity,' he answered, sternly: 'his +master might never have done wrong but for him.' + +"Joseph did not say a word in answer to all this; but, when his hand was +on the handle of the door, he turned and looked at Mr. Henry Dunbar. + +"'Have you nothing to say in my behalf, sir?' he said, very quietly; 'I +have been very much attached to you, sir, and I don't want to think +badly of you at parting. Haven't you one word to say in my behalf?' + +"Mr. Henry made no answer. He sat with his head bent forward upon his +breast, and seemed as if he dare not lift his eyes to his uncle's face. + +"'No!' Mr. Hugh answered, as sternly as before, 'he has nothing to say +for you. Go; and consider this a lucky escape.' + +"Joseph turned upon the banker, with his face all in a crimson flame, +and his eyes flashing fire. 'Let _him_ consider it a lucky escape,' he +said, pointing to Mr. Henry Dunbar,--'let _him_ consider it a lucky +escape, if when we next meet he gets off scot free.' + +"He was gone before any body could answer him. + +"Then Mr. Hugh Dunbar turned to his nephew. + +"'As for you,' he said, 'you have been a spoilt child of fortune, and +you have not known how to value the good things that Providence has +given you. You have begun life at the top of the tree, and you have +chosen to fling your chances into the gutter. You must begin again, and +begin this time upon the lowest step of the ladder. You will sell your +commission, and sail for Calcutta by the next ship that leaves +Southampton. To-day is the 23rd of August, and I see by the _Shipping +Gazette_ that the _Oronoko_ sails on the 10th of September. This will +give you little better than a fortnight to make all your arrangements." + +"The young cornet started from his chair as if he had been shot. + +"'Sell my commission!' he cried; 'go to India! You don't mean it, Uncle +Hugh; surely you don't mean it. Father, you will never compel me to do +this.' + +"Percival Dunbar had never looked at his son since the young man had +entered the room. He sat with his elbow resting upon the arm of his +easy-chair, and his face shaded by his hand, and had not once spoken. + +"He did not speak now, even when his son appealed to him. + +"'Your father has given me full authority to act in this business,' Mr. +Hugh Dunbar said. 'I shall never marry, Henry, and you are my only +nephew, and my acknowledged heir. But I will never leave my wealth to a +dishonest or dishonourable man, and it remains for you to prove whether +you are worthy to inherit it. You will have to begin life afresh. You +have played the man of fashion, and your aristocratic associates have +led you to the position in which you find yourself to-day. You must turn +your back upon the past, Henry. Of course you are free to choose for +yourself. Sell your commission, go to India, and enter the +counting-house of our establishment in Calcutta as a junior clerk; or +refuse to do so, and renounce all hope of succeeding to my fortune or to +your father's.' + +"The young man was silent for some minutes, then he said, sullenly +enough-- + +"'I will go. I consider that I have been harshly treated; but I will +go.'" + +"And he did go?" said Mr. Balderby. + +"He did, sir," answered the clerk, who had displayed considerable +emotion in relating this story of the past. "He did go, sir,--he sold +his commission, and left England by the _Oronoko_. But he never took +leave of a living creature, and I fully believe that he never in his +heart forgave either his father or his uncle. He worked his way up, as +you know, sir, in the Calcutta counting-house, and by slow degrees rose +to be manager of the Indian branch of the business. He married in 1831, +and he has an only child, a daughter, who has been brought up in England +since her infancy, under the care of Mr. Percival." + +"Yes," answered Mr. Balderby, "I have seen Miss Laura Dunbar at her +grandfather's country seat. She is a very beautiful girl, and Percival +Dunbar idolized her. But now to return to business, my good Sampson. I +believe you are the only person in this house who has ever seen our +present chief, Henry Dunbar." + +"I am, sir." + +"So far so good. He is expected to arrive at Southampton in less than a +week's time, and somebody must be there to meet him and receive him. +After five-and-thirty years' absence he will be a perfect stranger in +England, and will require a business man about him to manage matters for +him, and take all trouble off his hands. These Anglo-Indians are apt to +be indolent, you know, and he may be all the worse for the fatigues of +the overland journey. Now, as you know him, Sampson, and as you are an +excellent man of business, and as active as a boy, I should like you to +meet him. Have you any objection to do this?" + +"No, sir," answered the clerk; "I have no great love for Mr. Henry +Dunbar, for I can never cease to look upon him as the cause of my poor +brother Joseph's ruin; but I am ready to do what you wish, Mr. Balderby. +It's business, and I'm ready to do anything in the way of business. I'm +only a sort of machine, sir--a machine that's pretty nearly worn out, I +fancy, now--but as long as I last you can make what use of me you like, +sir. I'm ready to do my duty." + +"I am sure of that, Sampson." + +"When am I to start for Southampton, sir?" + +"Well, I think you'd better go to-morrow, Sampson. You can leave London +by the afternoon train, which starts at four o'clock. You can see to +your work here in the morning, and reach your destination between seven +and eight. I leave everything in your hands. Miss Laura Dunbar will come +up to town to meet her father at the house in Portland Place. The poor +girl is very anxious to see him, as she has not set eyes upon him since +she was a child of two years old. Strange, isn't it, the effect of these +long separations? Laura Dunbar might pass her father in the street +without recognizing him, and yet her affection for him has been +unchanged in all these years." + +Mr. Balderby gave the old clerk a pocket-book containing six five-pound +notes. + +"You will want plenty of money," he said, "though, of course, Mr. Dunbar +will be well supplied. You will tell him that all will be ready for his +reception here. I really am quite anxious to see the new head of the +house. I wonder what he is like, now. By the way, it's rather a singular +circumstance that there is, I believe, no portrait of Henry Dunbar in +existence. His picture was painted when he was a young man, and +exhibited in the Royal Academy; but his father didn't think the likeness +a good one, and sent it back to the artist, who promised to alter and +improve it. Strange to say, this artist, whose name I forget, delayed +from day to day performing his promise, and at the expiration of a +twelvemonth left England for Italy, taking the young man's portrait with +him, amongst a lot of other unframed canvases. This artist never +returned from Italy, and Percival Dunbar could never find out his +whereabouts, or whether he was dead or alive. I have often heard the old +man regret that he possessed no likeness of his son. Our chief was +handsome, you say, in his youth?" + +"Yes, sir," Sampson Wilmot answered, "he was very handsome--tall and +fair, with bright blue eyes." + +"You have seen Miss Dunbar: is she like her father?" + +"No, sir. Her features are altogether different, and her expression is +more amiable than his." + +"Indeed! Well, Sampson, we won't detain you any longer. You understand +what you have to do?" + +"Yes, sir, perfectly." + +"Very well, then. Good night! By the bye, you will put up at one of the +best hotels at Southampton--say the Dolphin--and wait there till the +_Electra_ steamer comes in. It is by the _Electra_ that Mr. Dunbar is to +arrive. Once more, good evening!" + +The old clerk bowed and left the room. + +"Well, Austin," said Mr. Balderby, turning to the cashier, "we may +prepare ourselves to meet our new chief very speedily. He must know that +you and I cannot be entirely ignorant of the story of his youthful +peccadilloes, and he will scarcely give himself airs to us, I should +fancy." + +"I don't know that, Mr. Balderby," the cashier answered; "if I am any +judge of human nature, Henry Dunbar will hate us because of that very +crime of his own, knowing that we are in the secret, and will be all the +more disagreeable and disdainful in his intercourse with us. He will +carry it off with a high hand, depend upon it." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MARGARET'S FATHER. + + +The town of Wandsworth is not a gay place. There is an air of old-world +quiet in the old-fashioned street, though dashing vehicles drive through +it sometimes on their way to Wimbledon or Richmond Park. + +The sloping roofs, the gable-ends, the queer old chimneys, the quaint +casement windows, belong to a bygone age; and the traveller, coming a +stranger to the little town, might fancy himself a hundred miles away +from boisterous London; though he is barely clear of the great city's +smoky breath, or beyond the hearing of her myriad clamorous tongues. + +There are lanes and byways leading out of that humble High Street down +to the low bank of the river; and in one of these, a pleasant place +enough, there is a row of old-fashioned semi-detached cottages, standing +in small gardens, and sheltered by sycamores and laburnums from the +dust, which in dry summer weather lies thick upon the narrow roadway. + +In one of these cottages a young lady lived with her father; a young +lady who gave lessons on the piano-forte, or taught singing, for very +small remuneration. She wore shabby dresses, and was rarely known to +have a new bonnet; but people respected and admired her, +notwithstanding; and the female inhabitants of Godolphin Cottages, who +gave her good-day sometimes as she went along the dusty lane with her +well-used roll of music in her hand, declared that she was a lady bred +and born. Perhaps the good people who admired Margaret Wentworth would +have come nearer the mark if they had said that she was a lady by right +divine of her own beautiful nature, which had never required to be +schooled into grace or gentleness. + +She had no mother, and she had not even the memory of her mother, who +had died seventeen years before, leaving an only child of twelve months +old for James Wentworth to keep. + +But James Wentworth, being a scapegrace and a reprobate, who lived by +means that were a secret from his neighbours, had sadly neglected this +only child. He had neglected her, though with every passing year she +grew more and more like her dead mother, until at last, at eighteen +years of age, she had grown into a beautiful woman, with hazel-brown +hair, and hazel eyes to match. + +And yet James Wentworth was fond of his only child, after a fashion of +his own. Sometimes he was at home for weeks together, a prey to a fit of +melancholy; under the influence of which he would sit brooding in +silence over his daughter's humble hearth for hours and days together. + +At other times he would disappear, sometimes for a few days, sometimes +for weeks and months at a time; and during his absence Margaret suffered +wearisome agonies of suspense. + +Sometimes he brought her money; sometimes he lived upon her own slender +earnings. + +But use her as he might, he was always proud of her, and fond of her; +and she, after the way of womankind, loved him devotedly, and believed +him to be the noblest and most brilliant of men. + +It was no grief to her to toil, taking long weary walks and giving +tedious lessons for the small stipends which her employers had the +conscience to offer her; they felt no compunction about bargaining and +haggling as to a few pitiful shillings with a music mistress who looked +so very poor, and seemed so glad to work for their paltry pay. The +girl's chief sorrow was, that her father, who to her mind was calculated +to shine in the highest station the world could give, should be a +reprobate and a pauper. + +She told him so sometimes, regretfully, tenderly, as she sat by his +side, with her arms twined caressingly about his neck. And there were +times when the strong man would cry aloud over his blighted life, and +the ruin which had fallen upon his youth. + +"You're right, Madge," he said sometimes, "you're right, my girl. I +ought to have been something better; I ought to have been, and I might +have been, perhaps, but for one man--but for one base-minded villain, +whose treachery blasted my character, and left me alone in the world to +fight against society. You don't know what it is, Madge, to have to +fight that battle. A man who began life with an honest name, and fair +prospects before him, finds himself cast, by one fatal error, disgraced +and broken, on a pitiless world. Nameless, friendless, characterless, he +has to begin life afresh, with every man's hand against him. He is the +outcast of society. The faces that once looked kindly on him turn away +from him with a frown. The voices that once spoke in his praise are loud +in his disfavour. Driven from every place where once he found a welcome, +the ruined wretch hides himself among strangers, and tries to sink his +hateful identity under a false name. He succeeds, perhaps, for a time, +and is trusted, and being honestly disposed at heart, is honest: but he +cannot long escape from the hateful past. No! In the day and hour when +he is proudest of the new name he has made, and the respect he has won +for himself, some old acquaintance, once a friend, but now an enemy, +falls across his pathway. He is recognized; a cruel voice betrays him. +Every hope that he had cherished is swept away from him. Every good deed +that he has done is denounced as the act of a hypocrite. Because once +sinned he can never do well. _That_ is the world's argument." + +"But not the teaching of the gospel," Margaret murmured. "Remember, +father, who it was that said to the guilty woman, Go, and sin no more.'" + +"Ay, my girl," James Wentworth answered, bitterly, "but the world would +have said, 'Hence, abandoned creature! go, and sin afresh; for you shall +never be suffered to live an honest life, or herd with honest people. +Repent, and we will laugh at your penitence as a shallow deception. +Weep, and we will cry out upon your tears. Toil and struggle to regain +the eminence from which you have fallen, and when you have nearly +reached the top of that difficult hill, we will band ourselves together +to hurl you back into the black abyss.' That's what the _world_ says to +the sinner, Margaret, my girl. I don't know much of the gospel; I have +never read it since I was a boy, and used to read long chapters aloud to +my mother, on quiet Sunday evenings; I can see the little old-fashioned +parlour now as I speak of that time; I can hear the ticking of the +eight-day clock, and I can see my mother's fond eyes looking up at me +every now and then. But I don't know much about the gospel now; and +when, you, poor child, try to read it to me, there's some devil rises in +my breast, and shuts my ears against the words. I don't know the gospel, +but I _do_ know the world. The laws of society are inflexible, Madge; +there is no forgiveness for a man who is once found out. He may commit +any crime in the calendar, so long as his crimes are profitable, and he +is content to share his profits with his neighbours. But he mustn't be +found out." + +Upon the 16th of August, 1850, the day on which Sampson Wilmot, the +banker's clerk, was to start for Southampton, James Wentworth spent the +morning in his daughter's humble little sitting-room, and sat smoking by +the open window, while Margaret worked beside a table near him. + +The father sat with his long clay pipe in his mouth, watching his +daughter's fair face as she bent over the work upon her knee. + +The room was neatly kept, but poorly furnished, with that old-fashioned +spindle-legged furniture which seems peculiar to lodging-houses. Yet the +little sitting-room had an aspect of simple rustic prettiness, which is +almost pleasanter to look at than fine furniture. There were +pictures,--simple water-colour sketches,--and cheap engravings on the +walls, and a bunch of flowers on the table, and between the muslin +curtains that shadowed the window you saw the branches of the sycamores +waving in the summer wind. + +James Wentworth had once been a handsome man. It was impossible to look +at him and not perceive as much as that. He might, indeed, have been +handsome still, but for the moody defiance in his eyes, but for the +half-contemptuous curve of his finely-moulded upper lip. + +He was about fifty-three years of age, and his hair was grey, but this +grey hair did not impart a look of age to his appearance. His erect +figure, the carriage of his head, his dashing, nay, almost swaggering +walk, all belonged to a man in the prime of middle age. He wore a beard +and thick moustache of grizzled auburn. His nose was aquiline, his +forehead high and square, his chin massive. The form of his head and +face denoted force of intellect. His long, muscular limbs gave evidence +of great physical power. Even the tones of his voice, and his manner of +speaking, betokened a strength of will that verged upon obstinacy. + +A dangerous man to offend! A relentless and determined man; not easily +to be diverted from any purpose, however long the time between the +formation of his resolve and the opportunity of carrying it into +execution. + +As he sat now watching his daughter at her work, the shadows of black +thoughts darkened his brow, and spread a sombre gloom over his face. + +And yet the picture before him could have scarcely been unpleasing to +the most fastidious eye. The girl's face, drooping over her work, was +very fair. The features were delicate and statuesque in their form; the +large hazel eyes were very beautiful--all the more beautiful, perhaps, +because of a soft melancholy that subdued their natural brightness; the +smooth brown hair rippling upon the white forehead, which was low and +broad, was of a colour which a duchess might have envied, or an empress +tried to imitate with subtle dyes compounded by court chemists. The +girl's figure, tall, slender, and flexible, imparted grace and beauty to +a shabby cotton dress and linen collar, that many a maid-servant would +have disdained to wear; and the foot visible below the scanty skirt was +slim and arched as the foot of an Arab chief. + +There was something in Margaret Wentworth's face, some shade of +expression, vague and transitory in its nature, that bore a likeness to +her father; but the likeness was a very faint one, and it was from her +mother that the girl had inherited her beauty. + +She had inherited her mother's nature also: but mingled with that soft +and womanly disposition there was much of the father's determination, +much of the strong man's force of intellect and resolute will. + +A beautiful woman--an amiable woman; but a woman whose resentment for a +great wrong could be deep and lasting. + +"Madge," said James Wentworth, throwing his pipe aside, and looking full +at his daughter, "I sit and watch you sometimes till I begin to wonder +at you. You seem contented and most happy, though the monotonous life +you lead would drive some women mad. Have you no ambition, girl?" + +"Plenty, father," she answered, lifting her eyes from her work, and +looking at him mournfully; "plenty--for you." + +The man shrugged his shoulders, and sighed heavily. + +"It's too late for that, my girl," he said; "the day is past--the day is +past and gone--and the chance gone with it. You know how I've striven, +and worked, and struggled; and how I've seen my poor schemes crushed +when I had built them up with more patience than perhaps man ever built +before. You've been a good girl, Margaret--a noble girl; and you've been +true to me alike in joy and sorrow--the joy's been little enough beside +the sorrow, poor child--but you've borne it all; you've endured it all. +You've been the truest woman that was ever born upon this earth, to my +thinking; but there's one thing in which you've been unlike the rest of +your sex." + +"And what's that, father?" + +"You've shown no curiosity. You've seen me knocked down and disgraced +wherever I tried to get a footing; you've seen me try first one trade +and then another, and fail in every one of them. You've seen me a clerk +in a merchant's office; an actor; an author; a common labourer, working +for a daily wage; and you've seen ruin overtake me whichever way I've +turned. You've seen all this, and suffered from it; but you've never +asked me why it has been so. You've never sought to discover the secret +of my life." + +The tears welled up to the girl's eyes as her father spoke. + +"If I have not done so, dear father," she answered, gently, "it has been +because I knew your secret must be a painful one. I have lain awake +night after night, wondering what was the cause of the blight that has +been upon you and all you have done. But why should I ask you questions +that you could not answer without pain? I have heard people say cruel +things of you; but they have never said them twice in my hearing." Her +eyes flashed through a veil of tears as she spoke. "Oh, father,--dearest +father!" she cried, suddenly throwing aside her work, and dropping on +her knees beside the man's chair, "I do not ask for your confidence if +it is painful to you to give it; I only want your love. But believe +this, father,--always believe this,--that, whether you trust me or not, +there is nothing upon this earth strong enough to turn my heart from +you." + +She placed her hand in her father's as she spoke, and he grasped it so +tightly that her pale face grew crimson with the pain. + +"Are you sure of that, Madge?" he asked, bending his head to look more +closely in her earnest face. + +"I am quite sure, father." + +"Nothing can tear your heart from me?" + +"Nothing in this world." + +"What if I am not worthy of your love?" + +"I cannot stop to think of that, father. Love is not mete out in strict +proportion to the merits of those we love. If it were, there would be no +difference between love and justice." + +James Wentworth laughed sneeringly. + +"There is little enough difference as it is, perhaps," he said; "they're +both blind. Well, Madge," he added, in a more serious tone, "you're a +generous-minded, noble-spirited girl, and I believe you do love me. I +fancy that if you never asked the secret of my life, you can guess it +pretty closely, eh?" + +He looked searchingly at the girl's face. She hung her head, but did not +answer him. + +"You can guess the secret, can't you, Madge? Don't be afraid to speak, +girl." + +"I fear I can guess it, father dear," she murmured in a low voice. + +"Speak out, then." + +"I am afraid the reason you have never prospered--the reason that so +many are against you--is that you once did something wrong, very long +ago, when you were young and reckless, and scarcely knew the nature of +your own act; and that now, though you are truly penitent and sorry, and +have long wished to lead an altered life, the world won't forget or +forgive that old wrong. Is it so, father?" + +"It is, Margaret. You've guessed right enough, child, except that you've +omitted one fact. The wrong I did was done for the sake of another. I +was tempted to do it by another. I made no profit by it myself, and I +never hoped to make any. But when detection came, it was upon _me_ that +the disgrace and ruin fell; while the man for whom I had done wrong--the +man who had made me his tool--turned his back upon me, and refused to +utter one word in my justification, though he was in no danger himself, +and the lightest word from his lips might have saved me. That was a hard +case, wasn't it, Madge?" + +"Hard!" cried the girl, with her nostrils quivering and her hands +clenched; "it was cruel, dastardly, infamous!" + +"From that day, Margaret, I was a ruined man. The brand of society was +upon me. The world would not let me live honestly, and the love of life +was too strong in me to let me face death. I tried to live dishonestly, +and I led a wild, rackety, dare-devil kind of a life, amongst men who +found they had a skilful tool, and knew how to use me. They did use me +to their heart's content, and left me in the lurch when danger came. I +was arrested for forgery, tried, found guilty, and transported for life. +Don't flinch, girl! don't turn so white! You must have heard something +of this whispered and hinted at often enough before to-day. You may as +well know the whole truth. I was transported, for life, Madge; and for +thirteen years I toiled amongst the wretched, guilty slaves in Norfolk +Island--that was the favourite place in those days for such as me--and +at the end of that time, my conduct having been approved of by my +gaolers, the governor sent for me, gave me a good-service certificate, +and I went into a counting-house and served as a clerk. But I got a kind +of fever in my blood, and night and day I only thought of one thing, and +that was my chance of escape. I did escape,--never you mind how, that's +a long story,--and I got back to England, a free man; a free man, Madge, +_I_ thought; but the world soon told me another story. I was a felon, a +gaol-bird; and I was never more to lift my head amongst honest people. I +couldn't bear it, Madge, my girl. Perhaps a better man might have +persevered in spite of all till he conquered the world's prejudice. But +_I_ couldn't. I sank under my trials, and fell lower and lower. And for +every disgrace that has ever fallen upon me--for every sorrow I have +ever suffered--for every sin I have ever committed--I look to one man as +the cause." + +Margaret Wentworth had risen to her feet. She stood before her father +now, pale and breathless, with her lips parted, and her bosom heaving. + +"Tell me his name, father," she whispered; "tell me that man's name." + +"Why do you want to know his name, Madge?" + +"Never mind why, father. Tell it to me--tell it!" + +She stamped her foot in the vehemence of her passion. + +"Tell me his name, father," she repeated, impatiently. + +"His name is Henry Dunbar," James Wentworth answered, "and he is the son +of a rich banker. I saw his father's death in the paper last March. His +uncle died ten years ago, and he will inherit the fortunes of both +father and uncle. The world has smiled upon him. He has never suffered +for that one false step in life, which brought such ruin upon me. He +will come home from India now, I dare say, and the world will be under +his feet. He will be worth a million of money, I should fancy; curse +him! If my wishes could be accomplished, every guinea he possesses would +be a separate scorpion to sting and to torture him." + +"Henry Dunbar," whispered Margaret to herself--"Henry Dunbar. I will not +forget that name." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION. + + +When the hands of the little clock in Margaret's sitting-room pointed to +five minutes before three, James Wentworth rose from his lounging +attitude in the easy-chair, and took his hat from a side-table. + +"Are you going out, father?" the girl asked. + +"Yes, Madge; I'm going up to London. It don't do for me to sit still too +long. Bad thoughts come fast enough at any time; but they come fastest +when a fellow sits twirling his thumbs. Don't look so frightened, Madge; +I'm not going to do any harm. I'm only going to look about me. I may +fall in with a bit of luck, perhaps; no matter what, if it puts a few +shillings into my pocket." + +"I'd rather you stayed at home, father dear," Margaret said, gently. + +"I dare say you would, child. But I tell you, I can't. I _can't_ sit +quiet this afternoon. I've been talking of things that always seem to +set my brain on fire. No harm shall come of my going away, girl; I +promise you that. The worst I shall do is to sit in a tavern parlour, +drink a glass of gin-and-water, and read the papers. There's no crime in +that, is there, Madge?" + +His daughter smiled as she tried to arrange the shabby velvet collar of +his threadbare coat. + +"No, father dear," she said; "and I'm sure I always wish you to enjoy +yourself. But you'll come home soon, won't you?" + +"What do you call 'soon,' my lass?" + +"Before ten o'clock. My day's work will be all over long before that, +and I'll try and get something nice for your supper." + +"Very well, then, I'll be back by ten o'clock to-night. There's my hand +upon it." + +He gave Margaret his hand, kissed her smooth cheeks, took his cane from +a corner of the room, and then went out. + +His daughter watched him from the open window as he walked up the narrow +lane, amongst the groups of children gathered every here and there upon +the dusty pathway. + +"Heaven have pity upon him, and keep him from sin!" murmured Margaret +Wentworth, clasping her hands, and with her eyes still following the +retreating figure. + +James Wentworth jingled the money in his waistcoat-pocket as he walked +towards the railway station. He had very little; a couple of sixpences +and a few halfpence. Just about enough to pay for a second-class return +ticket, and for his glass of gin-and-water at a London tavern. + +He reached the station three minutes before the train was due, and took +his ticket. + +At half-past three he was in London. + +But as he was an idle, purposeless man, without friends to visit or +money to spend, he was in no hurry to leave the railway station. + +He hated solitude or quiet; and here in this crowded terminus there was +life and bustle and variety enough in all conscience; and all to be seen +for nothing: so he strolled backwards and forwards upon the platform, +watching the busy porters, the eager passengers rushing to and fro, and +meditating as to where he should spend the rest of his afternoon. + +By-and-by he stood against a wooden pillar in a doorway, looking at the +cabs, as, one after another, they tore up to the station, and disgorged +their loads. + +He had witnessed the arrival of a great many different travellers, when +his attention was suddenly arrested by a little old man, wan and wizen +and near-sighted, feeble-looking, but active, who alighted from a cab, +and gave his small black-leather portmanteau into the hands of a porter. + +This man was Sampson Wilmot, the old confidential clerk in the house of +Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +James Wentworth followed the old man and the porter. + +"I wonder if it _is_ he," he muttered to himself; "there's a +likeness--there's certainly a likeness. But it's so many years ago--so +many years--I don't suppose I should know him. And yet this man recalls +him to me somehow. I'll keep my eye upon the old fellow, at any rate." + +Sampson Wilmot had arrived at the station about ten minutes before the +starting of the train. He asked some questions of the porter, and left +his portmanteau in the man's care while he went to get his ticket. + +James Wentworth lingered behind, and contrived to look at the +portmanteau. + +There was a label pasted on the lid, with an address, written in a +business-like hand-- + + "MR. SAMPSON WILMOT, + PASSENGER TO SOUTHAMPTON." + +James Wentworth gave a long whistle. + +"I thought as much," he muttered; "I thought I couldn't be mistaken!" + +He went into the ticket-office, where the clerk was standing amongst the +crowd, waiting to take his ticket. + +James Wentworth went up close to him, and touched him lightly on the +shoulder. + +Sampson Wilmot turned and looked him full in the face. He looked, but +there was no ray of recognition in that look. + +"Do you want me, sir?" he asked, with rather a suspicious glance at the +reprobate's shabby dress. + +"Yes, Mr. Wilmot, I want to speak to you. You can come into the +waiting-room with me, after you've taken your ticket." + +The clerk stared aghast. The tone of this shabby-looking stranger was +almost one of command. + +"I don't know you, my good sir," stammered Sampson; "I never set eyes +upon you before; and unless you are a messenger sent after me from the +office, you must be under a mistake. You are a stranger to me!" + +"I am no stranger, and I am no messenger!" answered the other. "You've +got your ticket? That's all right! Now you can come with me." + +He walked into a waiting-room, the half-glass doors of which opened out +of the office. The room was empty, for it only wanted five minutes to +the starting of the train, and the passengers had hurried off to take +their seats. + +James Wentworth took off his hat, and brushed his rumpled grey hair from +his forehead. + +"Put on your spectacles, Sampson Wilmot," he said, "and look hard at me, +and then tell me if I am a stranger to you." + +The old clerk obeyed, nervously, fearfully. His tremulous hands could +scarcely adjust his spectacles. + +He looked at the reprobate's face for some moments and said nothing. But +his breath came quicker and his face grew very pale. + +"Ay," said James Wentworth, "look your hardest, and deny me if you can. +It will be only wise to deny me; I'm no credit to any one--least of all +to a steady respectable old chap like you!" + +"Joseph!--Joseph!" gasped the old clerk; "is it you? Is it really my +wretched brother? I thought you were dead, Joseph--I thought you were +dead and gone!" + +"And wished it, I dare say!" the other answered, bitterly. "No, +Joseph,--no!" cried Sampson Wilmot; "Heaven knows I never wished you +ill. Heaven knows I was always sorry for you, and could make excuses for +you even when you sank lowest!" + +"That's strange!" Joseph muttered, with a sneer; "that's very strange! +If you were so precious fond of me, how was it that you stopped in the +house of Dunbar and Dunbar? If you had had one spark of natural +affection for me, you could never have eaten their bread!" + +Sampson Wilmot shook his head sorrowfully. + +"Don't be too hard upon me, Joseph," he said, with mild reproachfulness; +"if I hadn't stopped at the banking-house your mother might have +starved!" + +The reprobate made no answer to this; but he turned his face away and +sighed. + +The bell rang for the starting of the train. + +"I must go," Sampson cried. "Give me your address, Joseph, and I will +write to you." + +"Oh, yes, I dare say!" answered his brother, scornfully; "no, no, _that_ +won't do. I've found you, my rich respectable brother, and I'll stick to +you. Where are you going?" + +"To Southampton." + +"What for?" + +"To meet Henry Dunbar." + +Joseph Wilmot's face grew livid with rage. + +The change that came over it was so sudden and so awful in its nature, +that the old clerk started back as if he had seen a ghost. + +"You are going to meet _him_?" said Joseph, in a hoarse whisper; "he is +in England, then?" + +"No; but he is expected to arrive almost immediately. Why do you look +like that, Joseph?" + +"Why do I look like that?" cried the younger man; "have you grown to be +such a mere machine, such a speaking automaton, such a living tool of +the men you serve, that all human feeling has perished in your breast? +Bah! how should such as you understand what I feel? Hark! the bell's +ringing--I'll come with you." + +The train was on the point of starting: the two men hurried out to the +platform. + +"No,--no," cried Sampson Wilmot, as his brother stepped after him into +the carriage; "no,--no, Joseph, don't come with me,--don't come with +me!" + +"I will go with you." + +"But you've no ticket." + +"I can get one--or you can get me one, for I've no money--at the first +station we stop at." + +They were seated in a second-class railway carriage by this time. The +ticket-collector, running from carriage to carriage, was in too great a +hurry to discover that the little bit of pasteboard which Joseph Wilmot +exhibited was only a return-ticket to Wandsworth. There was a brief +scramble, a banging of doors, and Babel-like confusion of tongues; and +then the engine gave its farewell shriek and rushed away. + +The old clerk looked very uneasily at his younger brother's face. The +livid pallor had passed away, but the strongly-marked eyebrows met in a +dark frown. + +"Joseph--Joseph!" said Sampson, "Heaven only knows I'm glad to see you, +after more than thirty years' separation, and any help I can give you +out of my slender means I'll give freely--I will, indeed, Joseph, for +the memory of our dear mother, if not for love of you; and I do love +you, Joseph--I do love you very dearly still. But I'd rather you didn't +take this journey with me--I would, indeed. I can't see that any good +can come of it." + +"Never you mind what comes of it. I want to talk to you. You're a nice +affectionate brother to wish to shuffle me off directly after our first +meeting. I want to talk to you, Sampson Wilmot. And I want to see _him_. +I know how the world's used _me_ for the last five-and-thirty years; I +want to see how the same world--such a just and merciful world as it +is--has treated my tempter and betrayer, Henry Dunbar!" + +Sampson Wilmot trembled like a leaf. His health had been very feeble +ever since the second shock of paralysis--that dire and silent foe, +whose invisible hand had stricken the old man down as he sat at his +desk, without one moment's warning. His health was feeble, and the shock +of meeting with his brother--this poor lost disgraced brother--whom he +had for five-and-twenty years believed to be dead, had been almost too +much for him. Nor was this all--unutterable terror took possession of +him when he thought of a meeting between Joseph Wilmot and Henry Dunbar. +The old man could remember his brother's words: + +"Let him consider it a lucky escape, if, when we next meet, he gets off +scot free!" + +Sampson Wilmot had prayed night and day that such a meeting might never +take place. For five-and-thirty years it had been delayed. Surely it +would not take place now. + +The old clerk looked nervously at his brother's face. + +"Joseph," he murmured, "I'd rather you didn't go with me to Southampton; +I'd rather you didn't meet Mr. Dunbar. You were very badly +treated--cruelly and unjustly treated--nobody knows that better than I. +But it's a long time ago, Joseph--it's a very, very long time ago. +Bitter feelings die out of a man's breast as the years roll by--don't +they, Joseph? Time heals all old wounds, and we learn to forgive others +as we hope to be forgiven--don't we, Joseph?" + +"_You_ may," answered the reprobate, fiercely; "I don't!" + +He said no more, but sat silent, with his arms folded over his breast. + +He looked straight before him out of the carriage-window; but he saw no +more of the pleasant landscape,--the fair fields of waving corn, with +scarlet poppies and deep-blue corn flowers, bright glimpses of sunlit +water, and distant villages, with grey church-turrets, nestling among +trees. He looked out of the carriage-window, and some of earth's +pleasantest pictures sped by him; but he saw no more of that +ever-changing prospect than if he had been looking at a blank sheet of +paper. + +Sampson Wilmot sat opposite to him, restless and uneasy, watching his +fierce gloomy countenance. + +The clerk took a ticket for his brother at the first station the train +stopped at. But still Joseph was silent. + +An hour passed by, and he had not yet spoken. + +He had no love for his brother. The world had hardened him. The +consequences of his own sins, falling very heavily upon his head, had +embittered his nature. He looked upon the man whom he had once loved and +trusted as the primary cause of his disgrace and misery, and this +thought influenced his opinion of all mankind. + +He could not believe in the goodness of any man, remembering, as he did, +how he had once trusted Henry Dunbar. + +The brothers were alone in the carriage. + +Sampson watched the gloomy face opposite to him for some time, and then, +with a weary sigh, he drew his handkerchief over his face, and sank back +in the corner of the carriage. But he did not sleep. He was agitated and +anxious. A dizzy faintness had seized upon him, and there was a strange +buzzing in his ears, and unwonted clouds before his dim eyes. He tried +to speak once or twice, but it seemed to him as if he was powerless to +form the words that were in his mind. + +Then his mind began to grow confused. The hoarse snorting of the engine +sounded monotonously in his ears: growing louder and louder with every +moment; until the noise of it grew hideous and intolerable--a perpetual +thunder, deafening and bewildering him. + +The train was fast approaching Basingstoke, when Joseph Wilmot was +suddenly startled from his moody reverie. + +There was an awful cause for that sudden start, that look of horror in +the reprobate's face. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE STROKE OF DEATH. + + +The old clerk had fallen from his seat, and lay in a motionless heap at +the bottom of the railway carriage. + +The third stroke of paralysis had come upon him; inevitable, no doubt, +long ago; but hastened, it may be, by that unlooked-for meeting at the +Waterloo terminus. + +Joseph Wilmot knelt beside the stricken man. He was a vagabond and an +outcast, and scenes of horror were not new to him. He had seen death +under many of its worst aspects, and the grim King of Terrors had little +terror for him. He was hardened, steeped in guilt, and callous as to the +sufferings of others. The love which he bore for his daughter was, +perhaps, the last ray of feeling that yet lingered in this man's +perverted nature. + +But he did all he could, nevertheless, for the unconscious old man. He +loosened his cravat, unfastened his waistcoat, and felt for the beating +of his heart. + +That heart did beat: very fitfully, as if the old clerk's weary soul had +been making feeble struggles to be released from its frail tabernacle of +clay. + +"Better, perhaps, if this should prove fatal," Joseph muttered; "I +should go on alone to meet Henry Dunbar." + +The train reached Basingstoke; Joseph put his head out of the open +window, and called loudly to a porter. + +The man came quickly, in answer to that impatient summons. + +"My brother is in a fit," Joseph cried; "help me to lift him out of the +carriage, and then send some one for a doctor." + +The unconscious form was lifted out in the arms of the two strong men. +They carried it into the waiting-room, and laid it on a sofa. + +The bell rang, and the Southampton train rushed onward without the two +travellers. + +In another moment the whole station was in commotion. A gentleman had +been seized with paralysis, and was dying. + +The doctor arrived in less than ten minutes. He shook his head, after +examining his patient. + +"It's a bad case," said he; "very bad; but we must do our best. Is there +anybody with this old gentleman?" + +"Yes, sir," the porter answered, pointing to Joseph; "this person is +with him." + +The country surgeon glanced rather suspiciously at Joseph Wilmot. He +looked a vagabond, certainly--every inch a vagabond; a reckless, +dare-devil scoundrel, at war with society, and defiant of a world he +hated. + +"Are you--any--relation to this gentleman?" the doctor asked, +hesitatingly. + +"Yes, I am his brother." + +"I should recommend his being removed to the nearest hotel. I will send +a woman to nurse him. Do you know if this is the first stroke he has +ever had?" + +"No, I do not." + +The surgeon looked more suspicious than ever, after receiving this +answer. + +"Strange," he said, "that you, who say you are his brother, should not +be able to give me information upon that point." + +Joseph Wilmot answered with an air of carelessness that was almost +contemptuous: + +"It is strange," he said; "but many stranger things have happened in +this world before now. My brother and I haven't met for years until we +met to-day." + +The unconscious man was removed from the railway station to an inn near +at hand--a humble, countrified place, but clean and orderly. Here he was +taken to a bed-chamber, whose old-fashioned latticed windows looked out +upon the dusty road. + +The doctor did all that his skill could devise, but he could not restore +consciousness to the paralyzed brain. The soul was gone already. The +body lay, a form of motionless and senseless clay, under the white +counterpane; and Joseph Wilmot, sitting near the foot of the bed, +watched it with a gloomy face. + +The woman who was to nurse the sick man came by-and-by, and took her +place by the pillow. But there was very little for her to do. + +"Is there any hope of his recovering?" Joseph asked eagerly, as the +doctor was about to leave the room. + +"I fear not--I fear there is no hope." + +"Will it be over soon?" + +"Very soon, I think. I do not believe that he can last more than +four-and-twenty hours." + +The surgeon waited for a few moments after saying this, expecting some +exclamation of surprise or grief from the dying man's brother: but there +was none; and with a hasty "good evening" the medical man quitted the +room. + +It was growing dusk, and the twilight shadows upon Joseph Wilmot's face +made it, in its sullen gloom, darker even than it had been in the +railway carriage. + +"I'm glad of it, I'm glad of it," he muttered; "I shall meet Harry +Dunbar alone." + +The bed-chamber in which the sick man lay opened out of a little +sitting-room. Sampson's carpet-bag and portmanteau had been left in this +sitting-room. + +Joseph Wilmot searched the pockets in the clothes that had been taken +off his brother's senseless form. + +There was some loose silver and a bunch of keys in the waistcoat-pocket, +and a well-worn leather-covered memorandum-book in the breast-pocket of +the old-fashioned coat. + +Joseph took these things into the sitting-room, closed the door between +the two apartments, and then rang for lights. + +The chambermaid who brought the candles asked if he had dined. + +"Yes," he said, "I dined five hours ago. Bring me some brandy." + +The girl brought a small decanter of spirit and a wine-glass, set them +on the table, and left the room. Joseph Wilmot followed her to the door, +and turned the key in the lock. + +"I don't want any intruders," he muttered; "these country people are +always inquisitive." + +He seated himself at the table, poured out a glass of brandy, drank it, +and then drew one of the candles towards him. + +He had put the money, the keys, and the memorandum-book, in one of his +own pockets. He took out the memorandum-book first, and examined it. +There were five Bank of England notes for five pounds each in one of the +pockets, and a letter in the other. + +The letter was directed to Henry Dunbar, and sealed with the official +seal of the banking-house. The name of Stephen Balderby was written on +the left-hand lower corner of the envelope. + +"So, so," whispered Joseph Wilmot, "this is the junior partner's letter +of welcome to his chief. I'll take care of that." + +He replaced the letter in the pocket of the memorandum-book, and then +looked at the pencil entries on the different pages. + +The last entry was the only memorandum that had any interest for him. + +It consisted of these few words-- + +_"H.D., expected to arrive at Southampton Docks on or about the 19th +inst., per steamer_ Electra; _will be met by Miss Laura D. at Portland +Place."_ + +"Who's Laura D.?" mused the spy, as he closed the memorandum-book. "His +daughter, I suppose. I remember seeing his marriage in the papers, +twenty years ago. He married well, of course. Fortune made _everything_ +smooth for him. He married a lady of rank. Curse him!" + +Joseph Wilmot sat for some time with his arms folded upon the table +before him, brooding, brooding, brooding; with a sinister smile upon his +lips, and an ominous light in his eyes. + +A dangerous man always--a dangerous man when he was loud, reckless, +brutal, violent: but most of all dangerous when he was most quiet. + +By-and-by he took the bunch of keys from his pocket, knelt down before +the portmanteau, and examined its contents. + +There was very little to reward his scrutiny--only a suit of clothes, a +couple of clean shirts, and the necessaries of the clerk's simple +toilet. The carpet-bag contained a pair of boots, a hat-brush, a +night-shirt, and a faded old chintz dressing-gown. + +Joseph Wilmot rose from his knees after examining these things, and +softly opened the door between the two rooms. There had been no change +in the sick chamber. The nurse still sat by the head of the bed. She +looked round at Joseph, as he opened the door. + +"No change, I suppose?" he said. + +"No, sir; none." + +"I am going out for a stroll, presently. I shall be in again in an +hour's time." + +He shut the door again, but he did not go out immediately. He knelt down +once more by the side of the portmanteau, and tore off the label with +his brother's name upon it. He tore a similar label off the carpet-bag, +taking care that no vestige of the clerk's name was left behind. + +When he had done this, and thrust the torn labels into his pocket, he +began to walk up and down the room, softly, with his arms folded upon +his breast. + +"The _Electra_, is expected to arrive on the nineteenth," he said, in a +low, thoughtful voice, "on or about the nineteenth. She may arrive +either before or after. To-morrow will be the seventeenth. If Sampson +dies, there will be an inquest, no doubt: a post-mortem examination, +perhaps: and I shall be detained till all that is over. I shall be +detained two or three days at least: and in the mean time Henry Dunbar +may arrive at Southampton, hurry on to London, and I may miss the one +chance of meeting that man face to face. I won't be balked of this +meeting--I won't be balked. Why should I stop here to watch by an +unconscious man's death-bed? No! Fate has thrown Henry Dunbar once more +across my pathway: and I won't throw my chance away." + +He took up his hat--a battered, shabby-looking white hat, which +harmonized well with his vagabond appearance--and went out, after +stopping for a minute at the bar to tell the landlord that he would be +back in an hour's time. + +He went straight to the railway station, and made inquiries as to the +trains. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +SINKING THE PAST. + + +The train from London to Southampton was due in an hour. The clerk who +gave Joseph Wilmot this information asked him how his brother was +getting on. + +"He is much better," Joseph answered. "I am going on to Southampton to +execute some important business he was to have done there. I shall come +back early to-morrow morning." + +He walked into the waiting-room, and stopped there, seated in the same +attitude the whole time: never stirring, never lifting his head from his +breast: always brooding, brooding, brooding: as he had brooded in the +railway carriage, as he had brooded in the little parlour of the inn. He +took his ticket for Southampton as soon as the office was open, and then +stood on the platform, where there were two or three stragglers, waiting +for the train to come up. + +It came at last. Joseph Wilmot sprang into a second-class carriage, took +his seat in the corner, with his hat slouched over his eyes, which were +almost hidden by its dilapidated brim. + +It was late when he reached Southampton; but he seemed to be acquainted +with the town, and he walked straight to a small public-house by the +river-side, almost hidden under the shadow of the town wall. + +Here he got a bed, and here he ascertained that the _Electra_ had not +yet arrived. + +He ate his supper in his own room, though he was requested to take it in +the public apartment. He seemed to shrink from meeting any one, or +talking to any one; and still brooded over his own black thoughts: as he +had brooded at the railway station, in the parlour of the Basingstoke +inn, in the carriage with his brother Sampson. + +Whatever his thoughts were, they absorbed him so entirely that he seemed +like a man who walks in his sleep, doing everything mechanically, and +without knowing what he does. + +But for all this he was active, for he rose very early the next morning. +He had not had an hour's sleep throughout the night, but had lain in +every variety of restless attitude, tossing first on this side and then +on that: always thinking, thinking, thinking, till the action of his +brain became as mechanical as that of any other machine, and went on in +spite of himself. + +He went downstairs, paid the money for his supper and night's lodging to +a sleepy servant-girl, and left the house as the church-clock in an +old-fashioned square hard by struck eight. + +He walked straight to the High Street, and entered the shop of a tailor +and general outfitter. It was a stylish establishment, and there was a +languid young man taking down the shutters, who appeared to be the only +person on the establishment just at present. + +He looked superciliously enough at Joseph Wilmot, eyeing him lazily from +head to foot, and yawning as he did so. + +"You'd better make yourself scarce," he said; "our principal never gives +anything to tramps." + +"Your principal may give or keep what he likes," Joseph answered, +carelessly; "I can pay for what I want. Call your master down: or stay, +you'll do as well, I dare say. I want a complete rig-out from head to +heel. Do you understand?" + +"I shall, perhaps, when I see the money for it," the languid youth +answered, with a sneer. + +"So you've learned the way of the world already, have you, my lad?" said +Joseph Wilmot, bitterly. Then, pulling his brother's memorandum-book +from his pocket, he opened it, and took out the little packet of +bank-notes. "I suppose you can understand these?" he said. + +The languid youth lifted his nose, which by its natural conformation +betrayed an aspiring character, and looked dubiously at his customer. + +"I can understand as they might be flash uns," he remarked, +significantly. + +Mr. Joseph Wilmot growled out an oath, and made a plunge at the young +shopman. + +"I said as they _might_ be flash," the youth remonstrated, quite meekly; +"there's no call to fly at me. I didn't mean to give no offence." + +"No," muttered Mr. Wilmot; "egad! you'd better _not_ mean it. Call your +master." + +The youth retired to obey: he was quite subdued and submissive by this +time. + +Joseph Wilmot looked about the shop. + +"The cur forgot the till," he muttered; "I might try my hand at that, +if--" He stopped and smiled with a strange, deliberate expression, not +quite agreeable to behold--"if I wasn't going to meet Henry Dunbar." + +There was a full-length looking-glass in one corner of the shop. Joseph +Wilmot walked up to it, looked at himself for a few moments in silent +contemplation, and then shook his clenched hand at the reflected image. + +"You're a vagabond!" he muttered between his set teeth, "and you look +it! You're an outcast; and you look it! But who set the mark upon you? +Who's to blame for all the evil you have done? Whose treachery made you +what you are? That's the question!" + +The owner of the shop appeared, and looked sharply at his customer. + +"Now, listen to me!" Joseph Wilmot said, slowly and deliberately. "I've +been down upon my luck for some time past, and I've just got a bit of +money. I've got it honestly, mind you; and I don't want to be questioned +by such a jackanapes as that shopboy of yours." + +The languid youth folded his arms, and endeavoured to look ferocious in +his fiery indignation; but he drew a little way behind his master as he +did so. + +The proprietor of the shop bowed and smiled. + +"We shall be happy to wait upon you, sir," he said; "and I have no doubt +we shall be able to give you satisfaction. If my shopman has been +impertinent--" + +"He has," interrupted Joseph; "but I don't want to make any palaver +about that. He's like the rest of the world, and he thinks if a man +wears a shabby coat, he must be a scoundrel; that's all. I forgive him." + +The languid youth, very much in the background, and quite sheltered, by +his master, might have been heard murmuring faintly-- + +"Oh, indeed! Forgive, indeed! Do you really, now? Thank you for +nothing!" and other sentences of a derisive character. + +"I want a complete rig-out," continued Joseph Wilmot; "a new suit of +clothes--hat, boots, umbrella, a carpet-bag, half-a-dozen shirts, brush +and comb, shaving tackle, and all the et-ceteras. Now, as you may be no +more inclined to trust me than that young whipper-snapper of yours, for +all you're so uncommon civil, I'll tell you what I'll do. I want this +beard of mine trimmed and altered. I'll go to a barber's and get that +done, and in the meantime you can make your mind easy about the +character of these gentlemen." + +He handed the tradesman three of the Bank of England notes. The man +looked at them doubtfully. + +"If you think they ain't genuine, send 'em round to one of your +neighbours, and get 'em changed," Joseph Wilmot said; "but be quick +about it. I shall be back here in half an hour." + +He walked out of the shop, leaving the man still staring, with the three +notes in his hand. + +The vagabond, with his hat slouched over his eyes, and big hands in his +pockets, strolled away from the High Street down to a barber's shop near +the docks. + +Here he had his beard shaved off, his ragged moustache trimmed into the +most aristocratic shape, and his long, straggling grey hair cut and +arranged according to his own directions. + +If he had been the vainest of men, bent on no higher object in life than +the embellishment of his person, he could not have been more particular +or more difficult to please. + +When the barber had completed his work, Joseph Wilmot washed his face, +readjusted the hair upon his ample forehead, and looked at himself in a +little shaving-glass that hung against the wall. + +So far as the man's head and face went, the transformation was perfect. +He was no longer a vagabond. He was a respectable, handsome-looking +gentleman, advanced in middle age. Not altogether +unaristocratic-looking. + +The very expression of his face was altered. The defiant sneer was +changed into a haughty smile; the sullen scowl was now a thoughtful +frown. + +Whether this change was natural to him, and merely brought about by the +alteration in his hair and beard, or whether it was an assumption of his +own, was only known to the man himself. + +He put on his hat, still slouching the brim over his eyes, paid the +barber, and went away. He walked straight to the docks, and made +inquiries about the steamer _Electra_. She was not expected to arrive +until the next day, at the earliest. Having satisfied himself upon this +point, Joseph Wilmot went back to the outfitter's to choose his new +clothes. + +This business occupied him for a long time; for in this he was as +difficult to please as he had been in the matter of his beard and hair. +No punctilious old bachelor, the best and brightest hours of whose life +had been devoted to the cares of the toilet, could have shown himself +more fastidious than this vagabond, who had been out-at-elbows for ten +years past, and who had worn a felon's dress for thirteen years at a +stretch in Norfolk Island. + +But he evinced no bad taste in the selection of a costume. He chose no +gaudy colours, or flashily-cut vestments. On the contrary, the garb he +assumed was in perfect keeping with the style of his hair and moustache. +It was the dress of a middle-aged gentleman; fashionable, but +scrupulously simple, quiet alike in colour and in cut. + +When his toilet was complete, from his twenty-one shilling hat to the +polished boots upon his well-shaped feet, he left the shady little +parlour in which he had changed his clothes, and came into the shop, +with a glove dangling loosely in one ungloved hand, and a cane in the +other. + +The tradesman and his shopboy stared aghast. + +"If that turn-out had cost you fifty pound, sir, instead of eighteen +pound, twelve, and elevenpence, it would be worth all the money to you; +for you look like a dook;" cried the tailor, with enthusiasm. + +"I'm glad to hear it," Mr. Wilmot said, carelessly. He stood before the +cheval-glass, and twirled his moustache as he spoke, looking at himself +thoughtfully, with a smile upon his face. Then he took his change from +the tailor, counted it, and dropped the gold and silver into his +waistcoat-pocket. + +The man's manner was as much altered as his person. He had entered the +shop at eight o'clock that morning a blackguard as well as a vagabond. +He left it now a gentleman; subdued in voice, easy and rather listless +in gait, haughty and self-possessed in tone. + +"Oh, by the bye," he said, pausing upon the threshold of the door, "I'll +thank you to bundle all those old things of mine together into a sheet +of brown paper: tie them up tightly. I'll call for them after dark +to-night." + +Having said this, very carelessly and indifferently, Mr. Wilmot left the +shop: but though he was now as well dressed and as gentlemanly-looking +as any man in Southampton, he turned into the first by-street, and +hurried away from the town to a lonely walk beside the water. + +He walked along the shore until he came to a village near the river, and +about a couple of miles from Southampton. There he entered a low-roofed +little public-house, very quiet and unfrequented, ordered some brandy +and cold water of a girl who was seated at work behind the bar, and then +went into the parlour,--a low-ceilinged, wainscoted room, whose walls +were adorned here and there with auctioneers' announcements of coming +sales of live and dead stock, farm-houses, and farming implements, +interspersed with railway time-tables. + +Mr. Joseph Wilmot had this room all to himself. He seated himself by the +open window, took up a country newspaper, and tried to read. + +But that attempt was a most dismal failure. In the first place, there +was very little in the paper to read: and in the second, Joseph Wilmot +would have been unable to chain his attention to the page upon which his +eyes were fixed, though all the wisdom of the world had been +concentrated upon that one sheet of printed paper. + +No; he could not read. He could only think. He could only think of this +strange chance which had come to him after five-and-thirty weary years. +He could only think of his probable meeting with Henry Dunbar. + +He entered the village public-house at a little after one, and he stayed +there throughout the rest of the day, drinking brandy-and-water--not +immoderately: he was very careful and watchful of himself in that +matter--taking a snack of bread and cold meat for his dinner, and +thinking of Henry Dunbar. + +In that he never varied, let him do what he would. + +In the railway carriage, at the Basingstoke inn, at the station, through +the long sleepless night at the public-house by the water, in the +tailor's shop, even when he was most occupied by the choice of his +clothes, he had still thought of Henry Dunbar. From the time of his +meeting the old clerk at the Waterloo terminus, he had never ceased to +think of Henry Dunbar. + +He never once thought of his brother: not so much even as to wonder +whether the stroke had been fatal,--whether the old man was yet dead. He +never thought of his daughter, or the anguish his prolonged absence +might cause her to suffer. + +He had put away the past as if it had never been, and concentrated all +the force of his mind upon the one idea which possessed him like some +strong demon. + +Sometimes a sudden terror seized him. + +What if Henry Dunbar should have died upon the passage home? What if the +_Electra_ should bring nothing but a sealed leaden coffin, and a corpse +embalmed in spirit? + +No, he could not imagine that! Fate, darkly brooding over these two men +throughout half a long lifetime, had held them asunder for +five-and-thirty years, to fling them mysteriously together now. + +It seemed as if the old clerk's philosophy was not so very unsound, +after all. Sooner or later,--sooner or later,--the day of retribution +comes. + +When it grew dusk, Joseph Wilmot left the little inn, and walked back to +Southampton. It was quite dark when he entered the High Street, and the +tailor's shop was closing. + +"I thought you'd forgotten your parcel, sir," the man said; "I've had it +ready for you ever so long. Can I send it any where for you?" + +"No, thank you; I'll take it myself." + +With the brown-paper parcel--which was a very bulky one--under his arm, +Joseph Wilmot left the tailor's shop, and walked down to an open pier or +quay abutting on the water. + +On his way along the river shore, between the village public-house and +the town of Southampton, he had filled his pockets with stones. He knelt +down now by the edge of the pier, and tied all these stones together in +an old cotton pocket-handkerchief. + +When he had done this, carefully, compactly, and quickly, like a man +accustomed to do all sorts of strange things, he tied the handkerchief +full of stones to the whipcord that bound the brown-paper parcel, and +dropped both packages into the water. + +The spot which he had chosen for this purpose was at the extreme end of +the pier, where the water was deepest. + +He had done all this cautiously, taking care to make sure every now and +then that he was unobserved. + +And when the parcel had sunk, he watched the widening circle upon the +surface of the water till it died away. + +"So much for James Wentworth, and the clothes he wore," he said to +himself as he walked away. + +He slept that night at the village inn where he had spent the day, and +the next morning walked into Southampton. + +It was a little after nine o'clock when he entered the docks, and the +_Electra_ was visible to the naked eye, steaming through the blue water +under a cloudless summer sky. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY. + + +"To-day I close a volume of the rough, careless, imperfect record which +I have kept of my life. As I run my fingers through the pages of the +limp morocco-covered volume, I almost wonder at my wasted labour;--the +random notes, jotted down now and then, sometimes with long intervals +between their dates, make such a mass of worthless literature. This +diary-keeping is a very foolish habit, after all. Why do I keep this +record of a most commonplace existence? For my own edification and +improvement? Scarcely, since I very rarely read these uninteresting +entries; and I very much doubt if posterity will care to know that I +went to the office at ten o'clock on Wednesday morning; that I couldn't +get a seat in the omnibus, and was compelled to take a Hansom, which +cost me two shillings; that I dined _tete-a-tete_ with my mother, and +finished the third volume of Carlyle's 'French Revolution' in the course +of the evening. _Is_ there any use in such a journal as mine? Will the +celebrated New Zealander, that is to be, discover the volumes amidst the +ruins of Clapham? and shall I be quoted as the Pepys of the nineteenth +century? But then I am by no means as racy as that worldly-minded little +government clerk; or perhaps it may be that the time in which I live +wants the spice and seasoning of that golden age of rascality in which +my Lady Castlemain's white petticoats were to be seen flaunting in the +wind by any frivolous-minded lounger who chose to take notes about those +garments. + +"After all, it is a silly, old-fogeyish habit, this of diary-keeping; +and I think the renowned Pepys himself was only a bachelor spoiled. Just +now, however, I have something more than cab-drives, lost omnibuses, and +the perusal of a favourite book to jot down, inasmuch as my mother and +myself have lately had all our accustomed habits, in a manner, +disorganized by the advent of a lady. + +"She is a very young lady, being, in point of fact, still at a remote +distance from an epoch to which she appears to look forward as a grand +and enviable period of existence. She has not yet entered what she calls +her 'teens,' and two years must elapse before she can enter them, as she +is only eleven years old. She is the only daughter of my only sister, +Marian Lester, and has been newly imported from Sydney, where my sister +Marian and her husband have been settled for the last twelve years. Miss +Elizabeth Lester became a member of our family upon the first of July, +and has since that time continued to make herself quite at home with my +mother and myself. She is rather a pretty little girl, with very auburn +plaits hanging in loops at the back of her head. (Will the New Zealander +and his countrymen care to know the mysteries of juvenile coiffures in +the nineteenth century?) She is a very good little girl, and my mother +adores her. As for myself, I am only gradually growing resigned to the +fact that I am three-and-thirty years of age, and the uncle of a +bouncing niece, who plays variations upon 'Non piu mesta.' + +"And 'Non piu mesta' brings me to another strange figure in the narrow +circle of my acquaintance; a figure that had no place in the volume +which I have just closed, but which, in the six weeks' interval between +my last record and that which I begin to-day, has become almost as +familiar as the oldest friends of my youth. 'Non piu mesta'--I hear my +niece strumming the notes I know so well in the parlour below my room, +as I write these lines, and the sound of the melody brings before me the +image of a sweet pale face and dove-like brown eyes. + +"I never fully realized the number and extent of feminine requirements +until a hack cab deposited my niece and her deal travelling-cases at our +hall-door. Miss Elizabeth Lester seemed to want everything that it was +possible for the human mind to imagine or desire. She had grown during +the homeward voyage; her frocks were too short, her boots were too +small, her bonnets tumbled off her head and hung forlornly at the back +of her neck. She wanted parasols and hair-brushes, frilled and +furbelowed mysteries of muslin and lace, copybooks, penholders, and +pomatum, a backboard and a pair of gloves, drawing-pencils, dumb-bells, +geological specimens for the illustration of her studies, and a hundred +other items, whose very names are as a strange language to my masculine +comprehension; and, last of all, she wanted a musical governess. The +little girl was supposed to be very tolerably advanced in her study of +the piano, and my sister was anxious that she should continue that study +under the superintendence of a duly-qualified instructress, whose terms +should be moderate. My sister Marian underlined this last condition. The +buying and making of the new frocks and muslin furbelows seemed almost +to absorb my mother's mind, and she was fain to delegate to me the duty +of finding a musical governess for Miss Lester. + +"I began my task in the simplest possible way by consulting the daily +newspapers, where I found so many advertisements emanating from ladies +who declared themselves proficients in the art of music, that I was +confused and embarrassed by the wealth of my resources: but I took the +ladies singly, and called upon them in the pleasant summer evenings +after office hours, sometimes with my mother, sometimes alone. + +"It may be that the seal of old-bachelorhood is already set upon me, and +that I am that odious and hyper-sensitive creature commonly called a +'fidget;' but somehow I could not find a governess whom I really felt +inclined to choose for my little Lizzie. Some of the ladies were elderly +and stern; others were young and frivolous; some of them were uncertain +as to the distribution of the letter _h_. One young lady declared that +she was fonder of music than anything in the world. Some were a great +deal too enthusiastic, and were prepared to adore my little niece at a +moment's notice. Many, who seemed otherwise eligible, demanded a higher +rate of remuneration than we were prepared to give. So, somehow or +other, the business languished, and after the researches of a week we +found ourselves no nearer a decision than when first I looked at the +advertisements in the _Times_ supplement. + +"Had our resources been reduced, we should most likely have been much +easier to please; but my mother said, that as there were so many people +to be had, we should do well to deliberate before we came to any +decision. So it happened that, when I went out for a walk one evening, +at the end of the second week in July, Miss Lester was still without a +governess. She was still without a governess: but I was tired of +catechizing the fair advertisers as to their qualifications, and went +out on this particular evening for a solitary ramble amongst the quiet +Surrey suburbs, in any lonely lanes or scraps of common-land where the +speculating builder had not yet set his hateful foot. It was a lovely +evening; and I, who am so much a Cockney as to believe that a London +sunset is one of the grandest spectacles in the universe, set my face +towards the yellow light in the west, and walked across Wandsworth +Common, where faint wreaths of purple mist were rising from the hollows, +and a deserted donkey was breaking the twilight stillness with a +plaintive braying. Wandsworth Common was as lonely this evening as a +patch of sand in the centre of Africa; and being something of a +day-dreamer, I liked the place because of its stillness and solitude. + +"Something of a dreamer: and yet I had so little to dream about. My +thoughts were pleasant, as I walked across the common in the sunset; and +yet, looking back now, I wonder what I thought of, and what image there +was in my mind that could make my fancies pleasant to me. I know what I +thought of, as I went home in the dim light of the newly-risen moon, the +pale crescent that glimmered high in a cloudless heaven. + +"I went into the little town of Wandsworth, the queer old-fashioned High +Street, the dear old street, which seems to me like a town in a Dutch +picture, where all the tints are of a sombre brown, yet in which there +is, nevertheless, so much light and warmth. The lights were beginning to +twinkle here and there in the windows; and upon this July evening there +seemed to be flowers blooming in every casement. I loitered idly through +the street, staring at the shop-windows, in utter absence of mind while +I thought-- + +"What could I have thought of that evening? and how was it that I did +not think the world blank and empty? + +"While I was looking idly in at one of those shop-windows--it was a +fancy-shop and stationer's--a kind of bazaar, in its humble way--my eye +was attracted by the word 'Music;' and on a little card hung in the +window I read that a lady would be happy to give lessons on the +piano-forte, at the residences of her pupils, or at her own residence, +on very moderate terms. The word 'very' was underscored. I thought it +had a pitiful look somehow, that underscoring of the adverb, and seemed +almost an appeal for employment. The inscription on the card was in a +woman's hand, and a very pretty hand--elegant but not illegible, firm +and yet feminine. I was in a very idle frame of mind, ready to be driven +by any chance wind; and I thought I might just as well turn my evening +walk to some account by calling upon the proprietress of the card. She +was not likely to suit my ideas of perfection, any more than the other +ladies I had seen; but I should at least be able to return home with the +consciousness of having made another effort to find an instructress for +my niece. + +"The address on the card was, 'No. 3, Godolphin Cottages.' I asked the +first person I met to direct me to Godolphin Cottages, and was told to +take the second turning on my right. The second turning on my right took +me into a kind of lane or by-road, where there were some old-fashioned, +semi-detached cottages, sheltered by a row of sycamores, and shut in by +wooden palings. I opened the low gate before the third cottage, and went +into the garden,--a primly-kept little garden, with a grass-plat and +miniature gravel-walks, and with a grotto of shells and moss and craggy +blocks of stone in a corner. Under a laburnum-tree there was a green +rustic bench; and here I found a young lady sitting reading by the dying +light. She started at the sound of my footsteps on the crisp gravel, and +rose, blushing like one of the cabbage-roses that grew near her. The +blush was all the more becoming to her inasmuch as she was naturally +very pale. I saw this almost immediately, for the bright colour faded +out of her face while I was speaking to her. + +"'I have come to inquire for a lady who teaches music,' I said; 'I saw a +card, just now, in the High Street, and as I am searching for an +instructress for my little niece, I took the opportunity of calling. But +I fear I have chosen an inconvenient time for my visit.' + +"I scarcely know why I made this apology, since I had omitted to +apologize to the other ladies, on whom I had ventured to intrude at +abnormal hours. I fear that I was weak enough to feel bewildered by the +pensive loveliness of the face at which I looked, and that my confidence +ebbed away under the influence of those grave hazel eyes. + +"The face is so beautiful,--as beautiful now that I have learned the +trick of every feature, though even now I cannot learn all the varying +changes of expression which make it ever new to me, as it was that +evening when it beamed on me for the first time. Shall I describe +her,--the woman whom I have only known four weeks, and who seems to fill +all the universe when I think of her?--and when do I not think of her? +Shall I describe her for the New Zealander, when the best description +must fall so far below the bright reality, and when the very act of +reducing her beauty into hard commonplace words seems in some manner a +sacrilege against the sanctity of that beauty? Yes, I will describe her; +not for the sake of the New Zealander, who may have new and +extraordinary ideas as to female loveliness, and may require a blue nose +or pea-green tresses in the lady he elects as the only type of beautiful +womanhood. I will describe her because it is sweet to me to dwell upon +her image, and to translate that dear image, no matter how poorly, into +words. Were I a painter, I should be like Claude Melnotte, and paint no +face but hers. Were I a poet, I should cover reams of paper with wild +rhapsodies about her beauty. Being only a cashier in a bank, I can do +nothing but enshrine her in the commonplace pages of my diary. + +"I have said that she is pale. Hers is that ivory pallor which sometimes +accompanies hazel eyes and hazel-brown hair. Her eyes are of that rare +hazel, that soft golden brown, so rarely seen, so beautiful wherever +they are seen. These eyes are unvarying in their colour; it is only the +expression of them that varies with every emotion, but in repose they +have a mournful earnestness in their look, a pensive gravity that seems +to tell of a life in which there has been much shadow. The hair, parted +above the most beautiful brow I ever looked upon, is of exactly the same +colour as the eyes, and has a natural ripple in it. For the rest of the +features I must refer my New Zealander to the pictures of the old +Italian masters--of which I trust he may retain a handsome +collection;--for only on the canvases of Signori Raffaello Sanzio +d'Urbino, Titian, and the pupils who emulated them, will he find that +exquisite harmony, that purity of form and tender softness of outline, +which I beheld that summer evening in the features of Margaret +Wentworth. + +"Margaret Wentworth,--that is her name. She told it me presently, when I +had explained to her, in some awkward vague manner, who I was, and how +it was I wanted to engage her services. Throughout that interview, I +think I must have been intoxicated by her presence, as by some subtle +and mysterious influence, stronger than the fumes of opium, or the juice +of lotus flowers. I only know that after ten minutes' conversation, +during which she was perfectly self-possessed, I opened the little +garden-gate again, very much embarrassed by the latch on one hand, and +my hat on the other, and went back out of that little paradise of twenty +feet square into the dusty lane. + +"I went home in triumph to my mother, and told her that I had succeeded +at last in engaging a lady who was in every way suitable, and that she +was coming the following morning at eleven o'clock to give her first +lesson. But I was somewhat embarrassed when my mother asked if I had +heard the lady play; if I had inquired her terms; if I had asked for +references as to respectability, capability, and so forth. + +"I was fain to confess, with much confusion, that I had not done any one +of these things. And then my mother asked me why, in that case, did I +consider the lady suitable,--which question increased my embarrassment +by tenfold. I could not say that I had engaged her because her eyes were +hazel, and her hair of the same colour; nor could I declare that I had +judged of her proficiency as a teacher of the piano by the exquisite +line of her pencilled eyebrows. So, in this dilemma, I had recourse to a +piece of jesuitry, of which I was not a little proud. I told my dear +mother that Miss Wentworth's head was, from a phrenological point of +view, magnificent, and that the organs of time and tune were developed +to an unusual degree. + +"I was almost ashamed of myself when my mother rewarded this falsehood +by a kiss, declaring that I was a dear clever boy, and _such_ a judge of +character, and that she would rather confide in a stranger, upon the +strength of my instinct, than, upon any inferior person's experience. + +"After this I could only trust to the chance of Miss Wentworth's +proficiency; and when I went home from the city upon the following +afternoon, my mind was far less occupied with the business events of the +day than with abstruse speculations at to the probabilities with regard +to that young lady's skill upon the piano-forte. It was with an air of +supreme carelessness that I asked my mother whether she had been pleased +with Miss Wentworth. + +"'Pleased with her!' cried the good soul; 'why, she plays magnificently, +Clement. Such a touch, such brilliancy! In my young days it was only +concert-players who played like that; but nowadays girls of eighteen and +twenty sit down, and dash away at the keys like a professor. I think +you'll be charmed with her, Clem'--(I'm afraid I blushed as my mother +said this; had I not been charmed with her already?)--'when you hear her +play, for she has expression as well as brilliancy. She is passionately +fond of music, I know; not because she went into any ridiculous +sentimental raptures about it, as some girls do, but because her eyes +lighted up when she told me what a happiness her piano had been to her +ever since she was a child. She gave a little sigh after saying that; +and I fancied, poor girl, that she had perhaps known very little other +happiness.' + +"'And her terms, mother?' I said. + +"'Oh, you dear commercial Clem, always thinking of terms!' cried my +mother. + +"Heaven bless her innocent heart! I had asked that sordid question only +to hide the unreasoning gladness of my heart. What was it to me that +this hazel-eyed girl was engaged to teach my little niece 'Non piu +mesta'? what was it to me that my breast should be all of a sudden +filled with a tumult of glad emotions, and thus shrink from any +encounter with my mother's honest eyes? + +"'Well, Clem, the terms are almost ridiculously moderate,' my mother +said, presently. 'There's only one thing that's at all inconvenient, +that is to say, not to me, but I'm afraid _you'll_ think it an +objection.' + +"I eagerly asked the nature of this objection. Was there some cold chill +of disappointment in store for me, after all? + +"'Well, you see, Clem,' said my mother, with some little hesitation, +'Miss Wentworth is engaged almost all through the day, as her pupils +live at long distances from one another, and she has to waste a good +deal of time in going backwards and forwards; so the only time she can +possibly give Lizzie is either very early in the morning or rather late +in the evening. Now _I_ should prefer the evening, as I should like to +hear the dear child's lessons; but the question is, would _you_ object +to the noise of the piano while you are at home?' + +"Would I object? Would I object to the music of the spheres? In spite of +the grand capabilities for falsehood and hypocrisy which had been +developed in my nature since the previous evening, it was as much as I +could do to answer my mother's question deliberately, to the effect that +I didn't think I should mind the music-lessons _much_. + +"'You'll be out generally, you know, Clem,' my mother said. + +"'Yes,' I replied, 'of course, if I found the music in any way a +nuisance.' + +"Coming home from the City the next day, I felt like a schoolboy who +turns his back upon all the hardships of his life, on some sunny summer +holiday. The rattling Hansom seemed a fairy car, that was bearing me in +triumph through a region of brightness and splendour. The sunlit +suburban roads were enchanted glades; and I think I should have been +scarcely surprised to see Aladdin's jewelled fruit hanging on the trees +in the villa gardens, or the gigantic wings of Sinbad's roc +overshadowing the hills of Sydenham. A wonderful transformation had +changed the earth to fairy land, and it was in vain that I fought +against the subtle influence in the air around me. + +"Oh, was I in love, was I really in love at last, with a young lady +whose face I had only looked upon eight-and-forty hours before? Was I, +who had flirted with the Miss Balderbys; and half lost my heart to Lucy +Sedwicke, the surgeon's sister; and corresponded for nearly a year with +Clara Carpenter, with the sanction of both our houses, and everything +_en regle_, only to be jilted ignominiously for the sake of an +evangelical curate?--was I, who had railed at the foolish passion--(I +have one of Miss Carpenter's long tresses in the desk on which I am +writing, sealed in a sheet of letter-paper, with Swift's savage +inscription, 'Only a woman's hair,' on the cover)--was I caught at last +by a pair of hazel eyes and a Raffaellesque profile? Were the wings that +had fluttered in so many flames burnt and maimed by the first breath of +this new fire? I was ashamed of my silly fancy in one moment, and proud +of my love in the next. I was ten years younger all of a sudden, and my +heart was all a-glow with chivalrous devotion for this beautiful +stranger. I reasoned with myself, and ridiculed my madness, and yet +yielded like the veriest craven to the sweet intoxication. I gave the +driver of the Hansom five shillings. Had I not a right to pay him a +trifle extra for driving me through fairy-land? + +"What had we for dinner that day? I have a vague idea that I ate cherry +tart and roast veal, fried soles, boiled custard, and anchovy sauce, all +mixed together. I know that the meal seemed to endure for the abnormal +period of half-a-dozen hours or so; and yet it was only seven o'clock +when we adjourned to the drawing-room, and Miss Wentworth was not due +until half-past seven. My niece was all in a flutter of expectation, and +ran out of the drawing-room window every now and then to see if the new +governess was coming. She need not have had that trouble, poor child, +had I been inclined to give her information; since, from the chair in +which I had seated myself to read the evening papers, I could see the +road along which Miss Wentworth must come. My eyes wandered very often +from the page before me, and fixed themselves upon this dusty suburban +road; and presently I saw a parasol, rather a shabby one, and then a +slender figure coming quickly towards our gate, and then the face, which +I am weak enough to think the most beautiful face in Christendom. + +"Since then Miss Wentworth has come three times a week; and somehow or +other I have never found myself in any way bored by 'Non piu mesta,' or +even the major and minor scales, which, as interpreted by a juvenile +performer, are not especially enthralling to the ear of the ordinary +listener. I read my books or papers, or stroll upon the lawn, while the +lesson is going on, and every now and then I hear Margaret's--I really +must write of her as Margaret; it is such a nuisance to write Miss +Wentworth--pretty voice explaining the importance of a steady position +of the wrist, or the dexterous turning over or under of a thumb, or +something equally interesting. And then, when the lesson is concluded, +my mother rouses herself from her after-dinner nap, and asks Margaret to +take a cup of tea, and even insists on her accepting that feminine +hospitality. And then we sit talking in the tender summer dusk, or in +the subdued light of a shaded lamp on the piano. We talk of books; and +it is wonderful to me to find how Margaret's tastes and opinions +coincide with mine. Miss Carpenter was stupid about books, and used to +call Carlyle nonsensical; and never really enjoyed Dickens half as much +as she pretended. I have lent Margaret some of my books; and a little +shower of withered rose-leaves dropped from the pages of 'Wilhelm +Meister,' after she had returned me the volume. I have put them in an +envelope, and sealed it. I may as well burn Miss Carpenter's hair, by +the way. + +"Though it is only a month since the evening on which I saw the card in +the window at Wandsworth, Margaret and I seem to be old friends. After a +year Miss Carpenter and I were as far as ever--farther than ever, +perhaps--from understanding each other; but with Margaret I need no +words to tell me that I am understood. A look, a smile, a movement of +the graceful head, is a more eloquent answer than the most elaborate of +Miss Carpenter's rhapsodies. She was one of those girls whom her friends +call 'gushing;' and she called Byron a 'love,' and Shelley an 'angel:' +but if you tried her with a stanza that hasn't been done to death in +'Gems of Verse,' or 'Strings of Poetic Pearls,' or 'Drawing-room Table +Lyrics,' she couldn't tell whether you were quoting Byron or Ben Jonson. +But with Margaret--Margaret,--sweet name! If it were not that I live in +perpetual terror of the day when the dilettante New Zealander will edit +this manuscript, I think I should write that lovely name over and over +again for a page or so. If the New Zealander should exercise his +editorial discretion, and delete my raptures, it wouldn't matter; but I +might furnish him with the text for an elaborate disquisition on the +manners and customs of English lovers. Let me be reasonable about my +dear love, if I can. My dear love--do I dare to call her that already, +when, for anything I know to the contrary, there may be another +evangelical curate in the background? + +"We seem to be old friends; and yet I know so little of her. She shuns +all allusion to her home or her past history. Now and then she has +spoken of her father; always tenderly, but always with a sigh; and I +fancy that a deepening shadow steals over her face when she mentions +that name. + +"Friendly as we are, I can never induce her to let me see her home, +though my mother has suggested that I should do so. She is accustomed to +go about by herself, she says, after dark, as well as in the daytime. +She seems as fearless as a modern Una; and that would indeed be a savage +beast which could molest such a pure and lovely creature." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS. + + +Joseph Wilmot waited patiently enough, in all outward seeming, for the +arrival of the steamer. Everybody was respectful to him now, paying +deference to his altered guise, and he went where he liked without +question or hindrance. + +There were several people waiting for passengers who were expected to +arrive by the _Electra_, and the coming of the steamer was hailed by a +feeble cheer from the bystanders grouped about the landing-place. + +The passengers began to come on shore at about eleven o'clock. There +were a good many children and English nursemaids; three or four +military-looking men, dressed in loose garments of grey and nankeen +colour; several ladies, all more or less sunburnt; a couple of ayahs; +three men-servants; and an aristocratic-looking man of about fifty-five, +dressed, unlike the rest of the travellers, in fine broadcloth, with a +black-satin cravat, a gold pin, a carefully brushed hat, and varnished +boots. + +His clothes, in fact, were very much of the same fashion as those which +Joseph Wilmot had chosen for himself. + +This man was Henry Dunbar; tall and broad-chested, with grey hair and +moustache, and with a haughty smile upon his handsome face. + +Joseph Wilmot stood among the little crowd, motionless as a statue, +watching his old betrayer. + +"Not much changed," he murmured; "very little changed! Proud, and +selfish, and cruel then--proud, and selfish, and cruel now. He has grown +older, and stouter, and greyer; but he is the same man he was +five-and-thirty years ago. I can see it all in his face." + +He advanced as Henry Dunbar landed, and approached the Anglo-Indian. + +"Mr. Dunbar, I believe?" he said, removing his hat. + +"Yes, I am Mr. Dunbar." + +"I have been sent from the office in St. Gundolph Lane, sir," returned +Joseph; "I have a letter for you from Mr. Balderby. I came to meet you, +and to be of service to you." + +Henry Dunbar looked at him doubtfully. + +"You are not one of the clerks in St. Gundolph Lane?" he said. + +"No, Mr. Dunbar." + +"I thought as much; you don't look like a clerk; but who are you, then?" + +"I will tell you presently, sir. I am a substitute for another person, +who was taken ill upon the road. But there is no time to speak of that +now. I came to be of use to you. Shall I see after your luggage?" + +"Yes, I shall be glad if you will do so." + +"You have a servant with you, Mr. Dunbar?" + +"No, my valet was taken ill at Malta, and I left him behind." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Joseph Wilmot; "that was a misfortune." + +A sudden flash of light sparkled in his eyes as he spoke. + +"Yes, it was devilish provoking. You'll find the luggage packed, and +directed to Portland Place; be so good as to see that it is sent off +immediately by the speediest route. There is a portmanteau in my cabin, +and my travelling-desk. I require those with me. All the rest can go +on." + +"I will see to it, sir." + +"Thank you; you are very good. At what hotel are you staying?" + +"I have not been to any hotel yet. I only arrived this morning. The +_Electra_ was not expected until to-morrow." + +"I will go on to the Dolphin, then," returned Mr. Dunbar; "and I shall +be glad if you will follow me directly you have attended to the luggage. +I want to get to London to-night, if possible." + +Henry Dunbar walked away, holding his head high in the air, and swinging +his cane as he went. Ha was one of those men who most confidently +believe in their own merits. The sin he had committed in his youth sat +very lightly upon his conscience. If he thought about that old story at +all, it was only to remember that he had been very badly used by his +father and his Uncle Hugh. + +And the poor wretch who had helped him--the clever, bright-faced, +high-spirited lad who had acted as his tool and accomplice--was as +completely forgotten as if he had never existed. + +Mr. Dunbar was ushered into a great sunny sitting-room at the Dolphin; a +vast desert of Brussels carpet, with little islands of chairs and tables +scattered here and there. He ordered a bottle of soda-water, sank into +an easy-chair, and took up the _Times_ newspaper. + +But presently he threw it down impatiently, and took his watch from his +waistcoat-pocket. + +Attached to the watch there was a locket of chased yellow gold. Henry +Dunbar opened this locket, which contained the miniature of a beautiful +girl, with fair rippling hair as bright as burnished gold, and limpid +blue eyes. + +"My poor little Laura!" he murmured; "I wonder whether she will be glad +to see me. She was a mere baby when she left India. It isn't likely +she'll remember me. But I hope she may be glad of my coming back--I hope +she may be glad." + +He put the locket again in its place, and took a letter from his +breast-pocket. It was directed in a woman's hand, and the envelope was +surrounded by a deep border of black. + +"If there's any faith to be put in this, she will be glad to have me +home at last," Henry Dunbar said, as he drew the letter out of its +envelope. + +He read one passage softly to himself. + +"If anything can console me for the loss of my dear grandfather, it is +the thought that you will come back at last, and that I shall see you +once more. You can never know, dearest father, what a bitter sorrow this +cruel separation has been to me. It has seemed so hard that we who are +so rich should have been parted as we have been, while poor children +have their fathers with them. Money seems such a small thing when it +cannot bring us the presence of those we love. And I do love you, dear +papa, truly and devotedly, though I cannot even remember your face, and +have not so much as a picture of you to recall you to my recollection." + +The letter was a very long one, and Henry Dunbar was still reading it +when Joseph Wilmot came into the room. + +The Anglo-Indian crushed the letter into his pocket, and looked up +languidly. + +"Have you seen to all that?" he asked. + +"Yes, Mr. Dunbar; the luggage has been sent off." + +Joseph Wilmot had not yet removed his hat. He had rather an undecided +manner, and walked once or twice up and down the room, stopping now and +then, and then walking on again, in an unsettled way; like a man who has +some purpose in his mind, yet is oppressed by a feverish irresolution as +to the performance of that purpose. + +But Mr. Dunbar took no notice of this. He sat with the newspaper in his +hand, and did not deign to lift his eyes to his companion, after that +first brief question. He was accustomed to be waited upon, and to look +upon the people who served him as beings of an inferior class: and he +had no idea of troubling himself about this gentlemanly-looking clerk +from St. Gundolph Lane. + +Joseph Wilmot stopped suddenly upon the other side of the table, near +which Mr. Dunbar sat, and, laying his hand upon it, said quietly-- + +"You asked me just now who I was, Mr. Dunbar." + +The banker looked up at him with haughty indifference. + +"Did I? Oh, yea, I remember; and you told me you came from the office. +That is quite enough." + +"Pardon me, Mr. Dunbar, it is not quite enough. You are mistaken: I did +not say I came from the office in St. Gundolph Lane. I told you, on the +contrary, that I came here as a substitute for another person, who was +ordered to meet you." + +"Indeed! That is pretty much the same thing. You seem a very agreeable +fellow, and will, no doubt, be quite as useful as the original person +could have been. It was very civil of Mr. Balderby to send some one to +meet me--very civil indeed." + +The Anglo-Indian's head sank back upon the morocco cushion of the +easy-chair, and he looked languidly at his companion, with half-closed +eyes. + +Joseph Wilmot removed his hat. + +"I don't think you've looked at me very closely, have you, Mr. Dunbar?" +he said. + +"Have I looked at you closely!" exclaimed the banker. "My good fellow, +what do you mean?" + +"Look me full in the face, Mr. Dunbar, and tell me if you see anything +there that reminds you of the past." + +Henry Dunbar started. + +He opened his eyes widely enough this time, and started at the handsome +face before him. It was as handsome as his own, and almost as +aristocratic-looking. For Nature has odd caprices now and then, and had +made very little distinction between the banker, who was worth half a +million, and the runaway convict, who was not worth sixpence. + +"Have I met you before?" he said. "In India?" + +"No, Mr. Dunbar, not in India. You know that as well as I do. Carry your +mind farther back. Carry it back to the time before you went to India." + +"What then?" + +"Do you remember losing a heap of money on the Derby, and being in so +desperate a frame of mind that you took the holster-pistols down from +their place above the chimney-piece in your barrack sitting-room, and +threatened to blow your brains out? Do you remember, in your despair, +appealing to a lad who served you, and who loved you, better perhaps +than a brother would have loved you, though he _was_ your inferior by +birth and station, and the son of a poor, hard-working woman? Do you +remember entreating this boy--who had a knack of counterfeiting other +people's signatures, but who had never used his talent for any guilty +purpose until that hour, so help me Heaven!--to aid you in a scheme by +which your creditors were to be kept quiet till you could get the money +to pay them? Do you remember all this? Yes, I see you do--the answer is +written on your face; and you remember me--Joseph Wilmot." + +He struck his hand upon his breast, and stood with his eyes fixed upon +the other's face. They had a strange expression in them, those eyes--a +sort of hungry, eager look, as if the very sight of his old foe was a +kind of food that went some way towards satisfying this man's vengeful +fury. + +"I do remember you," Henry Dunbar said slowly. He had turned deadly +pale, and cold drops of sweat had broken out upon his forehead: he wiped +them away with his perfumed cambric handkerchief as he spoke. + +"You do remember me?" the other man repeated, with no change in the +expression of his face. + +"I do; and, believe me, I am heartily sorry for the past. I dare say you +fancy I acted cruelly towards you on that wretched day in St. Gundolph +Lane; but I really could scarcely act otherwise. I was so harassed and +tormented by my own position, that I could not be expected to get myself +deeper into the mire by interceding for you. However, now that I am my +own master, I can make it up to you. Rely upon it, my good fellow, I'll +atone for the past." + +"Atone for the past!" cried Joseph Wilmot. "Can you make me an honest +man, or a respectable member of society? Can you remove the stamp of the +felon from me, and win for me the position I _might_ have held in this +hard world but for you? Can you give me back the five-and-thirty +blighted years of my life, and take the blight from them? Can you heal +my mother's broken heart,--broken, long ago by my disgrace? Can you give +me back the dead? Or can you give me pleasant memories, or peaceful +thoughts, or the hope of God's forgiveness? No, no; you can give me none +of these." + +Mr. Henry Dunbar was essentially a man of the world. He was not a +passionate man. He was a gentlemanly creature, very seldom demonstrative +in his manner, and he wished to take life pleasantly. + +He was utterly selfish and heartless. But as he was very rich, people +readily overlooked such small failings as selfishness and want of heart, +and were loud in praise of the graces of his manner and the elegance of +his person. + +"My dear Wilmot," he said, in no wise startled by the vehemence of his +companion, "all that is so much sentimental talk. Of course I can't give +you back the past. The past was your own, and you might have fashioned +it as you pleased. If you went wrong, you have no right to throw the +blame of your wrong-doing upon me. Pray don't talk about broken hearts, +and blighted lives, and all that sort of thing. I'm a man of the world, +and I can appreciate the exact value of that kind of twaddle. I am sorry +for the scrape I got you into, and am ready to do anything reasonable to +atone for that old business. I can't give you back the past; but I can +give you that for which most men are ready to barter past, present, and +future,--I can give you money." + +"How much?" asked Joseph Wilmot, with a half-suppressed fierceness in +his manner. + +"Humph!" murmured the Anglo-Indian, pulling his grey moustaches with a +reflective air. "Let me see; what would satisfy you, now, my good +fellow?" + +"I leave that for you to decide." + +"Very well, then. I suppose you'd be quite contented if I were to buy +you a small annuity, that would keep you straight with the world for the +rest of your life. Say, fifty pounds a year." + +"Fifty pounds a year," Joseph Wilmot repeated. He had quite conquered +that fierceness of expression by this time, and spoke very quietly. +"Fifty pounds a year--a pound a week." + +"Yes." + +"I'll accept your offer, Mr. Dunbar. A pound a week. That will enable me +to live--to live as labouring men live, in some hovel or other; and will +insure me bread every day. I have a daughter, a very beautiful girl, +about the same age as your daughter: and, of course, she'll share my +income with me, and will have as much cause to bless your generosity as +I shall have." + +"It's a bargain, then?" asked the East Indian, languidly. + +"Oh, yes, it's a bargain. You have estates in Warwickshire and +Yorkshire, a house in Portland Place, and half a million of money; but, +of course, all those things are necessary to you. I shall have--thanks +to your generosity, and as an atonement for all the shame and misery, +the want, and peril, and disgrace, which I have suffered for +five-and-thirty years--a pound a week secured to me for the rest of my +life. A thousand thanks, Mr. Dunbar. You are your own self still, I +find; the same master I loved when I was a boy; and I accept your +generous offer." + +He laughed as he finished speaking, loudly but not heartily--rather +strangely, perhaps; but Mr. Dunbar did not trouble himself to notice any +such insignificant fact as the merriment of his old valet. + +"Now we have done with all these heroics," he said, "perhaps you'll be +good enough to order luncheon for me." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME. + + +Joseph Wilmot obeyed his old master, and ordered a very excellent +luncheon, which was served in the best style of the Dolphin; and a +sojourn at the Dolphin is almost a recompense for the pains and +penalties of the voyage home from India. Mr. Dunbar, from the sublime +height of his own grandeur, stooped to be very friendly with his old +valet, and insisted upon Joseph's sitting down with him at the +well-spread table. But although the Anglo-Indian did ample justice to +the luncheon, and washed down a spatchcock and a lobster-salad with +several glasses of iced Moselle, the reprobate ate and drank very +little, and sat for the best part of the time crumbling his bread in a +strange absent manner, and watching his companion's face. He only spoke +when his old master addressed him; and then in a constrained, +half-mechanical way, which might have excited the wonder of any one less +supremely indifferent than Henry Dunbar to the feelings of his +fellow-creatures. + +The Anglo-Indian finished his luncheon, left the table, and walked to +the window: but Joseph Wilmot still sat with a full glass before him. +The sparkling bubbles had vanished from the clear amber wine; but +although Moselle at half-a-guinea a bottle could scarcely have been a +very common beverage to the ex-convict, he seemed to have no +appreciation of the vintage. He sat with his head bent and his elbow on +his knee; brooding, brooding, brooding. + +Henry Dunbar amused himself for about ten minutes looking out at the +busy street--the brightest, airiest, lightest, prettiest High Street in +all England, perhaps; and then turned away from the window and looked at +his old valet. He had been accustomed, five-and-thirty years ago, to be +familiar with the man, and to make a confidant and companion of him, and +he fell into the same manner now, naturally; as if the five-and-thirty +years had never been; as if Joseph Wilmot had never been wronged by him. +He fell into the old way, and treated his companion with that haughty +affability which a monarch may be supposed to exhibit towards his prime +favourite. + +"Drink your wine, Wilmot," he exclaimed; "don't sit meditating there, as +if you were a great speculator brooding over the stagnation of the +money-market. I want bright looks, man, to welcome me back to my native +country. I've seen dark faces enough out yonder; and I want to see +smiling and pleasanter faces here. You look as black as if you had +committed a murder, or were plotting one." + +The Outcast smiled. + +"I've so much reason to look cheerful, haven't I?" he said, in the same +tone he had used when he had declared his acceptance of the banker's +bounty. "I've such a pleasant life before me, and such agreeable +recollections to look back upon. A man's memory seems to me like a book +of pictures that he must be continually looking at, whether he will or +not: and if the pictures are horrible, if he shudders as he looks at +them, if the sight of them is worse than the pain of death to him, he +must look nevertheless. I read a story the other day--at least my girl +was reading it to me; poor child! she tries to soften me with these +things sometimes--and the man who wrote the story said it was well for +the most miserable of us to pray, 'Lord, keep my memory green!' But what +if the memory is a record of crime, Mr. Dunbar? Can we pray that _those_ +memories may be kept green? Wouldn't it be better to pray that our +brains and hearts may wither, leaving us no power to look back upon the +past? If I could have forgotten the wrong you did me five-and-thirty +years ago, I might have been a different man: but I couldn't forget it. +Every day and every hour I have remembered it. My memory is as fresh +to-day as it was four-and-thirty years ago, when my wrongs were only a +twelvemonth old." + +Joseph Wilmot had said all this almost as if he yielded to an +uncontrollable impulse, and spoke because he must speak, rather than +from the desire to upbraid Henry Dunbar. He had not looked at the +Anglo-Indian; he had not changed his attitude; he had spoken with his +head still bent, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. + +Mr. Dunbar had gone back to the window, and had resumed his +contemplation of the street; but he turned round with a gesture of angry +impatience as Joseph Wilmot finished speaking. + +"Now, listen to me, Wilmot," he said. "If the firm in St. Gundolph Lane +sent you down here to annoy and insult me directly I set foot upon +British ground, they have chosen a very nice way of testifying their +respect for their chief: and they have made a mistake which they shall +repent having made sooner or later. If you came here upon your own +account, with a view to terrify me, or to extort money from me, you have +made a mistake. If you think to make a fool of me by any maudlin +sentimentality, you make a still greater mistake. I give you fair +warning. If you expect any advantage from me, you must make yourself +agreeable to me. I am a rich man, and know how to recompense those who +please me: but I will not be bored or tormented by any man alive: least +of all by you. If you choose to make yourself useful, you can stay: if +you don't choose to do so, the sooner you leave this room the better for +yourself, if you wish to escape the humiliation of being turned out by +the waiter." + +At the end of this speech Joseph Wilmot looked up for the first time. He +was very pale, and there were strange hard lines about his compressed +lips, and a new light in his eyes. + +"I am a poor weak fool," he said, quietly; "very weak and very foolish, +when I think there can be anything in that old story to touch your +heart, Mr. Dunbar. I will not offend you again, believe me. I have not +led a very sober life of late years: I've had a touch of _delirium +tremens_, and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be: but I'll +not annoy you again. I'm quite ready to make myself useful in any way +you may require." + +"Get me a time-table, then, and let's see about the trains. I don't want +to stay in Southampton all day." + +Joseph Wilmot rang, and ordered the time-table; Henry Dunbar studied it. + +"There is no express before ten o'clock at night," he said; "and I don't +care about travelling by a slow train. What am I to do with myself in +the interim?" + +He was silent for a few moments, turning over the leaves of Bradshaw's +Guide, and thinking. + +"How far is it from here to Winchester?" he asked presently. + +"Ten miles, or thereabouts, I believe," Joseph answered. + +"Ten miles! Very well, then, Wilmot, I'll tell you what I'll do. I've a +friend in the neighbourhood of Winchester, an old college companion, a +man who has a fine estate in Hampshire, and a house near St. Cross. If +you'll order a carriage and pair to be got ready immediately, we'll +drive over to Winchester. I'll go and see my old friend Michael Marston; +we'll dine at the George, and go up to London by the express which +leaves Winchester at a quarter past ten. Go and order the carriage, and +lose no time about it, that's a good fellow." + +Half an hour after this the two men left Southampton in an open +carriage, with the banker's portmanteau, dressing-case, and +despatch-box, and Joseph Wilmot's carpet-bag. It was three o'clock when +the carriage drove away from the entrance of the Dolphin Hotel: it +wanted five minutes to four when Mr. Dunbar and his companion entered +the handsome hall of the George. + +Throughout the drive the banker had been in very excellent spirits, +smoking cheroots, and admiring the lovely English landscape, the +spreading pastures, the glimpses of woodland, the hills beyond the grey +cathedral city, purple in the distance. + +He had talked a good deal, making himself very familiar with his humble +friend. But he had not talked so much or so loudly as Joseph Wilmot. All +gloomy memories seemed to have melted away from this man's mind. His +former moody silence had been succeeded by a manner that was almost +unnaturally gay. A close observer would have detected that his laugh was +a little forced, his loudest merriment wanting in geniality: but Henry +Dunbar was not a close observer. People in Calcutta, who courted and +admired the rich banker, had been wont to praise the aristocratic ease +of his manner, which was not often disturbed by any vulgar demonstration +of his own emotions, and very rarely ruffled by any sympathy with the +joys, or pity for the sorrows, of his fellow-creatures. + +His companion's ready wit and knowledge of the world--the very worst +part of the world, unhappily--amused the languid Anglo-Indian: and by +the time the travellers reached Winchester, they were on excellent terms +with each other. Joseph Wilmot was thoroughly at home with his patron; +and as the two men were dressed in the same fashion, and had pretty much +the same nonchalance of manner, it would have been very difficult for a +stranger to have discovered which was the servant and which the master. + +One of them ordered dinner for eight o'clock, the best dinner the house +could provide. The luggage was taken up to a private room, and the two +men walked away from the hotel arm-in-arm. + +They walked under the shadow of a low stone colonnade, and then turned +aside by the market-place, and made their way into the precincts of the +cathedral. There are quaint old courtyards, and shadowy quadrangles +hereabouts; there are pleasant gardens, where the flowers seem to grow +brighter in the sanctified shade than other flowers that flaunt in the +unhallowed sunshine. There are low old-fashioned houses, with Tudor +windows and ponderous porches, grey gables crowned with yellow +stone-moss, high garden-walls, queer nooks and corners, deep +window-seats in painted oriels, great oaken beams supporting low dark +ceilings, heavy clusters of chimneys half borne down by the weight of +the ivy that clings about them; and over all, the shadow of the great +cathedral broods, like a sheltering wing, preserving the cool quiet of +these cosy sanctuaries. + +Beyond this holy shelter fair pastures stretch away to the feet of the +grassy hills: and a winding stream of water wanders in and out: now +hiding in dim groves of spreading elms: now creeping from the darkness, +with a murmuring voice and stealthy gliding motion, to change its very +nature, and become the noisiest brook that ever babbled over sunlit +pebbles on its way to the blue sea. + +In one of the grey stone quadrangles close under the cathedral wall, the +two men, still arm-in-arm, stopped to make an inquiry about Mr. Michael +Marston, of the Ferns, St. Cross. + +Alas! Ben Bolt, it is a fine thing to sail away to foreign shores and +prosper there; but it is not so pleasant to come home and hear that +Alice is dead and buried; that of all your old companions there is only +one left to greet you; and that even the brook, which rippled through +your boyish dreams, as you lay asleep amongst the rushes on its brink, +has dried up for ever! + +Mr. Michael Marston had been dead more than ten, years. His widow, an +elderly lady, was still living at the Ferns. + +This was the information which the two men obtained from a verger, whom +they found prowling about the quadrangle, Very little was said. One of +the men asked the necessary questions. But neither of them expressed +either regret or surprise. + +They walked away silently, still arm-in-arm, towards the shady groves +and spreading pastures beyond the cathedral precincts. + +The verger, who was elderly and slow, called after them in a feeble +voice as they went away: + +"Maybe you'd like to see the cathedral, gentlemen; it's well worth +seeing." + +But he received no answer. The two men were out of hearing, or did not +care to reply to him. + +"We'll take a stroll towards St. Cross, and get an appetite for dinner," +Mr. Dunbar said, as he and his companion walked along a pathway, under +the shadow of a moss-grown wall, across a patch of meadow-land, and away +into the holy quiet of a grove. + +A serene stillness reigned beneath the shelter of the spreading +branches. The winding streamlet rippled along amidst wild flowers and +trembling rushes; the ground beneath the feet of these two idle +wanderers was a soft bed of moss and rarely-trodden grass. + +It was a lonely place this grove; for it lay between the meadows and the +high-road. Feeble old pensioners from St. Cross came here sometimes, but +not often. Enthusiastic disciples of old Izaak Walton now and then +invaded the holy quiet of the place: but not often. The loveliest spots +on earth are those where man seldom comes. + +This spot was most lovely because of its solitude. Only the gentle +waving of the leaves, the long melodious note of a lonely bird, and the +low whisper of the streamlet, broke the silence. + +The two men went into the grove arm-in-arm. One of them was talking, the +other listening, and smoking a cigar as he listened. They went into the +long arcade beneath the over-arching trees, and the sombre shadows +closed about them and hid them from the world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER. + + +The old verger was still pottering about the grey quadrangle, sunning +himself in such glimpses of the glorious light as found their way into +that shadowy place, when one of the two gentlemen who had spoken to him +returned. He was smoking a cigar, and swinging his gold-headed cane +lightly as he came along. + +"You may as well show me the cathedral," he said to the verger; "I +shouldn't like to leave Winchester without having seen it; that is to +say without having seen it again. I was here forty years ago, when I was +a boy; but I have been in India five-and-thirty years, and have seen +nothing but Pagan temples." + +"And very beautiful them Pagan places be, sir, bain't they?" the old man +asked, as he unlocked a low door, leading into one of the side aisles of +the cathedral. + +"Oh yes, very magnificent, of course. But as I was not a soldier, and +had no opportunity of handling any of the magnificence in the way of +diamonds and so forth, I didn't particularly care about them." + +They were in the shadowy aisle by this time, and Mr. Dunbar was looking +about him with his hat in his hand. + +"You didn't go on to the Ferns, then, sir?" said the verger. + +"No, I sent my servant on to inquire if the old lady is at home. If I +find that she is, I shall sleep in Winchester to-night, and drive over +to-morrow morning to see her. Her husband was a very old friend of mine. +How far is it from here to the Ferns?" + +"A matter of two mile, sir." + +Mr. Dunbar looked at his watch. + +"Then my man ought to be back in an hour's time," he said; "I told him +to come on to me here. I left him half-way between here and St. Cross." + +"Is that other gentleman your servant, sir?" asked the verger, with +unmitigated surprise. + +"Yes, that gentleman, as you call him, is, or rather was, my +confidential servant. He is a clever fellow, and I make a companion of +him. Now, if you please, we will see the chapels." + +Mr. Dunbar evidently desired to put a stop to the garrulous inclinations +of the verger. + +He walked through the aisle with a careless easy step, and with his head +erect, looking about him as he went along: but presently, while the +verger was busy unlocking the door of one of the chapels, Mr. Dunbar +suddenly reeled like a drunken man, and then dropped heavily upon an +oaken bench near the chapel-door. + +The verger turned to look at him, and found him wiping the perspiration +from his forehead with his perfumed silk handkerchief. + +"Don't be alarmed," he said, smiling at the man's scared face; "my +Indian habits have unfitted me for any exertion. The walk in the +broiling afternoon sun has knocked me up: or perhaps the wine I drank at +Southampton may have had something to do with it," he added, with a +laugh. + +The verger ventured to laugh too: and the laughter of the two men echoed +harshly through the solemn place. + +For more than an hour Mr. Dunbar amused himself by inspecting the +cathedral. He was eager to see everything, and to know the meaning of +everything. He peered into every nook and corner, going from monument to +monument with the patient talkative old verger at his heels; asking +questions about every thing he saw; trying to decipher half-obliterated +inscriptions upon long-forgotten tombs; sounding the praises of William +of Wykeham; admiring the splendid shrines, the sanctified relics of the +past, with the delight of a scholar and an antiquarian. + +The old verger thought that he had never had so pleasant a task as that +of exhibiting his beloved cathedral to this delightful gentleman, just +returned from India, and ready to admire everything belonging to his +native land. + +The verger was still better pleased when Mr. Dunbar gave him half a +sovereign as the reward for his afternoon's trouble. + +"Thank you, sir, and kindly, to be sure," the old man cackled, +gratefully. "It's very seldom as I get gold for my trouble, sir. I've +shown this cathedral to a dook, sir; but the dook didn't treat me as +liberal as this here, sir." + +Mr. Dunbar smiled. + +"Perhaps not," he said; "the duke mightn't have been as rich a man as I +am in spite of his dukedom." + +"No, to be sure, sir," the old man answered, looking admiringly at the +banker, and sighing plaintively. "It's well to be rich, sir, it is +indeed; and when one have twelve grand-children, and a bed-ridden wife, +one finds it hard, sir; one do indeed." + +Perhaps the verger had faint hopes of another half sovereign from this +very rich gentleman. + +But Mr. Dunbar seated himself upon a bench near the low doorway by which +he had entered the cathedral, and looked at his watch. + +The verger looked at the watch too; it was a hundred-guinea chronometer, +a masterpiece of Benson's workmanship; and Mr. Dunbar's arms were +emblazoned upon the back. There was a locket attached to the massive +gold chain, the locket which contained Laura Dunbar's miniature. + +"Seven o'clock," exclaimed the banker; "my servant ought to be here by +this time." + +"So he ought, sir," said the verger, who was ready to agree to anything +Mr. Dunbar might say; "if he had only to go to the Ferns, sir, he might +have been back by this time easy." + +"I'll smoke a cheroot while I wait for him," the banker said, passing +out into the quadrangle; "he's sure to come to this door to look for +me--I gave him particular orders to do so." + +Henry Dunbar finished his cheroot, and another, and the cathedral clock +chimed the three-quarters after seven, but Joseph Wilmot had not come +back from the Ferns. The verger waited upon his patron's pleasure, and +lingered in attendance upon him, though he would fain have gone home to +his tea, which in the common course he would have taken at five o'clock. + +"Really this is too bad," cried the banker, as the clock chimed the +three-quarters; "Wilmot knows that I dine at eight, and that I expect +him to dine with me. I think I have a right to a little more +consideration from him. I shall go back to the George. Perhaps you'll be +good enough to wait here, and tell him to follow me." + +Mr. Dunbar went away, still muttering, and the verger gave up all +thoughts of his tea, and waited conscientiously. He waited till the +cathedral clock struck nine, and the stars were bright in the dark blue +heaven above him: but he waited in vain. Joseph Wilmot had not come back +from the Ferns. + +The banker returned to the George. A small round table was set in a +pleasant room on the first floor; a bright array of glass and silver +glittered under the light of five wax-candles in a silver candelabrum; +and the waiter was beginning to be nervous about the fish. + +"You may countermand the dinner," Mr. Dunbar said, with evident +vexation: "I shall not dine till Mr. Wilmot, who is my old confidential +servant--my friend, I may say--returns." + +"Has he gone far, sir?" + +"To the Ferns, about a mile beyond St. Cross. I shall wait dinner for +him. Put a couple of candles on that writing-table, and bring me my +desk." + +The waiter obeyed; he placed a pair of tall wax-candles upon the table; +and then brought the desk, or rather despatch-box, which had cost forty +pounds, and was provided with every possible convenience for a business +man, and every elegant luxury that the most extravagant traveller could +desire. It was like everything else about this man: it bore upon it the +stamp of almost limitless wealth. + +Mr. Dunbar took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and unlocked his +despatch-box. He was some little time doing this, as he had a difficulty +in finding the right key. He looked up and smiled at the waiter, who was +still hovering about, anxious to be useful. + +"I _must_ have taken too much Moselle at luncheon to-day," he said, +laughing, "or, at least, my enemies might say so, if they were to see me +puzzled to find the key of my own desk." + +He had opened the box by this time, and was examining one of the +numerous packets of papers, which were arranged in very methodical +order, carefully tied together, and neatly endorsed. + +"I am to put off the dinner, then, sir?" asked the waiter. + +"Certainly; I shall wait for my friend, however long he may be. I'm not +particularly hungry, for I took a very substantial luncheon at +Southampton. I'll ring the bell if I change my mind." + +The waiter departed with a sigh; and Henry Dunbar was left alone with +the contents of the open despatch-box spread out on the table before him +under the light of the tall wax-candles. + +For nearly two hours he sat in the same attitude, examining the papers +one after the other, and re-sorting them. + +Mr. Dunbar must have been possessed of the very spirit of order and +precision; for, although the papers had been neatly arranged before, he +re-sorted every one of them; tying up the packets afresh, reading letter +after letter, and making pencil memoranda in his pocket-book as he did +so. + +He betrayed none of the impatience which is natural to a man who is kept +waiting by another. He was so completely absorbed by his occupation, +that he, perhaps, had forgotten all about the missing man: but at nine +o'clock he closed and locked the despatch-box, jumped up from his seat +and rang the bell. + +"I am beginning to feel alarmed about my friend," he said; "will you ask +the landlord to come to me?" + +Mr. Dunbar went to the window and looked out while the waiter was gone +upon this errand. The High Street was very quiet, a lamp glimmered here +and there, and the pavements were white in the moonlight. The footstep +of a passer-by sounded in the quiet street almost as it might have +sounded in the solemn cathedral aisle. + +The landlord came to wait upon his guest. + +"Can I be of any service to you, sir?" he asked, respectfully. + +"You can be of very great service to me, if you can find my friend; I am +really getting alarmed about him." + +Mr. Dunbar went on to say how he had parted with the missing man in the +grove, on the way to St. Cross, with the understanding that Wilmot was +to go on to the Ferns, and rejoin his old master in the cathedral. He +explained who Joseph Wilmot was, and in what relation he stood towards +him. + +"I don't suppose there is any real cause for anxiety," the banker said, +in conclusion; "Wilmot owned to me that he had not been leading a sober +life of late years. He may have dropped into some roadside public-house +and be sitting boozing amongst a lot of country fellows at this moment. +It's really too bad of him." + +The landlord shook his head. + +"It is, indeed, sir; but I hope you won't wait dinner any longer, sir?" + +"No, no; you can send up the dinner. I'm afraid I shall scarcely do +justice to your cook's achievements, for I took a very substantial +luncheon at Southampton." + +The landlord brought in the silver soup-tureen with his own hands, and +uncorked a bottle of still hock, which Mr. Dunbar had selected from the +wine-list. There was something in the banker's manner that declared him +to be a person of no small importance; and the proprietor of the George +wished to do him honour. + +Mr. Dunbar had spoken the truth as to his appetite for his dinner. He +took a few spoonfuls of soup, he ate two or three mouthfuls of fish, and +then pushed away his plate. + +"It's no use," he said, rising suddenly, and walking to the window; "I +am really uneasy about this fellow's absence." + +He walked up and down the room two or three times, and then walked back +to the open window. The August night was hot and still; the shadows of +the queer old gabled roofs were sharply defined upon the moonlit +pavement. The quaint cross, the low stone colonnade, the solemn towers +of the cathedral, gave an ancient aspect to the quiet city. + +The cathedral clock chimed the half-hour after nine while Mr. Dunbar +stood at the open window looking out into the street. + +"I shall sleep here to-night," he said presently, without turning to +look at the landlord, who was standing behind him. "I shall not leave +Winchester without this fellow Wilmot. It is really too bad of him to +treat me in this manner. It is really very much too bad of him, taking +into consideration the position in which he stands towards me." + +The banker spoke with the offended tone of a proud and selfish man, who +feels that he has been outraged by his inferior. The landlord of the +George murmured a few stereotyped phrases, expressive of his sympathy +with the wrongs of Henry Dunbar, and his entire reprobation of the +missing man's conduct. + +"No, I shall not go to London to-night," Mr. Dunbar said; "though my +daughter, my only child, whom I have not seen for sixteen years, is +waiting for me at my town house. I shall not leave Winchester without +Joseph Wilmot." + +"I'm sure it's very good of you, sir," the landlord murmured; "it's very +kind of you to think so much of this--ahem--person." + +He had hesitated a little before the last word; for although Mr. Dunbar +spoke of Joseph Wilmot as his inferior and dependant, the landlord of +the George remembered that the missing man had looked quite as much a +gentleman as his companion. + +The landlord still lingered in attendance upon Mr. Dunbar. The dishes +upon the table were still hidden under the glistening silver covers. + +Surely such an unsatisfactory dinner had never before been served at the +George Hotel. + +"I am getting seriously uncomfortable about this man," Mr. Dunbar +exclaimed at last. "Can you send a messenger to the Ferns, to ask if he +has been seen there?" + +"Certainly, sir. One of the lads in the stable shall get a horse ready, +and ride over there directly. Will you write a note to Mrs. Marston, +sir?" + +"A note? No. Mrs. Marston is a stranger to me. My old friend Michael +Marston did not marry until after I left England. A message will do just +as well. The lad has only to ask if any messenger from Mr. Dunbar has +called at the Ferns; and if so, at what time he was there, and at what +hour he left. That's all I want to know. Which way will the boy go; +through the meadows, or by the high road?" + +"By the high road, sir; there's only a footpath across the meadows. The +shortest way to the Ferns is the pathway through the grove between here +and St. Cross; but you can only walk that way, for there's gates and +stiles, and such like." + +"Yes, I know; it was there I parted from my servant--from this man +Wilmot." + +"It's a pretty spot, sir, but very lonely at night; lonely enough in the +day, for the matter of that." + +"Yes, it seems so. Send your messenger off at once, there's a good +fellow. Joseph Wilmot may be sitting drinking in the servants' hall at +the Ferns." + +The landlord went away to do his guest's bidding. + +Mr. Dunbar flung himself into a low easy-chair, and took up a newspaper. +But he did not read a line upon the page before him. He was in that +unsettled frame of mind which is common to the least nervous persons +when they are kept waiting, kept in suspense by some unaccountable +event. The absence of Joseph Wilmot became every moment more +unaccountable: and his old master made no attempt to conceal his +uneasiness. The newspaper dropped out of his hand: and he sat with his +face turned towards the door: listening. + +He sat thus for more than an hour, and at the end of that time the +landlord came to him. + +"Well?" exclaimed Henry Dunbar. + +"The lad has come back, sir. No messenger from you or any one else has +called at the Ferns this afternoon." + +Mr. Dunbar started suddenly to his feet, and stared at the landlord. He +paused for a few moments, watching the man's face with a thoughtful +countenance. Then he said, slowly and deliberately,-- + +"I am afraid that something has happened." + +The landlord fidgeted with his ponderous watch-chain, and shrugged his +shoulders with a dubious gesture. + +"Well, it is _strange_, sir, to say the least of it. But you don't think +that----" + +He looked at Henry Dunbar as if scarcely knowing how to finish his +sentence. + +"I don't know what to think," exclaimed the banker. "Remember, I am +almost as much a stranger in this country as if I had never set foot on +British soil before to-day. This man may have played me a trick, and +gone off for some purpose of his own, though I don't know what purpose. +He could have best served his own interests by staying with me. On the +other hand, something may have happened to him. And yet what _can_ have +happened to him?" + +The landlord suggested that the missing man might have fallen down in a +fit, or might have loitered somewhere or other until after dark, and +then lost his way, and wandered into a mill-stream. There was many a +deep bit of water between Winchester Cathedral and the Ferns, the +landlord said. + +"Let a search be made at daybreak to-morrow morning," exclaimed Mr. +Dunbar. "I don't care what it costs me, but I am determined this +business shall be cleared up before I leave Winchester. Let every inch +of ground between this and the Ferns be searched at daybreak to-morrow +morning; let----" + +He did not finish the sentence, for there was a sudden clamour of +voices, and trampling, and hubbub in the hall below. The landlord opened +the door, and went out upon the broad landing-place, followed by Mr. +Dunbar. + +The hall below was crowded by the servants of the place, and by eager +strangers who had pressed in from outside; and the two men standing at +the top of the stairs heard a hoarse murmur; which seemed all in one +voice, though it was in reality a blending of many voices; and which +grew louder and louder, until it swelled into the awful word "Murder!" + +Henry Dunbar heard it and understood it, for his handsome face grew of a +bluish white, like snow in the moonlight, and he leaned his hand upon +the oaken balustrade. + +The landlord passed his guest, and ran down the stairs. It was no time +for ceremony. + +He came back again in less than five minutes, looking almost as pale as +Mr. Dunbar. + +"I'm afraid your friend--your servant--is found, sir," he said. + +"You don't mean that he is----" + +"I'm afraid it is so, sir. It seems that two Irish reapers, coming from +Farmer Matfield's, five mile beyond St. Cross, stumbled against a man +lying in a little streamlet under the trees----" + +"Under the trees! Where?" + +"In the very place where you parted from this Mr. Wilmot, sir." + +"Good God! Well?" + +"The man was dead, sir; quite dead. They carried him to the Foresters' +Arms, sir, as that was the nearest place to where they found him; and +there's been a doctor sent for, and a deal of fuss: but the doctor--Mr. +Cricklewood, a very respectable gentleman, sir--says that the man had +been lying in the water hours and hours, and that the murder had been +done hours and hours ago." + +"The murder!" cried Henry Dunbar; "but he may not have been murdered! +His death may have been accidental. He wandered into the water, +perhaps." + +"Oh, no, sir; it's not that. He wasn't drowned; for the water where he +was found wasn't three foot deep. He had been strangled, sir; strangled +with a running-noose of rope; strangled from behind, sir, for the +slip-knot was pulled tight at the back of his neck. Mr. Cricklewood the +surgeon's in the hall below, if you'd like to see him; and he knows all +about it. It seems, from what the two Irishmen say, that the body was +dragged into the water by the rope. There was the track of where it had +been dragged along the grass. I'm sure, sir, I'm very sorry such an +awful thing should have happened to the--the person who attended you +here." + +Mr. Dunbar had need of sympathy. His white face was turned towards the +landlord's, fixed in a blank stare. He had not seemed to listen to the +man's account of the crime that had been committed, and yet he had +evidently heard everything; for he said presently, in slow, thick +accents,-- + +"Strangled--and the body dragged down--to the water Who--who could--have +done it?" + +"Ah! that's the question, indeed, sir. It must all have been done for +the sake of a bit of money, I suppose; for there was an empty +pocket-book found by the water's edge. There are always tramps and +such-like about the country at this time of year; and some of them will +commit almost any crime for the sake of a few pounds. I remember--ah, as +long ago as forty years and more--when I was a bit of a boy in +pinafores, there was a gentleman murdered on the Twyford road, and they +did say----" + +But Mr. Dunbar was in no humour to listen to the landlord's +reminiscences. He interrupted the man's story with a long-drawn sigh,-- + +"Is there anything I can do? What am I to do?" he said. "Is there +anything I can do?" + +"Nothing, sir, until to-morrow. The inquest will be held to-morrow, I +suppose." + +"Yes--yes, to be sure. There'll be an inquest." + +"An inquest! Oh, yes, sir; of course there will," answered the landlord. + +"Remember that I am a stranger to English habits. I don't know what +steps ought to be taken in such a case as this. Should there not be some +attempt made to find--the--the murderer?" + +"Yes, sir; I've _no doubt_ the constables are on the look-out already. +There'll be every effort made, depend upon it; but I'm really afraid +this is a case in which the murderer will escape from justice." + +"Why so?" + +"Because, you see, sir, the man has had plenty of time to get off; and +unless he's a fool, he must be far away from here by this time, and then +what is there to trace him by--that's to say, unless you could identify +the money, or watch and chain, or what not, which the murdered man had +about him?" + +Mr. Dunbar shook his head. + +"I don't even know whether he wore a watch and chain," he said; "I only +met him this morning. I have no idea what money he may have had about +him." + +"Would you like to see the doctor, sir--Mr. Cricklewood?" + +"Yes--no--you have told me all that there is to tell, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I shall go to bed. I'm thoroughly upset by all this. Stay. Is it a +settled thing that this man who has been found murdered is the person +who accompanied me to this house to-day?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; there's no doubt about that. One of our people went down +to the Foresters' Arms, out of curiosity, as you may say, and he +recognized the murdered man directly as the very gentleman that came +into this house with you, sir, at four o'clock to-day." + +Mr. Dunbar retired to the apartment that had been prepared for him. It +was a spacious and handsome chamber, the best room in the hotel; and one +of the waiters attended upon the rich man. + +"As you've been accustomed to have your valet about you, you'll find it +awkward, sir," the landlord had said; "so I'll send Henry to wait upon +you." + +This Henry, who was a smart, active young fellow, unpacked Mr. Dunbar's +portmanteau, unlocked his dressing-case, and spread the gold-topped +crystal bottles and shaving apparatus upon the dressing-table. + +Mr. Dunbar sat in an easy-chair before the looking-glass, staring +thoughtfully at the reflection of his own face, pale in the light of the +tall wax-candles. + +He got up early the next morning, and before breakfasting he despatched +a telegraphic message to the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. + +It was from Henry Maddison Dunbar to William Balderby, and it consisted +of these words:-- + +"_Pray come to me directly, at the George, Winchester. A very awful +event has happened; and I am in great trouble and perplexity. Bring a +lawyer with you. Let my daughter know that I shall not come to London +for some days_." + +All this time the body of the murdered man lay on a long table in a +darkened chamber at the Foresters' Arms. + +The rigid outline of the corpse was plainly visible under the linen +sheet that shrouded it; but the door of the dread chamber was locked, +and no one was to enter until the coming of the coroner. + +Meanwhile the Foresters' Arms did more business than had been done there +in the same space of time within the memory of man. People went in and +out, in and out, all through the long morning; little groups clustered +together in the bar, discoursing in solemn under-tones; and other groups +straggled on the seemed as if every living creature in Winchester was +talking of the murder that had been done in the grove near St. Cross. + +Henry Dunbar sat in his own room, waiting for an answer to the +telegraphic message. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +LAURA DUNBAR. + + +While these things had been happening between London and Southampton, +Laura Dunbar, the banker's daughter, had been anxiously waiting the +coming of her father. + +She resembled her mother, Lady Louisa Dunbar, the youngest daughter of +the Earl of Grantwick, a very beautiful and aristocratic woman. She had +met Mr. Dunbar in India, after the death of her first husband, a young +captain in a cavalry regiment, who had been killed in an encounter with +the Sikhs a year after his marriage, leaving his young widow with an +infant daughter, a helpless baby of six weeks old. + +The poor, high-born Lady Louisa Macmahon was left most desolate and +miserable after the death of her first husband. She was very poor, and +she knew that her relations in England were very little better off than +herself. She was almost as helpless as her six-weeks' old baby; she was +heart-broken by the loss of the handsome young Irishman, whom she had +fondly loved; and ill and broken down by her sorrows, she lingered in +Calcutta, subsisting upon her pension, and too weak to undertake the +perils of the voyage home. + +It was at this time that poor widowed Lady Louisa met Henry Dunbar, the +rich banker. She came in contact with him on account of some money +arrangements of her dead husband's, who had always banked with Dunbar +and Dunbar; and Henry, then getting on for forty years of age, had +fallen desperately in love with the beautiful young widow. + +There is no need for me to dwell upon the history of this courtship. +Lady Louisa married the rich man eighteen months after her first +husband's death. Little Dorothea Macmahon was sent to England with a +native nurse, and placed under the care of her maternal relatives; and +Henry Dunbar's beautiful wife became queen of the best society in the +city of palaces, by the right of her own rank and her husband's wealth. + +Henry Dunbar loved her desperately, as even a selfish man can sometimes +love for once in his life. + +But Lady Louisa never truly returned the millionaire's affection. She +was haunted by the memory of her first and purest love; she was tortured +by remorseful thoughts about the fatherless child who had been so +ruthlessly banished from her. Henry Dunbar was a jealous man, and he +grudged the love which his wife bore to his dead rival's child. It was +by his contrivance the girl had been sent from India. + +Lady Louisa Dunbar held her place in Calcutta society for two years. But +in the very hour when her social position was most brilliant, her beauty +in the full splendour of its prime, she died so suddenly that the +fashionables of Calcutta were discussing the promised splendour of a +ball, for which Lady Louisa had issued her invitations, when the tidings +of her death spread like wildfire through the city--Henry Dunbar was a +widower. He might have married again, had he pleased to do so. The +proudest beauty in Calcutta would have been glad to become the wife of +the sole heir of that dingy banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. + +There was a good deal of excitement upon this subject in the matrimonial +market for two or three years after Lady Louisa's death. A good many +young ladies were expressly imported from England by anxious papas and +mammas, with a view to the capture of the wealthy widower. + +But though Griselda's yellow hair fell down to her waist in glossy, +rippling curls, that shone like molten gold; though Amanda's black eyes +glittered like the stars in a midnight sky; though the dashing Georgina +was more graceful than Diana, the gentle Lavinia more beautiful than +Venus,--Mr. Dunbar went among them without pleasure, and left them +without regret. + +The charms of all these ladies concentrated in the person of one perfect +woman would have had no witchery for the banker. His heart was dead. He +had given all the truth, all the passion of which his nature was +capable, to the one woman who had possessed the power to charm him. + +To seek to win love from him was about as hopeless as it would have been +to ask alms of a man whose purse was empty. The bright young English +beauties found this out by and by, and devoted themselves to other +speculations in the matrimonial market. + +Henry Dunbar sent his little girl, his only child, to England. He parted +with her, not because of his indifference, but rather by reason of his +idolatry. It was the only unselfish act of his life, this parting with +his child; and yet even in this there was selfishness. + +"It would be sweet to me to keep her here," he thought; "but then, if +the climate should kill her; if I should lose her, as I lost her mother? +I will send her away from me now, that she may be my blessing by-and-by, +when I return to England after my father's death." + +Henry Dunbar had sworn when he left the office in St. Gundolph Lane, +after the discovery of the forgery, that he would never look upon his +father's face again,--and he kept his oath. + +This was the father to whose coming Laura Dunbar looked forward with +eager anxiety, with a heart overflowing with tender womanly love. + +She was a very beautiful girl; so beautiful that her presence was like +the sunlight, and made the meanest place splendid. There was a +queenliness in her beauty, which she inherited from her mother's +high-born race. But though her beauty was queenlike, it was not +imperious. There was no conscious pride in her aspect, no cold hauteur +in her ever-changing face. She was such a woman as might have sat by the +side of an English king to plead for all trembling petitioners kneeling +on the steps of the throne. She would have been only in her fitting +place beneath the shadow of a regal canopy; for in soul, as well as in +aspect, she was worthy to be a queen. She was like some tall white lily, +unconsciously beautiful, unconsciously grand; and the meanest natures +kindled with a faint glow of poetry when they came in contact with her. + +She had been spoiled by an adoring nurse, a devoted governess, masters +who had fallen madly in love with their pupil, and servants who were +ready to worship their young mistress. Yes, according to the common +acceptation of the term, she had been spoiled; she had been allowed to +have her own way in everything; to go hither and thither, free as the +butterflies in her carefully tended garden; to scatter her money right +and left; to be imposed upon and cheated by every wandering vagabond who +found his way to her gates; to ride, and hunt, and drive--to do as she +liked, in short. And I am fain to say that the consequence of all this +foolish and reprehensible indulgence had been to make the young heiress +of Maudesley Abbey the most fascinating woman in all Warwickshire. + +She was a little capricious, just a trifle wayward, I will confess. But +then that trifling waywardness gave just the spice that was wanting to +this grand young lily. The white lilies are never more beautiful than +when they wave capriciously in the summer wind; and if Laura Dunbar was +a little passionate when you tried to thwart her; and if her great blue +eyes at such times had a trick of lighting up with sudden fire in them, +like a burst of lurid sunlight through a summer storm-cloud, there were +plenty of gentlemen in Warwickshire ready to swear that the sight of +those lightning-flashes of womanly anger was well worth the penalty of +incurring Miss Dunbar's displeasure. + +She was only eighteen, and had not yet "come out." But she had seen a +great deal of society, for it had been the delight of her grandfather to +have her perpetually with him. + +She travelled from Maudesley Abbey to Portland Place in the company of +her nurse,--a certain Elizabeth Madden, who had been Lady Louisa's own +maid before her marriage with Captain Macmahon, and who was devotedly +attached to the motherless girl. + +But Mrs. Madden was not Laura Dunbar's only companion upon this +occasion. She was accompanied by her half-sister, Dora Macmahon, who of +late years had almost lived at the Abbey, much to the delight of Laura. +Nor was the little party without an escort; for Arthur Lovell, the son +of the principal solicitor in the town of Shorncliffe, near Maudesley +Abbey, attended Miss Dunbar to London. + +This young man had been a very great favourite with Percival Dunbar and +had been a constant visitor at the Abbey. Before the old man died, he +told Arthur Lovell to act in everything as Laura's friend and legal +adviser; and the young lawyer was very enthusiastic in behalf of his +beautiful client. Why should I seek to make a mystery of this +gentleman's feelings? He loved her. He loved this girl, who, by reason +of her father's wealth, was as far removed from him as if she had been a +duchess. He paid a terrible penalty for every happy hour, every +delicious day of simple and innocent enjoyment, that he had spent at +Maudesley Abbey; for he loved Laura Dunbar, and he feared that his love +was hopeless. + +It was hopeless in the present, at any rate; for although he was +handsome, clever, high-spirited, and honourable, a gentleman in the +noblest sense of that noble word, he was no fit husband for the daughter +of Henry Dunbar. He was an only son, and he was heir to a very +comfortable little fortune: but he knew that the millionaire would have +laughed him to scorn had he dared to make proposals for Laura's hand. + +But was his love hopeless in the future? That was the question which he +perpetually asked himself. + +He was proud and ambitious. He knew that he was clever; he could not +help knowing this, though he was entirely without conceit. A government +appointment in India had been offered to him through the intervention of +a nobleman, a friend of his father's. This appointment would afford the +chance of a noble career to a man who knew how to seize the golden +opportunity, which mediocrity neglects, but which genius makes the +stepping-stone to greatness. + +The nobleman who made the offer to Arthur Lovell had written to say that +there was no necessity for an immediate decision. If Arthur accepted the +appointment, he would not be obliged to leave England until the end of a +twelvemonth, as the vacancy would not occur before that time. + +"In the meanwhile," Lord Herriston wrote to the solicitor, "your son can +think the matter over, my dear Lovell, and make his decision with all +due deliberation." + +Arthur Lovell had already made that decision. + +"I will go to India," he said; "for if ever I am to win Laura Dunbar, I +must succeed in life. But before I go I will tell her that I love her. +If she returns my love, my struggles will be sweet to me, for they will +be made for her sake. If she does not----" + +He did not finish the sentence even in his own mind. He could not bear +to think that it was possible he might hear his death-knell from the +lips he worshipped. He had gladly seized upon the opportunity afforded +by this visit to the town house. + +"I will speak to her before her father returns," he thought; "she will +speak the truth to me now fearlessly; for it is her nature to be +fearless and candid as a child. But his coming may change her. She is +fond of him, and will be ruled by him. Heaven grant he may rule her +wisely and gently!" + +On the 17th of August, Laura and Mrs. Madden arrived in Portland Place. + +Arthur Lovell parted with his beautiful client at the railway station, +and drove off to the hotel at which he was in the habit of staying. He +called upon Miss Dunbar on the 18th; but found that she was out shopping +with Mrs. Madden. He called again, on the morning of the 19th; that +bright sunny August morning on which the body of the murdered man lay in +the darkened chamber at Winchester. + +It was only ten o'clock when the young lawyer made his appearance in the +pleasant morning-room occupied by Laura Dunbar whenever she stayed in +Portland Place. The breakfast equipage was still upon the table in the +centre of the room. Mrs. Madden, who was companion, housekeeper, and +confidential maid to her charming young mistress, was officiating at the +breakfast-table; Dora Macmahon was sitting near her, with an open book +by the side of her breakfast-cup; and Miss Laura Dunbar was lounging in +a low easy-chair, near a broad window that opened into a conservatory +filled with exotics, that made the air heavy with their almost +overpowering perfume. + +She rose as Arthur Lovell came into the room, and she looked more like a +lily than ever in her long loose morning-dress of soft semi-diaphanous +muslin. Her thick auburn hair was twisted into a diadem that crowned her +broad white forehead, and added a couple of inches to her height. She +held out her little ringed hand, and the jewels on the white fingers +scintillated in the sunlight. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Lovell," she said. "Dora and I have been +miserable, haven't we, Dora? London is as dull as a desert. I went for a +drive yesterday, and the Lady's Mile is as lonely as the Great Sahara. +There are plenty of theatres open, and there was a concert at one of the +opera-houses last night; but that disagreeable Elizabeth wouldn't allow +me to go to any one of those entertainments. Grandpapa would have taken +me. Dear grandpapa went everywhere with me." + +Mrs. Madden shook her head solemnly. + +"Your gran'pa would have gone after you to the remotest end of this +world, Miss Laura, if you'd so much as held your finger up to beckon of +him. Your gran'pa spiled you, Miss Laura. A pretty thing it would have +been if your pa had come all the way from India to find his only +daughter gallivanting at a theaytre." + +Miss Dunbar looked at her old nurse with an arch smile. She was very +lovely when she smiled; she was very lovely when she frowned. She was +most beautiful always, Arthur Lovell thought. + +"But I shouldn't have been gallivanting, you dear old Madden," she +cried, with a joyous silver laugh, that was like the ripple of a cascade +under a sunny sky. "I should only have been sitting quietly in a private +box, with my rapid, precious, aggravating, darling old nurse to keep +watch and ward over me. Besides, how could papa be angry with me upon +the first day of his coming home?" + +Mrs. Madden shook her head again even more solemnly than before. + +"I don't know about that, Miss Laura. You mustn't expect to find Mr. +Dunbar like your gran'pa." + +A sudden cloud fell upon the girl's lovely face. + +"Why, Elizabeth," she said, "you don't mean that papa will be unkind to +me?" + +"I don't know your pa, Miss Laura. I never set eyes upon Mr. Dunbar in +my life. But the Indian servant that brought you over, when you was but +a bit of a baby, said that your pa was proud and passionate; and that +even your poor mar, which he loved her better than any livin' creature +upon this earth, was almost afraid of him." + +The smile had quite vanished from Laura Dunbar's face by this time, and +the blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. + +"Oh, what shall I do if my father is unkind to me?" she said, piteously. +"I have so looked forward to his coming home. I have counted the very +days; and if he is unkind to me--if he does not love me----" + +She covered her face with her hands, and turned away her head. "Laura," +exclaimed Arthur Lovell, addressing her for the first time by her +Christian name, "how could any one help loving you? How----" + +He stopped, half ashamed of his passionate enthusiasm. In those few +words he had revealed the secret of his heart: but Laura Dunbar was too +innocent to understand the meaning of those eager words. + +Mrs. Madden understood them perfectly; and she smiled approvingly at the +young man. + +Arthur Lovell was a great favourite with Laura Dunbar's nurse. She knew +that he adored her young mistress; and she looked upon him as a model of +all that is noble and chivalrous. + +She began to fidget with the silver tea-canisters; and then looked +significantly at Dora Macmahon. But Miss Macmahon did not understand +that significant glance. Her dark eyes--and she had very beautiful eyes, +with a grave, half-pensive softness in their sombre depths--were fixed +upon the two young faces in the sunny window; the girl's face clouded +with a look of sorrowful perplexity, the young man's face eloquent with +tender meaning. Dora Macmahon's colour went and came as she looked at +that earnest countenance, and the fingers which were absently turning +the leaves of her book were faintly tremulous. + +"Your new bonnet's come home this morning, Miss Dora," Elizabeth Madden +said, rather sharply. "Perhaps you'd like to come up-stairs and have a +look at it." + +"My new bonnet!" murmured Dora, vaguely. + +"La, yes, miss; the new bonnet you bought in Regent Street only +yesterday afternoon. I never did see such a forgetful wool-gathering +young lady in all my life as you are this blessed morning, Miss Dora." + +The absent-minded young lady rose suddenly, bewildered by Mrs. Madden's +animated desire for an inspection of the bonnet. But she very willingly +left the room with Laura's old nurse, who was accustomed to have her +mandates obeyed even by the wayward heiress of Maudesley Abbey; and +Laura was left alone with the young lawyer. + +Miss Dunbar had seated herself once more in the low easy-chair by the +window. She sat with her elbow resting on the cushioned arm of the +chair, and her head supported by her hand. Her eyes were fixed, and +looked straight before her, with a thoughtful gaze that was strange to +her: for her nature was as joyous as that of a bird, whose music fills +all the wide heaven with one rejoicing psalm. + +Arthur Lovell drew his chair nearer to the thoughtful girl. + +"Laura," he said, "why are you so silent? I never saw you so serious +before, except after your grandfather's death." + +"I am thinking of my father," she answered, in a low, tremulous voice, +that was broken by her tears: "I am thinking that, perhaps, he will not +love me." + +"Not love you, Laura! who could help loving you? Oh, if I dared--if I +could venture--I must speak, Laura Dunbar. My whole life hangs upon the +issue, and I will speak. I am not a poor man, Laura; but you are so +divided from the rest of the world by your father's wealth, that I have +feared to speak. I have feared to tell you that which you might have +discovered for yourself, had you not been as innocent as your own pet +doves in the dovecote at Maudesley." + +The girl looked at him with wondering eyes that were still wet with +unshed tears. + +"I love you, Laura; I love you. The world would call me beneath you in +station, now; but I am a man, and I have a man's ambition--a strong +man's iron will. Everything is possible to him who has sworn to conquer; +and for your sake. Laura, for your love I should overcome obstacles that +to another man might be invincible. I am going to India, Laura: I am +going to carve my way to fame and fortune, for fame and fortune are +_slaves_ that come at the brave man's bidding; they are only _masters_ +when the coward calls them. Remember, my beloved one, this wealth that +now stands between you and me may not always be yours. Your father is +not an old man; he may marry again, and have a son to inherit his +wealth. Would to Heaven, Laura, that it might be so! But be that as it +may, I despair of nothing if I dare hope for your love. Oh, Laura, +dearest, one word to tell me that I _may_ hope! Remember how happy we +have been together; little children playing with flowers and butterflies +in the gardens at Maudesley; boy and girl, rambling hand-in-hand beside +the wandering Avon; man and woman standing in mournful silence by your +grandfather's deathbed. The past is a bond of union betwixt us, Laura. +Look back at all those happy days and give me one word, my darling--one +word to tell me that you love me." + +Laura Dunbar looked up at him with a sweet smile, and laid her soft +white hand in his. + +"I do love you, Arthur," she said, "as dearly as I should have loved my +brother had I ever known a brother's love." + +The young man bowed his head in silence. When he looked up, Laura Dunbar +saw that he was very pale. + +"You only love me as a brother, Laura?" + +"How else should I love you?" she asked, innocently. + +Arthur Lovell looked at her with a mournful smile; a tender smile that +was exquisitely beautiful, for it was the look of a man who is prepared +to resign his own happiness for the sake of her he loves. + +"Enough, Laura," he said, quietly; "I have received my sentence. You do +not love me, dearest; you have yet to suffer life's great fever." + +She clasped her hands, and looked at him beseechingly. + +"You are not angry with me, Arthur?" she said. + +"Angry with you, my sweet one!" + +"And you will still love me?" + +"Yes, Laura, with all a brother's devotion. And if ever you have need of +my services, you shall find what it is to have a faithful friend, who +holds his life at small value beside your happiness." + +He said no more, for there was the sound of carriage-wheels below the +window, and then a loud double-knock at the hall-door. + +Laura started to her feet, and her bright face grew pale. + +"My father has come!" she exclaimed. + +But it was not her father. It was Mr. Balderby, who had just come from +St. Gundolph Lane, where he had received Henry Dunbar's telegraphic +despatch. + +Every vestige of colour faded out of Laura's face as she recognized the +junior partner of the banking-house. + +"Something has happened to my father!" she cried. + +"No, no, Miss Dunbar!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby, anxious to reassure her. +"Your father has arrived in England safely, and is well, as I believe. +He is staying at Winchester; and he has telegraphed to me to go to him +there immediately." + +"Something has happened, then?" + +"Yes, but not to Mr. Dunbar individually; so far as I can make out by +the telegraphic message. I was to come to you here, Miss Dunbar, to tell +you not to expect your papa for some few days; and then I am to go on to +Winchester, taking a lawyer with me." + +"A lawyer!" exclaimed Laura. + +"Yes, I am going to Lincoln's Inn immediately to Messrs. Walford and +Walford, our own solicitors." + +"Let Mr. Lovell go with you," cried Miss Dunbar; "he always acted as +poor grandpapa's solicitor. Let him go with you." + +"Yes, Mr. Balderby," exclaimed the young man, "I beg you to allow me to +accompany you. I shall be very glad to be of service to Mr. Dunbar." + +Mr. Balderby hesitated for a few moments. + +"Well, I really don't see why you shouldn't go, if you wish to do so," +he said, presently. "Mr. Dunbar says he wants a lawyer; he doesn't name +any particular lawyer. We shall save time by your going; for we shall be +able to catch the eleven o'clock express." + +He looked at his watch. + +"There's not a moment to lose. Good morning, Miss Dunbar. We'll take +care of your papa, and bring him to you in triumph. Come, Lovell." + +Arthur Lovell shook hands with Laura, murmured a few words in her ear, +and hurried away with Mr. Balderby. + +She had spoken the death-knell of his dearest hopes. He had seen his +sentence in her innocent face; but he loved her still. + +There was something in her virginal candour, her bright young +loveliness, that touched the noblest chords of his heart. He loved her +with a chivalrous devotion, which, after all, is as natural to the +breast of a young Englishman in these modern days, miscalled degenerate, +as when the spotless knight King Arthur loved and wooed his queen. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE INQUEST. + + +The coroner's inquest, which had been appointed to take place at noon +that day, was postponed until three o'clock in the afternoon, in +compliance with the earnest request of Henry Dunbar. + +When ever was the earnest request of a millionaire refused? + +The coroner, who was a fussy little man, very readily acceded to Mr. +Dunbar's entreaties. + +"I am a stranger in England," the Anglo-Indian said; "I was never in my +life present at an inquest. The murdered man was connected with me. He +was last seen in my company. It is vitally necessary that I should have +a legal adviser to watch the proceedings on my behalf. Who knows what +dark suspicions may arise, affecting my name and honour?" + +The banker made this remark in the presence of four or five of the +jurymen, the coroner, and Mr. Cricklewood, the surgeon who had been +called in to examine the body of the man supposed to have been murdered. +Every one of those gentlemen protested loudly and indignantly against +the idea of the bare possibility that any suspicion, or the shadow of a +suspicion, could attach to such a man as Mr. Dunbar. + +They knew nothing of him, of course, except that he was Henry Dunbar, +chief of the rich banking-house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, and +that he was a millionaire. + +Was it likely that a millionaire would commit a murder? + +When had a millionaire ever been known to commit a murder? Never, of +course! + +The Anglo-Indian sat in his private sitting-room at the George Hotel, +writing, and examining his papers--perpetually writing, perpetually +sorting and re-sorting those packets of letters in the +despatch-box--while he waited for the coming of Mr. Balderby. + +The postponement of the coroner's inquest was a very good thing for the +landlord of the Foresters' Arms. People went in and out, and loitered +about the premises, and lounged in the bar, drinking and talking all the +morning, and the theme of every conversation was the murder that had +been done in the grove on the way to St. Cross. + +Mr. Balderby and Arthur Lovell arrived at the George a few minutes +before two o'clock. They were shown at once into the apartment in which +Henry Dunbar sat waiting for them. + +Arthur Lovell had been thinking of Laura and Laura's father throughout +the journey from London. He had wondered, as he got nearer and nearer to +Winchester, what would be his first impression respecting Mr. Dunbar. + +That first impression was not a good one--no, it was not a good one. Mr. +Dunbar was a handsome man--a very handsome man--tall and +aristocratic-looking, with a certain haughty pace in his manner that +harmonized well with his good looks. But, in spite of all this, the +impression which he made upon the mind of Arthur Lovell was not an +agreeable one. + +The young lawyer had heard the story of the forgery vaguely hinted at by +those who were familiar with the history of the Dunbar family; and he +had heard that the early life of Henry Dunbar had been that of a selfish +spendthrift. + +Perhaps this may have had some influence upon his feelings in this his +first meeting with the father of the woman he loved. + +Henry Dunbar told the story of the murder. The two men were +inexpressibly shocked by this story. + +"But where is Sampson Wilmot?" exclaimed Mr. Balderby. "It was he whom I +sent to meet you, knowing that he was the only person in the office who +remembered you, or whom you remembered." + +"Sampson was taken ill upon the way, according to his brother's story," +Mr. Dunbar answered. "Joseph left the poor old man somewhere upon the +road." + +"He did not say where?" + +"No; and, strange to say, I forgot to ask him the question. The poor +fellow amused me by old memories of the past on the road between +Southampton and this place, and we therefore talked very little of the +present." + +"Sampson must be very ill," exclaimed Mr. Balderby, "or he would +certainly have returned to St. Gundolph Lane to tell me what had taken +place." + +Mr. Dunbar smiled. + +"If he was too ill to go on to Southampton, he would, of course, be too +ill to return to London," he said, with supreme indifference. + +Mr. Balderby, who was a good-hearted man, was distressed at the idea of +Sampson Wilmot's desolation; an old man, stricken with sudden illness, +and abandoned to strangers. + +Arthur Lovell was silent: he sat a little way apart from the two others, +watching Henry Dunbar. + +At three o'clock the inquest commenced. The witnesses summoned were the +two Irishmen, Patrick Hennessy and Philip Murtock, who had found the +body in the stream near St. Cross; Mr. Cricklewood, the surgeon; the +verger, who had seen and spoken to the two men, and who had afterwards +shown the cathedral to Mr. Dunbar; the landlord of the George, and the +waiter who had received the travellers and had taken Mr. Dunbar's orders +for the dinner; and Henry Dunbar himself. + +There were a great many people in the room, for by this time the tidings +of the murder had spread far and wide. There were influential people +present, amongst others, Sir Arden Westhorpe, one of the county +magistrates resident at Winchester. Arthur Lovell, Mr. Balderby, and the +Anglo-Indian sat in a little group apart from the rest. + +The jurymen were ranged upon either side of a long mahogany table. The +coroner sat at the top. + +But before the examination of the witnesses was commenced, the jurymen +were conducted into that dismal chamber where the dead man lay upon one +of the long tap-room tables. Arthur Lovell went with them; and Mr. +Cricklewood, the surgeon, proceeded to examine the corpse, so as to +enable him to give evidence respecting the cause of death. + +The face of the dead man was distorted and blackened by the agony of +strangulation. The coroner and the jurymen looked at that dead face with +wondering, awe-stricken glances. Sometimes a cruel stab, that goes +straight home to the heart, will leave the face of the murdered as calm, +as the face of a sleeping child. + +But in this case it was not so. The horrible stamp of assassination was +branded upon that rigid brow. Horror, surprise, and the dread agony of +sudden death were all blended in the expression of the face. + +The jurymen talked a little to one another in scarcely audible whispers, +asked a few questions of the surgeon, and then walked softly from the +darkened room. + +The facts of the case were very simple, and speedily elicited. But +whatever the truth of that awful story might be, there was nothing that +threw any light upon the mystery. + +Arthur Lovell, watching the case in the interests of Mr. Dunbar, asked +several questions of the witnesses. Henry Dunbar was himself the first +person examined. He gave a very simple and intelligible account of all +that had taken place from the moment of his landing at Southampton. + +"I found the deceased waiting to receive me when I landed," he said. "He +told me that he came as a substitute for another person. I did not know +him at first--that is to say, I did not recognize him as the valet who +had been in my service prior to my leaving England five-and-thirty years +ago. But he made himself known to me afterwards, and he told me that he +had met his brother in London on the sixteenth of this month, and had +travelled with him part of the way to Southampton. He also told me that, +on the way to Southampton, his brother, Sampson Wilmot, a much older man +than the deceased, was taken ill, and that the two men then parted +company." + +Mr. Dunbar had said all this with perfect self-possession, and with +great deliberation. He was so very self-possessed, so very deliberate, +that it seemed almost as if he had been reciting something which he had +learned by heart. + +Arthur Lovell, watching him very intently, saw this, and wondered at it. +It is very usual for a witness, even the most indifferent witness, +giving evidence about some trifling matter, to be confused, to falter, +and hesitate, and contradict himself, embarrassed by the strangeness of +his position. But Henry Dunbar was in nowise discomposed by the awful +nature of the event which had happened. He was pale; but his firmly-set +lips, his erect carriage, the determined glance of his eyes, bore +witness to the strength of his nerves and the power of his intellect. + +"The man must be made of iron," Arthur Lovell thought to himself. "He is +either a very great man, or a very wicked one. I almost fear to ask +myself which." + +"Where did the deceased Joseph Wilmot say he left his brother Sampson, +Mr. Dunbar?" asked the coroner. + +"I do not remember." + +The coroner scratched his chin, thoughtfully. + +"That is rather awkward," he said; "the evidence of this man Sampson +might throw some light upon this most mysterious event." + +Mr. Dunbar then told the rest of his story. + +He spoke of the luncheon at Southampton, the journey from Southampton to +Winchester, the afternoon stroll down to the meadows near St. Cross. + +"Can you tell us the exact spot at which you parted with the deceased?" +asked the coroner. + +"No," Mr. Dunbar answered; "you must bear in mind that I am a stranger +in England. I have not been in this neighbourhood since I was a boy. My +old schoolfellow, Michael Marston, married and settled at the Ferns +during my absence in India. I found at Southampton that I should have a +few hours on my hands before I could travel express for London, and I +came to this place on purpose to see my old friend. I was very much +disappointed to find that he was dead. But I thought that I would call +upon his widow, from whom I should no doubt hear the history of my poor +friend's last moments. I went with Joseph Wilmot through the cathedral +yard, and down towards St. Cross. The verger saw us, and spoke to us as +we went by." + +The verger, who was standing amongst the other witnesses, waiting to be +examined, here exclaimed,-- + +"Ay, that I did, sir; I remember it well." + +"At what time did you leave the George?" + +"At a little after four o'clock." + +"Where did you go then?" + +"I went," answered Mr. Dunbar, boldly, "into the grove with the +deceased, arm-in-arm. We walked together about a quarter of a mile under +the trees, and I had intended to go on to the Ferns, to call upon +Michael Marston's widow; but my habits of late years have been +sedentary; the heat of the day and the walk together were too much for +me. I sent Joseph Wilmot on to the Ferns with a message for Mrs. +Marston, asking at what hour she could conveniently receive me to-day; +and I returned to the cathedral. Joseph Wilmot was to deliver his +message at the Ferns, and rejoin me in the cathedral." + +"He was to return to the cathedral?" + +"Yes." + +"But why should he not have returned to the George Hotel? Why should you +wait for him at the cathedral?" + +Arthur Lovell listened, with a strange expression upon his face. If +Henry Dunbar was pale, Henry Dunbar's legal adviser was still more so. +The jurymen stared aghast at the coroner, as if they had been +awe-stricken by his impertinence towards the chief partner of the great +banking-house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. How dared he--a man with +an income of five hundred a year at the most--how dared he discredit or +question any assertion made by Henry Dunbar? + +The Anglo-Indian smiled, a little contemptuously. He stood in a careless +attitude, playing with the golden trinkets at his watch-chain, with the +hot August sunshine streaming upon his face from a bare unshaded window +opposite him. But he did not attempt to escape that almost blinding +glare. He stood facing the sunlight; facing the gaze of the coroner and +the jurymen; the scrutinizing glance of Arthur Lovell. Unabashed and +_nonchalant_ as if he had been standing in a ball-room, the hero of the +hour, the admired of all who looked upon him, Mr. Dunbar stood before +the coroner and jury, and told the broken history of his old servant's +death. + +"Yes," Mr. Lovell thought again, as he watched the rich man's face, "his +nerves must be made of iron." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +ARRESTED. + + +The coroner repeated his question: + +"Why did you tell the deceased to join you at the cathedral, Mr. +Dunbar?" + +"Merely because it suited my humour at the time to do so," answered the +Anglo-Indian, coolly. "We had been very friendly together, and I had a +fancy for going over the cathedral. I thought that Wilmot might return +from the Ferns in time to go over some portion of the edifice with me. +He was a very intelligent fellow, and I liked his society." + +"But the journey to the Ferns and back would have occupied some time." + +"Perhaps so," answered Mr. Dunbar; "I did not know the distance to the +Ferns, and I did not make any calculation as to time. I merely said to +the deceased, 'I shall go back and look at the cathedral; and I will +wait for you there.' I said this, and I told him to be as quick as he +could." + +"That was all that passed between you?" + +"It was. I then returned to the cathedral." + +"And you waited there for the deceased?" + +"I did. I waited until close upon the hour at which I had ordered dinner +at the George." + +There was a pause, during which the coroner looked very thoughtful. + +"I am compelled to ask you one more question, Mr. Dunbar," he said, +presently, hesitating a little as he spoke. + +"I am ready to answer any questions you may wish to ask," Mr. Dunbar +replied, very quietly. + +"Were you upon friendly terms with the deceased?" + +"I have just told you so. We were on excellent terms. I found him an +agreeable companion. His manners were those of a gentleman. I don't know +how he had picked up his education, but he certainly had contrived to +educate himself some how or other." + +"I understand you were friendly together at the time of his death; but +prior to that time----" + +Mr. Dunbar smiled. + +"I have been in India five-and-thirty years," he said. + +"Precisely. But before your departure for India, had you any +misunderstanding, any serious quarrel with the deceased?" + +Mr. Dunbar's face flushed suddenly, and his brows contracted as if even +his self-possession were not proof against the unpleasant memories of +the past. + +"No," he said, with determination; "I never quarrelled with him." + +"There had been no cause of quarrel between you?" + +"I don't understand your question. I have told you that I never +quarrelled with him." + +"Perhaps not; but there might have been some hidden animosity, some +smothered feeling, stronger than any openly-expressed anger, hidden in +your breast. Was there any such feeling?" + +"Not on my part." + +"Was there any such feeling on the part of the deceased?" + +Mr. Dunbar looked furtively at William Balderby. The junior partner's +eyelids dropped under that stolen glance. + +It was clear that he knew the story of the forged bills. + +Had the coroner for Winchester been a clever man, he would have followed +that glance of Mr. Dunbar's, and would have understood that the junior +partner knew something about the antecedents of the dead man. But the +coroner was not a very close observer, and Mr. Dunbar's eager glance +escaped him altogether. + +"Yes," answered the Anglo-Indian, "Joseph Wilmot had a grudge against me +before I sailed for Calcutta, but we settled all that at Southampton, +and I promised to allow him an annuity." + +"You promised him an annuity?" + +"Yes--not a very large one--only fifty pounds a year; but he was quite +satisfied with that promise." + +"He had some claim upon you, then?" + +"No, he had no claim whatever upon me," replied Mr. Dunbar, haughtily. + +Of course, it could be scarcely pleasant for a millionaire to be +cross-questioned in this manner by an impertinent Hampshire coroner. + +The jurymen sympathized with the banker. + +The coroner looked rather puzzled. + +"If the deceased had no claim upon you, why did you promise him an +annuity?" he asked, after a pause. + +"I made that promise for the sake of 'auld lang syne,'" answered Mr. +Dunbar. "Joseph Wilmot was a favourite servant of mine five-and-thirty +years ago. We were young men together. I believe that he had, at one +time, a very sincere affection for me. I know that I always liked him." + +"How long were you in the grove with the deceased?" + +"Not more than ten minutes." + +"And you cannot describe the spot where you left him?" + +"Not very easily; I could point it out, perhaps, if I were taken there." + +"What time elapsed between your leaving the cathedral yard with the +deceased and your returning to it without him?" + +"Perhaps half an hour." + +"Not longer?" + +"No; I do not imagine that it can have been longer." + +"Thank you, Mr. Dunbar; that will do for the present," said the coroner. + +The banker returned to his seat. + +Arthur Lovell, still watching him, saw that his strong white hand +trembled a little as his fingers trifled with those glittering toys +hanging to his watch-chain. + +The verger was the next person examined. + +He described how he had been loitering in the yard of the cathedral as +the two men passed across it. He told how they had gone by arm-in-arm, +laughing and talking together. + +"Which of them was talking as they passed you?" asked the coroner. + +"Mr. Dunbar." + +"Could you hear what he was saying?" + +"No, sir. I could hear his voice, but I couldn't hear the words." + +"What time elapsed between Mr. Dunbar and the deceased leaving the +cathedral yard, and Mr. Dunbar returning alone?" + +The verger scratched his head, and looked doubtfully at Henry Dunbar. + +That gentleman was looking straight before him, and seemed quite +unconscious of the verger's glance. + +"I can't quite exactly say how long it was, sir," the old man answered, +after a pause. + +"Why can't you say exactly?" + +"Because, you see, sir, I didn't keep no particular 'count of the time, +and I shouldn't like to tell a falsehood." + +"You must not tell a falsehood. We want the truth, and nothing but the +truth." + +"I know, sir; but you see I am an old man, and my memory is not as good +as it used to be. I _think_ Mr. Dunbar was away an hour." + +Arthur Lovell gave an involuntary start. Every one of the jurymen looked +suddenly at Mr. Dunbar. + +But the Anglo-Indian did not flinch. He was looking at the verger now +with a quiet steady gaze, which seemed that of a man who had nothing to +fear, and who was serene and undisturbed by reason of his innocence. + +"We don't want to know what you _think_," the coroner said; "you must +tell us only what you are certain of." + +"Then I'm not certain, sir." + +"You are not certain that Mr. Dunbar was absent for an hour?" + +"Not quite certain, sir." + +"But very nearly certain. Is that so?" + +"Yes, sir, I'm very nearly certain. You see, sir, when the two gentlemen +went through the yard, the cathedral clock was chiming the quarter after +four; I remember that. And when Mr. Dunbar came back, I was just going +away to my tea, and I seldom go to my tea until it's gone five." + +"But supposing it to have struck five when Mr. Dunbar returned, that +would only make it three quarters of an hour after the time at which he +went through the yard, supposing him to have gone through, as you say, +at the quarter past four." + +The verger scratched his head again. + +"I'd been loiterin' about yesterday afternoon, sir," he said; "and I was +a bit late thinkin' of my tea." + +"And you believe, therefore, that Mr. Dunbar was absent for an hour?" + +"Yes, sir; an hour--or more." + +"An hour, or more?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He was absent more than an hour; do you mean to say that?" + +"It might have been more, sir. I didn't keep no particular 'count of the +time." + +Arthur Lovell had taken out his pocket-book, and was making notes of the +verger's evidence. + +The old man went on to describe his having shown Mr. Dunbar all over the +cathedral. He made no mention of that sudden faintness which had seized +upon the Anglo-Indian at the door of one of the chapels; but he +described the rich man's manner as having been affable in the extreme. +He told how Henry Dunbar had loitered at the door of the cathedral, and +afterwards lingered in the quadrangle, waiting for the coming of his +servant. He told all this with many encomiums upon the rich man's +pleasant manner. + +The next, and perhaps the most important, witnesses were the two +labourers, Philip Murtock and Patrick Hennessy, who had found the body +of the murdered man. + +Patrick Hennessy was sent out of the room while Murtock gave his +evidence; but the evidence of the two men tallied in every particular. + +They were Irishmen, reapers, and were returning from a harvest supper at +a farm five miles from St. Cross, upon the previous evening. One of them +had knelt down upon the edge of the stream to get a drink of water in +the crown of his felt hat, and had been horrified by seeing the face of +the dead man looking up at him in the moonlight, through the shallow +water that barely covered it. The two men had dragged the body out of +the streamlet, and Philip Murtock had watched beside it while Patrick +Hennessy had gone to seek assistance. + +The dead man's clothes had been stripped from him, with the exception of +his trousers and boots, and the other part of his body was bare. There +was a revolting brutality in this fact. It seemed that the murderer had +stripped his victim for the sake of the clothes which he had worn. There +could be little doubt, therefore, that the murder had been committed for +the greed of gain, and not from any motive of revenge. + +Arthur Lovell breathed more freely; until this moment his mind had been +racked in agonizing doubts. Dark suspicions had been working in his +breast. He had been tortured by the idea that the Anglo-Indian had +murdered his old servant, in order to remove out of his way the chief +witness of the crime of his youth. + +But if this had been so, the murderer would never have lingered upon the +scene of his crime in order to strip the clothes from his victim's body. + +No! the deed had doubtless been done by some savage wretch, some lost +and ignorant creature, hardened by a long life of crime, and preying +like a wild beast upon his fellow-men. + +Such murders are done in the world. Blood has been shed for the sake of +some prize so small, so paltry, that it has been difficult for men to +believe that one human being could destroy another for such an object. + +Heaven have pity upon the wretch so lost as to be separated from his +fellow-creatures by reason of the vileness of his nature! Heaven +strengthen the hands of those who seek to spread Christian enlightenment +and education through the land! for it is only those blessings that will +thin the crowded prison wards, and rob the gallows of its victims. + +The robbery of the dead man's clothes, and such property as he might +have had about him at the time of his death, gave a new aspect to the +murder in the eyes of Arthur Lovell. The case was clear and plain now, +and the young man's duty was no longer loathsome to him; for he no +longer suspected Henry Dunbar. + +The constabulary had already been busy; the spot upon which the murder +had been committed, and the neighbourhood of that spot, had been +diligently searched. But no vestige of the dead man's garments had been +found. + +The medical man's evidence was very brief. He stated, that when he +arrived at the Foresters' Arms he found the deceased quite dead, and +that he appeared to have been dead some hours; that from the bruises and +marks on the throat and neck, some contusions on the back of the head, +and other appearances on the body, which witness minutely described, he +said there were indications of a struggle having taken place between +deceased and some other person or persons; that the man had been thrown, +or had fallen down violently; and that death had ultimately been caused +by strangling and suffocation. + +The coroner questioned the surgeon very closely as to how long he +thought the murdered man had been dead. The medical man declined to give +any positive statement on this point; he could only say that when he was +called in, the body was cold, and that the deceased might have been dead +three hours--or he might have been dead five hours. It was impossible to +form an opinion with regard to the exact time at which death had taken +place. + +The evidence of the waiter and the landlord of the George only went to +show that the two men had arrived at the hotel together; that they had +appeared in very high spirits, and on excellent terms with each other; +that Mr. Dunbar had shown very great concern and anxiety about the +absence of his companion, and had declined to eat his dinner until nine +o'clock. + +This closed the evidence; and the jury retired. + +They were absent about a quarter of an hour, and then returned a verdict +of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown. + +Henry Dunbar, Arthur Lovell, and Mr. Balderby went back to the hotel. It +was past six o'clock when the coroner's inquest was concluded, and the +three men sat down to dinner together at seven. + +That dinner-party was not a pleasant one; there was a feeling of +oppression upon the minds of the three men. The awful event of the +previous day cast its dreadful shadow upon them. They could not talk +freely of this subject--for it was too ghastly a theme for +discussion--and to talk of any other seemed almost impossible. + +Arthur Lovell had observed with surprise that Henry Dunbar had not once +spoken of his daughter. And yet this was scarcely strange; the utterance +of that name might have jarred upon the father's feelings at such a time +as this. + +"You will write to Miss Dunbar to-night, will you not, sir?" the young +man said at last. "I fear that she will have been very anxious about you +all this day. She was alarmed by your message to Mr. Balderby." + +"I shall not write," said the banker; "for I hope to see my daughter +to-night." + +"You will leave Winchester this evening, then?" + +"Yes, by the 10.15 express. I should have travelled by that train +yesterday evening, but for this terrible event." + +Arthur Lovell looked rather astonished at this. + +"You are surprised," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"I thought perhaps that you might stay--until----" + +"Until what?" asked the Anglo-Indian; "everything is finished, is it +not? The inquest was concluded to-day. I shall leave full directions for +the burial of this poor fellow, and an ample sum for his funeral +expenses. I spoke to the coroner upon that subject this afternoon. What +more can I do?" + +"Nothing, certainly," answered Arthur Lovell, with rather a hesitating +manner; "but I thought, under the peculiar circumstances, it might be +better that you should remain upon the spot, if possible, until some +steps shall have been taken for the finding of the murderer." + +He did not like to give utterance to the thought that was in his mind; +for he was thinking that some people would perhaps suspect Mr. Dunbar +himself, and that it might be well for him to remain upon the scene of +the murder until that suspicion should be done away with by the arrest +of the real murderer. + +The banker shook his head. + +"I very much doubt the discovery of the guilty man," he said; "what is +there to hinder his escape?" + +"Everything," answered Arthur Lovell, warmly. "First, the stupidity of +guilt, the blind besotted folly which so often betrays the murderer. It +is not the commission of a crime only that is horrible; think of the +hideous state of the criminal's mind _after_ the deed is done. And it is +at that time, immediately after the crime has been perpetrated, when the +breast of the murderer is like a raging hell; it is at that time that he +is called upon to be most circumspect--to keep guard upon his every +look, his smallest word, his most trivial action,--for he knows that +every look and action is watched; that every word is greedily listened +to by men who are eager to bring his guilt home to him; by hungry men, +wrestling for his conviction as a result that will bring them a golden +reward; by practised men, who have studied the philosophy of crime, and +who, by reason of their peculiar skill, are able to read dark meanings +in words and looks that to other people are like a strange language. He +knows that the scent of blood is in the air, and that the bloodhounds +are at their loathsome work. He knows this; and at such a time he is +called upon to face the world with a bold front, and so to fashion his +words and looks that he shall deceive the secret watchers. He is never +alone. The servant who waits upon him, or the railway guard who shows +him to his seat in the first-class carriage, the porter who carries his +luggage, or the sailor who looks at him scrutinizingly as he breathes +the fresh sea-air upon the deck of that ship which is to carry him to a +secure hiding-place--any one of these may be a disguised detective, and +at any moment the bolt may fall; he may feel the light hand upon his +shoulder, and know that he is a doomed man. Who can wonder, then, that a +criminal is generally a coward, and that he betrays himself by some +blind folly of his own?" + +The young man had been carried away by his subject, and had spoken with +a strange energy. + +Mr. Dunbar laughed aloud at the lawyer's enthusiasm. + +"You should have been a barrister, Mr. Lovell," he said; "that would +have been a capital opening for your speech as counsel for the crown. I +can see the wretched criminal shivering in the dock, cowering under that +burst of forensic eloquence." + +Henry Dunbar laughed heartily as he finished speaking, and then threw +himself back in his easy-chair, and passed his handkerchief across his +handsome forehead, as it was his habit to do occasionally. + +"In this case I think the criminal will be most likely arrested," Arthur +Lovell continued, still dwelling upon the subject of the murder; "he +will be traced by those clothes. He will endeavour to sell them, of +course; and as he is most likely some wretchedly ignorant boor, he will +very probably try to sell them within a few miles of the scene of the +crime." + +"I hope he will be found," said Mr. Balderby, filling his glass with +claret as he spoke; "I never heard any good of this man Wilmot, and, +indeed, I believe he went to the bad altogether after you left England, +Mr. Dunbar." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes," answered the junior partner, looking rather nervously at his +chief; "he committed forgery, I believe; fabricated forged bank notes, +or something of that kind, and was transported for life, I heard; but I +suppose he got a remission of his sentence, or something of that kind, +and returned to England." + +"I had no idea of this," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"He did not tell you, then?" + +"Oh, no; it was scarcely likely that he should tell me." + +Very little more was said upon the subject just then. At nine o'clock +Mr. Dunbar left the room to see to the packing of his things, at a +little before ten the three gentlemen drove away from the George Hotel, +on their way to the station. + +They reached the station at five minutes past ten; the train was not due +until a quarter past. + +Mr. Balderby went to the office to procure the three tickets. Henry +Dunbar and Arthur Lovell walked arm-in-arm up and down the platform. + +As the bell for the up-train was ringing, a man came suddenly upon the +platform and looked about him. + +He recognized the banker, walked straight up to him, and, taking off his +hat, addressed Mr. Dunbar respectfully. + +"I am sorry to detain you, sir," he said; "but I have a warrant to +prevent you leaving Winchester." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I hold a warrant for your apprehension, sir." + +"From whom?" + +"From Sir Arden Westhorpe, our chief county magistrate; and I am to take +you before him immediately, sir." + +"Upon what charge?" cried Arthur Lovell. + +"Upon suspicion of having been concerned in the murder of Joseph +Wilmot." + +The millionaire drew himself up haughtily, and looked at the constable +with a proud smile. + +"This is too absurd," he said; "but I am quite ready to go with you. Be +good enough to telegraph to my daughter, Mr. Lovell," he added, turning +to the young man; "tell her that circumstances over which I have no +control will detain me in Winchester for a week. Take care not to alarm +her." + +Everybody about the station had collected on the platform, and made a +circle about Mr. Dunbar. They stood a little aloof from him, looking at +him with respectful interest: altogether different from the eager +clamorous curiosity with which they would have regarded any ordinary man +suspected of the same crime. + +He was suspected; but he could not be guilty. Why should a millionaire +commit a murder? The motives that might influence other men could have +had no weight with him. + +The bystanders repeated this to one another, as they followed Mr. Dunbar +and his custodian from the station, loudly indignant against the minions +of the law. + +Mr. Dunbar, the constable, and Mr. Balderby drove straight to the +magistrate's house. + +The junior partner offered any amount of bail for his chief; but the +Anglo-Indian motioned him to silence, with a haughty gesture. + +"I thank you, Mr. Balderby," he said, proudly; "but I will not accept my +liberty on sufferance. Sir Arden Westhorpe has chosen to arrest me, and +I shall abide the issue of that arrest." + +It was in vain that the junior partner protested against this. Henry +Dunbar was inflexible. + +"I hope, and I venture to believe, that you are as innocent as I am +myself of this horrible crime, Mr. Dunbar," the baronet said, kindly; +"and I sympathize with you in this very terrible position. But upon the +information laid before me, I consider it my duty to detain you until +the matter shall have been further investigated. You were the last +person seen with the deceased." + +"And for that reason it is supposed that I strangled my old servant for +the sake of his clothes," cried Mr. Dunbar, bitterly. "I am a stranger +in England; but if that is your English law, I am not sorry that the +best part of my life has been passed in India. However, I am perfectly +willing to submit to any examination that may be considered necessary to +the furtherance of justice." + +So, upon the second night of his arrival in England, Henry Dunbar, chief +of the wealthy house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, slept in +Winchester gaol. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE PRISONER IS REMANDED. + + +Mr. Dunbar was brought before Sir Arden Westhorpe, at ten o'clock, on +the morning after his arrest. The witnesses who had given evidence at +the inquest were again summoned, and--with the exception of the verger, +and Mr. Dunbar, who was now a prisoner--gave the same evidence, or +evidence to the same effect. + +Arthur Lovell again watched the proceedings in the interest of Laura's +father, and cross-examined some of the witnesses. + +But very little new evidence was elicited. The empty pocket-book, which +had been found a few paces from the body, was produced. The rope by +which the murdered man had been strangled was also produced and +examined. + +It was a common rope, rather slender, and about a yard and a half in +length. It was made into a running noose that had been drawn tightly +round the neck of the victim. + +Had the victim been a strong man he might perhaps have resisted the +attack, and might have prevented his assailant tightening the fatal +knot; but the surgeon bore witness that the dead man, though tall and +stalwart-looking, had not been strong. + +It was a strange murder, a bloodless murder; a deed that must have been +done by a man of unfaltering resolution and iron nerve: for it must have +been the work of a moment, in which the victim's first cry of surprise +was stifled ere it was half uttered. + +The chief witness upon this day was the verger; and it was in +consequence of certain remarks dropped by him that Henry Dunbar had been +arrested. + +Upon the afternoon of the inquest this official had found himself a +person of considerable importance. He was surrounded by eager gossips, +greedy to hear anything he might have to tell upon the subject of the +murder; and amongst those who listened to his talk was one of the +constables--a sharp, clear-headed fellow--who was on the watch for any +hint that might point to the secret of Joseph Wilmot's death. The +verger, in describing the events of the previous afternoon, spoke of +that one fact which he had omitted to refer to before the coroner. He +spoke of the sudden faintness which had come over Mr. Dunbar. + +"Poor gentleman!" he said, "I don't think I ever see the like of +anything as come over him so sudden. He walked along the aisle with his +head up, dashing and millingtary-like; but, all in a minute, he reeled +as if he'd been dead drunk, and he would have fell if there hadn't been +a bench handy. Down he dropped upon that bench like a stone; and when I +turned round to look at him the drops of perspiration was rollin' down +his forehead like beads. I never see such a face in my life, as +ghastly-like as if he'd seen a ghost. But he was laughin' and smilin' +the next minute; and it was only the heat of the weather, he says." + +"It's odd as a gentleman that's just come home from India should +complain of the heat on such a day as yesterday," said one of the +bystanders. + +This was the substance of the evidence that the verger gave before Sir +Arden Westhorpe. This, with the evidence of a boy who had met the +deceased and Henry Dunbar close to the spot where the body was found, +was the only evidence against the rich man. + +To the mind of Sir Arden Westhorpe the agitation displayed by Henry +Dunbar in the cathedral was a very strong point; yet, what more possible +than that the Anglo-Indian should have been seized with a momentary +giddiness? He was not a young man; and though his broad chest, square +shoulders, and long, muscular arms betokened strength, that natural +vigour might have been impaired by the effects of a warm climate. + +There were new witnesses upon this day, people who testified to having +been in the neighbourhood of the grove, and in the grove itself, upon +that fatal afternoon and evening. + +Other labourers, besides the two Irishmen, had passed beneath the shadow +of the trees in the moonlight. Idle pedestrians had strolled through the +grove in the still twilight; not one of these had seen Joseph Wilmot, +nor had there been heard any cry of anguish, or wild shrieks of terror. + +One man deposed to having met a rough-looking fellow, half-gipsy, +half-hawker, in the grove between seven and eight o'clock. + +Arthur Lovell questioned this person as to the appearance and manner of +the man he had met. + +But the witness declared that there was nothing peculiar in the man's +manner. He had not seemed confused, or excited, or hurried, or +frightened. He was a coarse-featured, sunburnt ruffianly-looking fellow; +and that was all. + +Mr. Balderby was examined, and swore to the splendid position which +Henry Dunbar occupied as chief of the house in St. Gundolph Lane; and +then the examination was adjourned, and the prisoner remanded, although +Arthur Lovell contended that there was no evidence to justify his +detention. + +Mr. Dunbar still protested against any offer of bail; he again declared +that he would rather remain in prison than accept his liberty on +sufferance, and go out into the world a suspected man. + +"I will never leave Winchester Gaol," he said, "until I leave it with my +character cleared in the eyes of every living creature." + +He had been treated with the greatest respect by the prison officials, +and had been provided with comfortable apartments. Arthur Lovell and Mr. +Balderby were admitted to him whenever he chose to receive them. + +Meanwhile every voice in Winchester was loud in indignation against +those who had caused the detention of the millionaire. + +Here was an English gentleman, a man whose wealth was something +fabulous, newly returned from India, eager to embrace his only child; +and before he had done more than set his foot upon his native soil, he +was seized upon by obstinate and pig-headed officials, and thrown into a +prison. + +Arthur Lovell worked nobly in the service of Laura's father. He did not +particularly like the man, though he wished to like him; but he believed +him to be innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him, and he was +determined to make that innocence clear to the eyes of other people. + +For this purpose he urged on the police upon the track of the strange +man, the rough-looking hawker, who had been seen in the grove on the day +of the murder. + +He himself left Winchester upon another errand. He went away with the +determination of discovering the sick man, Sampson Wilmot. The old +clerk's evidence might be most important in such a case as this; as he +would perhaps be able to throw much light upon the antecedents and +associations of the dead man. + +The young lawyer travelled along the line, stopping at every station. At +Basingstoke he was informed that an old man, travelling with his +brother, had been taken ill; and that he had since died. An inquest had +been held upon his remains some days before, and he had been buried by +the parish. + +It was upon the 21st of August that Arthur Lovell visited Basingstoke. +The people at the village inn told him that the old man had died at two +o'clock upon the morning of the 17th, only a few hours after his +brother's desertion of him. He had never spoken after the final stroke +of paralysis. + +There was nothing to be learned here, therefore. Death had closed the +lips of this witness. + +But even if Sampson Wilmot had lived to speak, what could he have told? +The dead man's antecedents could have thrown little light upon the way +in which he had met his death. It was a common murder, after all; a +murder that had been done for the sake of the victim's little property; +a silver watch, perhaps; a few sovereigns; a coat, waistcoat, and shirt. + +The only evidence that tended in the least to implicate Henry Dunbar was +the fact that he had been the last person seen in company with the dead +man, and the discrepancy between his assertion and that of the verger +respecting the time during which he had been absent from the cathedral +yard. + +No magistrate in his senses would commit the Anglo-Indian for trial upon +such evidence as this. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +MARGARET'S JOURNEY. + + +While these things were taking place at Winchester, Margaret waited for +the coming of her father. She waited until her heart grew sick, but +still she did not despair of his return. He had promised to come back to +her by ten o'clock upon the evening of the 16th; but he was not a man +who always kept his promises. He had often left her in the same manner, +and had stayed away for days and weeks together. + +There was nothing extraordinary, therefore, in his absence; and if the +girl's heart grew sick, it was not with the fear that her father would +not return to her; but with the thought of what dishonest work he might +be engaged in during his absence. + +She knew now that he led a dishonest life. His own lips had told her the +cruel truth. She would no longer be able to defend him when people spoke +against him. Henceforth she must only plead for him. + +The poor girl had been proud of her father, reprobate though he was; she +had been proud of his gentlemanly bearing, his cleverness, his air of +superiority over other men of his station; and the thought of his +acknowledged guilt stung her to the heart. She pitied him, and she tried +to make excuses for him in her own mind: and with every thought of the +penniless reprobate there was intermingled the memory of the wrong that +had been done him by Henry Dunbar. + +"If my father has been guilty, that man is answerable for his guilt," +she thought perpetually. + +Meanwhile she waited, Heaven only knows how anxiously, for her father's +coming. A week passed, and another week began, and still he did not +come; but she was not alarmed for his personal safety, she was only +anxious about him; and she expected his return every day, every hour. +But he did not come. + +And all this time, with her mind racked by anxious thoughts, the girl +went about the weary duties of her daily life. Her thoughts might wander +away into vague speculations about her father's absence while she sat by +her pupil's side; but her eyes never wandered from the fingers it was +her duty to watch. Her life had been a hard one, and she was better able +to hide her sorrows and anxieties than any one to whom such a burden had +been a novelty. So, very few people suspected that there was anything +amiss with the grave young music-mistress. + +One person did see the vague change in her manner; but that person was +Clement Austin, who had already grown skilled in reading the varying +expressions of her face, and who saw now that she was changed. She +listened to him when he talked to her of the books or the music she +loved; but her face never lighted up now with a bright look of pleasure; +and he heard her sigh now and then as she gave her lesson. + +He asked her once if there was anything in which his services, or his +mother's, could be of any assistance to her; but she thanked him for the +kindness of his offer, and told him, "No, there was nothing in which he +could help her." + +"But I am sure there is something on your mind. Pray do not think me +intrusive or impertinent for saying so; but I am sure of it." + +Margaret only shook her head. + +"I am mistaken, then?" said Clement, interrogatively. + +"You are indeed. I have no special trouble. I am only a little uneasy +about my father, who has been away from home for the last week or two. +But there is nothing strange in that; he is often away. Only I am apt to +be foolishly anxious about him. He will scold me when he comes home and +hears that I have been so." + +Upon the evening of the 27th August, Margaret gave her accustomed +lesson, and lingered a little as usual after the lesson, talking to Mrs. +Austin, who had taken a wonderful fancy to her granddaughter's +music-mistress; and to Clement, who somehow or other had discontinued +his summer evening walks of late, more especially on those occasions on +which his niece took he music-lesson. They talked of all manner of +things, and it was scarcely strange that amongst other topics they +should come by and-by to the Winchester murder. + +"By the bye, Miss Wentworth," exclaimed Mrs. Austin, breaking in upon +Clement's disquisition on his favourite Carlyle's "Hero-Worship," "I +suppose you've heard about this dreadful murder that is making such a +sensation?" + +"A dreadful murder--no, Mrs. Austin; I rarely hear anything of that +kind; for the person with whom I lodge is old and deaf. She troubles +herself very little about what is going on in the world, and I never +read the newspapers myself." + +"Indeed," said Mrs. Austin; "well, my dear, you really surprise me. I +thought this dreadful business had made such a sensation, on account of +the great Mr. Dunbar being mixed up in it." + +"Mr. Dunbar!" cried Margaret, looking at the speaker with dilated eyes. + +"Yes, my dear, Mr. Dunbar, the rich banker. I have been very much +interested in the matter, because my son is employed in Mr. Dunbar's +bank. It seems that an old servant, a confidential valet of Mr. +Dunbar's, has been murdered at Winchester; and at first Mr. Dunbar +himself was suspected of the crime,--though, of course, that was utterly +ridiculous; for what motive could he possibly have had for murdering his +old servant? However, he has been suspected, and some stupid country +magistrate actually had him arrested. There was an examination about a +week ago, which was adjourned until to-day. We shan't know the result of +it till to-morrow." + +Margaret sat listening to these words with a face that was as white as +the face of the dead. + +Clement Austin saw the sudden change that had come over her countenance. + +"Mother," he said, "you should not talk of these things before Miss +Wentworth; you have made her look quite ill. Remember, she may not be so +strong-minded as you are." + +"No, no!" gasped Margaret, in a choking voice. "I--I--wish to hear of +this. Tell me, Mrs. Austin, what was the name of the murdered man?" + +"Joseph Wilmot." + +"Joseph Wilmot!" repeated Margaret, slowly. She had always known her +father by the name of James Wentworth; but what more likely than that +Wilmot was his real name! She had good reason to suspect that Wentworth +was a false one. + +"I'll lend you a newspaper," Mrs. Austin said, good-naturedly, "if you +really want to learn the particulars of this murder." + +"I do, if you please." + +Mrs. Austin took a weekly paper from amongst some others that were +scattered upon a side-table. She folded up this paper and handed it to +Margaret. + +"Give Miss Wentworth a glass of wine, mother," exclaimed Clement Austin; +"I'm sure all this talk about the murder has upset her." + +"No, no, indeed!" Margaret answered, "I would rather not take anything. +I want to get home quickly. Good evening, Mrs. Austin." + +She tried to say something more, but her voice failed her. She had been +in the habit of shaking hands with Mrs. Austin and Clement when she left +them; and the cashier had always accompanied her to the gate, and had +sometimes lingered with her there in the dusk, prolonging some +conversation that had been begun in the drawing-room; but to-night she +hurried from the room before the widow could remonstrate with her. +Clement followed her into the hall. + +"Miss Wentworth," he said, "I know that something has agitated you. Pray +return to the drawing-room, and stop with us until you are more +composed." + +"No--no--no!" + +"Let me see you home, then?" + +"Oh! no! no!" she cried, as the young man barred her passage, to the +door; "for pity's sake don't detain me, Mr. Austin; don't detain me, or +follow me!" + +She passed by him, and hurried out of the house. He followed her to the +gate, and watched her disappear in the twilight; and then went back to +the drawing-room, sighing heavily as he went. + +"I have no right to follow her against her own wish," he said to +himself. "She has given me no right to interfere with her; or to think +of her, for the matter of that." + +He threw himself into a chair, and took up a newspaper; but he did not +read half-a-dozen lines. He sat with his eyes fixed upon the page before +him, thinking of Margaret Wentworth. + +"Poor girl!" he said to himself, presently; "poor lonely girl! She is +too pure and beautiful for the hard struggles of this world." + + * * * * * + +Margaret Wentworth walked rapidly along the road that led her back to +Wandsworth. She held the folded newspaper clutched tightly against her +breast. It was her death-warrant, perhaps. She never paused or slackened +her pace until she reached the lane leading down to the water. + +She, opened the gate of the simple cottage-garden--there was no need of +bolts or locks for the fortification of Godolphin Cottages--and went up +to her own little sitting-room,--the room in which her father had told +her the secret of his life,--the room in which she had sworn to remember +the Henry Dunbar. All was dark and quiet in the house, for the mistress +of it was elderly-and old-fashioned in her ways; and Margaret was +accustomed to wait upon herself when she came home after nightfall. + +She struck a lucifer, lighted her candle, and sat down with the +newspaper in her hand. She unfolded it, and examined the pages. She was +not long finding what she wanted. + + "_The Winchester Murder. Latest Particulars_." + +Margaret Wentworth read that horrible story. She read the newspaper +record of the cruel deed that had been done--twice--slowly and +deliberately. Her eyes were tearless, and there was a desperate courage +at her heart; that miserable, agonized heart, which seemed like a block +of ice in her breast. + +"I swore to remember the name of Henry Dunbar," she said in, a low, +sombre voice; "I have good reason to remember it now." + +From the first she had no doubt in her mind--from the very first she had +but one idea: and that idea was a conviction. Her father had been +murdered by his old master. The man Joseph Wilmot was her father: the +murderer was Henry Dunbar. The newspaper record told how the murdered +man had, according to his own account, met his brother at the Waterloo +station upon the afternoon of the 16th of August. That was the very +afternoon upon which James Wentworth had left his daughter to go to +London by rail. + +He had met his old master, the man who had so bitterly injured him; the +cold-hearted scoundrel who had so cruelly betrayed him. He had been +violent, perhaps, and had threatened Henry Dunbar: and then--then the +rich man, treacherous and cold-hearted in his age as in his youth, had +beguiled his old valet by a pretended friendship, had lured him into a +lonely place, and had there murdered him; in order that all the wicked +secrets of the past might be buried with his victim. + +As to the robbery of the clothes--the rifling of the pocketbook--that, +of course, was only a part of Henry Dunbar's deep laid scheme. + +The girl folded the paper and put it in her breast. It was a strange +document to lie against that virginal bosom: and the breast beneath it +ached with a sick, cold pain, that was like the pain of death. + +Margaret took up her candle, and went into a neatly-kept little room at +the back of the house,--the room in which her father had always slept +when he stayed in that house. + +There was an old box, a battered and dilapidated hair-trunk, with a worn +rope knotted about it. The girl knelt down before the box, and put her +candle on a chair beside it. Then with her slender fingers she tried to +unfasten the knots that secured the cord. This task was not an easy one, +and her fingers ached before she had done. But she succeeded at last, +and lifted the lid of the trunk. + +There were worn and shabby garments, tumbled and dusty, that had been +thrown pell-mell into the box: there were broken meerschaum-pipes; old +newspapers, pale with age, and with passages here and there marked by +thick strokes in faded ink. A faint effluvium that arose from the mass +of dilapidated rubbish--the weeds which the great ocean Time casts up +upon the shore of the present--testified to the neighbourhood of mice: +and scattered about the bottom of the box, amongst loose shreds of +tobacco--broken lumps of petrified cavendish--and scraps of paper, there +were a few letters. + +Margaret gathered together these letters, and examined them. Three of +them--very old, faded, and flabby--were directed to "Joseph Wilmot, care +of the Governor of Norfolk Island," in a prim, clerk-like hand. + +It was an ominous address. Margaret Wentworth bowed her head upon her +knees and sobbed aloud. + +"He had been very wicked, and had need of a long life of penitence," she +thought; "but he has been murdered by Henry Dunbar." + +There was no shadow of doubt now in her mind. She had in her own hand +the conclusive proof of the identity between Joseph Wilmot and her +father; and to her this seemed quite enough to prove that Henry Dunbar +was the murderer of his old servant. He had injured the man, and it was +in the man's power to do him injury. He had resolved, therefore, to get +rid of this old accomplice, this dangerous witness of the past. + +This was how Margaret reasoned. That the crime committed in the quiet +grove, near St. Cross, was an every-day deed, done for the most pitiful +and sordid motives that can tempt a man to shed his brother's blood, +never for a moment entered into her thoughts. Other people might think +this in their ignorance of the story of the past. + +At daybreak the next morning she left the house, after giving a very +brief explanation of her departure to the old woman with whom she +lodged. She took the first train to Winchester, and reached the station +two hours before noon. She had her whole stock of money with her, but +nothing else. Her own wants, her own necessities, had no place in her +thoughts. Her errand was a fearful one, for she went to tell so much as +she knew of the story of the past, and to bear witness against Henry +Dunbar. + +The railway official to whom she addressed herself at the Winchester +station treated her with civility and good-nature. The pale beauty of +her pensive face won her friends wherever she went. It is very hard upon +pug-nosed merit and red-haired virtue, that a Grecian profile, or raven +tresses, should be such an excellent letter of introduction; but, +unhappily, human nature is weak; and while beauty appeals straight to +the eye of the frivolous, merit requires to be appreciated by the wise. + +"If there is anything I can do for you, miss," the railway official +said, politely, "I shall be very happy, I'm sure." + +"I want to know about the murder," the girl answered, in a low, +tremulous voice, "the murder that was committed----" + +"Yes, miss, to be sure. Everybody in Winchester is talking about it; a +most mysterious event! But," cried the official, brightening suddenly, +"you ain't a witness, miss, are you? You don't know anything +about----eh?" + +He was quite excited at the bare idea that this pretty girl had +something to say about the murder, and that he might have the privilege +of introducing her to his fellow-citizens. To know anybody who knew +anything about Joseph Wilmot's murder was to occupy a post of some +distinction in Winchester just now. + +"Yes," Margaret said; "I want to give evidence against Henry Dunbar." + +The railway official started, and stared aghast. + +"Evidence against Mr. Dunbar, miss?" he said; "why, Mr. Henry Dunbar was +dismissed from custody only yesterday afternoon, and is going up to town +by the express this night, and everybody in Winchester is full of the +shameful way in which he has been treated. Why, as far as that goes, +there was no more ground for suspecting Mr. Dunbar--not that has come +out yet, at any rate--than there is for suspecting me!" And the porter +snapped his fingers contemptuously. "But if you know anything against +Mr. Dunbar, why, of course, that alters the case; and it's yer bounden +dooty, miss, to go before the magistrate directly-minute and make yer +statement." + +The porter could hardly refrain, from smacking his lips with an air of +relish as he said this. Distinction had come to him unsought. + +"Wait a minute, miss," he said; "I'll go and ask lief to take you round +to the magistrate's. You'll never find your way by yourself. The next up +isn't till 12.7--I can be spared." + +The porter ran away, presented himself to a higher official, told his +story, and obtained a brief leave of absence. Then he returned to +Margaret. + +"Now, miss," he said, "if you'll come along with me I'll take you to Sir +Arden Westhorpe's house. Sir Arden is the gentleman that has taken so +much trouble with this case." + +On the way through the back-streets of the quiet city the porter would +fain have extracted from Margaret all that she had to tell. But the girl +would reveal nothing; she only said that she wanted to bear witness +against Henry Dunbar. + +The porter, upon the other hand, was very communicative. He told his +companion what had happened at the adjourned examination. + +"There was a deal of applause in the court when Mr. Dunbar was told he +might consider himself free," said the porter; "but Sir Arden checked +it; there was no need for clapping of hands, he says, or for anything +but sorrow that such a wicked deed had been done, and that the cruel +wretch as did it should escape. A young man as was in the court told me +that them was Sir Arden's exack words." + +They had reached Sir Arden's house by this time. It was a very handsome +house, though it stood in a back sweet; and a grave man-servant, in a +linen jacket, admitted Margaret into the oak-panelled hall. + +She might have had some difficulty perhaps in seeing Sir Arden, had not +the railway porter immediately declared her business. But the name of +the murdered man was a passport, and she was ushered at once into a low +room, which was lined with book-shelves, and opened into an +old-fashioned garden. + +Here Sir Arden Westhorpe, the magistrate, sat at a table writing. He was +an elderly man, with grey hair and whiskers, and with rather a stern +expression of countenance. Rut he was a good and a just man; and though +Henry Dunbar had been the emperor of half Europe instead of an +Anglo-Indian banker, Sir Arden would have committed him for trial had he +seen just cause for so doing. + +Margaret was in nowise abashed by the presence of the magistrate. She +had but one thought in her mind, the thought of her father's wrongs; and +she could have spoken freely in the presence of a king. + +"I hope I am not too late, sir," she said; "I hear that Mr. Dunbar has +been discharged from custody. I hope I am not too late to bear witness +against him." + +The magistrate looked up with an expression of surprise. "That will +depend upon circumstances," he said; "that is to say, upon the nature of +the statement which you may have to make." + +The magistrate summoned his clerk from an adjoining room, and then took +down the girl's information. + +But he shook his head doubtfully when Margaret had told him all she had +to tell. That which to the impulsive girl seemed proof positive of Henry +Dunbar's guilt was very little when written down in a business-like +manner by Sir Arden Westhorpe's clerk. + +"You know your unhappy father to have been injured by Mr. Dunbar, and +you think he may have been in the possession of secrets of a damaging +nature to that gentleman; but you do not know what those secrets were. +My poor girl, I cannot possibly move in this business upon such evidence +as this. The police are at work. This matter will not be allowed to pass +off without the closest investigation, believe me. I shall take care to +have your statement placed in the hands of the detective officer who is +entrusted with the conduct of this affair. We must wait--we must wait. I +cannot bring myself to believe that Henry Dunbar has been guilty of this +fearful crime. He is rich enough to have bribed your father to keep +silence, if he had any reason to fear what he might say. Money is a very +powerful agent, and can buy almost anything. It is rarely that a man, +with almost unlimited wealth at his command, finds himself compelled to +commit an act of violence." + +The magistrate read aloud Margaret Wilmot's deposition, and the girl +signed it in the presence of the clerk; she signed it with her father's +real name, the name that she had never written before that day. + +Then, having given the magistrate the address of her Wandsworth lodging, +she bade him good morning, and went out into the unfamiliar street. + +Nothing that Sir Arden Westhorpe had said had in any way weakened her +rooted conviction of Henry Dunbar's guilt. She still believed that he +was the murderer of her father. + +She walked for some distance without knowing where she went, then +suddenly she stopped; her face flushed, her eyes grew bright, and an +ominous smile lit up her countenance. + +"I will go to Henry Dunbar," she said to herself, "since the law will +not help me; I will go to my father's murderer. Surely he will tremble +when he knows that his victim left a daughter who will rest neither +night nor day until she sees justice done." + +Sir Arden had mentioned the hotel at which Henry Dunbar was staying; so +Margaret asked the first passer-by to direct her to the George. + +She found a waiter lounging in the doorway of the hotel. + +"I want to see Mr. Dunbar," she said. + +The man looked at her with considerable surprise. + +"I don't think it's likely Mr. Dunbar will see you, miss," he said; "but +I'll take your name up if you wish it." + +"I shall be much obliged if you will do so." + +"Certainly, miss. If you'll please to sit down in the hall I'll go to +Mr. Dunbar immediately. Your name is----" + +"My name is Margaret Wilmot." + +The waiter started as if he had been shot. + +"Wilmot!" he exclaimed; "any relation to----" + +"I am the daughter of Joseph Wilmot," answered Margaret, quietly. "You +can tell Mr. Dunbar so if you please." + +"Yes, miss; I will, miss. Bless my soul! you really might knock me down +with a feather, miss. Mr. Dunbar can't possibly refuse to see _you_, I +should think, miss." + +The waiter went up-stairs, looking back at Margaret as he went. He +seemed to think that the daughter of the murdered man ought to be, in +some way or other, different from other young women. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +BAFFLED. + + +Mr. Dunbar was sitting in a luxurious easy-chair, with a newspaper lying +across his knee. Mr. Balderby had returned to London upon the previous +evening, but Arthur Lovell still remained with the Anglo-Indian. + +Henry Dunbar was a good deal the worse for the close confinement which +he had suffered since his arrival in the cathedral city. Everybody who +looked at him saw the change which the last ten days had made in his +appearance. He was very pale; there were dark purple rings about his +eyes; the eyes themselves were unnaturally bright: and the mouth--that +tell-tale feature, over whose expression no man has perfect +control--betrayed that the banker had suffered. + +Arthur Lovell had been indefatigable in the service of his client: not +from any love towards the man, but always influenced more or less by the +reflection that Henry Dunbar was Laura's father; and that to serve Henry +Dunbar was in some manner to serve the woman he loved. + +Mr. Dunbar had only been discharged from custody upon the previous +evening, after a long and wearisome examination and cross-examination of +the witnesses who had given evidence at the coroner's inquest, and that +additional testimony upon which the magistrate had issued his warrant. +He had slept till late, and had only just finished breakfast, when the +waiter entered with Margaret's message. + +"A young person wishes to see you, sir," he said, respectfully. + +"A young person!" exclaimed Mr. Dunbar, impatiently; "I can't see any +one. What should any young person want with me?" + +"She wants to see you particularly, sir; she says her name is +Wilmot--Margaret Wilmot; and that she is the daughter of----" + +The sickly pallor of Mr. Dunbar's face changed to an awful livid hue: +and Arthur Lovell, looking at his client at this moment, saw the change. + +It was the first time he had seen any evidence of fear either in the +face or manner of Henry Dunbar. + +"I will not see her," exclaimed Mr. Dunbar; "I never heard Wilmot speak +of any daughter. This woman is some impudent impostor, who wants to +extort money out of me. I will not see her: let her be sent about her +business." + +The waiter hesitated. + +"She is a very respectable-looking person, sir," he said; "she doesn't +look anything like an impostor." + +"Perhaps not!" answered Mr. Dunbar, haughtily; "but she is an impostor, +for all that. Joseph Wilmot had no daughter, to my knowledge. Pray do +not let me be disturbed about this business. I have suffered quite +enough already on account of this man's death." + +He sank back in his chair, and took up his newspaper as he finished +speaking. His face was completely hidden behind the newspaper. + +"Shall I go and speak to this girl?" asked Arthur Lovell. "On no +account! The girl is an impostor. Let her be sent about her business!" + +The waiter left the room. + +"Pardon me, Mr. Dunbar," said the young lawyer; "but if you will allow +me to make a suggestion, as your legal adviser in this business, I would +really recommend you to see this girl." + +"Why?" + +"Because the people in a place like this are notorious gossips and +scandal-mongers. If you refuse to see this person, who, at any rate, +calls herself Joseph Wilmot's daughter, they may say----" + +"They may say what?" asked Henry Dunbar. + +"They may say that it is because you have some special reason for not +seeing her." + +"Indeed, Mr. Lovell. Then I am to put myself out of the way--after being +fagged and harassed to death already about this business--and am to see +every adventuress who chooses to trade upon the name of the murdered +man, in order to stop the mouths of the good people of Winchester. I beg +to tell you, my dear sir, that I am utterly indifferent to anything that +may be said of me: and that I shall only study my own ease and comfort. +If people choose to think that Henry Dunbar is the murderer of his old +servant, they are welcome to their opinion: I shall not trouble myself +to set them right." + +The waiter re-entered the room as Mr. Dunbar finished speaking. + +"The young person says that she must see you, sir," the man said. "She +says that if you refuse to see her, she will wait at the door of this +house until you leave it. My master has spoken to her, sir; but it's no +use: she's the most determined young woman I ever saw." + +Mr. Dunbar's face was still hidden by the newspaper. There was a little +pause before he replied. + +"Lovell," he said at last, "perhaps you had better go and see this +person. You can find out if she is really related to that unhappy man. +Here is my purse. You can let her have any money you think proper. If +she is the daughter of that wretched man, I should, of course, wish her +to be well provided for. I will thank you to tell her that, Lovell. Tell +her that I am willing to settle an annuity upon her; always on condition +that she does not intrude herself upon me. But remember, whatever I give +is contingent upon her own good conduct, and must not in any way be +taken as a bribe. If she chooses to think and speak ill of me, she is +free to do so. I have no fear of her; nor of any one else." + +Arthur Lovell took the millionaire's purse and went down stairs with the +waiter. He found Margaret sitting in the hall. There was no impatience, +no violence in her manner: but there was a steady, fixed, resolute look +in her white face. The young lawyer felt that this girl would not be +easily put off by any denial of Mr. Dunbar. + +He ushered Margaret into a private sitting-room leading out of the hall, +and then closed the door behind him. The disappointed waiter lingered +upon the door-mat: but the George is a well-built house, and that waiter +lingered in vain. + +"You want to see Mr. Dunbar?" he said. + +"Yes, sir!" + +"He is very much fatigued by yesterday's business, and he declines to +see you. What is your motive for being so eager to see him?" + +"I will tell that to Mr. Dunbar himself." + +"You are _really_ the daughter of Joseph Wilmot? Mr. Dunbar seems to +doubt the fact of his having had a daughter." + +"Perhaps so. Mr. Dunbar may have been unaware of my existence until this +moment. I did not know until last night what had happened." + +She stopped for a moment, half-stifled by a hysterical sob, which she +could not repress: but she very quickly regained her self-control, and +continued, slowly and deliberately, looking earnestly in the young man's +face with her clear brown eyes, "I did not know until last night that my +father's name was Wilmot; he had called himself by a false name--but +last night, after hearing of the--the--murder"--the horrible word seemed +to suffocate her, but she still went bravely on--"I searched a box of my +father's and found this." + +She took from her pocket the letter directed to Norfolk Island, and +handed it to the lawyer. + +"Read it," she said; "you will see then how my father had been wronged +by Henry Dunbar." + +Arthur Lovell unfolded the worn and faded letter. It had been written +five-and-twenty years before by Sampson Wilmot. Margaret pointed to one +passage on the second page. + +_"Your bitterness against Henry Dunbar is very painful to me, my dear +Joseph; yet I cannot but feel that your hatred against my employer's son +is only natural. I know that he was the first cause of your ruin; and +that, but for him, your lot in life might have been very different. Try +to forgive him; try to forget him, even if you cannot forgive. Do not +talk of revenge. The revelation of that secret which you hold respecting +the forged bills would bring disgrace not only upon him, but upon his +father and his uncle. They are both good and honourable men, and I think +that shame would kill them. Remember this, and keep the secret of that +painful story."_ + +Arthur Lovell's face grew terribly grave as he read these lines. He had +heard the story of the forgery hinted at, but he had never heard its +details. He had looked upon it as a cruel scandal, which had perhaps +arisen out of some trifling error, some unpaid debt of honour; some +foolish gambling transaction in the early youth of Henry Dunbar. + +But here, in the handwriting of the dead clerk, here was the evidence of +that old story. Those few lines in Sampson Wilmot's letter suggested a +_motive_. + +The young lawyer dropped into a chair, and sat for some minutes silently +poring over the clerk's letter. He did not like Henry Dunbar. His +generous young heart, which had yearned towards Laura's father, had sunk +in his breast with a dull, chill feeling of disappointment, at his first +meeting with the rich man. + +Still, after carefully sifting the evidence of the coroner's inquest, he +had come to the conclusion that Henry Dunbar was innocent of Joseph +Wilmot's death. He had carefully weighed every scrap of evidence against +the Anglo-Indian; and had deliberately arrived at this conclusion. + +But now he looked at everything in a new light. The clerk's letter +suggested a motive, perhaps an adequate motive. The two men had gone +down together into that silent grove, the servant had threatened his +patron, they had quarrelled, and-- + +No! the murder could scarcely have happened in this way. The assassin +had been armed with the cruel rope, and had crept stealthily behind his +victim. It was not a common murder; the rope and the slip-knot, the +treacherous running noose, hinted darkly at Oriental experiences: +somewhat in this fashion might a murderous Thug have assailed his +unconscious victim. + +But then, on the other hand, there was one circumstance that always +remained in Henry Dunbar's favour--that circumstance was the robbery of +the dead man's clothes. The Anglo-Indian might very well have rifled the +pocket-book, and left it empty upon the scene of the murder, in order to +throw the officers of justice upon a wrong scent. That would have been +only the work of a few moments. + +But was it probable--was it even possible--that the murderer would have +lingered in broad daylight, with every chance against him, long enough +to strip off the garments of his victim, in order still more effectually +to hoodwink suspicion? Was it not a great deal more likely that Joseph +Wilmot had spent the afternoon drinking in the tap-room of some roadside +public-house, and had rambled back into the grove after dark, to meet +his death at the hands of some every-day assassin, bent only upon +plunder? + +All these thoughts passed through Arthur Lovell's mind as he sat with +Sampson's faded letter in his hands. Margaret Wilmot watched him with +eager, scrutinizing eyes. She saw doubt, perplexity, horror, indecision, +all struggling in his handsome face. + +But the lawyer felt that it was his duty to act, and to act in the +interests of his client, whatever vaguely-hideous doubts might arise in +his own breast. Nothing but his _conviction_ of Henry Dunbar's guilt +could justify him in deserting his client. He was not convinced; he was +only horror-stricken by the first whisper of doubt. + +"Mr. Dunbar declines to see you," he said to Margaret; "and I do not +really see what good could possibly arise out of an interview between +you. In the meantime, if you are in any way distressed--and you must +most likely need assistance at such a time as this--he is quite ready to +help you: and he is also ready to give you permanent help if you require +it." + +He opened Henry Dunbar's purse as he spoke, but the girl rose and looked +at him with icy disdain in her fixed white face. + +"I would sooner crawl from door to door, begging my bread of the hardest +strangers in this cruel world--I would sooner die from the lingering +agonies of starvation--than I would accept help from Henry Dunbar. No +power on earth will ever induce me to take a sixpence from that man's +hand." + +"Why not?" + +"_You_ know why not. I can see that knowledge in your face. Tell Mr. +Dunbar that I will wait at the door of this house till he comes out to +speak to me. I will wait until I drop down dead." + +Arthur Lovell went back to his client, and told him what the girl said. + +Mr. Dunbar was walking up and down the room, with his head bent moodily +upon his breast. + +"By heavens!" he cried, angrily, "I will have this girl removed by the +police, if----" + +He stopped abruptly, and his head sank once more upon his breast. + +"I would most earnestly advise you to see her," pleaded Arthur Lovell; +"if she goes away in her present frame of mind, she may spread a +horrible scandal against you. Your refusing to see her will confirm the +suspicions which----" + +"What!" cried Henry Dunbar; "does she dare to suspect me?" + +"I fear so." + +"Has she said as much?" + +"Not in actual words. But her manner betrayed her suspicions. You must +not wonder if this girl is unreasonable. Her father's miserable fate +must have been a terrible blow to her." + +"Did you offer her money?" + +"I did." + +"And she----" + +"She refused it." + +Mr. Dunbar winced, as if the announcement of the girl's refusal had +stung him to the quick. + +"Since it must be so," he said, "I will see this importunate woman. But +not to-day. To-day I must and will have rest. Tell her to come to me +to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. I will see her then." + +Arthur Lovell carried this message to Margaret. + +The girl looked at him with an earnest questioning glance. + +"You are not deceiving me?" she said. + +"No, indeed!" + +"Mr. Dunbar said that?" + +"He did." + +"Then I will go away. But do not let Henry Dunbar try to deceive me! for +I will follow him to the end of the world. I care very little where I go +in my search for the man who murdered my father!" + +She went slowly away. She went down into the cathedral yard, across +which the murdered man had gone arm-in-arm with his companion. Some +boys, loitering about at the entrance to the meadows, answered all her +questions, and took her to the spot upon which the body had been found. + +It was a dull misty day, and there was a low wind wailing amongst the +wet branches of the old trees. The rain-drops from the fading leaves +fell into the streamlet, from whose shallow waters the dead man's face +had looked up to the moonlit sky. + +Later in the afternoon, Margaret found her way to a cemetery outside the +town, where, under a newly-made mound of turf, the murdered man lay. + +A great many people had been to see this grave, and had been very much +disappointed at finding it in no way different from other graves. + +Already the good citizens of Winchester had begun to hint that the grove +near St. Cross was haunted; and there was a vague report to the effect +that the dead man had been seen there, walking in the twilight. + +Punctual to the very striking of the clock, Margaret Wilmot presented +herself at the George at the time appointed by Mr. Dunbar. + +She had passed a wretched night at a humble inn a little way put of the +town, and had been dreaming all night of her meeting with Mr. Dunbar. In +those troubled dreams she had met the rich man perpetually: now in one +place, now in another: but always in the most unlikely places: yet she +had never seen his face. She had tried to see it; but by some strange +devilry or other, peculiar to the incidents of a dream, it had been +always hidden from her. + +The same waiter was lounging in the same attitude at the door of the +hotel. He looked up with an expression of surprise as Margaret +approached him. + +"You've not gone, then, miss?" he exclaimed. + +"Gone! No! I have waited to see Mr. Dunbar!" + +"Well, that's queer," said the waiter; "did he tell you he'd see you?" + +"Yes, he promised to see me at ten o'clock this morning." + +"That's uncommon queer." + +"Why so?" asked Margaret, eagerly. + +"Because Mr. Dunbar, and that young gent as was with him, went away, bag +and baggage, by last night's express." + +Margaret Wilmot gave no utterance to either surprise or indignation. She +walked quietly away, and went once more to the house of Sir Arden +Westhorpe. She told him what had occurred; and her statement was written +down and signed, as upon the previous day. + +"Mr. Dunbar murdered my father!" she said, after this had been done; +"and he's afraid to see me!" + +The magistrate shook his head gravely. + +"No, no, my dear," he said; "you must not say that. I cannot allow you +to make such an assertion as that. Circumstantial evidence often points +to an innocent person. If Mr. Dunbar had been in any way concerned in +this matter, he would have made a point of seeing you, in order to set +your suspicions at rest. His declining to see you is only the act of a +selfish man, who has already suffered very great inconvenience from this +business, and who dreads the scandal of some tragical scene." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +IS IT LOVE OR FEAR? + + +Henry Dunbar and Arthur Lovell slept at the same hotel upon the night of +their journey from Winchester to London; for the banker refused to +disturb his daughter by presenting himself at the house in Portland +Place after midnight. + +In this, at least, he showed himself a considerate father. + +Arthur Lovell had made every effort in his power to dissuade the banker +from leaving Winchester upon that night, and thus breaking the promise +that he had made to Margaret Wilmot. Henry Dunbar was resolute; and the +young lawyer had no alternative. If his client chose to do a +dishonourable thing, in spite of all that the young man could say +against it, of course it was no business of his. For his own part, +Arthur Lovell was only too glad to get back to London; for Laura Dunbar +was there: and wherever she was, there was Paradise, in the opinion of +this foolish young man. + +Early upon the morning after their arrival in London, Henry Dunbar and +the young lawyer breakfasted together in their sitting-room at the +hotel. It was a bright morning, and even London looked pleasant in the +sunshine. Henry Dunbar stood in the window, looking out into the street +below, while the breakfast was being placed upon the table. The hotel +was situated in a new street at the West End. + +"You find London very much altered, I dare say, Mr. Dunbar?" said Arthur +Lovell, as he unfolded the morning paper. + +"How do you mean altered?" asked the banker, absently. + +"I mean, that after so long an absence you must find great improvements. +This street for instance--it has not been built six years." + +"Oh, yes, I remember. There were fields upon this spot when I went to +India." + +They sat down to breakfast. Henry Dunbar was absent-minded, and ate very +little. When he had drunk a cup of tea, he took out the locket +containing Laura's miniature, and sat silently contemplating it. + +By-and-by he unfastened the locket from the chain, and handed it across +the table to Arthur Lovell. + +"My daughter is very beautiful, if she is like that," said the banker; +"do you consider it a good likeness?" + +The young lawyer looked at the portrait with a tender smile. "Yes," he +said, thoughtfully, "it is very like her--only----" + +"Only what?" + +"The picture is not lovely enough." + +"Indeed! and yet it is very beautiful. Laura resembles her mother, who +was a lovely woman." + +"But I have heard your father say, that the lower part of Miss Dunbar's +face--the mouth and chin--reminded him of yours. I must own, Mr. +Dunbar, that I cannot see the likeness." + +"I dare say not," the banker answered, carelessly; "you must allow +something for the passage of time, my dear Lovell. and the wear and tear +of a life in Calcutta. I dare say my mouth and chin are rather harder +and sterner in their character than Laura's." + +There was nothing more said upon the subject of the likeness; by-and-by +Mr. Dunbar got up, took his hat, and went towards the door. + +"You will come with me, Lovell," he said. + +"Oh, no, Mr. Dunbar. I would not wish to intrude upon you at such a +time. The first interview between a father and daughter, after a +separation of so many years, is almost sacred in its character. I----" + +"Pshaw, Mr. Lovell! I did not think a solicitor's son would be weak +enough to indulge in any silly sentimentality. I shall be very glad to +see my daughter; and I understand from her letters that she will be +pleased to see me. That is all! At the same time, as you know Laura much +better than I do, you may as well come with me." + +Mr. Dunbar's looks belied the carelessness of his words. His face was +deadly pale, and there was a singularly rigid expression about his +mouth. + +Laura had received no notice of her father's coming. She was sitting at +the same window by which she had sat when Arthur Lovell asked her to be +his wife. She was sitting in the same low luxurious easy-chair, with the +hot-house flowers behind her, and a huge Newfoundland dog--a faithful +attendant that she had brought from Maudesley Abbey--lying at her feet. + +The door of Miss Dunbar's morning-room was open: and upon the broad +landing-place outside the apartment the banker stopped suddenly, and +laid his hand upon the gilded balustrade. For a moment it seemed almost +as if he would have fallen: but he leaned heavily upon the bronze +scroll-work of the banister, and bit his lower lip fiercely with his +strong white teeth. Arthur Lovell was not displeased to perceive this +agitation: for he had been wounded by the careless manner in which Henry +Dunbar had spoken of his beautiful daughter. Now it was evident that the +banker's indifference had only been assumed as a mask beneath which the +strong man had tried to conceal the intensity of his feelings. + +The two men lingered upon the landing-place for a few minutes; while Mr. +Dunbar looked about him, and endeavoured to control his agitation. +Everything here was new to him: for neither the house in Portland Place, +nor Maudesley Abbey, had been in the possession of the Dunbar family +more than twenty years. + +The millionaire contemplated his possessions. Even upon that +landing-place there was no lack of evidence of wealth. A Persian carpet +covered the centre of the floor, and beyond its fringed margin a +tessellated pavement of coloured marbles took new and brighter hues from +the slanting rays of sunlight that streamed in through a wide +stained-glass window upon the staircase. Great Dresden vases of exotics +stood on pedestals of malachite and gold: and a trailing curtain of +purple velvet hung half-way across the entrance to a long suite of +drawing-rooms--a glistening vista of light and splendour. + +Mr. Dunbar pushed open the door, and stood upon the threshold of his +daughter's chamber. Laura started to her feet. + +"Papa!--papa!" she cried; "I thought that you would come to-day!" + +She ran to him and fell upon his breast, half-weeping, half-laughing. +The Newfoundland dog crept up to Mr. Dunbar with his head down: he +sniffed at the heels of the millionaire, and then looked slowly upward +at the man's face with sombre sulky-looking eyes, and began to growl +ominously. + +"Take your dog away, Laura!" cried Mr. Dunbar, angrily. + +It happened thus that the very first words Henry Dunbar said to his +daughter were uttered in a tone of anger. The girl drew herself away +from him, and looked up almost piteously in her father's face. That face +was as pale as death: but cold, stern, and impassible. Laura Dunbar +shivered as she looked at it. She had been a spoiled child; a pampered, +idolized beauty; and had never heard anything but words of love and +tenderness. Her lips quivered, and the tears came into her eyes. + +"Come away, Pluto," she said to the dog; "papa does not want us." + +She took the great flapping ears of the animal in her two hands, and led +him out of the room. The dog went with his young mistress submissively +enough: but he looked back at the last moment to growl at Mr. Dunbar. + +Laura left the Newfoundland on the landing-place, and went back to her +father. She flung herself for the second time into the banker's arms. + +"Darling papa," she cried, impetuously; "my dog shall never growl at you +again. Dear papa, tell me you are glad to come home to your poor girl. +You _would_ tell me so, if you knew how dearly I love you." + +She lifted up her lips and kissed Henry Dunbar's impassible face. But +she recoiled from him for the second time with a shudder and a +long-drawn shivering sigh. The lips of the millionaire were as cold as +ice. + +"Papa," she cried, "how cold you are! I'm afraid that you are ill!" + +He was ill. Arthur Lovell, who stood quietly watching the meeting +between the father and daughter, saw a change come over his client's +face, and wheeled forward an arm-chair just in time for Henry Dunbar to +fall into it as heavily as a log of wood. + +The banker had fainted. For the second time since the murder in the +grove near St. Cross he had betrayed violent and sudden emotion. This +time the emotion was stronger than his will, and altogether overcame +him. + +Arthur Lovell laid the insensible man flat upon his back on the carpet. +Laura rushed to fetch water and aromatic vinegar from her dressing-room: +and in five minutes Mr. Dunbar opened his eyes, and looked about him +with a wild half-terrified expression in his face. For a moment he +glared fiercely at the anxious countenance of Laura, who knelt beside +him: then his whole frame was shaken by a convulsive trembling, and his +teeth chattered violently. But this lasted only for a few moments. He +overcame it: grinding his teeth, and clenching his strong hands: and +then staggered heavily to his feet. + +"I am subject to these fainting fits," he said, with a wan, sickly smile +upon his white face; "and I dreaded this interview on that account: I +knew that it would be too much for me." + +He seated himself upon the low sofa which Laura had pushed towards him, +resting his elbows on his knees, and hiding his face in his hands. Miss +Dunbar placed herself beside her father, and wound her arm about his +neck. + +"Poor papa," she murmured, softly; "I am so sorry our meeting has +agitated you like this: and to think that I should have fancied you cold +and unkind to me, at the very time when your silent emotion was an +evidence of your love!" + +Arthur Lovell had gone through the open window into the conservatory: +but he could hear the girl talking to her father. His face was very +grave: and the same shadow that had clouded it once during the course of +the coroner's inquest rested upon it now. + +"An evidence of his love! Heaven grant this may be love," he thought to +himself; "but to me it seems a great deal more like fear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE BROKEN PICTURE. + + +Arthur Lovell stopped at Portland Place for the rest of the day, and +dined with the banker and his daughter in the evening. The dinner-party +was a very cheerful one, as far as Mr. Dunbar and his daughter were +concerned: for Laura was in very high spirits on account of her father's +return, and Dora Macmahon joined pleasantly in the conversation. The +banker had welcomed his dead wife's elder daughter with a speech which, +if a little studied in its tone, was at any rate very kind in its +meaning. + +"I shall always be glad to see you with my poor motherless girl," he +said; "and if you can make your home altogether with us, you shall never +have cause to remember that you are less nearly allied to me than Laura +herself." + +When he met Arthur and the two girls at the dinner-table, Henry Dunbar +had quite recovered from the agitation of the morning, and talked gaily +of the future. He alluded now and then to his Indian reminiscences, but +did not dwell long upon this subject. His mind seemed full of plans for +his future life. He would do this, that, and the other, at Maudesley +Abbey, in Yorkshire, and in Portland Place. He had the air of a man who +fully appreciates the power of wealth; and is prepared to enjoy all that +wealth can give him. He drank a good deal of wine during the course of +the dinner, and his spirits rose with every glass. + +But in spite of his host's gaiety, Arthur Lovell was ill at ease. Do +what he would, he could not shake off the memory of the meeting between +the father and daughter. Henry Dunbar's deadly pallor--that wild, scared +look in his eyes, as they slowly reopened and glared upon Laura's +anxious face--were ever present to the young lawyer's mind. + +Why was this man frightened of his beautiful child?--for that it was +fear, and not love, which had blanched Henry Dunbar's face, the lawyer +felt positive. Why was this father frightened of his own daughter, +unless----? + +Unless what? + +Only one horrible and ghastly suggestion presented itself to Arthur +Lovell's mind. Henry Dunbar was the murderer of his old valet: and the +consciousness of guilt had paralyzed him at the first touch of his +daughter's innocent lips. + +But, oh, how terrible if this were true--how terrible to think that +Laura Dunbar was henceforth to live in daily and hourly association with +a traitor and an assassin! + +"I have promised to love her for ever, though my love is hopeless, and +to serve her faithfully if ever she should need of my devotion," Arthur +Lovell thought, as he sat silent at the dinner-table, while Henry Dunbar +and his daughter talked together gaily. + +The lawyer watched his client now with intense anxiety; and it seemed to +him that there was something feverish and unnatural in the banker's +gaiety. Laura and her step-sister left the room soon after dinner: and +the two men remained alone at the long, ponderous-looking dinner-table, +on which the sparkling diamond-cut decanters and Sevres dessert-dishes +looked like tiny vases of light and colour on a dreary waste of polished +mahogany. + +"I shall go to Maudesley Abbey to-morrow," Henry Dunbar said. "I want +rest and solitude after all this trouble and excitement: and Laura tells +me that she infinitely prefers Maudesley to London. Do you think of +returning to Warwickshire, Mr. Lovell?" + +"Oh, yes, immediately. My father expected my return a week ago. I only +came up to town to act as Miss Dunbar's escort." + +"Indeed, that was very kind of you. You have known my daughter for a +long time, I understand by her letters." + +"Yes. We were children together. I was a great deal at the Abbey in old +Mr. Dunbar's time." + +"And you will still be more often there in my time, I hope," Henry +Dunbar answered, courteously. "I fancy I could venture to make a pretty +correct guess at a certain secret of yours, my dear Lovell. Unless I am +very much mistaken, you have a more than ordinary regard for my +daughter." + +Arthur Lovell was silent, his heart beat violently, and he looked the +banker unflinchingly in the face; but he did not speak, he only bent his +head in answer to the rich man's questions. + +"I have guessed rightly, then," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"Yes, sir, I love Miss Dunbar as truly as ever a man loved the woman of +his choice! but----" + +"But what? She is the daughter of a millionaire, and you fear her +father's disapproval of your pretensions, eh?" + +"No, Mr. Dunbar. If your daughter loved me as truly as I love her, I +would marry her in spite of you--in spite of the world; and carve my own +way to fortune. But such a blessing as Laura Dunbar's love is not for +me. I have spoken to her, and----" + +"She has rejected you?" + +"She has." + +"Pshaw! girls of her age are as changeable as the winds of heaven. Do +not despair, Mr. Lovell; and as far as my consent goes, you may have it +to-morrow, if you like. You are young, good-looking, clever, agreeable: +what more, in the name of feminine frivolity, can a girl want? You will +find no stupid prejudices in me, Mr. Lovell. I should like to see you +married to my daughter: for I believe you love her very sincerely. You +have my good will, I assure you. There is my hand upon it." + +He held out his hand as he spoke, and Arthur Lovell took it, a little +reluctantly perhaps, but with as good a grace as he could. + +"I thank you, sir," he said, "for your good will, and----" + +He tried to say something more, but the words died away upon his lips. +The horrible fear which had taken possession of his breast after the +scene of the morning, weighed upon him like the burden that seems to lie +upon the sleeper's breast throughout the strange agony of nightmare. Do +what he would, he could not free himself from the weight of this +dreadful doubt. Mr. Dunbar's words _seemed_ to emanate from the kind and +generous breast of a good man: but, on the other hand, might it not be +possible that the banker wished to _get rid_ of his daughter? + +He had betrayed fear in her presence, that morning: and now he was eager +to give her hand to the first suitor who presented himself: ineligible +as that suitor was in a worldly point of view. Might it not be that the +girl's innocent society was oppressive to her father, and that he wished +therefore to shuffle her off upon a new protector? + +"I shall be very busy this evening, Mr. Lovell," said Henry Dunbar, +presently; "for I must look over some papers I have amongst the luggage +that was sent on here from Southampton. When you are tired of the +dining-room, you will be able to find the two girls, and amuse yourself +in their society, I have no doubt." + +Mr. Dunbar rang the bell. It was answered by an elderly man-servant out +of livery. + +"What have you done with the luggage that was sent from Southampton?" +asked the banker. + +"It has all been placed in old Mr. Dunbar's bed-room, sir," the man +answered. + +"Very well; let lights be carried there, and let the portmanteaus and +packing-cases be unstrapped and opened." + +He handed a bunch of keys to the servant, and followed the man out of +the room. In the hall he stopped suddenly, arrested by the sound of a +woman's voice. + +The entrance-hall of the house in Portland Place was divided into two +compartments, separated from each other by folding-doors, the upper +panels of which were of ground glass. There was a porter's chair in the +outer division of the hall, and a bronzed lamp hung from the domed +ceiling. + +The doors between the inner and outer hall were ajar, and the voice +which Henry Dunbar heard was that of a woman speaking to the porter. + +"I am Joseph Wilmot's daughter," the woman said. "Mr. Dunbar promised +that he would see me at Winchester: he broke his word, and left +Winchester without seeing me: but he _shall_ see me, sooner or later; +for I will follow him wherever he goes, until I look into his face, and +say that which I have to say to him." + +The girl did not speak loudly or violently. There was a quiet +earnestness in her voice; an earnestness and steadiness of tone which +expressed more determination than any noisy or passionate utterance +could have done. + +"Good gracious me, young woman!" exclaimed the porter, "do you think as +I'm goin' to send such a rampagin' kind of a message as that to Mr. +Dunbar? Why, it would be as much as my place is worth to do it. Go along +about your business, miss; and don't you preshume to come to such a +house as this durin' gentlefolks' dinner-hours another time. Why, I'd +sooner take a message to one of the tigers in the Joological-gardings at +feedin' time than I'd intrude upon such a gentleman as Mr. Dunbar when +he's sittin' over his claret." + +Mr. Dunbar stopped to listen to this conversation; then he went back +into the dining-room, and beckoned to the servant who was waiting to +precede him up-stairs. + +"Bring me pen, ink, and paper," he said. + +The man wheeled a writing-table towards the banker. Henry Dunbar sat +down and wrote the following lines; in the firm aristocratic handwriting +that was so familiar to the chief clerks in the banking-house. + +"_The young person who calls herself Joseph Wilmot's daughter is +informed that Mr. Dunbar declines to see her now, or at any future time. +He is perfectly inflexible upon this point; and the young person will do +well to abandon the system of annoyance which she is at present +pursuing. Should she fail to do so, a statement of her conduct will be +submitted to the police, and prompt measures taken to secure Mr. +Dunbar's freedom from persecution. Herewith Mr. Dunbar forwards the +young person a sum of money which will enable her to live for some time +with ease and independence. Further remittances will be sent to her at +short intervals; if she conducts herself with propriety, and refrains +from attempting any annoyance against Mr. Dunbar. + +"Portland Place, August 30, 1850_." + +The banker took out his cheque-book, wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, +and folded it in the note which he had just written then he rang the +bell, and gave the note to the elderly manservant who waited upon him. + +"Let that be taken to the young person in the hall," he said. + +Mr. Dunbar followed the servant to the dining-room door and stood upon +the threshold, listening. He heard the man speak to Margaret Wilmot as +he delivered the letter; and then he heard the crackling of the +envelope, as the girl tore it open. + +There was a pause, during which the listener waited, with an anxious +expression on his face. + +He had not to wait long. Margaret spoke presently, in a clear ringing +voice, that vibrated through the hall. + +"Tell your master," she said, "that I will die of starvation sooner than +I would accept bread from his hand. You can tell him what I did with his +generous gift." + +There was another brief pause; and then, in the hushed stillness of the +house, Henry Dunbar heard a light shower of torn paper flutter down upon +the polished marble floor. Then he heard the great door of the house +close upon Joseph Wilmot's daughter. + +The millionaire covered his face with his hands, and gave a long sigh: +but he lifted his head presently, shrugged his shoulders with an +impatient gesture, and went slowly up the lighted staircase. + +The suite of apartments that had been occupied by Percival Dunbar +comprised the greater part of the second floor of the house in Portland +Place. There was a spacious bed-chamber, a comfortable study, a +dressing-room, bath-room, and antechamber. The furniture was handsome, +but of a ponderous style: and, in spite of their splendour, the rooms +had a gloomy look. Everything about them was dark and heavy. The house +was an old one, and the five windows fronting the street were long and +narrow, with deep oaken seats in the recesses between the heavy +shutters. The walls were covered with a dark green paper that looked +like cloth. The footsteps of the occupant were muffled by the rich +thickness of the sombre Turkey carpet. The voluminous curtains that +sheltered the windows, and shrouded the carved rosewood four-post bed, +were of a dark green, which looked black in the dim light. + +The massive chairs and tables were of black oak, with cushions of green +velvet. A few valuable cabinet pictures, by the old masters, set in deep +frames of ebony and gold, hung at wide distances upon the wall. There +was the head of an ecclesiastic, cut from a large picture by +Spagnoletti; a Venetian senator by Tintoretto; the Adoration of the Magi +by Caravaggio. An ivory crucifix was the only object upon the high, +old-fashioned chimney-piece. + +A pair of wax-candles, in antique silver candlesticks, burned upon a +writing-table near the fireplace, and made a spot of light in the gloomy +bed-chamber. All Henry Dunbar's luggage had been placed in this room. +There were packing-cases and portmanteaus of almost every size and +shape, and they had all been opened by a man-servant, who was kneeling +by the last when the banker entered the room. + +"You will sleep here to-night, sir, I presume?" the servant said, +interrogatively, as he prepared to quit the apartment. "Mrs. Parkyn +thought it best to prepare these rooms for your occupation." + +Henry Dunbar looked thoughtfully round the spacious chamber. + +"Is there no other place in which I can sleep?" he asked. "These rooms +are horribly gloomy." + +"There is a spare room upon the floor above this, sir." + +"Very well; let the spare room be got ready for me. I have a good many +arrangements to make, and shall be late." "Will you require assistance, +sir?" + +"No. Let the room up-stairs be prepared. Is it immediately above this?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Good; I shall know how to find it, then. No one need sit up for me. Let +Miss Dunbar be told that I shall not see her again to-night, and that I +shall start for Maudesley in the course of to-morrow. She can make her +arrangements accordingly. You understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you can go. Remember, I do not wish to be disturbed again +to-night." + +"You will want nothing more, sir?" + +"Nothing." + +The man retired. Henry Dunbar followed him to the door, listened to his +receding footsteps in the corridor and upon the staircase, and then +turned the key in the lock. He went back to the centre of the room, and +kneeling down before one of the open portmanteaus, took out every +article which it contained, slowly: removing the things one by one, and +throwing most of them into a heap upon the floor. He went through this +operation with the contents of all the boxes, throwing the clothes upon +the floor, and carrying the papers to the writing-table, where he piled +them up in a great mass. This business occupied a very long time, and +the hands of an antique clock, upon a bracket in a corner of the room, +pointed to midnight when the banker seated himself at the table, and +began to arrange and sort his papers. + +This operation lasted for several hours. The candles were burnt down, +and the flames flickered slowly out in the silver sockets. Mr. Dunbar +went to one of the windows, drew back the green-cloth curtain, unbarred +the heavy shutters, and let the grey morning light into the room. But he +still went on with his work: reading faded documents, tying up old +papers, making notes upon the backs of letters, and other notes in his +own memorandum-book: very much as he had done at the Winchester Hotel. +The broad sunlight streamed in upon the sombre colours of the Turkey +carpet, the sound of wheels was in the street below, when the banker's +work was finished. By that time he had arranged all the papers with +unusual precision, and replaced them in one of the portmanteaus: but he +left the clothes in a careless heap upon the floor, just as they had +fallen when he first threw them out of the boxes. + +Mr. Dunbar did one thing more before he left the room. Amongst the +papers which he had arranged upon the writing-table, there was a small +square morocco case, containing a photograph done upon glass. He took +this picture out of the case, dropped it upon the polished oaken floor +beyond the margin of the carpet, and ground the glass into atoms with +the heavy heel of his boot. But even then he was not content with his +work of destruction, for he stamped upon the tiny fragments until there +was nothing left of the picture but a handful of sparkling dust. He +scattered this about with his foot, dropped the empty morocco case into +his pocket, and went up-stairs in the morning sunlight. + +It was past six o'clock, and Mr. Dunbar heard the voices of the +women-servants upon the back staircase as he went to his room. He threw +himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed, and fell into a heavy slumber. + +At three o'clock the same day Mr. Dunbar left London for Maudesley +Abbey, accompanied by his daughter, Dora Macmahon, and Arthur Lovell. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THREE WHO SUSPECT. + + +No further discovery was made respecting the murder that had been +committed in the grove between Winchester and St. Cross. The police made +every effort to find the murderer, but without result. A large reward +was offered by the government for the apprehension of the guilty man; +and a still larger reward was offered by Mr. Dunbar, who declared that +his own honour and good name were in a manner involved in the discovery +of the real murderer. + +The one clue by which the police hoped to trace the footsteps of the +assassin was the booty which his crime had secured to him: the contents +of the pocket-book that had been rifled, and the clothes which had been +stripped from the corpse of the victim. By means of the clue which these +things might afford, the detective police hoped to reach the guilty man. +But they hoped in vain. Every pawnbroker's shop in Winchester, and in +every town within a certain radius of Winchester, was searched, but +without effect. No clothes at all resembling those that had been seen +upon the person of the dead man had been pledged within forty miles of +the cathedral city. The police grew hopeless at last. The reward was a +large one; but the darkness of the mystery seemed impenetrable, and +little by little people left off talking of the murder. By slow degrees +the gossips resigned themselves to the idea that the secret of Joseph +Wilmot's death was to remain a secret for ever. Two or three "sensation" +leaders appeared in some of the morning papers, urging the bloodhounds +of the law to do their work, and taunting the members of the detective +force with supineness and stupidity. I dare say the social +leader-writers were rather hard-up for subjects at this stagnant +autumnal period, and were scarcely sorry for the mysterious death of the +man in the grove. The public grumbled a little when there was no new +paragraph in the papers about "that dreadful Winchester murder;" but the +nine-days' period during which the English public cares to wonder +elapsed, and nothing had been done. Other murders were committed as +brutal in their nature as the murder in the grove; and the world, which +rarely stops long to lament for the dead, began to think of other +things. Joseph Wilmot was forgotten. + +A month passed very quietly at Maudesley Abbey. Henry Dunbar took his +place in the county as a person of importance; lights blazed in the +splendid rooms; carriages drove in and out of the great gates in the +park, and all the landed gentry within twenty miles of the abbey came to +pay their respects to the millionaire who had newly returned from India. +He did not particularly encourage people's visits, but he submitted +himself to such festivities as his daughter declared to be necessary, +and did the honours of his house with a certain haughty grandeur, which +was a little stiff and formal as compared to the easy friendly grace of +his high-bred visitors. People shrugged their shoulders, and hinted that +there was something of the "roturier" in Mr. Dunbar; but they freely +acknowledged that he was a fine handsome-looking fellow, and that his +daughter was an angel, rendered still more angelic by the earthly +advantage of half a million or so for her marriage-portion. + +Meanwhile Margaret Wilmot lived alone in her simple countrified lodging, +and thought sadly enough of the father whom she had lost. + +He had not been a good father, but she had loved him nevertheless. She +had pitied him for his sorrows, and the wrongs that had been done him. +She had loved him for those feeble traces of a better nature that had +been dimly visible in his character. + +"He had not been _always_ a cheat and reprobate," the girl thought as +she sat pondering upon her father's fate. "He never would have been +dishonest but for Henry Dunbar." + +She remembered with bitter feelings the aspect of the rich man's house +in Portland Place. She had caught a glimpse of its splendour upon the +night after her return from Winchester. Through the narrow opening +between the folding-doors she had seen the pictures and the statues +glimmering in the lamplight of the inner hall. She had seen in that +brief moment a bright confusion of hothouse flowers, and trailing satin +curtains, gilded mouldings, and frescoed panels, the first few shallow +steps of a marble staircase, the filigree-work of the bronze balustrade. + +Only for one moment had she peeped wonderingly into the splendid +interior of Henry Dunbar's mansion; but the objects seen in that one +brief glance had stamped themselves upon the girl's memory. + +"He is rich," she thought, "and they say that wealth can buy all the +best things upon this earth. But, after all, there are few _real_ things +that it can purchase. It can buy flattery, and simulated love, and sham +devotion, but it cannot buy one genuine heart-throb, one thrill of true +feeling. All the wealth of this world cannot buy _peace_ for Henry +Dunbar, or forgetfulness. So long as I live he shall be made to +remember. If his own guilty conscience can suffer him to forget, it +shall be my task to recall the past. I promised my dead father that I +would remember the name of Henry Dunbar; I have had good reason to +remember it." + +Margaret Wilmot was not quite alone in her sorrow. There was one person +who sympathized with her, with an earnest and pure desire to help her in +her sorrow. This person was Clement Austin, the cashier in St. +Gundolph's Lane; the man who had fallen head-over-heels in love with the +pretty music-mistress, but who felt half ashamed of his sudden and +unreasoning affection. + +"I have always ridiculed what people call 'love at sight,'" he thought; +"surely I am not so silly as to have been bewitched by hazel eyes and a +straight nose. Perhaps, after all, I only take an interest in this girl +because she is so beautiful and so lonely, and because of the kind of +mystery there seems to be about her life." + +Never for one moment had Clement Austin suspected that this mystery +involved anything discreditable to Margaret herself. The girl's sad face +seemed softly luminous with the tender light of pure and holy thoughts. +The veriest churl could scarcely have associated vice or falsehood with +such a lovely and harmonious image. + +Since her return from Winchester, since the failure of her second +attempt to see Henry Dunbar, her life had pursued its wonted course; and +she went so quietly about her daily duties, that it was only by the +settled sadness of her face, the subdued gravity of her manner, that +people became aware of some heavy grief that had newly fallen upon her. + +Clement Austin had watched her far too closely not to understand her +better than other people. He had noticed the change in her costume, when +she put on simple inexpensive mourning for her dead father; and he +ventured to express his regret for the loss which she had experienced. +She told him, with a gentle sorrowful accent in her voice, that she had +lately lost some one who was very dear to her; and that the loss had +been unexpected, and was very bitter to bear. But she told him no more; +and he was too well bred to intrude upon her grief by any further +question. + +But though he refrained from saying more upon this occasion, the cashier +brooded long and deeply upon the conduct of his niece's music-mistress: +and one chilly September evening, when Miss Wentworth was _not_ expected +at Clapham, he walked across Wandsworth Common, and went straight to the +lane in which Godolphin Cottages sheltered themselves under the shadow +of the sycamores. + +Margaret had very few intervals of idleness, and there was a kind of +melancholy relief to her in such an evening as this, on which she was +free to think of her dead father, and the strange story of his death. +She was standing at the low wooden gate opening into the little garden +below the window of her room, in the deepening twilight of this +September evening. It was late in the month: the leaves were falling +from the trees, and drifting with a rustling sound along the dusty +roadway. + +The girl stood with her elbow resting upon the top of the gate, and a +dark shawl covering her head and shoulders. She was tired and unhappy, +and she stood in a melancholy attitude, looking with sad eyes towards +the glimpse of the river at the bottom of the lane. So entirely was she +absorbed by her own gloomy thoughts, that she did not hear a footstep +approaching from the other end of the lane; she did not look up until a +man's voice said, in subdued tones,-- + +"Good evening, Miss Wentworth; are you not afraid of catching cold? I +hope your shawl is thick, for the dews are falling, and here, near the +river, there is a damp mist on these autumn nights." + +The speaker was Clement Austin. + +Margaret Wilmot looked up at him, and a pensive smile stole over her +face. Yes, it was something to be spoken to so kindly in that deep manly +voice. The world had seemed so blank since her father's death: such +utter desolation had descended upon her since her miserable journey to +Winchester, and her useless visit to Portland Place: for since that time +she had shrunk away from people, wrapped in her own sorrow, separated +from the commonplace world by the exceptional nature of her misery. It +was something to this poor girl to hear thoughtful and considerate +words; and the unbidden tears clouded her eyes. + +As yet she had spoken openly of her trouble to no living creature, since +that night upon which she had attempted to gain admission to Mr. +Dunbar's house. She was still known in the neighbourhood as Margaret +Wentworth. She had put on mourning: and she had told the few people +about the place where she lived, of her father's death: but she had told +no one the manner of that death. She had shared her gloomy secret with +neither friends nor counsellors, and had borne her dismal burden alone. +It was for this reason that Clement Austin's friendly voice raised an +unwonted emotion in her breast. The desolate girl remembered that night +upon which she had first heard of the murder, and she remembered the +sympathy that Mr. Austin had evinced on that occasion. + +"My mother has been quite anxious about you, Miss Wentworth," said +Clement Austin. "She has noticed such a change in your manner for the +last month or five weeks; though you are as kind as ever to my little +niece, who makes wonderful progress under your care. But my mother +cannot be indifferent to your own feelings, and she and I have both +perceived the change. I fear there is some great trouble on your mind; +and I would give much--ah, Miss Wentworth, you cannot guess how +much!--if I could be of help to you in any time of grief or trouble. You +seemed very much agitated by the news of that shocking murder at +Winchester. I have been thinking it all over since, and I cannot help +fancying that the change in your manner dated from the evening on which +my mother told you that dreadful story. It struck me, that you must, +therefore, in some way or other, be interested in the fate of the +murdered man. Even beyond this, it might be possible that, if you knew +this Joseph Wilmot, you might be able to throw some light upon his +antecedents, and thus give a clue to the assassin. Little by little this +idea has crept into my mind, and to-night I resolved to come to you, and +ask you the direct question, as to whether you were in any way related +to this unhappy man." + +At first Margaret Wilmot's only answer was a choking sob; but she grew +calmer presently, and said, in a low voice,-- + +"Yes, you have guessed rightly, Mr. Austin; I was related to that most +unhappy man. I will tell you everything, but not here," she added, +looking back at the cottage windows, in which lights were glimmering; +"the people about me are inquisitive, and I don't want to be overheard." + +She wrapped her shawl more closely round her, and went out of the little +garden. She walked by Clement's side down to the pathway by the river, +which was lonely enough at this time of the night. + +Here she told him her story. She carefully suppressed all vehement +emotion; and in few and simple words related the story of her life. + +"Joseph Wilmot was my father," she said. "Perhaps he may not have been +what the world calls a good father; but I know that he loved me, and he +was very dear to me. My mother was the daughter of a gentleman, a +post-captain in the Royal Navy, whose name was Talbot. She met my father +at the house of a lady from whom she used to receive music-lessons. She +did not know who he was, or what he was. She only knew that he called +himself James Wentworth; but he loved her, and she returned his +affection. She was very young--a mere child, who had not long emerged +from a boarding-school--and she married my poor father in defiance of +the advice of her friends. She ran away from her home one morning, was +married by stealth in an obscure little church in the City, and then +went home with my father to confess what she had done. Her father never +forgave her for that secret marriage. He swore that he would never look +upon her face after that day: and he never did, until he saw it in her +coffin. At my mother's death Captain Talbot's heart was touched: he came +for the first time to my father's house, and offered to take me away +with him, and to have me brought up amongst his younger children. But my +father refused to allow this. He grieved passionately for my poor +mother: though I have heard him say that he had much to regret in his +conduct towards her. But I can scarcely remember that sad time. From +that period our life became a wandering and wretched one. Sometimes, for +a little while, we seemed better off. My father got some employment; he +worked steadily; and we lived amongst respectable people. But soon--ah, +cruelly soon!--the new chance of an honest life was taken away from him. +His employers heard something: a breath, a whisper, perhaps: but it was +enough. He was not a man to be trusted. He promised well: so far he had +kept his promise: but there was a risk in employing him. My father never +met any good Christian who was willing to run that risk, in the hope of +saving a human soul. My father never met any one noble enough to stretch +out his hand to the outcast and say, 'I know that you have done wrong; I +know that you are without a character: but I will forget the blot upon +the past, and help you to achieve redemption in the future.' If my +father had met such a friend, such a benefactor, all might have been +different." + +Then Margaret Wilmot related the substance of the last conversation +between herself and her father. She told Clement Austin what her father +had said about Henry Dunbar; and she showed him the letter which was +directed to Norfolk Island--that letter in which the old clerk alluded +to the power that his brother possessed over his late master. She also +told Mr. Austin how Henry Dunbar had avoided her at Winchester and in +Portland Place, and of the letter which he had written to her,--a letter +in which he had tried to bribe her to silence. + +"Since that night," she added, "I have received two anonymous +enclosures--two envelopes containing notes to the amount of a hundred +pounds, with the words 'From a True Friend' written across the flap of +the envelope. I returned both the enclosures; for I knew whence they had +come. I returned them in two envelopes directed to Henry Dunbar, at the +office in St. Gundolph's Lane." + +Clement Austin listened with a grave face. All this certainly seemed to +hint at the guilt of Mr. Dunbar. No clue pointing to any other person +had been as yet discovered, though the police had been indefatigable in +their search. + +Mr. Austin was silent for some minutes; then he said, quietly,-- + +"I am very glad you have confided in me, Miss Wilmot, and, believe me, +you shall not find me slow to help you whenever my services can be of +any avail. If you will come and drink tea with my mother at eight +o'clock to-morrow evening, I will be at home; and we can talk this +matter over seriously. My mother is a clever woman, and I know that she +has a most sincere regard for you. You will trust her, will you not?" + +"Willingly, with my whole heart." + +"You will find her a true friend." + +They had returned to the little garden-gate by this time. Clement Austin +stretched out his hand. + +"Good night, Miss Wilmot." + +"Good night." + +Margaret opened the gate and went into the garden. Mr. Austin walked +slowly homewards, past pleasant cottages nestling in suburban gardens, +and pretentious villas with, campanello towers and gothic porches. The +lighted windows shone out upon the darkness. Here and there he heard the +sound of a piano, or a girlish voice stealing softly out upon the cool +night air. + +The sight of pleasant homes made the cashier think very mournfully of +the girl he had just left. + +"Poor, desolate girl," he thought, "poor, lonely, orphan girl!" But he +thought still more about that which he had heard of Henry Dunbar; and +the evidence against the rich man seemed to grow in importance as he +reflected upon it. It was not one thing, but many things, that hinted at +the guilt of the millionaire. + +The secret possessed, and no doubt traded upon, by Joseph Wilmot; Mr. +Dunbar's agitation in the cathedral; his determined refusal to see the +murdered man's daughter; his attempt to bribe her--these were strong +points: and by the time Clement Austin reached home, he--like Margaret +Wilmot, and like Arthur Lovell--suspected the millionaire. So now there +were three people who believed Mr. Dunbar to be the murderer of his old +servant. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT. + + +Arthur Lovell went often to Maudesley Abbey. Henry Dunbar welcomed him +freely, and the young man had not the power to resist temptation. He +went to his doom as the foolish moth flies to the candle. He went, he +saw Laura Dunbar, and spent hour after hour in her society: for his +presence was always agreeable to the impetuous girl. To her he seemed, +indeed, that which he had promised to be, a brother--kind, devoted, +affectionate: but no more. He was endeared to Laura by the memory of a +happy childhood. She was grateful to him, and she loved him: but only as +she would have loved him had he been indeed her brother. Whatever deeper +feeling lay beneath the playful gaiety of her manner had yet to be +awakened. + +So, day after day, the young man bowed down before the goddess of his +life, and was happy--ah, fatally happy!--in her society. He forgot +everything except the beautiful face that smiled on him. He forgot even +those dark doubts which he had felt as to the secret of the Winchester +murder. + +Perhaps he would scarcely have forgotten the suspicions that had entered +his mind after the first interview between the banker and his daughter, +had he seen much of Henry Dunbar. But he saw very little of the master +of Maudesley Abbey. The rich man took possession of the suite of +apartments that had been prepared for him, and rarely left his own +rooms: except to wander alone amongst the shady avenues of the park: or +to ride out upon the powerful horse he had chosen from the stud +purchased by Percival Dunbar. + +This horse was a magnificent creature; the colt of a thorough-bred sire, +but of a stronger and larger build than a purely thorough-bred animal. +He was a chestnut horse, with a coat that shone like satin, and not a +white hair about him. His nose was small, his eyes large, his ears and +neck long. He had all the points which an Arab prizes in his favourite +barb. + +To this horse Henry Dunbar became singularly attached. He had a loose +box built on purpose for the animal in a private garden adjoining his +own dressing-room, which, Like the rest of his apartments, was situated +upon the ground-floor of the abbey. Mr. Dunbar's groom slept in a part +of the house near this loose box: and horse and man were at the service +of the banker at any hour of the day or night. + +Henry Dunbar generally rode either early in the morning, or in the grey +twilight after his dinner-hour. He was a proud man, and he was not a +sociable man. When the county gentry came to welcome him to England, he +received them, and thanked them for their courtesy. But there was +something in his manner that repelled rather than invited friendship. He +gave one great dinner-party soon after his arrival at Maudesley, a ball, +at which Laura floated about in a cloud of white gauze, and with +diamonds in her hair; and a breakfast and morning concert on the lawn, +in compliance with the urgent entreaties of the same young lady. But +when invitations came flooding in upon Mr. Dunbar, he declined them one +after another, on the ground of his weak health. Laura might go where +she liked, always provided that she went under the care of a suitable +chaperone; but the banker declared that the state of his health +altogether unfitted him for society. His constitution had been much +impaired, he said, by his long residence in Calcutta. And yet he looked +a strong man. Tall, broad-chested, and powerful, it was very difficult +to perceive in Henry Dunbar's appearance any one of the usual evidences +of ill-health. He was very pale: but that unchanging pallor was the only +sign of the malady from which he suffered. + +He rose early, rode for a couple of hours upon his chestnut horse +Dragon, and then breakfasted. After breakfast he sat in his luxurious +sitting-room, sometimes reading, sometimes writing, sometimes sitting +for hours together brooding silently over the low embers in the roomy +fireplace. At six o'clock he dined, still keeping to his own room--for +he was not well enough to dine with his daughter, he said: and he sat +alone late into the night, drinking heavily, according to the report +current in the servants' hall. + +He was respected and he was feared in his household: but he was not +liked. His silent and reserved manner had a gloomy influence upon the +servants who came in contact with him: and they compared him very +disadvantageously with his predecessor, Percival Dunbar; the genial, +kind, old master, who had always had a cheerful, friendly word for every +one of his dependants: from the stately housekeeper in rustling silken +robes, to the smallest boy employed in the stables. + +No, the new master of the abbey was not liked. Day after day he lived +secluded and alone. At first, his daughter had broken in upon his +solitude, and, with bright, caressing ways, had tried to win him from +his loneliness: but she found that all her efforts to do this were worse +than useless: they were even disagreeable to her father: and, by +degrees, her light footstep was heard less and less often in that lonely +wing of the house where Henry Dunbar had taken up his abode. + +Maudesley Abbey was a large and rambling old mansion, which had been +built in half-a-dozen different reigns. The most ancient part of the +building was that very northern wing which Mr. Dunbar had chosen for +himself. Here the architecture belonged to the early Plantagenet era; +the stone walls were thick and massive, the lancet-headed windows were +long and narrow, and the arms of the early benefactors of the monastery +were emblazoned here and there upon the richly stained glass. The walls +were covered with faded tapestry, from which grim faces scowled upon the +lonely inhabitant of the chambers. The groined ceiling was of oak, that +had grown black with age. The windows of Mr. Dunbar's bedroom and +dressing-room opened into a cloistered court, beneath whose solemn +shadow the hooded monks had slowly paced, in days that were long gone. +The centre of this quadrangular court had been made into a garden, where +tall hollyhocks and prim dahlias flaunted in the autumn sunshine. And +within this cloistered courtway Mr. Dunbar had erected the loose box for +his favourite horse. + +The southern wing of Maudesley Abbey owed its origin to a much later +period. The windows and fireplaces at this end of the house were in the +Tudor style; the polished oak wainscoting was very beautiful; the rooms +were smaller and snugger than the tapestried chambers occupied by the +banker; Venetian glasses and old crystal chandeliers glimmered and +glittered against the sombre woodwork: and elegant modern furniture +contrasted pleasantly with the Elizabethan casements and carved oaken +chimney-pieces. Everything that unlimited wealth can do to make a house +beautiful had been done for this part of the mansion by Percival Dunbar; +and had been done with considerable success. The doting grandfather had +taken a delight in beautifying the apartments occupied by his girlish +companion: and Miss Dunbar had walked upon velvet pile, and slept +beneath the shadow of satin curtains, from a very early period of her +existence. + +She was used to luxury and elegance: she was accustomed to be surrounded +by all that is refined and beautiful: but she had that inexhaustible +power of enjoyment which is perhaps one of the brightest gifts of a +fresh young nature: and she did not grow tired of the pleasant home that +had been made for her. Laura Dunbar was a pampered child of fortune: but +there are some natures that it seems very difficult to spoil: and I +think hers must have been one of these. + +She knew no weariness of the "rolling hours." To her the world seemed a +paradise of beauty. Remember, she had never seen real misery: she had +never endured that sick feeling of despair, which creeps over the most +callous of us when we discover the amount of hopeless misery that is, +and has been, and is to be, for ever and ever upon this weary earth. She +had seen sick cottagers, and orphan children, and desolate widows, in +her pilgrimages amongst the dwellings of the poor: but she had always +been able to relieve these afflicted ones, and to comfort them more or +less. + +It is the sight of sorrows which we cannot alleviate that sends a +palpable stab home to our hearts, and for a time almost sickens us with +a universe which cannot go upon its course _without_ such miseries as +these. + +To Laura Dunbar the world was still entirely beautiful, for the darker +secrets of life had not been revealed to her. + +Only once had affliction come near her; and then it had come in a calm +and solemn shape, in the death of an old man, who ended a good and +prosperous life peacefully upon the breast of his beloved granddaughter. + +Perhaps her first real trouble came to her now in the bitter +disappointment which had succeeded her father's return to England. +Heaven only knows with what a tender yearning the girl had looked +forward to Henry Dunbar's return. They had been separated for the best +part of her brief lifetime; but what of that? He would love her all the +more tenderly because of those long years during which they had been +divided. She meant to be the same to her father that she had been to her +grandfather--a loving companion, a ministering angel. + +But it was never to be. Her father, by a hundred tacit signs, rejected +her affection. He had shunned her presence from the first: and she had +grown now to shun him. She told Arthur Lovell of this unlooked-for +sorrow. + +"Of all the things I ever thought of, Arthur, this never entered my +head," she said, in a low, pensive voice, as she stood one evening in +the deep embrasure of the Tudor window, looking thoughtfully out at the +wide-spreading lawn, where the shadows of the low cedar branches made +patches of darkness on the moonlit surface of the grass; "I thought that +papa might fall ill on the voyage home, and die, and that the ship for +whose safe course I prayed night and day, might bring me nothing but the +sacred remains of the dead. I have thought this, Arthur, and I have lain +awake at night, torturing myself with the thought: till my mind has +grown so full of the dark picture, that I have seen the little cabin in +the cruel, restless ship, and my father lying helpless on a narrow bed, +with only strangers to watch his death-hour. I cannot tell you how many +different things I have feared: but I never, never thought that he would +not love me. I have even thought that it was just possible he might be +unlike my grandfather, and a little unkind to me sometimes when I vexed +or troubled him: but I thought his heart would be true to me through +all, and that even in his harshest moments he would love me dearly, for +the sake of my dead mother." + +Her voice broke, and she sobbed aloud: but the man who stood by her side +had no word of comfort to say to her. Her complaint awoke that old +suspicion which had lately slumbered in his breast--the horrible fear +that Mr. Dunbar was guilty of the murder of his old servant. + +The young lawyer was bound to say something, however. It was too cruel +to stand by and utter no word of comfort to this sobbing girl. + +"Laura, dear Laura," he said, "this is foolish, believe me. You must +have patience, and still hope for the best. How _can_ your father do +otherwise than love you, when he grows to know you well? You may have +expected too much of him. Remember, that people who have lived long in +the East Indies are apt to become cold and languid in their manners. +When Mr. Dunbar has seen more of you, when he has become better +accustomed to your society----" + +"That he will never be," Laura answered, impetuously. "How can he ever +know me better when he scrupulously avoids me? Sometimes whole days pass +during which I do not see him. Then I summon up courage and go to his +dreary rooms. He receives me graciously enough, and treats me with +politeness. With politeness! when I am yearning for his affection: and I +linger a little, perhaps, asking him about his health, and trying to get +more at home in his presence. But there is always a nervous restlessness +in his manner: which tells me,--oh, too plainly!--that my presence is +unwelcome to him. So I go away at last, half heart-broken. I remember, +now, how cold and brief his letters from India always seemed: but then +he need to excuse himself to me on account of the hurry of business: and +he seldom finished his letter without saying that he looked joyfully +forward to our meeting. It was very cruel of him to deceive me!" + +Arthur Lovell was a sorry comforter. From the first he had tried in vain +to like Henry Dunbar. Since that strange scene in Portland Place, he had +suspected the banker of a foul and treacherous murder,--that worst and +darkest crime, which for ever separates a man from the sympathy of his +fellow-men, and brands him as an accursed and abhorred creature, beyond +the pale of human compassion. Ah, how blessed is that Divine and +illimitable compassion which can find pity for those whom sinful man +rejects! + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM. + + +Jocelyn's Rock was ten miles from Maudesley Abbey, and only one mile +from the town of Shorncliffe. It was a noble place, and had been in the +possession of the same family ever since the days of the Plantagenets. + +The house stood upon a rocky cliff, beneath which rushed a cascade that +leapt from crag to crag, and fell into the bosom of a deep stream, that +formed an arm of the river Avon. This cascade was forty feet below the +edge of the cliff upon which the mansion stood. + +It was not a very large house, for most of the older part of it had +fallen into ruin long ago, and the ruined towers and shattered walls had +been cleared away; but it was a noble mansion notwithstanding. + +One octagonal tower, with a battlemented roof, still stood almost as +firmly as it had stood in the days of the early Plantagenets, when rebel +soldiers had tried the strength of their battering-rams against the grim +stone walls. The house was built entirely of stone; the Gothic porch was +ponderous as the porch of a church. Within all was splendour; but +splendour that was very different from the modern elegance that was to +be seen in the rooms of Maudesley Abbey. + +At Jocelyn's Rock the stamp of age was upon every decoration, on every +ornament. Square-topped helmets that had been hacked by the scimitars of +Saracen kings, spiked chamfronts that had been worn by the fiery barbs +of haughty English crusaders, fluted armour from Milan, hung against the +blackened wainscoting in the shadowy hall; Scottish hackbuts, primitive +arquebuses that had done service on Bosworth field, Homeric bucklers and +brazen greaves, javelins, crossbows, steel-pointed lances, and +two-handed swords, were in symmetrical design upon the dark and polished +panels; while here and there hung the antlers of a giant red-deer, or +the skin of a fox, in testimony to the triumphs of long-departed +sportsmen of the house of Jocelyn. + +It was a noble old house. Princes of the blood royal had sat in the +ponderous carved oak-chairs. A queen had slept in the state-bed, in the +blue-satin chamber. Loyal Jocelyns, fighting for their king against +low-born Roundhead soldiers, had hidden themselves in the spacious +chimneys, or had fled for their lives along the secret passages behind +the tapestry. There were old pictures and jewelled drinking-cups that +dead-and-gone Jocelyns had collected in the sunny land of the Medicis. +There were costly toys of fragile Sevres china that had been received by +one of the earls from the hand of the lovely Pompadour herself in the +days when the manufacturers of Sevres only worked for their king, and +were liable to fall a sacrifice to their art and their loyalty by the +inhalation of arsenicated vapours. There was golden plate that a king +had given to his proud young favourite in those feudal days when +favourites were powerful in England. There was scarcely any object of +value in the mansion that had not a special history attached to it, +redounding to the honour and glory of the ancient house of Jocelyn. + +And this splendid dwelling-place, rendered almost sacred by legendary +associations and historical recollections, was now the property of a +certain Sir Philip Jocelyn--a dashing young baronet, who had been +endowed by nature with a handsome face, frank, fearless eyes that +generally had a smile in them, and the kind of manly figure which the +late Mr. G.P.R. James was wont to designate stalwart; and who was +moreover a crack shot, a reckless cross-country-going rider, and a very +tolerable amateur artist. + +Sir Philip Jocelyn was not what is usually called an intellectual man. +He was more warmly interested in a steeplechase on Shorncliffe Common +than in a pamphlet on political economy, even though Mr. Stuart Mill +should himself be the author of the _brochure_. He thought John Scott a +greater man than Maculloch; and Manton the gunmaker only second to Dr. +Jenner as a benefactor of his race. He found the works of the late Mr. +Apperly more entertaining than the last new Idyl from the pen of the +Laureate; and was rather at a loss for small-talk when he found his +feminine neighbour at a dinner-table was "deeply, darkly, beautifully +blue." But the young baronet was by no means a fool, notwithstanding +these sportsmanlike proclivities. The Jocelyns had been hard riders for +half-a-dozen centuries or so, and crack shots ever since the invention +of firearms. Sir Philip was a sportsman, but he did not "hunt in +dreams," and he was prepared to hold his wife a great deal "higher than +his horse," whenever he should win that pleasant addition to his +household. As yet he had thought very little of the future Lady Jocelyn. +He had a vague idea that he should marry, as the rest of the Jocelyns +had married; and that he should live happily with his wife, as his +ancestors had lived with their wives: with the exception of one dreadful +man, called Hildebrande Jocelyn, who, at some remote and mediaeval +period, had been supposed to throw his liege lady out of an oriel window +that overhung the waterfall, upon the strength of an unfounded +suspicion; and who afterwards, according to the legend, dug, or rather +scooped, for himself a cave out of the cliff-side with no better tools +than his own finger-nails, which he never cut after the unfortunate +lady's foul murder. The legend went on further to state that the white +wraith of the innocent victim might be seen, on a certain night in the +year, rising out of the misty spray of the waterfall: but as nobody +except one very weak-witted female Jocelyn had ever seen the vision, the +inhabitants of the house upon the crag had taken so little heed of the +legend that the date of the anniversary had come at last to be +forgotten. + +Sir Philip Jocelyn thought that he should marry "some of these days," +and in the meantime troubled himself very little about the pretty +daughters of country gentlemen whom he met now and again at races, and +archery-meetings, and flower-shows, and dinner-parties, and +hunting-balls, in the queer old town-hall at Shorncliffe. He was +heart-whole; and looking out at life from the oriel window of his +dressing-room, whence he saw nothing but his own land, neatly enclosed +in a ring-fence, he thought the world, about which some people made such +dismal howling, was, upon the whole, an extremely pleasant place, +containing very little that "a fellow" need complain of. He built +himself a painting-room at Jocelyn's Rock; and-whistled to himself for +the hour together, as he stood before the easel, painting scenes in the +hunting-field, or Arab horsemen whom he had met on the great flat sandy +plains beyond Cairo, or brown-faced boys, or bright Italian +peasant-girls; all sorts of pleasant objects, under cloudless skies of +ultra-marine, with streaks of orange and vermilion to represent the +sunset. He was not a great painter, nor indeed was there any element of +greatness in his nature; but he painted as recklessly as he rode; his +subjects were bright and cheerful; and his pictures were altogether of +the order which unsophisticated people admire and call "pretty." + +He was a very cheerful young man, and perhaps that cheerfulness was the +greatest charm he possessed. He was a man in whom no force of fashion or +companionship would ever engender the peevish _blase_-ness so much +affected by modern youth. Did he dance? Of course he did, and he adored +dancing. Did he sing? Well, he did his best, and had a fine volume of +rich bass voice, that sounded remarkably well on the water, after a +dinner at the Star and Garter, in that dim dewy hour, when the willow +shadowed Thames is as a southern lake, and the slow dip of the oars is +in itself a kind of melody. Had he been much abroad? Yes, and he gloried +in the Continent; the dear old inconvenient inns, and the extortionate +landlords, and the insatiable commissionaires--he revelled in the +commissionaires; and the dear drowsy slow trains, with an absurd guard, +who talks an unintelligible _patois_, and the other man, who always +loses one's luggage! Delicious! And the dear little peasant-girls with +white caps, who are so divinely pretty when you see them in the distance +under a sunny meridian sky, and are so charming in coloured chalk upon +tinted paper, but such miracles of ugliness, comparatively speaking, +when you behold them at close quarters. And the dear jingling +diligences, with very little harness to speak of, but any quantity of +old rope; and the bad wines, and the dust, and the cathedrals, and the +beggars, and the trente-et-quarante tables, and in short everything. Sir +Philip Jocelyn spoke of the universe as a young husband talks of his +wife; and was never tired of her beauty or impatient of her faults. + +The poor about Jocelyn's Rock idolized the young lord of the soil. The +poor like happy people, if there is nothing insolent in their happiness. +Philip was rich, and he distributed his wealth right royally: he was +happy, and he shared his happiness as freely as he shared his wealth. He +would divide a case of choice Manillas with a bedridden pensioner in the +Union, or carry a bottle of the Jocelyn Madeira--the celebrated Madeira +with the brown seal--in the pocket of his shooting-coat, to deliver it +into the horny hands of some hard-working mother who was burdened with a +sick child. He would sit for an hour together telling an agricultural +labourer of the queer farming he had seen abroad; and he had stood +godfather--by proxy--to half the yellow-headed urchins within ten miles' +radius of Jocelyn's Bock. No taint of vice or dissipation had ever +sullied the brightness of his pleasant life. No wretched country girl +had ever cursed his name before she cast herself into the sullen waters +of a lonely mill-stream. People loved him; and he deserved their love, +and was worthy of their respect. He had taken no high honours at Oxford; +but the sternest officials smiled when they spoke of him, and recalled +the boyish follies that were associated with his name; a sickly bedmaker +had been pensioned for life by him; and the tradesmen who had served him +testified to his merits as a prompt and liberal paymaster. I do not +think that in all his life Philip Jocelyn had ever directly or +indirectly caused a pang of pain or sorrow to any human being, unless it +was, indeed, to a churlish heir-at-law, who may have looked with a +somewhat evil eye upon the young man's vigorous and healthful aspect, +which gave little hope to his possible successor. + +The heir-at-law would have gnashed his teeth in impotent rage had he +known the crisis which came to pass in the baronet's life a short time +after Mr. Dunbar's return from India; a crisis very common to youth, and +very lightly regarded by youth, but a solemn and a fearful crisis +notwithstanding. + +The master of Jocelyn's Rock fell in love. All the poetry of his nature, +all the best feelings, the purest attributes of an imperfect character, +concentrated themselves into one passion, Sir Philip Jocelyn fell in +love. The arch magician waved his wand, and all the universe was +transformed into fairyland: a lovely Paradise, a modern Eden, radiant +with the reflected light that it received from the face of a woman. I +almost hesitate to tell this old, old story over again--this perpetual +story of love at first sight. + +It is very beautiful, this sudden love, which is born of one glance at +the wonderful face that has been created to bewitch us; but I doubt if +it is not, after all, the baser form of the great passion. The love that +begins with esteem, that slowly grows out of our knowledge of the loved +one, is surely the purer and holier type of affection. + +This love, whose gradual birth we rarely watch or recognize--this love, +that steals on us like the calm dawning of the eastern light, strikes to +a deeper root and grows into a grander tree than that fair sudden +growth, that marvellous far-shooting butterfly-blossoming orchid, called +love at first sight. The glorious exotic flower may be wanting, but the +strong root lies deeply hidden in the heart. + +The man who loves at first sight generally falls in love with the violet +blue of a pair of tender eyes, the delicate outline of a Grecian nose. +The man who loves the woman he has known and watched, loves her because +he believes her to be the purest and truest of her sex. + +To this last, love is faith. He cannot doubt the woman he adores: for he +adores her because he believes and has proved her to be above all doubt. +We may fairly conjecture that Othello's passion for the simple Venetian +damsel was love at first sight. He loved Desdemona because she was +pretty, and looked at him with sweet maidenly glances of pity when he +told those prosy stories of his--with full traveller's license, no +doubt--over Brabantio's mahogany. + +The tawny-visaged general loved the old man's daughter because he +admired her, and not because he knew her; and so, by and bye, on the +strength of a few foul hints from a scoundrel, he is ready to believe +this gentle, pitiful girl the basest and most abandoned of women. + +Hamlet would not so have acted had it been his fate to marry the woman +he loved. Depend upon it, the Danish prince had watched Ophelia closely, +and knew all the ins and outs of that young lady's temper, and had laid +conversational traps for her occasionally, I dare say, trying to entice +her into some bit of toadyism that should betray any latent taint of +falsehood inherited from poor time-serving Polonius. The Prince of +Denmark would have been rather a fidgety husband, perhaps, but he would +never have had recourse to a murderous bolster at the instigation of a +low-born knave. + +Unhappily, some women are apt to prefer passionate, blustering Othello +to sentimental and metaphysical Hamlet. The foolish creatures are +carried away by noise and clamour, and most believe him who protests the +loudest. + +Philip Jocelyn and Laura Dunbar met at that dinner-party which the +millionaire gave to his friends in celebration of his return. They met +again at the ball, where Laura waltzed with Philip; the young man had +learned to waltz upon the other side of the Alps, and Miss Dunbar +preferred him to any other of her partners. At the _fete champetre_ they +met again; and had their future lives revealed to them by a +theatrical-looking gipsy imported from London for the occasion, whose +arch prophecies brought lovely blushes into Laura's cheeks, and afforded +Philip an excellent opportunity for admiring the effect of dark-brown +eyelashes drooping over dark-blue eyes. They met again and again; now at +a steeple-chase, now at a dinner-party, where Laura appeared with some +friendly _chaperon_; and the baronet fell in love with the banker's +beautiful daughter. + +He loved her truly and devotedly, after his own mad-headed fashion. He +was a true Jocelyn--impetuous, mad-headed daring; and from the time of +those festivities at Maudesley Abbey he only dreamed and thought of +Laura Dunbar. From that hour he haunted the neighbourhood of Maudesley +Abbey. There was a bridle-path through the park to a little village +called Lisford; and if that primitive Warwickshire village had been the +most attractive place upon this earth, Sir Philip could scarcely have +visited it oftener than he did. + +Heaven knows what charm he found in the shady slumberous old street, the +low stone market-place, with rusty iron gates surmounted by the Jocelyn +escutcheon. The grass grew in the quiet quadrangle; the square +church-tower was half hidden by the sheltering ivy; the gabled +cottage-roofs were lop-sided with age. It was scarcely a place to offer +any very great attraction to the lord of Jocelyn Rock in all the glory +of his early man-hood; and yet Philip Jocelyn went there three times a +week upon an average, during the period that succeeded the ball and +morning concert at Maudesley Abbey. + +The shortest way from Jocelyn's Bock to Lisford was by the high road, +but Philip Jocelyn did not care to go by the shortest way. He preferred +to take that pleasant bridle-path through Maudesley Park, that delicious +grassy arcade where the overarching branches of the old elms made a +shadowy twilight, only broken now and then by sudden patches of yellow +sunshine; where the feathery ferns trembled with every low whisper of +the autumn breeze: where there was a faint perfume of pine wood; where +every here and there, between the lower branches of the trees, there was +a blue glimmer of still water-pools, half-hidden under flat green leaves +of wild aquatic plants, where there was a solemn stillness that reminded +one of the holy quiet of a church, and where Sir Philip Jocelyn had +every chance of meeting with Laura Dunbar. + +He met her there very often. Not alone, for Dora Macmahon was sometimes +with her, and the faithful Elizabeth Madden was always at hand to play +propriety, and to keep a sharp eye upon the interests of her young +mistress. But then it happened unfortunately that the faithful Elizabeth +was very stout, and rather asthmatic; and though Miss Dunbar could not +have had a more devoted duenna, she might certainly have had a more +active one. And it also happened that Miss Macmahon, having received +several practical illustrations of the old adage with regard to the +disadvantage of a party of three persons as compared to a party of two +persons, fell into the habit of carrying her books with her, and would +sit and read in some shady nook near the abbey, while Laura wandered +into the wilder regions of the park. + +Beneath the shelter of the overarching elms, amidst the rustling of the +trembling ferns, Laura Dunbar and Philip Jocelyn met very often during +that bright autumnal weather. Their meetings were purely accidental of +course, as such meetings always are, but they were not the less pleasant +because of their uncertainty. + +They were all the more pleasant, perhaps. There was that delicious fever +of suspense which kept both young eager hearts in a constant glow. There +were Laura's sudden blushes, which made her wonderful beauty doubly +wonderful. There was Philip Jocelyn's start of glad astonishment, and +the bright sparkle in his dark-brown eyes as he saw the slender, queenly +figure approaching him under the shadow of the trees. How beautiful she +looked, with the folds of her dress trailing over the dewy grass, and a +flickering halo of sunlight tremulous upon her diadem of golden hair! +Sometimes she wore a coquettish little hat, with a turned-up brim and a +peacock's plume; sometimes a broad-leaved hat of yellow straw, with +floating ribbon and a bunch of feathery grasses perched bewitchingly +upon the brim. She had the dog Pluto with her always, and generally a +volume of some new novel under her arm. I am ashamed to be obliged to +confess that this young heiress was very frivolous, and liked reading +novels better than improving her mind by the perusal of grave histories, +or by the study of the natural sciences. She spent day after day in +happy idleness--reading, sketching, playing, singing, talking, sometimes +gaily sometimes seriously, to her faithful old nurse, or to Dora, or to +Arthur Lovell, as the case might be. She had a thorough-bred horse that +had been given to her by her grandfather, but she very rarely rode him +beyond the grounds, for Dora Macmahon was no horsewoman, having been +brought up by a prim aunt of her dead mother's, who looked upon riding +as an unfeminine accomplishment; and Miss Dunbar had therefore no better +companion for her rides than a grey-haired old groom, who had ridden +behind Percival Dunbar for forty years or so. + +Philip Jocelyn generally went to Lisford upon horseback; but when, as so +often happened, he met Miss Dunbar and her companion strolling amongst +the old elms, it was his habit to get off his horse, and to walk by +Laura's side, leading the animal by the bridle. Sometimes he found the +two young ladies sitting on camp-stools at the foot of one of the trees, +sketching effects of light and shadow in the deep glades around them. On +such occasions the baronet used to tie his horse to the lower branch of +an old elm, and taking his stand behind Miss Dunbar, would amuse himself +by giving her a lesson in perspective, with occasional hints to Miss +Macmahon, who, as the young man remarked, drew so much better than her +sister, that she really required very little assistance. + +By-and-by this began to be an acknowledged thing. Special hours were +appointed for these artistic studies: and Philip Jocelyn ceased to go to +Lisford at all, contenting himself with passing almost every fine +morning under the elms at Maudesley. He found that he had a very +intelligent pupil in the banker's daughter: but I think, if Miss Dunbar +had been less intelligent, her instructor would have had patience with +her, and would have still found his best delight beneath the shadow of +those dear old elms. + +What words can paint the equal pleasure of giving and receiving those +lessons, in the art which was loved alike by pupil and master; but which +was so small an element in the happiness of those woodland meetings? +What words can describe Laura's pleading face when she found that the +shadow of a ruined castle wouldn't agree with the castle itself, or that +a row of poplars in the distance insisted on taking that direction which +our transatlantic brothers call "slantindicular?" And then the cutting +of pencils, and crumbling of bread, and searching for mislaid scraps of +India-rubber, and mixing of water-colours, and adjusting of palettes on +the prettiest thumb in Christendom, or the planting a sheaf of brushes +in the dearest little hand that ever trembled when it met the tenderly +timid touch of an amateur drawing-master's fingers;--all these little +offices, so commonplace and wearisome when a hard-worked and poorly-paid +professor performs them for thirty or forty clamorous girls, on a +burning summer afternoon, in a great dust-flavoured schoolroom with bare +curtainless windows, were in this case more delicious than any words of +mine can tell. + +But September and October are autumnal months; and their brightest +sunshine is, after all, only a deceptive radiance when compared to the +full glory of July. The weather grew too cold for the drawing-lessons +under the elms, and there could be no more appointments made between +Miss Dunbar and her enthusiastic instructor. + +"I can't have my young lady ketch cold, Sir Philip, for all the +perspectives in the world," said the faithful Elizabeth. "I spoke to her +par about it only the other day; but, lor'! you may just as well speak +to a post as to Mr. Dunbar. If Miss Laura comes out in the park now, she +must wrap herself up warm, and walk fast, and not go getting the cold +shivers for the sake of drawing a parcel of stumps of trees and +such-like tomfoolery." + +Mrs. Madden made this observation in rather an unpleasant tone of voice +one morning when the baronet pleaded for another drawing-lesson. The +truth of the matter was that Elizabeth Madden felt some slight pangs of +conscience with regard to her own part in this sudden friendship which +had arisen between Laura Dunbar and Philip Jocelyn. She felt that she +had been rather remiss in her duties as duenna, and was angry with +herself. But stronger than this feeling of self-reproach was her +indignation against Sir Philip. + +Why did he not immediately make an offer of his hand to Laura Dunbar? + +Mrs. Madden had expected the young man's proposal every day for the last +few weeks: every day she had been doomed to disappointment. And yet she +was perfectly convinced that Philip Jocelyn loved her young mistress. +The sharp eyes of the matron had fathomed the young man's sentiments +long before Laura Dunbar dared to whisper to herself that she was +beloved. Why, then, did he not propose? Who could be a more fitting +bride for the lord of Jocelyn's Rock than queenly Laura Dunbar, with her +splendid dower of wealth and beauty? + +Full of these ambitious hopes, Elizabeth Madden had played her part of +duenna with such discretion as to give the young people plenty of +opportunity for sweet, half-whispered converse, for murmured +confidences, soft and low as the cooing of turtle-doves. But in all +these conversations no word hinting at an offer of marriage had dropped +from the lips of Philip Jocelyn. + +He was so happy with Laura; so happy in those pleasant meetings under +the Maudesley elms, that no thought of anything so commonplace as a +stereotyped proposal of marriage had a place in his mind. + +Did he love her? Of course he did: more dearly than he had ever before +loved any human creature; except that tender and gentle being, whose +image, vaguely beautiful, was so intermingled with the dreams and +realities of his childhood in that dim period in which it is difficult +to distinguish the shadows of the night from the events of the +day,--that pale and lovely creature whom he had but just learned to call +"mother," when she faded out of his life for ever. + +It was only when the weather grew too cold for out-of-door drawing +lessons that Sir Philip began to think that it was time to contemplate +the very serious business of a proposal. He would have to speak to the +banker, and all that sort of thing, of course, the baronet thought, as +he sat by the fire in the oak-panelled breakfast-room at the Rock, +pulling his thick moustaches reflectively, and staring at the red embers +on the open hearth. The young man idolized Laura; but he did _not_ +particularly affect the society of Henry Dunbar. The millionaire was +very courteous, very conciliating: but there was something in his stiff +politeness, his studied smile, his deliberate speech, something entirely +vague and indefinable, which had the same chilly effect upon Sir +Philip's friendliness, as a cold cellar has on delicate-flavoured port. +The subtle aroma vanished under that dismal influence. + +"He's _her_ father, and I'd kneel down, like the little boys in the +streets, and clean his boots, if he wanted them cleaned, because he is +her father," thought the young man; "and yet, somehow or other, I can't +get on with him." + +No! between the Anglo-Indian banker and Sir Philip Jocelyn there was no +sympathy. They had no tastes in common: or let me rather say, Henry +Dunbar revealed no taste in common with those of the young man whose +highest hope in life was to be his son-in-law. The frank-hearted young +country gentleman tried in vain to conciliate him, or to advance from +the cold out-work of ceremonious acquaintanceship into the inner +stronghold of friendly intercourse. + +But when Sir Philip, after much hesitation and deliberation, presented +himself one morning in the banker's tapestried sitting-room, and +unburdened his heart to that gentleman--stopping every now and then to +stare at the maker's name imprinted upon the lining of his hat, as if +that name had been a magical symbol whence he drew certain auguries by +which he governed his speech--Mr. Dunbar was especially gracious. "Would +he honour Sir Philip by entrusting his daughter's happiness to his +keeping? would he bestow upon Sir Philip the inestimable blessing of +that dear hand? Why, of course he would, provided always that Laura +wished it. In such a matter as this Laura's decision should be supreme. +He never had contemplated interfering in his daughter's bestowal of her +affections: so long as they were not wasted upon an unworthy object. He +wished her to marry whom she pleased; provided that she married an +honest man." + +Mr. Dunbar gave a weary kind of sigh as he said this; but the sigh was +habitual to him, and he apologized for and explained it sometimes by +reference to his liver, which was disordered by five-and-thirty years in +an Indian climate. + +"I wish Laura to marry," he said; "I shall be glad when she has secured +the protection of a good husband." + +Sir Phillip Jocelyn sprang up with his face all a-glow with rapture, and +would fain have seized the banker's hand in token of his gratitude; but +Henry Dunbar waved him off with an authoritative gesture. + +"Good morning, Sir Philip," he said; "I am very poor company, and I +shall be glad to be alone with the _Times_. You young men don't +appreciate the _Times_. You want your newspapers filled with +prize-fighting and boat-racing, and the last gossip from 'the Corner.' +You'll find Miss Dunbar in the blue drawing-room. Speak to her as soon +as you please; and let me know the result of the interview." + +It is not often that the heiress of a million or thereabouts is quite so +readily disposed of. Sir Philip Jocelyn walked on air as he quitted the +banker's apartments. + +"Who ever would have thought that he was such a delicious old brick?" he +thought. "I expected any quantity of cold water; and instead of that, he +sends me straight to my darling with _carte blanche_ to go in and win, +if I can. If I can! Suppose Laura doesn't love me, after all. Suppose +she's only a beautiful coquette, who likes to see men go mad for love of +her. And yet I won't think that; I won't be down-hearted; I won't +believe she's anything but what she seems--an angel of purity and +truth." + +But, spite of his belief in Laura's truth, the young baronet's courage +was very low when he went into the blue drawing-room, and found Miss +Dunbar seated in a deep embayed window, with the sunshine lighting up +her hair and gleaming amongst the folds of her violet silk dress. She +had been drawing; but her sketching apparatus lay idle on the little +table by her side, and one listless hand hung down upon her dress, with +a pencil held loosely between the slender fingers. She was looking +straight before her, out upon the sunlit lawn, all gorgeous with +flaunting autumn flowers; and there was something dreamy, not to say +pensive, in the attitude of her drooping head. + +But she started presently at the sound of that manly footstep; the +pencil dropped from between her idle fingers, and she rose and turned +towards the intruder. The beautiful face was in shadow as she turned +away from the window; but no shadow could hide its sudden brightness, +the happy radiance which lit up that candid countenance, as Miss Dunbar +recognized her visitor. + +The lover thought that one look more precious than Jocelyn's Rock, and a +baronetcy that dated from the days of England's first Stuarts--that one +glorious smile, which melted away in a moment, and gave place to bright +maidenly blushes, fresh and beautiful as the dewy heart of an +old-fashioned cabbage-rose gathered at sunrise. + +That one smile was enough. Philip Jocelyn was no cox-comb, but he knew +all at once that he was beloved, and that very few words were needed. A +great many were said, nevertheless; and I do not think two happier +people ever sat side by side in the late autumn sunshine than those two, +who lingered in the deep embayed window till the sun was low in the rosy +western sky, and told Philip Jocelyn that his visit to Maudesley Abbey +had very much exceeded the limits of a morning call. + +So Philip Jocelyn was accepted. Early the next morning he called again +upon Mr. Dunbar, and begged that an early date might be chosen for the +wedding. The banker assented willingly enough to the proposition. + +"Let the marriage take place in the first week in November," he said. "I +am tired of living at Maudesley, and I want to get away to the +Continent. Of course I must remain here to be present at my daughter's +wedding." + +Philip Jocelyn was only too glad to receive this permission to hurry the +day of the ceremonial. He went at once to Laura, and told her what Mr. +Dunbar had said. Mrs. Madden was indignant at this unceremonious manner +of arranging matters. + +"Where's my young lady's _trussaw_ to be got at a moment's notice, I +should like to know? A deal you gentlemen know about such things. It's +no use talking, my lord, there ain't a dressmaker livin' as would +undertake the wedding-clothes for baronet's lady in little better than a +month." + +But Mrs. Madden's objections were speedily overruled. To tell the truth, +the honest-hearted creature was very much pleased to find that her young +lady was going to be a baronet's wife, after all. She forgot all about +her old favourite, Arthur Lovell, and set herself to work to expedite +that most important matter of the wedding-garments. A man came down +express from Howell and James's to Maudesley Abbey, with a bundle of +patterns; and silks and velvets, gauzes and laces, and almost every +costly fabric that was made, were ordered for Miss Dunbar's equipment. +West-end dressmakers were communicated with. A French milliner, who +looked like a lady of fashion, arrived one morning at Maudesley Abbey, +and for a couple of hours poor Laura had to endure the slow agony of +"trying on," while Mrs. Madden and Dora Macmahon discussed all the +colours in the rainbow, and a great many new shades and combinations of +colour, invented by aspiring French chemists. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A NEW LIFE. + + +For the first time in her life, Margaret Wilmot knew what it was to have +friends, real and earnest friends, who interested themselves in her +welfare, and were bent upon securing her happiness; and I must admit +that in this particular case there was something more than +friendship--something holier and higher in its character--the pure and +unselfish love of an honourable man. + +Clement Austin, the cashier at Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby's +Anglo-Indian banking-house, had fallen in love with the modest +hazel-eyed music-mistress, and had set himself to work to watch her, and +to find out all about her, long before he was conscious of the real +nature of his feelings. + +He had begun by pitying her. He had pitied her because of her hard life, +her loneliness, her beauty, which doubtless exposed her to many dangers +that would have been spared to a plain woman. + +Now, when a man allows himself to pity a very pretty girl, he places +himself on a moral tight-rope; and he must be a moral Blondin if he +expects to walk with any safety upon the narrow line which alone divides +him from the great abyss called love. + +There are not many Blondins, either physical or intellectual; and the +consequence is, that nine out of ten of the gentlemen who place +themselves in this perilous position find the narrow line very slippery, +and, before they have gone twenty paces, plunge overboard plump to the +very bottom of the abyss, and are over head and ears in love before they +know where they are. + +Clement Austin fell in love with Margaret Wilmot; and his tender regard, +his respectful devotion, were very new and sweet to the lonely girl. It +would have been strange, then, under such circumstances, if his love had +been hopeless. + +He was in no very great hurry to declare himself; for he had a powerful +ally in his mother, who adored her son, and would have allowed him to +bring home a young negress, or a North American squaw, to the maternal +hearth, if such a bride had been necessary to his happiness. + +Mrs. Austin very speedily discovered her son's secret; for he had taken +little pains to conceal his feelings from the indulgent mother who had +been his confidante ever since his first boyish loves at a Clapham +seminary, within whose sacred walls he had been admitted on Tuesdays and +Fridays to learn dancing in the delightful society of five-and-thirty +young ladies. + +Mrs. Austin confessed that she would rather her son had chosen some +damsel who could lay claim to greater worldly advantages than those +possessed by the young music-mistress; but when Clement looked +disappointed, the good soul's heart melted all in a moment, and she +declared, that if Margaret was only as good as she was pretty, and truly +attached to her dear noble-hearted boy, she (Mrs. Austin) would ask no +more. + +It happened fortunately that she knew nothing of Joseph Wilmot's +antecedents, or of the letter addressed to Norfolk Island; or perhaps +she might have made very strong objections to a match between her son +and a young lady whose father had spent a considerable part of his life +in a penal settlement. + +"We will tell my mother nothing of the past, Miss Wilmot," Clement +Austin said, "except that which concerns yourself alone. Let the history +of your unhappy father's life remain a secret between you and me. My +mother is very fond of you; I should be sorry, therefore, if she heard +anything to shock her prejudices. I wish her to love you better every +day." + +Clement Austin had his wish; for the kind-hearted widow grew every day +more and more attached to Margaret Wilmot. She discovered that the girl +had more than an ordinary talent for music; and she proposed that +Margaret should take a prettily furnished first-floor in a +pleasant-looking detached house, half cottage, half villa, at Clapham, +and at once set to work as a teacher of the piano. + +"I can get you plenty of pupils, my dear," Mrs. Austin said; "for I have +lived here more than thirty years--ever since Clement's birth, in +fact--and I know almost everybody in the neighbourhood. You have only to +teach upon moderate terms, and the people will be glad to send their +children to you. I shall give a little evening party, on purpose that my +friend may hear you play." + +So Mrs. Austin gave her evening party, and Margaret appeared in a simple +black-silk dress that had been in her wardrobe for a long time, and +which would have seemed very shabby in the glaring light of day. The +wearer of it looked very pretty and elegant, however, by the light of +Mrs. Austin's wax-candles; and the aristocracy of Clapham remarked that +the "young person" whom Mrs. Austin and her son had "taken up" was +really rather nice-looking. + +But when Margaret played and sang, people were charmed in spite of +themselves. She had a superb contralto voice, rich, deep, and melodious; +and she played with brilliancy, and, what is much rarer, with +expression. + +Mrs. Austin, going backwards and forwards amongst her guests to +ascertain the current of opinions, found that her protegee's success was +an accomplished fact before the evening was over. + +Margaret took the new apartments in the course of the week; and before a +fortnight had passed, she had secured more than a dozen pupils, who gave +her ample employment for her time; and who enabled her to earn more than +enough for her simple wants. + +Every Sunday she dined with Mrs. Austin. Clement had persuaded his +mother to make this arrangement a settled thing; although as yet he had +said nothing of his growing love for Margaret. + +Those Sundays were pleasant days to Clement and the girl whom he hoped +to win for his wife. + +The comfortable elegance of Mrs. Austin's drawing-room, the peaceful +quiet of the Sabbath-evening, when the curtains were drawn before the +bay-window, and the shaded lamp brought into the room; the intellectual +conversation; the pleasant talk about new books and music: all were new +and delightful to Margaret. + +This was her first experience of a home, a real home, in which there was +nothing but union and content; no overshadowing fear, no horrible +unspoken dread, no half-guessed secrets always gnawing at the heart. But +in all this new comfort Margaret Wilmot had not forgotten Henry Dunbar. +She had not ceased to believe him guilty of her father's murder. Calm +and gentle in her outward demeanour, she kept her secret buried in her +breast, and asked for no sympathy. + +Clement Austin had given her his best attention, his best advice; but it +all amounted to nothing. The different scraps of evidence that hinted at +Henry Dunbar's guilt were not strong enough to condemn him. The cashier +communicated with the detective police, who had been watching the case; +but they only shook their heads gravely, and dismissed him with their +thanks for his information. There was nothing in what he had to tell +them that could implicate Mr. Dunbar. + +"A gentleman with a million of money doesn't put himself in the power of +the hangman unless he's very hard pushed," said the detective. "The +motive's what you must look to in these cases, sir. Now, where's Mr. +Dunbar's motive for murdering this man Wilmot?" + +"The secret that Joseph Wilmot possessed----" + +"Bah, my dear sir! Henry Dunbar could afford to buy all the secrets that +ever were kept. Secrets are like every other sort of article: they're +only kept to sell. Good morning." + +After this, Clement Austin told Margaret that he could be of no use to +her. The dead man must rest in his grave: there was little hope that the +mystery of his fate would ever be fathomed by human intelligence. + +But Margaret Wilmot did not cease to remember Mr. Dunbar She only +waited. + +One resolution was always uppermost in her mind, even when she was +happiest with her new friends. She would see Henry Dunbar. In spite of +his obstinate determination to avoid an interview with her, she would +see him: and then, when she had gained her purpose, and stood face to +face with him, she would boldly denounce him as her father's murderer. +If then he did not flinch or falter, if she saw innocence in his face, +she would cease to doubt him, she would be content to believe that +Joseph Wilmot had met his untimely death from a stranger's hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE STEEPLE-CHASE. + + +After considerable discussion, it was settled that Laura Dunbar's +wedding should take place upon the 7th of November. It was to be a very +quiet wedding. The banker had especially impressed that condition upon +his daughter. His health was entirely broken, and he would assist in no +splendid ceremonial to which half the county would be invited. If Laura +wanted bridesmaids, she might have Dora Macmahon and any particular +friend who lived in the neighbourhood. There was to be no fuss, no +publicity. Marriage was a very solemn business, Mr. Dunbar said, and it +would be as well for his daughter to be undisturbed by any pomp or +gaiety on her wedding-day. So the marriage was appointed to take place +on the 7th, and the arrangements were to be as simple as the +circumstances of the bride would admit. Sir Philip was quite willing +that it should be so. He was much too happy to take objection to any +such small matters. He only wanted the sacred words to be spoken which +made Laura Dunbar his own for ever and for ever. He wanted to take her +away to the southern regions, where he had travelled so gaily in his +careless bachelor days, where he would be so supremely happy now with +his bright young bride by his side. Fortune, who certainly spoils some +of her children, had been especially beneficent to this young man. She +had given him so many of her best gifts, and had bestowed upon him, over +and above, the power to enjoy her favours. + +It happened that the 6th of November was a day which, some time since, +Philip Jocelyn would have considered the most important, if not the +happiest, day of the year. It was the date of the Shorncliffe +steeple-chases, and the baronet had engaged himself early in the +preceding spring to ride his thorough-bred mare Guinevere, for a certain +silver cup, subscribed for by the officers stationed at the Shorncliffe +barracks. + +Philip Jocelyn looked forward to this race with a peculiar interest, for +it was to be the last he would ever ride--the very last: he had given +this solemn promise to Laura, who had in vain tried to persuade him +against even this race. She was brave enough upon ordinary occasions; +but she loved her betrothed husband too dearly to be brave on this. + +"I know it's very foolish of me, Philip," she said, "but I can't help +being frightened. I can't help thinking of all the accidents I've ever +heard of, or read of. I've dreamt of the race ever so many times, +Philip. Oh, if you would only give it up for my sake!" + +"My darling, my pet, is there anything I would not do for your sake that +I could do in honour? But I can't do this, Laura dearest. You see I'm +all right myself, and the mare's in splendid condition;--well, you saw +her take her trial gallop the other morning, and you must know she's a +flyer, so I won't talk about her. My name was entered for this race six +months ago, you know, dear; and there are lots of small farmers and +country people who have speculated their money on me; and they'd all +lose, poor fellows, if I hung back at the last. You don't know what +play-or-pay bets are, Laura dear. There's nothing in the world I +wouldn't do for your sake; but my backers are poor people, and I can't +put them in a hole. I must ride, Laura, and ride to win, too." + +Miss Dunbar knew what this last phrase meant, and she conjured up the +image of her lover flying across country on that fiery chestnut mare, +whose reputation was familiar to almost every man, woman, and child in +Warwickshire: but whatever her fears might be, she was obliged to be +satisfied with her lover's promise that this should be his last +steeple-chase. + +The day came at last, a pale November day, mild but not sunny. The sky +was all of one equal grey tint, and seemed to hang only a little way +above the earth. The caps and jackets of the gentleman riders made spots +of colour against that uniform grey sky; and the dresses of the ladies +in the humble wooden structure which did duty as a grand stand, +brightened the level landscape. + +The course formed a long oval, and extended over three or four meadows, +and crossed a country lane. It was a tolerably flat course; but the +leaps, though roughly constructed, were rather formidable. Laura had +been over all the ground with her lover on the previous day, and had +looked fearfully at the high ragged hedges, and the broad ditches of +muddy water. But Philip only made light of her fears, and told her the +leaps were nothing, scarcely worthy of the chestnut mare's powers. + +The course was not crowded, but there was a considerable sprinkling of +spectators on each side of the rope--soldiers from the Shorncliffe +barracks, country people, and loiterers of all kinds. There were a +couple of drags, crowded with the officers and their friends, who +clustered in all manner of perilous positions on the roof, and consumed +unlimited champagne, bitter beer, and lobster-salad, in the pauses +between the races. A single line of carriages extended for some little +distance opposite the grand stand. The scene was gay and pleasant, as a +race-ground always must be, even though it were in the wildest regions +of the New World; but it was very quiet as compared to Epsom Downs or +the open heath at Ascot. + +Conspicuous amongst the vehicles there was a close carriage drawn by a +pair of magnificent bays--an equipage which was only splendid in the +perfection of its appointments. It was a clarence, with dark +subdued-looking panels, only ornamented by a vermilion crest. The +liveries of the servants were almost the simplest upon the course; but +the powdered heads of the men, and an indescribable something in their +style, distinguished them from the country-bred coachmen and hobbledehoy +pages in attendance on the other carriages. + +Almost every one on the course knew that crest of an armed hand clasping +a battle-axe, and knew that it belonged to Henry Dunbar. The banker +appeared so very seldom in public that there was always a kind of +curiosity about him when he did show himself; and between the races, +people who were strolling upon the ground contrived to approach very +near the carriage in which the master of Maudesley Abbey sat, wrapped in +Cashmere shawls, and half-hidden under a great fur rug, in legitimate +Indian fashion. + +He had consented to appear upon the racecourse in compliance with his +daughter's most urgent entreaties. She wanted him to be near her. She +had some vague idea that he might be useful in the event of any accident +happening to Philip Jocelyn. He might help her. It would be some +consolation, some support to have him with her. He might be able to do +something. Her father had yielded to her entreaties with a very +tolerable grace, and he was here; but having conceded so much, he seemed +to have done all that his frigid nature was capable of doing. He took no +interest in the business of the day, but lounged far back in the +carriage, and complained very much of the cold. + +The vehicle had been drawn close up to the boundary of the course, and +Laura sat at the open window, pale and anxious, straining her eyes +towards the weighing-house and the paddock, the little bit of enclosed +ground where the horses were saddled. She could see the gentleman riders +going in and out, and the one rider on whose safety her happiness +depended, muffled in his greatcoat, and very busy and animated amongst +his grooms and helpers. Everybody knew who Miss Dunbar was, and that she +was going to be married to the young baronet; and people looked with +interest at that pale face, keeping such anxious watch at the +carriage-window. I am speaking now of the simple country people, for +whom a race meant a day's pleasure. There were people on the other side +of the course who cared very little for Miss Dunbar or her anxiety; who +would have cared as little if the handsome young baronet had rolled upon +the sward, crushed to death under the weight of his chestnut mare, so +long as they themselves were winners by the event. In the little +enclosure below the grand stand the betting men--that strange fraternity +which appears on every racecourse from Berwick-on-Tweed to the +Land's-End, from the banks of the Shannon to the smooth meads of +pleasant Normandy--were gathered thick, and the talk was loud about Sir +Philip and his competitors. + +Among the men who were ready to lay against anything, and were most +unpleasantly vociferous in the declaration of their readiness, there was +one man who was well known to the humbler class of bookmen with whom he +associated, who was known to speculate upon very small capital, but who +had never been known as a defaulter. The knowing ones declared this man +worthy to rank high amongst the best of them; but no one knew where he +lived, or what he was. He was rarely known to miss a race; and he was +conspicuous amongst the crowd in those mysterious purlieus where the +plebeian bookmen, who are unworthy to enter the sacred precincts of +Tattersall's, mostly do congregate, in utter defiance of the police. No +one had ever heard the name of this man; but in default of any more +particular cognomen, they had christened him the Major; because in his +curt manners, his closely buttoned-up coat, tightly-strapped trousers, +and heavy moustache, there was a certain military flavour, which had +given rise to the rumour that the unknown had in some remote period been +one of the defenders of his country. Whether he had enlisted as a +private, and had been bought-off by his friends; whether he had borne +the rank of an officer, and had sold his commission, or had been +cashiered, or had deserted, or had been drummed-out of his regiment,--no +one pretended to say. People called him the Major; and wherever he +appeared, the Major made himself conspicuous by means of a very tall +white hat, with a broad black crape band round it. + +He was tall himself, and the hat made him seem taller. His clothes were +very shabby, with that peculiar shiny shabbiness which makes a man look +as if he had been oiled all over, and then rubbed into a high state of +polish. He wore a greenish-brown greatcoat with a poodle collar, and was +supposed to have worn the same for the last ten years. Round his neck, +be the weather ever so sultry, he wore a comforter of rusty worsted that +had once been scarlet, and above this comforter appeared his nose, which +was a prominent aquiline. Nobody ever saw much more of the Major than +his nose and his moustache. His hat came low down over his forehead, +which was itself low, and a pair of beetle brows, of a dense +purple-black, were faintly visible in the shadow of the brim. He never +took off his hat in the presence of his fellow-men; and as he never +encountered the fair sex, except in the person of the barmaid at a +sporting public, he was not called upon to unbonnet himself in +ceremonious obeisance to lovely woman. He was eminently a mysterious +man, and seemed to enjoy himself in the midst of the cloud of mystery +which surrounded him. + +The Major had inspected the starters for the great event of the day, and +had sharply scrutinized the gentleman riders as they went in and out of +the paddock. He was so well satisfied with the look of Sir Philip +Jocelyn, and the chestnut mare Guinevere, that he contented himself with +laying the odds against all the other horses, and allowed the baronet +and the chestnut to run for him. He asked a few questions presently +about Sir Philip, who had taken off his greatcoat by this time, and +appeared in all the glory of a scarlet satin jacket and a black velvet +cap. A Warwickshire farmer, who had found his way in among the knowing +ones, informed the Major that Sir Philip Jocelyn was going to be married +to Miss Dunbar, only daughter and sole heiress of the great Mr. Dunbar. + +The great Mr. Dunbar! The Major, usually so imperturbable, gave a little +start at the mention of the banker's name. + +"What Mr. Dunbar?" he asked. + +"The banker. Him as come home from the Indies last August." + +The Major gave a long low whistle; but he asked no further question of +the farmer. He had a memorandum-book in his hand--a greasy and +grimy-looking little volume, whose pages he was wont to study profoundly +from time to time, and in which he jotted down all manner of queer +hieroglyphics with half an inch of fat lead-pencil. He relapsed into the +contemplation of this book now; but he muttered to himself ever and anon +in undertones, and his mutterings had relation to Henry Dunbar. + +"It's him," he muttered; "that's lucky. I read all about that Winchester +business in the Sunday papers. I've got it all at my fingers'-ends, and +I don't see why I shouldn't make a trifle out of it. I don't see why I +shouldn't win a little money upon Henry Dunbar. I'll have a look at my +gentleman presently, when the race is over." + +The bell rang, and the seven starters went off with a rush; four +abreast, and three behind. Sir Philip was among the four foremost +riders, keeping the chestnut well in hand, and biding his time very +quietly. This was his last race, and he had set his heart upon winning. +Laura leaned out of the carriage-window, pale and breathless, with a +powerful race-glass in her hand. She watched the riders as they swept +round the curve in the course. Then they disappeared, and the few +minutes during which they were out of sight seemed an age to that +anxious watcher. The people run away to see them take the double leap in +the lane, and then come trooping back again, panting and eager, as three +of the riders appear again round another bend of the course. + +The scarlet leads this time. The honest country people hurrah for the +master of Jocelyn's Rock. Have they not put their money upon him, and +are they not proud of him?--proud of his handsome face, which, amid all +its easy good-nature, has a certain dash of hauteur that befits one who +has a sprinkling of the blood of Saxon kings in his veins; proud of his +generous heart, which beats with a thousand kindly impulses towards his +fellow-men. They shout aloud as he flies past them, the long stride of +the chestnut skimming over the ground, and spattering fragments of torn +grass and ploughed-up earth about him as he goes. Laura sees the scarlet +jacket rise for a moment against the low grey sky, and then fly onward, +and that is about all she sees of the dreaded leap which she had looked +at in fear and trembling the day before. Her heart is still beating with +a strange vague terror, when her lover rides quietly past the stand, and +the people about her cry out that the race has been nobly won. The other +riders come in very slowly, and are oppressed by that indescribable air +of sheepishness which is peculiar to gentleman jockeys when they do not +win. + +The girl's eyes fill suddenly with tears, and she leans back in the +carriage, glad to hide her happy face from the crowd. + +Ten minutes afterwards Sir Philip Jocelyn came across the course with a +great silver-gilt cup in his arms, and surrounded by an admiring throng, +amongst whom he had just emptied his purse. + +"I've brought you the cup, Laura; and I want you to be pleased with my +victory. It's the last triumph of my bachelor days, you know, darling." + +"Three cheers for Miss Dunbar!" shouted some adventurous spirit among +the crowd about the baronet. + +In the next moment the cry was taken up, and two or three hundred voices +joined in a loud hurrah for the banker's daughter. The poor girl drew +back into the carriage, blushing and frightened. + +"Don't mind them, Laura dear," Sir Philip said; "they mean well, you +know, and they look upon me as public property. Hadn't you better give +them a bow, Mr. Dunbar?" he added, in an undertone to the banker. "It'll +please them, I know." + +Mr. Dunbar frowned, but he bent forward for a moment, and, leaning his +head a little way out of the window, made a stately acknowledgment of +the people's enthusiasm. As he did so, his eyes met those of the Major, +who had crossed the course with Sir Philip and his admirers, and who was +staring straight before him at the banker's carriage. Henry Dunbar drew +back immediately after making that very brief salute to the populace. +"Tell them to drive home, Sir Philip," he said. "The people mean well, I +dare say; but I hate these popular demonstrations. There's something to +be done about the settlements, by-the-bye; you'd better dine at the +Abbey this evening. John Lovell will be there to meet you." + +The carriage drove away; and though the Major pushed his way through the +crowd pretty rapidly, he was too late to witness its departure. He was +in a very good temper, however, for he had won what his companions +called a hatful of money on the steeple-chase, and he stood to win on +other races that were to come off that afternoon. During the interval +that elapsed before the next race, he talked to a sociable bystander +about Sir Philip Jocelyn, and the young lady he was going to marry. He +ascertained that the wedding was to take place the next morning, and at +Lisford church. + +"In that case," thought the Major, as he went back to the ring, "I +shall sleep at Lisford to-night; I shall make Lisford my quarters for +the present, and I shall follow up Henry Dunbar." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON. + + +There was no sunshine upon Laura Dunbar's wedding morning. The wintry +sky was low and dark, as if the heavens had been coming gradually down +to crush this wicked earth. The damp fog, the slow, drizzling rain shut +out the fair landscape upon which the banker's daughter had been wont to +look from the pleasant cushioned seat in the deep bay-window of her +dressing-room. + +The broad lawn was soddened by that perpetual rain. The incessant +rain-drops dripped from the low branches of the black spreading cedars +of Lebanon; the smooth beads of water ran off the shining laurel-leaves; +the rhododendrons, the feathery furze, the glistening +arbutus--everything was obscured by that cruel rain. + +The water gushed out of the quaint dragons' mouths, ranged along the +parapet of the Abbey roof; it dripped from every stone coping and +abutment; from window-ledge and porch, from gable-end and sheltering +ivy. The rain was everywhere, and the incessant pitter-patter of the +drops beating against the windows of the Abbey made a dismal sound, +scarcely less unpleasant to hear than the perpetual lamentation of the +winds, which to-day had the sound of human voices; now moaning drearily, +with a long, low, wailing murmur, now shrieking in the shrilly tones of +an angry vixen. + +Laura Dunbar gave a long discontented sigh as she seated herself at her +favourite bay-window, and looked out at the dripping trees upon the lawn +below. + +She was a petted heiress, remember, and the world had gone so smoothly +with her hitherto, that perhaps she scarcely endured calamity or +contradiction with so good a grace as she might have done had she been a +little nearer perfection. She was hardly better than a child as yet, +with all a child's ignorant hopefulness and blind trust in the unknown +future. She was a pampered child, and she expected to have life made +very smooth for her. + +"What a horribly dismal morning!" Miss Dunbar exclaimed. "Did you ever +see anything like it, Elizabeth?" + +Mrs. Madden was bustling about, arranging her young mistress's breakfast +upon a little table near the blazing fire. Laura had just emerged from +her bath room, and had put on a loose dressing-gown of wadded blue silk, +prior to the grand ceremonial of the wedding toilet, which was not to +take place until after breakfast. + +I think Miss Dunbar looked lovelier in this _deshabille_ than many a +bride in her lace and orange-blossoms. The girl's long golden hair, wet +from the bath, hung in rippling confusion about her fresh young face. +Two little feet, carelessly thrust into blue morocco slippers, peeped +out from amongst the folds of Miss Dunbar's dressing-gown, and one +coquettish scarlet heel tapped impatiently upon the floor as the young +lady watched that provoking rain. + +"What a wretched morning!" she said. + +"Well, Miss Laura, it is rather wet," replied Mrs. Madden, in a +conciliating tone. + +"Rather wet!" echoed Laura, with an air of vexation; "I should think it +was _rather_ wet, indeed. It's miserably wet; it's horribly wet. To +think that the frost should have lasted very nearly three weeks, and +then must needs break up on my wedding morning. Did ever anybody know +anything so provoking?" + +"Lor', Miss Laura," rejoined the sympathetic Madden, "there's all manner +of provoking things allus happenin' in this blessed, wicked, rampagious +world of ours; only such young ladies as you don't often come across +'em. Talk of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Miss Laura; I +do think as you must have come into this mortal spear with a whole +service of gold plate. And don't you fret your precious heart, my +blessed Miss Laura, if the rain _is_ contrairy. I dare say the clerk of +the weather is one of them rampagin' radicals that's allus a goin' on +about the bloated aristocracy, and he's done it a purpose to aggeravate +you. But what's a little rain more or less to you, Miss Laura, when +you've got more carriages to ride in than if you was a princess in a +fairy tale, which I think the Princess Baltroubadore, or whatever her +hard name was, in the story of Aladdin, must have had no carriage +whatever, or she wouldn't have gone walkin' to the baths. Never you mind +the rain, Miss Laura." + +"But it's a bad omen, isn't it, Elizabeth?" asked Laura Dunbar. "I seem +to remember some old rhyme about the bride that the sun shines on, and +the bride that the rain rains on." + +"Laws, Miss Laura, you don't mean to say as you'd bemean yourself by +taking any heed of such low rubbish as that?" exclaimed Mrs. Madden; +"why, such stupid rhymes as them are only made for vulgar people that +have the banns put up in the parish church. A deal it matters to such as +you, Miss Laura, if all the cats and dogs as ever was come down out of +the heavens this blessed day." + +But though honest-hearted Elizabeth Madden did her best to comfort her +young mistress after her own simple fashion, she was not herself +altogether satisfied. + +The low, brooding sky, the dark and murky atmosphere, and that +monotonous rain would have gone far to depress the spirits of the gayest +reveller in all the universe. + +In spite of ourselves, we are the slaves of atmospheric influences; and +we cannot feel very light-hearted or happy upon black wintry days, when +the lowering heavens seem to frown upon our hopes; when, in the +darkening of the earthly prospect, we fancy that we see a shadowy +curtain closing round an unknown future. + +Laura felt something of this; for she said, by-and-by, half impatiently, +half mournfully,-- + +"What is the matter with me, Elizabeth. Has all the world changed since +yesterday? When I drove home with papa, after the races yesterday, +everything upon earth seemed so bright and beautiful. Such an +overpowering sense of joy was in my heart, that I could scarcely believe +it was winter, and that it was only the fading November sunshine that +lit up the sky. All my future life seemed spread before me, like an +endless series of beautiful pictures--pictures in which I could see +Philip and myself, always together, always happy. To-day, to-day, oh! +_how_ different everything is!" exclaimed Laura, with a little shudder. +"The sky that shuts in the lawn yonder seems to shut in my life with it. +I can't look forward. If I was going to be parted from Philip to-day, +instead of married to him, I don't think I could feel more miserable +than I feel now. Why is it, Elizabeth, dear?" + +"My goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Madden, "how should I tell, my +precious pet? You talk just like a poetry-book, and how can I answer you +unless I was another poetry-book? Come and have your breakfast, do, +that's a dear sweet love, and try a new-laid egg. New-laid eggs is good +for the spirits, my poppet." + +Laura Dunbar seated herself in the comfortable arm-chair between the +fireplace and the little breakfast-table. She made a sort of pretence at +eating, just to please her old nurse, who fidgeted about the room; now +stopping by Laura's chair, and urging her to take this, that, or the +other; now running to the dressing-table to make some new arrangement +about the all-important wedding-toilet; now looking out of the window +and perjuring her simple soul by declaring that "it"--namely, the winter +sky--was going to clear up. + +"It's breaking up above the elms yonder, Miss Laura," Elizabeth said; +"there's a bit of blue peepin' through the clouds; leastways, if it +ain't quite blue, it's a much lighter black than the rest of the sky, +and that's something. Eat a bit of Perrigorge pie, or a thin wafer of a +slice off that Strasbog 'am, Miss Laura, do now. You'll be ready to drop +with feelin' faint when you get to the altar-rails, if you persist on +bein' married on a empty stummick, Miss Laura. It's a moriel impossible +as you can look your best, my precious love, if you enter the church in +a state of starvation, just like one of them respectable beggars wot +pins a piece of paper on their weskits with 'I AM HUNGRY' wrote upon it +in large hand, and stands at the foot of one of the bridges on the +Surrey side of the water. And I shouldn't think as you would wish to +look like _that_, Miss Laura, on your wedding-day? _I_ shouldn't if _I_ +was goin' to be own wife to a baronet!" + +Laura Dunbar took very little notice of her nurse's rambling discourse; +and I am fain to confess that, upon this occasion, Mrs. Madden talked +rather more for the sake of talking than from any overflow of animal +spirits. + +The good creature felt the influence of the cold, wet, cheerless morning +quite as keenly as her mistress. Mrs. Madden was superstitious, as most +ignorant and simple-minded people generally are, more or less. +Superstition is, after all, only a dim, unconscious poetry, which is +latent in most natures, except in such very hard practical minds as are +incapable of believing in anything--not even in Heaven itself. + +Dora Macmahon came in presently, looking very pretty in blue silk and +white lace. She looked very happy, in spite of the bad weather, and Miss +Dunbar suffered herself to be comforted by her half-sister. The two +girls sat at the table by the fire, and breakfasted, or pretended to +breakfast, together. Who could really attend to the common business of +eating and drinking on such a day as this? + +"I've just been to see Lizzie and Ellen," Dora said, presently; "they +wouldn't come in here till they were dressed, and they've had their hair +screwed up in hair-pins all night to make it wave, and now it's a wet +day their hair won't wave after all, and their maid's going to pinch it +with the fire-irons--the tongs, I suppose." + +Miss Macmahon had brown hair, with a natural ripple in it, and could +afford to laugh at beauty that was obliged to adorn itself by means of +hair-pins and tongs. + +Lizzie and Ellen were the daughters of a Major Melville, and the special +friends of Miss Dunbar. They had come to Maudesley to act as her +bridesmaids, according to that favourite promise which young ladies so +often make to each other, and so very often break. + +Laura did not appear to take much interest in the Miss Melvilles' hair. +She was very meditative about something; but her meditations must have +been of a pleasant nature, for there was a smile upon her face. + +"Dora," she said, by-and-by, "do you know I've been thinking about +something?" + +"About what, dear?" + +"Don't you know that old saying about one wedding making many?" + +Dora Macmahon blushed. + +"What of that, Laura dear?" she asked, very innocently. + +"I've been thinking that perhaps another wedding may follow mine. Oh, +Dora, I can't help saying it, I should be so happy if Arthur Lovell and +you were to marry." + +Miss Macmahon blushed a much deeper red than before. + +"Oh, Laura," she said, "that's quite impossible." + +But Miss Dunbar shook her head. + +"I shall live in the hope of it, notwithstanding," she said. "I love +Arthur almost as much--or perhaps quite as much, as if he were my +brother--so it isn't strange that I should wish to see him married to my +sister." + +The two girls might have sat talking for some time longer, but they were +interrupted by Miss Dunbar's old nurse, who never for a moment lost +sight of the serious business of the day. + +"It's all very well for you to sit there jabber, jabber, jabber, Miss +Dora," exclaimed the unceremonious Elizabeth; "you're dressed, all but +your bonnet. You've only just to pop that on, and there you are. But my +young lady isn't half dressed yet. And now, come along, Miss Laura, and +have your hair done, if you mean to have any back-hair at all to-day. +It's past nine o'clock, and you're to be at the church at eleven." + +"And papa is to give me away!" murmured Laura, in a low voice, as she +seated herself before the dressing-table. "I wish he loved me better." + +"Perhaps, if he loved you too well, he'd keep you, instead of giving you +away, Miss Laura," observed Mrs. Madden, with evident enjoyment of her +own wit; "and I don't suppose you'd care about that, would you, miss? +Hold your head still, that's a precious darling, and don't you trouble +yourself about anything except looking your very best this day." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING. + + +The wedding was to take place in Lisford church--that pretty, quaint, +old church of which I have already spoken. + +The wandering Avon flowed through this rustic churchyard, along a +winding channel fringed by tall, trembling rushes. There was a wooden +bridge across the river, and there were two opposite entrances to the +churchyard. Pedestrians who chose the shortest route between Lisford and +Shorncliffe went in at one gate and out at another, which opened on to +the high-road. + +The worthy inhabitants of Lisford were almost as much distressed by the +unpromising aspect of the sky as Laura Dunbar and her faithful nurse +themselves. New bonnets had been specially prepared for this festive +occasion. Chrysanthemums and dahlias, gay-looking China-asters, and all +the lingering flowers that light up the early winter landscape, had been +collected to strew the pathway beneath the bride's pretty feet. All the +brightest evergreens in the Lisford gardens had been gathered as a +fitting sacrifice for the "young lady from the Abbey." + +Laura Dunbar's frank good-nature and reckless generosity were well +remembered upon this occasion; and every creature in Lisford was bent +upon doing her honour. + +But this aggravating rain balked everybody. What was the use of throwing +wet dahlias and flabby chrysanthemums into the puddles through which the +bride must tread, heiress though she was? How miserable would be the +aspect of two rows of damp charity children, with red noses and no +pocket-handkerchiefs! The rector himself had a cold in his head, and +would be obliged to omit all the _n_'s and _m_'s in the marriage +service. + +In short, everybody felt that the Abbey wedding was destined to be more +or less a failure. It seemed very hard that the chief partner in the +firm of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby could not, with all his wealth, buy +a little glimmer of sunshine to light up his daughter's wedding. It grew +so dark and foggy towards eleven o'clock, that a dozen or so of +wax-candles were hastily stuck about the neighbourhood of the altar, in +order that the bride and bridegroom might be able, each of them, to see +the person that he or she was taking for better or worse. + +Yes, the dismal weather made everything dismal in unison with itself. A +wet wedding is like a wet pic-nic. The most heroic nature gives way +before its utter desolation; the wit of the party forgets his best +anecdote; the funny man breaks down in the climactic verse of his great +buffo song; there is no brightness in the eyes of the beauty; there is +neither sparkle nor flavour in the champagne, though the grapes thereof +have been grown in the vineyards of Widow Cliquot herself. + +There are some things that are more powerful than emperors, and the +atmosphere is one of them. Alexander might conquer nations in very +sport; but I question whether he could have resisted the influence of a +wet day. + +Of all the people who were to assist at Sir Philip Jocelyn's wedding, +perhaps the father of the bride was the person who seemed least affected +by that drizzling rain, that hopelessly-black sky. + +If Henry Dunbar was grave and silent to-day, why that was nothing new: +for he was always grave and silent. If the banker's manner was stern and +moody to-day, that stern moodiness was habitual to him: and there was no +need to blame the murky heavens for any change in his temper. He sat by +the broad fireplace watching the burning coals, and waiting until he +should be summoned to take his place by his daughter's side in the +carriage that was to convey them both to Lisford church; and he did not +utter one word of complaint about that aggravating weather. + +He looked very handsome, very aristocratic, with his grey moustache +carefully trimmed, and a white camellia in his button-hole. +Nevertheless, when he came out into the hall by-and-by, with a set smile +upon his face, like a man who is going to act a part in a play, Laura +Dunbar recoiled from him with an involuntary shiver, as she had done +upon the day of her first meeting with him in Portland Place. + +But he offered her his hand, and she laid the tips of her fingers in his +broad palm, and went with him to the carriage. "Ask God to bless me upon +this day, papa," the girl said, in a low, tender voice, as these two +people took their places side by side in the roomy chariot. + +Laura Dunbar laid her hand caressingly upon the banker's shoulder as she +spoke. It was not a time for reticence; it was not an occasion upon +which to be put off by any girlish fear of this stern, silent man. + +"Ask God to bless me, father dearest," the soft, tremulous voice +pleaded, "for the sake of my dead mother." + +She tried to see his face: but she could not. His head was turned away, +and he was busy making some alteration in the adjustment of the +carriage-window. The chariot had cost nearly three hundred pounds, and +was very well built: but there was something wrong about the window +nevertheless, if one might judge by the difficulty which Mr. Dunbar had, +in settling it to his satisfaction. + +He spoke presently, in a very earnest voice, but with his head still +turned away from Laura. + +"I hope God will bless you, my dear," he said; "and that He will have +pity upon your enemies." + +This last wish was more Christianlike than natural; since fathers do not +usually implore compassion for the enemies of their children. + +But Laura Dunbar did not trouble herself to think about this. She only +knew that her father had called down Heaven's blessing upon her; and +that his manner had betrayed such agitation as could, of course, only +spring from one cause, namely, his affection for his daughter. + +She threw herself into his arms with a radiant smile, and putting up her +hands, drew his face round, and pressed her lips to his. + +But, as on the day in Portland Place, a chill crept through her veins, +as she felt the deadly coldness of her father's hands lifted to push her +gently from him. + +It is a common thing for Anglo-Indians to be quiet and reserved in their +manners, and strongly adverse to all demonstrations of this kind. Laura +remembered this, and made excuses to herself for her father's coldness. + +The rain was still falling as the carriage stopped at the churchyard. +There were only three carriages in this brief bridal train, for Mr. +Dunbar had insisted that there should be no grandeur, no display. + +The two Miss Melvilles, Dora Macmahon, and Arthur Lovell rode in the +same carriage. Major Melville's daughters looked very pale and cold in +their white-and-blue dresses, and the north-easter had tweaked their +noses, which were rather sharp and pointed in style. They would have +looked pretty enough, poor girls, had the wedding taken place in +summer-time; but they had not that splendid exceptional beauty which can +defy all changes of temperature, and which is alike glorious, whether +clad in abject rags or robed in velvet and ermine. + +The carriages reached the little gate of Lisford churchyard; Philip +Jocelyn came out of the porch, and down the narrow pathway leading to +the gate. + +The drizzling rain descended on him, though he was a baronet, and though +he came bareheaded to receive his bride. + +I think the Lisford beadle, who was a sound Tory of the old school, +almost wondered that the heavens themselves should be audacious enough +to wet the uncovered head of the lord of Jocelyn's Rock. + +But it went on raining, nevertheless. + +"Times has changed, sir," said the beadle, to an idle-looking stranger +who was standing near him. "I have read in a history of Warwickshire, +that when Algernon Jocelyn was married to Dame Margery Milward, widow to +Sir Stephen Milward, knight, in Charles the First's time, there was a +cloth-of-gold canopy from the gate yonder to this porch here, and two +moving turrets of basket-work, each of 'em drawn by four horses, and +filled with forty poor children, crowned with roses, lookin' out of the +turret winders, and scatterin' scented waters on the crowd; and there +was a banquet, sir, served up at noon that day at Jocelyn's Rock, with +six peacocks brought to table with their tails spread; and a pie, served +in a gold dish, with live doves in it, every feather of 'em steeped in +the rarest perfume, which they was intended to sprinkle over the company +as they flew about here and there. But--would you believe in such a +radical spirit pervadin' the animal creation?--every one of them doves +flew straight out of the winder, and went and scattered their perfumes +on the poor folks outside. There's no such weddin's as that nowadays, +sir," said the old beadle, with a groan. "As I often say to my old +missus, I don't believe as ever England has held up its head since the +day when Charles the Martyr lost his'n." + +Laura Dunbar went up the narrow pathway by her father's side; but Philip +Jocelyn walked upon her left hand, and the crowd had enough to do to +stare at bride and bridegroom. + +The baronet's face, which was always a handsome one, looked splendid in +the light of his happiness. People disputed as to whether the bride or +bridegroom was handsomest; and Laura forgot all about the wet weather as +she laid her light hand on Philip Jocelyn's arm. + +The churchyard was densely crowded in the neighbourhood of the pathway +along which the bride and bridegroom walked. In spite of the miserable +weather, in defiance of Mr. Dunbar's desire that the wedding should be a +quiet one, people had come from a very long distance in order to see the +millionaire's beautiful daughter married to the master of Jocelyn's +Rock. + +Amongst the spectators who had come to witness Miss Dunbar's wedding was +the tall gentleman in the high white hat, who was known in sporting +circles as the Major, and who had exhibited so much interest when the +name of Henry Dunbar was mentioned on the Shorncliffe racecourse. The +Major had been very lucky in his speculations on the Shorncliffe races, +and had gone straight away from the course to the village of Lisford, +where he took up his abode at the Hose and Crown, a bright-looking +hostelry, where a traveller could have his steak or his chop done to a +turn in one of the cosiest kitchens in all Warwickshire. The Major was +very reserved upon the subject of his sporting operations when he found +himself among unprofessional people; and upon such occasions, though he +would now and then condescend to lay the odds against anything with some +unconscious agriculturalist or village tradesman, his innocence with +regard to all turf matters was positively refreshing. + +He was a traveller in Birmingham jewellery, he told the land lady of the +quiet little inn, and was on his way to that busy commercial centre to +procure a fresh supply of glass emeralds, and a score or so of gigantic +rubies with crinkled tinsel behind them. The Major, usually somewhat +silent and morose, contrived to make himself very agreeable to the +jovial frequenters of the comfortable little public parlour of the Rose +and Crown. + +He took his dinner and his supper in that cosy apartment; and he sat +there all the evening, listening to and joining in the conversation of +the Lisfordians, and drinking sixpenn'orths of gin-and-water, with the +air of a man who could consume a hogshead of the juice of the +juniper-berry without experiencing any evil consequences therefrom. He +ate and drank like a man of iron; and his glittering black eyes kept +perpetual watch upon the faces of the simple country people, and his +eager ears drank in every word that was spoken. Of course a great deal +was said about the event of the next morning. Everybody had something to +say about Miss Dunbar and her wealthy father, who lived so lonely and +secluded at the Abbey, and whose ways were altogether so different from +those of his father before him. + +The Major listened to every syllable, and only edged-in a word or two +now and then, when the conversation flagged, or when there was a chance +of the subject being changed. + +By this means he contrived to keep the Lisfordians constant to one topic +all the evening, and that topic was the manners and customs of Henry +Dunbar. + +Very early on the morning of the wedding the Major made his appearance +in the churchyard. As for the incessant rain, that was nothing to _him_; +he was used to it; and, moreover, the wet weather gave him a good excuse +for buttoning his coat to the chin, and turning the poodle collar over +his big red ears. + +He found the door of the church ajar, early though it was, and going in +softly, he came upon the Tory beadle and some damp charity children. + +The Major contrived to engage the Tory beadle in conversation, which was +not very difficult, seeing that the aforesaid beadle was always ready to +avail himself of any opportunity of hearing his own voice. Of course the +loquacious beadle talked chiefly of Sir Philip Jocelyn and the banker's +daughter; and again the sporting gentleman from London heard of Henry +Dunbar's riches. + +"I _have_ heerd as Mr. Dunbar is the richest man in Europe, exceptin' +the Hemperore of Roosia and Baron Rothschild," the beadle said; "but I +don't know anythink more than that he's got a deal more money than he +knows what to do with, seein' that he passes the best part of his days +sittin' over the fire in his own room, or ridin' out after dark on +horseback, if report speaks correct." + +"I tell you what I'll do," said the Major; "as I am in Lisford,--and, to +be candid with you, Lisford's about the dullest place it was ever my bad +luck to visit,--why, I'll stay and have a look at this wedding. I +suppose you can put me into a quiet pew, back yonder in the shadow, +where I can see all that's going on, without any of your fine folks +seeing me, eh?" + +As the Major emphasized this question by dropping half-a-crown into the +beadle's hand, that official answered it very promptly,-- + +"I'll put you into the comfortablest pew you ever sat in," answered the +official. + +"You might do that easily," muttered the sporting gentleman, below his +breath; "for there's not many pews, or churches either, that _I_'ve ever +sat in." + +The Major took his place in a corner of the church whence there was a +very good view of the altar, where the feeble flames of the wax-candles +made little splashes of yellow light in the fog. + +The fog got thicker and thicker in the church as the hour for the +marriage ceremony drew nearer and nearer, and the light of the +wax-candles grew brighter as the atmosphere became more murky. + +The Major sat patiently in his pew, with his arms folded upon the ledge, +where the prayer-books in the corner of the seats were wont to rest +during divine service. He planted his bristly chin upon his folded arms, +and closed his eyes in a kind of dog-sleep. + +But in this sleep he could hear everything going on. He heard the +hobnailed soles of the charity children pattering upon the floor of the +church; he heard the sharp rustling of the evergreens and wet flowers +under the children's figures; and he could hear the deep voice of Philip +Jocelyn, talking to the clergyman in the porch, as he waited the arrival +of the carriages from Maudesley Abbey. + +The carriages arrived at last; and presently the wedding-train came up +the narrow aisle, and took their places about the altar-rails. Henry +Dunbar stood behind his daughter, with his face in shadow. + +The marriage-service was commenced. The Major's eyes were wide open now. +Those sharp eager black eyes took notice of everything. They rested now +upon the bride, now upon the bridegroom, now upon the faces of the +rector and his curate. + +Sometimes those glittering eyes strove to pierce the gloom, and to see +the other faces, the faces that were farther away from the flickering +yellow light of the wax-candles; but the gloom was not to be pierced +even by the sharpest eyes. + +The Major could only see four faces;--the faces of the bride and +bridegroom, the rector, and his curate. But by-and-by, when one of the +clergymen asked the familiar question--"_Who giveth this woman to be +married, to this man?_" Henry Dunbar came forward into the light of the +wax-candles, and gave the appointed answer. + +The Major's folded arms dropped off the ledge, as if they had been +suddenly paralyzed. He sat, breathing hard and quick, and staring at Mr. +Dunbar. + +"Henry Dunbar?" he muttered to himself, presently--"Henry Dunbar!" + +Mr. Dunbar did not again retire into the shadow. He remained during the +rest of the ceremony standing where the light shone full upon his +handsome face. + +When all was over, and the bride and bridegroom had signed their names +in the vestry, before admiring witnesses, the sporting gentleman rose +and walked softly out of the pew, and along one of the obscure +side-aisles. + +The wedding-party passed out of the church-porch. The Major followed +slowly. + +Philip Jocelyn and his bride went straight to the carriage that was to +convey them back to the Abbey. + +Dora Macmahon and the two pale Bridesmaids, with areophane bonnets that +had become hopelessly limp from exposure to that cruel rain, took their +places in the second carriage. They were accompanied by Arthur Lovell, +whom they looked upon with no very great favour; for he had been silent +and melancholy throughout the drive from Maudesley Abbey to Lisford +Church, and had stared at them with vacant indifference, while handing +them out of the carriage with a mechanical kind of politeness that was +almost insulting. + +The two first carriages drove away from the churchyard-gate, and the mud +upon the high-road splashed the closed windows of the vehicles as the +wheels went round. + +The third carriage waited for Henry Dunbar, and the crowd in the +churchyard waited to see him get into it. + +He had his foot upon the lowest step, and his hand upon the door, when +the Major went up to him, and tapped him lightly upon the shoulder. + +The spectators recoiled, aghast with indignant astonishment. + +How dared this shabby-looking man, with clumsy boots that were queer +about the heels, and a mangy fur collar, like the skin of an invalid +French poodle, to his threadbare coat--how in the name of all that is +audacious, dared such a low person as this lay his dirty fingers upon +the sacred shoulder of Henry Dunbar of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby's +banking-house, St. Gundolph Lane, City? + +The millionaire turned, and grew as ashy pale at sight of the shabby +stranger as he could have done if the sheeted dead had risen from one of +the graves near at hand. But he uttered no exclamation of horror or +surprise. He only shrank haughtily away from the Major's touch, as if +there had been some infection to be dreaded from those dirty +finger-tips. + +"May I be permitted to know your motive for this intrusion, sir?" the +banker asked, in a cold, repellent voice, looking the shabby intruder +full in the eyes as he spoke. + +There was something so resolute, so defiant, in the rich man's gaze, +that it is a wonder the poor man did not shrink from encountering it. + +But he did not: he gave back look for look. + +"Don't say you've forgotten me, Mr. Dunbar," he said; "don't say you've +forgotten a very old acquaintance." + +This was spoken after a pause, in which the two men had looked at each +other as earnestly as if each had been trying to read the inmost secrets +of the other's soul. + +"Don't say you've forgotten me, Mr. Dunbar," repeated the Major. + +Henry Dunbar smiled. It was a forced smile, perhaps; but, at any rate, +it was a smile. + +"I have a great many acquaintances," he said; "and I fancy you must have +gone down in the world since I knew you, if I may judge from +appearances." + +The bystanders, who had listened to every word, began to murmur among +themselves. "Yes, indeed, they should rather think so:--if ever this +shabby stranger had known Mr. Dunbar, and if he was not altogether an +impostor, he must have been a very different sort of person at the time +of his acquaintance with the millionaire." + +"When and where did I know you?" asked Henry Dunbar, with his eyes still +looking straight into the eyes of the other man. + +"Oh, a long time ago--a very long way off!" + +"Perhaps it was--somewhere in India--up the country?' said the banker, +very slowly. + +"Yes, it was in India--up the country," answered the other. + +"Then you won't find me slow to befriend you," said Mr. Dunbar. "I am +always glad to be of service to any of my Indian acquaintances--even +when the world has treated them badly. Get into my carriage, and I'll +drive you home. I shall be able to talk to you by-and-by, when all this +wedding business is over." + +The two men seated themselves side by side upon the spring cushions of +the banker's luxurious carriage; and the vehicle drove rapidly away, +leaving the spectators in a rapture of admiration at Henry Dunbar's +condescension to his shabby Indian acquaintance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +AFTER THE WEDDING. + + +The banker and the man who was called the Major talked to each other +earnestly enough throughout the short drive between Lisford churchyard +and Maudesley Abbey; but they spoke in low confidential whispers, and +their conversation was interlarded by all manner of strange phrases; the +queer, outlandish words were Hindostanee, no doubt, and were by no means +easy to comprehend. + +As the carriage drove up to the grand entrance of the Abbey, the +stranger looked out through the mud-spattered window. + +"A fine place!" he exclaimed; "a splendid place!" + +"What am I to call you here?" muttered Mr. Dunbar, as he got out of the +carriage. + +"You may call me anything; as long as you do not call me when the soup +is cold. I've a two-pair back in the neighbourhood of St. Martin's Lane, +and I'm known _there_ as Mr. Vavasor. But I'm not particular to a shade. +Call me anything that begins with a V. It's as well to stick to one +initial, on account of one's linen." + +From the very small amount of linen exhibited in the Major's toilette, a +malicious person might have imagined that such a thing as a shirt was a +luxury not included in that gentleman's wardrobe. + +"Call me Vernon," he said: "Vernon is a good name. You may as well call +me Major Vernon. My friends at the Corner--not the Piccadilly corner, +but the corner of the waste ground at the back of Field Lane--have done +me the honour to give me the rank of Major, and I don't see why I +shouldn't retain the distinction. My proclivities are entirely +aristocratic: I have no power of assimilation with the _canaille_. This +is the sort of thing that suits me. Here I am in my element." + +Mr. Dunbar had led his shabby acquaintance into the low, tapestried room +in which he usually sat. The Major rubbed his hands with a gesture of +enjoyment as he looked at the evidences of wealth that were heedlessly +scattered about the apartment. He gave a long sigh of satisfaction as he +dropped with a sudden plump upon the spring cushion of an easy-chair on +one side of the fireplace. + +"Now, listen to me," said Mr. Dunbar. "I can't afford to talk to you +this morning; I have other duties to perform: When they're over, I'll +come and talk to you. In the meantime, you may sit here as long as you +like, and have what you please to eat or drink." + +"Well, I don't mind the wing of a fowl, and a bottle of Burgundy. It's a +long time since I've tasted Burgundy. Chambertin, or Clos de Vougeot, at +twelve bob a bottle--that's the sort of tipple, I rather flatter +myself--eh?" + +Henry Dunbar drew himself up with a slight shudder, as if repelled and +disgusted by the man's vulgarity. + +"What do you want of me?" he asked. "Remember that I am waited for. I am +quite ready to serve you--for the sake of 'auld lang syne!'" + +"Yes," answered the Major, with a sneer; "it's so pleasant to remember +'auld lang syne!'" + +"Well," asked Mr. Dunbar, impatiently, "what is it you want of me?" + +"A bottle of Burgundy--the best you have in your cellar--something to +eat, and--that which a poor man generally asks of his rich friends--his +fortunate friends--MONEY!" + +"You shall not find me illiberal towards you. I'll come back by-and-by, +and write you a cheque." + +"You'll make it a thumping one?" + +"I'll make it as much as you want." + +"That's the sort of thing. There always was something princely and +magnificent about you, Mr. Dunbar." + +"You shall not have any reason to complain," answered the banker, very +coldly. + +"You'll send me the lunch?" + +"Yes. You can hold your tongue, I suppose? You won't talk to the servant +who waits upon you?" + +"Has your friend the manners of a gentleman, or has he not? Hasn't he +had the eminent advantage of a collegiate education--I may say, a +prolongued course of collegiate study? But look here, since you're so +afraid of my putting my foot in it, suppose I go back to Lisford now, +and I can return to you to-night after dark. Our business will keep. I +want a long talk, and a quiet talk; but I must suit my convenience to +yours. It's the dee-yuty of the poor-r-r dependant to wait upon the +per-leasure of his patron," exclaimed Major Vernon, in the studied tones +of the villain in a melodrama. + +Henry Dunbar gave a sigh of relief. + +"Yes, that will be much better," he said. "I can talk to you comfortably +after dinner." + +"Ta-ta, then, old boy. 'Oh, reservoir!' as we say in the classics." + +Major Vernon extended a brawny hand of rather doubtful purity. The +millionaire touched the broad palm with the tips of his gloved fingers. + +"Good-bye," he said; "I shall expect you at nine o'clock. You know your +way out?" + +He opened the door as he spoke, and pointed through a vista of two or +three adjoining rooms to the hall. It was rather a broad hint. The Major +pulled the poodle collar still higher above his ears, and went out with +only his nose exposed to the influence of the atmosphere. + +Henry Dunbar shut the door, and walked to one of the windows. He leaned +his forehead against the glass, and looked out, watching the tall figure +of the Major, as he walked rapidly along the broad carriage-drive that +skirted the lawn. + +The banker watched his shabby acquaintance until Major Vernon was quite +out of sight. Then he went back to the fireplace, dropped heavily into +his chair, and gave a long groan. It was not a sigh, it was a groan--a +groan that seemed to come from a bosom that was rent by all the agony of +despair. + +"This decides it!" he muttered to himself. "Yes, this decides it! I've +seen it for a long time coming to a crisis. But _this_ settles +everything." + +He got up, passed his hand across his forehead and over his eyelids, +like a man who had just been awakened from a long sleep; and then went +to play his part in the grand business of the day. + +There is a very wide difference between the feelings of the poor +adventurer--who, by some lucky accident, is enabled to pounce upon a +rich friend--and the sentiments of the wealthy victim who is pounced +upon. Nothing could present a stronger contrast than the manner of Henry +Dunbar, the banker, and the gentleman who had elected to be called Major +Vernon. Whereas Mr. Dunbar seemed plunged into the uttermost depths of +despair by the sudden appearance of his old acquaintance, the worthy +Major exhibited a delight that was almost uproarious in its +manifestation. + +It was not until he found himself in a very lonely part of the park, +where there were no other witnesses than the timid deer, lurking here +and there under the poor shelter of a clump of leafless elms,--it was +not till Major Vernon felt himself quite alone, that he gave way to the +full exuberance of his spirits. + +"It's a gold-mine!" he cried, rubbing his hands; "it's a regular +California!" + +He executed a grim caper in his delight, and the scared deer fled away +from the neighbourhood of his path; perhaps they took him for some +modern gnome, dancing wild dances in the wet woodland. He laughed aloud, +with a hollow, fiendish-sounding laugh, and then clapped his hands +together till the noise of his brawny palms echoed in the rustic +silence. + +"Henry Dunbar," he said to himself; "Henry Dunbar! He'll be a milch +cow--nothing but a milch cow. If--" he stopped suddenly, and the +triumphant grin upon his face changed to a thoughtful expression. "If he +doesn't run away," he said, standing quite still, and rubbing his chin +slowly with the palm of his hand. "What if he should give me the slip? +He _might_ do that!" + +But, after a moment's pause, he laughed aloud again, and walked on +briskly. + +"No, he'll not do that," he said; "it won't serve his turn to run away." + +While Major Vernon went back to Lisford, Henry Dunbar took his seat at +the breakfast-table, with Laura Lady Jocelyn by his side. + +There was very little more gaiety at the wedding-breakfast than there +had been at the wedding. Everything was very elegant, very subdued, and +aristocratic. Silent footmen glided noiselessly backwards and forwards +behind the chairs of the guests; champagne, Moselle, hock, and Burgundy +sparkled in shallow glasses that were shaped like the broad leaf of a +water-lily. Dresden-china shepherdesses, in the centre of the oval +table, held up their chintz-patterned aprons filled with some forced +strawberries that had cost about half-a-crown apiece. Smirking shepherds +supported open-work baskets, laden with tiny Algerian apples, China +oranges, and big purple hothouse grapes. + +The bride and bridegroom were very happy; but theirs was a subdued and +quiet happiness that had little influence upon those around them. The +wedding-breakfast was a very silent meal, for the face of the giver of +the feast was as gloomy as the sky above Maudesley Abbey; and every now +and then, in awkward pauses of the conversation, the pattering of the +incessant raindrops sounded upon the windows. + +At last the breakfast was finished. A knife had been cunningly inserted +in the outer-wall of the splendid cake, and a few morsels of the rich +interior, which looked like a kind of portable Day-and-Martin, had been +eaten by one of the bridesmaids. Laura Jocelyn rose and left the table, +attended by the three young ladies. + +Elizabeth Madden was waiting in the bride's dressing-room with Lady +Jocelyn's travelling-dress laid in state upon a big sofa. She kissed her +young Miss, and cried over her a little, before she was equal to begin +the business of the toilette: and then the voices of the bridesmaids +broke loose, and there was a pleasant buzz of congratulation, which +beguiled the time while Laura was exchanging her bridal costume for a +long rustling dress of dove-coloured silk, a purple-velvet cloak trimmed +and lined with sable, and a miraculous fabric of pale-pink areophane, +and starry jasmine-blossoms, which the Parisian milliner facetiously +entitled "a bonnet." + +She went down stairs presently in this rich attire, looking like a +Russian empress, in all the glory of her youth and beauty. The +travelling-carriage was standing at the door; Arthur Lovell and Mr. +Dunbar were in the hall with the two clergymen. Laura went up to her +father to bid him good-bye. + +"It will be a long time before we see each other again, papa dear," she +said, in tones that were only loud enough for Mr. Dunbar to hear; "say +'God bless you!' once more before I go." + +Her head was on his breast, and her face lifted up towards his own as +she said this. + +The banker looked straight before him with a forced smile upon his face, +that was little more than a nervous contraction of the muscles about the +lips. + +"I will give you something better than my blessing, Laura," he said +aloud; "I have given you no wedding-present yet, but I have not +forgotten. The gift I mean to present to you will take some time to +prepare. I shall give you the handsomest diamond-necklace that was ever +made in England. I shall buy the diamonds myself, and have them set +according to my own design." + +The bridesmaids gave a little murmur of delight. + +Laura pressed the speaker's cold hand. + +"I don't want any diamonds, papa," she whispered; "I only want your +love." + +Mr. Dunbar did not make any response to that entreating whisper. There +was no time for any answer, perhaps, for the bride and bridegroom had to +catch an appointed train at Shorncliffe station, which was to take them +on the first stage of their Continental journey; and in the bustle and +confusion of their hurried departure, the banker had no opportunity of +saying anything more to his daughter. But he stood in the Gothic porch, +watching the departing carriage with a kind of mournful tenderness in +his face. + +"I hope that she will be happy," he muttered to himself as he went back +to the house. "Heaven knows I hope she may be happy." + +He did not stop to make any ceremonious adieu to his guests, but walked +straight to his own apartments. People were accustomed to his strange +manners, and were very indulgent towards his foibles. + +Arthur Lovell and the three bridesmaids lingered a little in the blue +drawing-room. The Melvilles were to drive home to their father's house +in the afternoon, and Dora Macmahon was going with them. She was to stay +at their father's house a few weeks, and was then to go back to her aunt +in Scotland. + +"But I am to pay my darling Laura an early visit at Jocelyn's Rock," she +said, when Arthur made some inquiry about her arrangements; "that has +been all settled." + +The ladies and the young lawyer took an afternoon tea together before +they left Maudesley, and were altogether very sociable, not to say +merry. It was upon this occasion that Arthur Lovell, for the first time +in his life, observed that Dora Macmahon had very beautiful brown eyes, +and rippling brown hair, and the sweetest smile he had ever seen--except +in one lovely face, which was like the splendour of the noonday sun, and +seemed to extinguish all lesser lights. + +The carriage was announced at last; and Mr. Lovell had enough to do in +attending to the three young ladies, and the stowing away of all those +bonnet-boxes, and shawls, and travelling-bags, and desks, and +dressing-cases, and odd volumes of books, and umbrellas, parasols, and +sketching-portfolios, which are the peculiar attributes of all female +travellers. And then, when all was finished, and he had bowed for the +last time in acknowledgment of those friendly becks and wreathed smiles +which greeted him from the carriage-window till it disappeared in the +curve of the avenue, Arthur Lovell walked slowly home, thinking of the +business of the day. + +Laura was lost to him for ever. The dreadful grief which had so long +brooded darkly over his life had come down upon him at last, and the +pang had not been so insupportable as he had expected it to be. + +"I never had any hope," he thought to himself, as he walked along the +soddened road between the gates of Maudesley and the old town that lay +before him. "I never really hoped that Laura Dunbar would be my wife." + +John Lovell's house was one of the best in the town of Shorncliffe. It +was a queer old house, with a sloping roof, and gable-ends of solid oak, +adorned here and there by grim devices, carved by a skilful hand. It was +a large house; but low and straggling; and unpretending in its exterior. +The red light of a fire was shining in a wainscoted chamber, half +sitting-room, half library. The crimson curtains were not yet drawn +across the diamond-paned window. Arthur Lovell looked into the room as +he passed, and saw his father sitting by the fire, with a newspaper at +his feet. + +There was no need to bolt doors against thieves and vagabonds in such a +quiet town as Shorncliffe. Arthur Lovell turned the handle of the street +door and went in. The door of his father's sitting-room was ajar, and +the lawyer heard his son's step in the hall. + +"Is that you, Arthur?" he asked. + +"Yes, father," the young man answered, going into the room. + +"I want to speak to you very particularly. I suppose this wedding at +Maudesley Abbey has put all serious business out of your head." + +"What serious business, father?" + +"Have you forgotten Lord Herriston's offer?" + +"The offer of the appointment in India? Oh, no, father, I have not +forgotten, only----" + +"Only what?" + +"I have not been able to decide." + +As he spoke, Arthur Lovell thought of Laura Dunbar. No; she was Laura +Jocelyn now. It was a hard thing for the young man to think of her by +that new name. Would it not be better for him to go away--to put +immeasurable distance between himself and the woman he had loved so +dearly? Would it not be better and wiser to go away? And yet what if by +so doing he turned his back upon another chance of happiness? What if a +lesser star than that which had gone down in the darkness might now be +rising dim and distant in the pale grey sky? + +"There is no reason that I should decide in a hurry," the young man +said, presently. "Lord Herriston told you that I might take twelve +months to think about his offer." + +"He did," answered John Lovell; "but half of the time is gone, and I've +had a letter from Lord Herriston by this afternoon's post. He wants your +decision immediately; for a connection of his own has applied to him for +the appointment. He still holds to his promise, and will give you the +preference; but you must make up your mind at once." + +"Do you wish me to go to India, father?" + +"Do I wish you to go to India! Of course not, my dear boy, unless your +own ambition takes you there. Remember, you are an only son. You have no +occasion to leave this place. You will inherit a very good practice and +a comfortable fortune. I thought you were ambitious, and that +Shorncliffe was too narrow a sphere for your ambition, or else I should +never have entertained any idea of this Indian appointment." + +"And you will not be sorry if I remain in England?" + +"Sorry! No, indeed; I shall be very glad. Do you suppose, when a man has +only one son, a handsome, clever, high-minded young fellow, whose +presence is like sunshine in his father's gloomy old house--do you think +the father wants to get rid of the lad? If you do think so, you must +have a very small idea of parental affection." + +"Then I'll refuse the appointment, father." + +"God bless you, my boy!" exclaimed the lawyer. + +The letter to Lord Herriston was written that night; and Arthur Lovell +resigned himself to a perpetual residence in that quiet town; within a +mile of which the towers of Jocelyn's Rock crowned the tall cliff above +the rushing waters of the Avon. + +Mr. Dunbar had given all necessary directions for the reception of his +shabby friend. + +The Major was ushered at once to the tapestried room, where the banker +was still sitting at the dinner-table. He had that meal laid upon a +round table near the fire, and the room looked a very picture of comfort +and luxury as Major Vernon went into it, fresh from the black foggy +night, and the leafless avenue, where the bare trunks of the elms looked +like gigantic shadows looming through the obscurity. + +The Major's eyes were almost dazzled by the brightness of that pleasant +chamber. This man was a reprobate; but he had begun life as a gentleman. +He remembered such a room as this long ago, across a dreary gulf of +forty ill-spent years. The sight of this room brought back the memory of +a pretty lamplit parlour, with an old man sitting in a high-backed +easy-chair: a genial matron bending over her work; two fair-faced girls; +a favourite mastiff stretched full length upon the hearth; and, last of +all, a young man at home from college, yawning over a sporting +newspaper, weary to death of all the simple innocent delights of home, +sick of the companionship of gentle sisters, the love of a fond mother, +and wishing to be back again at the old uproarious wine-parties, the +drunken orgies, the card-playing and prize-fighting, the extravagance +and debauchery of the bad set in which he was a chief. + +The Major gave a profound sigh as he looked round the room. But the +melancholy shadow on his face changed into a grim smile, as he glanced +from the tapestried walls and curtained window, with a great Indian jar +of hothouse flowers standing upon an inlaid table before it, and filling +the room with a faint perfume of jasmine and almond, to the figure of +Henry Dunbar. + +"It's comfortable," said Major Vernon; "to say the least of it, it's +very comfortable. And with a balance of half a million or so at one's +banker's, or in one's own bank--which is better still perhaps--one is +not so badly off, eh, Mr. Dunbar?" + +"Sit down and eat one of those birds," answered the banker. "I'll talk +to you by-and-by." + +The Major obeyed his friend; he unwound three or four yards of dingy +woollen stuff from his scraggy throat, turned down the poodle collar, +pulled his chair close to the table, squared his brows, and began +business. He made very light of a brace of partridges and a bottle of +sparkling Moselle. + +When the table had been cleared, and the two men left alone together, +Major Vernon stretched his long legs upon the hearth-rug, plunged his +hands deep down in his trousers' pockets, and gave a sigh of +satisfaction. + +"And now," said Mr. Dunbar, filling his glass from the starry crystal +claret-jug, "what is it that you want to say to me, Stephen Vallance, or +Major Vernon, or whatever ridiculous name you may call yourself--what is +it you've got to say?" + +"I'll tell you that in a very few words," answered the Major, quietly; +"I want to talk to you about the man who was murdered at Winchester some +months ago." + +The banker's hand lost its steadiness, the neck of the claret-jug +knocked against the thin lip of the glass, and shivered it into +half-a-dozen pieces. + +"You'll spill your wine," said Major Vernon. "I'm very sorry for you if +your nerves are no better than that." + + * * * * * + +When Major Vernon that night left his friend, he carried away with him +half-a-dozen cheques for different amounts, making in all two thousand +pounds, upon that private banking-account which Mr. Dunbar kept for +himself in the house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +It was after midnight when the banker opened the hall-door, and passed +out with the Major upon the broad stone flags under the Gothic porch. +There was no rain now; but it was very dark, and the north-easterly +winds were blowing amongst the leafless branches of giant oaks and elms. + +"Shall you present those cheques yourself?" Henry Dunbar asked, as the +two men were about to part. + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Dress yourself decently, then, before you do so," said the banker; +"they'd wonder what dealings you and I could have together, if you were +to show yourself in St. Gundolph Lane in your present costume." + +"My friend is proud," exclaimed the Major, with a mock tragic accent; +"he is proud, and he despises his humble dependant." + +"Good night," said Mr. Dunbar, rather abruptly; "it's past twelve +o'clock, and I'm tired." + +"To be sure. You're tired. Do you--do you--sleep well?" asked Major +Vernon, in a whisper. There was no mock solemnity in his tone now. + +The banker turned away from him with a muttered oath. The light of a +lamp suspended from the groined roof of the porch shone upon the two +men's faces. Henry Dunbar's countenance was overclouded by a black +frown, and was by no means agreeable to look upon; but the grinning face +of the Major, the thin lips wreathed into a malicious smile, the small +black eyes glittering with a sinister light, looked like the face of a +Mephistopheles. + +"Good night," repeated the banker, turning his back upon his friend, and +about to re-enter the house. + +Major Vernon laid his bony fingers upon Henry Dunbar's shoulder, and +stopped him before he could cross the threshold. + +"You've given me two thou'," he said; "that's liberal enough to start +with; but I'm an old man; I'm tired of the life of a vagabond, and I +want to live like a gentleman;--not as you do, of course; _that's_ out +of the question; it isn't everybody that has the good luck to be a +millionaire, like Henry Dunbar; but I want a bottle of claret with my +dinner, a good coat upon my back, and a five-pound note in my pocket +constantly. You must do as much as that for me; eh, dear boy?" + +"I don't refuse to do it, do I?" asked Henry Dunbar, impatiently; "I +should think what you've got in your pocket already is a pretty good +beginning." + +"My dear fellow, it's a stupendous beginning!" exclaimed Major Vernon; +"it's a princely beginning; it's a Napoleonic beginning. But that two +thou isn't meant for a blind, is it? It's not to be the beginning, +middle, and the end? You're not going to do the gentle bolt--eh?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You're not going to run away? You're not going to renounce the pomps +and vanities of this wicked world, and make an early expedition across +the herring-pond--eh, friend of my soul?" + +"Why should I run away?" asked Henry Dunbar, sternly. + +"That's the very thing I say myself, dear boy. Why should you? A wise +man doesn't run away from landed estates, and fine houses, and half a +million of money. But when you broke that claret-glass after dinner, it +struck me somehow that you were--shall I venture the word?--_rather_ +nervous! Nervous people do all manner of things. Give me your word that +you're not going to bolt, and I'm satisfied." + +"I tell you, I have no such idea in my mind," Mr. Dunbar answered, with +increasing impatience. "Will that do?" + +"It will, dear boy. Your hand upon it! What a cold hand you've got! Take +care of yourself; and once more--good night!" + +"You're going to London?" + +"Yes--to cash the cheques, and make a few business arrangements." + +Mr. Dunbar bolted the great door as the footsteps of his friend the +Major died away upon the gravelled walk, which had been quickly dried by +the frosty wind. The banker had dismissed his servants at ten o'clock +that night; so there was nobody to wait upon him, or to watch him, when +he went back to the tapestried room. + +He sat by the low fire for a little time, thinking, with a settled gloom +upon his face, and drinking Burgundy out of a tumbler. Then he went to +bed; and the light of the night-lamp shining upon his face as he slept, +showed it distorted by strange shadows, that were not altogether the +shadows of the draperies above his head. + +Major Vernon walked briskly down the long avenue leading to the +lodge-gates. + +"Two thou' is comfortable," he muttered to himself; "very satisfactory +for a first go-in at the gold-diggin's! but I shall expect my California +to produce a little more than that before we close the shaft, and retire +upon the profits of the speculation. I _think_ my friend is safe--I +don't think he'll run away. But I shall keep my eye upon him, +nevertheless. The human eye is a great institution; and I shall watch my +friend." + +In spite of a natural eagerness to transform those oblong slips of +paper--the cheques signed with the well-known name of Henry Dunbar--into +the still more convenient and flimsy paper circulating medium dispensed +by the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street, or the yellow coinage of the +realm, Major Vernon did not seem in any very great hurry to leave +Lisford. + +A great many of the Lisfordians had seen the shabby stranger take his +seat in Henry Dunbar's carriage, side by side with the great banker. +This fact became universally known throughout the parish of Lisford and +two neighbouring parishes, before the shadows of night came down upon +the day of Laura Dunbar's wedding, and the Major was respected +accordingly. + +He was shabby, certainly; queer-about the heels of his boots; and very +mangy with regard to the poodle collar. His hat was more shiny than was +consistent with the hat-manufacturing interest. His bony hands were red +and bare, and only one miserable mockery of a glove dangled between his +thumb and finger as he swaggered along the village street. + +But he had been seen riding in Henry Dunbar's carriage, and from that +moment he had become invested with a romantic interest. He was a reduced +gentleman, who had seen better days; or he was a miser, perhaps--an +eccentric individual, who wore shabby boots and shiny hats for his own +love and pleasure. + +People paid respect, therefore, to the stranger at the Rose and Crown, +and touched their hats to him as he went in and out, and were glad to +answer any questions he chose to put to them as he loitered about the +village. He contrived to find out a good deal in this way about things +in general, and the habits of Henry Dunbar in particular. The banker had +given his shabby acquaintance a handful of sovereigns for present use, +as well as the cheques; and the Major was able to live upon the best the +Rose and Crown could afford, and pay liberally for all he consumed. + +"I find the Warwickshire air agree with me remarkably well," he said to +the landlord, as he sat at breakfast in the bar-parlour, upon the second +day after his interview with Henry Dunbar; "and if you know of any snug +little box in the neighbourhood that would suit a lonely old bachelor +with a comfortable income, and nobody to help him spend it, why, I +really should have a very great inclination to take it, and furnish it." + +The landlord scratched his head, and reflected for a few minutes. Then +he slapped his leg with a sounding and triumphant slap. + +"I know the very thing as would suit you, Major Vernon," he said--the +Major had assumed the name of Vernon, as agreed upon between himself and +Henry Dunbar--"the very thing," repeated the landlord; "you might say it +had been made to order like. There's a sale comes off next Thursday. Mr. +Grogson, the Shorncliffe auctioneer, will sell, at eleven o'clock +precisely, the furniture and lease of the snuggest little box in these +parts--Woodbine Cottage it's called--a sweet pretty little place, as was +the property of old Admiral Manders. The admiral died in the house, and +having been a bachelor, and his money having gone to distant relatives, +the lease and furniture of the cottage will be sold. But I should +think," added the landlord, gravely, looking rather doubtfully at his +guest as he spoke, "I should think the lease and furniture, pictures and +plate, will fetch a matter of eight hundred to a thousand pound; and +perhaps you mightn't care to go to that?" + +The landlord could not refrain from glancing furtively at the white and +shining aspect of the cloth that covered the sharp knees of his +customer, which were exactly under his eyes as the two men sat opposite +to each other beside the snug little round table. + +"You mightn't care to go to that price," he repeated, as he helped +himself to about three-quarters of a pound of cold ham. + +The Major lifted his bristly eyebrows with a contemptuous twitch. + +"If the cottage suits me," he said, "I don't mind a thousand for it. +To-day's Saturday;--I shall run up to town to-morrow, or Monday morning, +to settle a bit of business I've got on hand, and come back here in time +to attend the sale." + +"My wife and me was thinkin' of goin' sir," the landlord answered, with, +unwonted reverence in his voice; and, if it was agreeable, we could +drive you over in a four-wheel shay. Woodbine Cottage is about a mile +and a half from here, and little better than a mile from Maudesley +Abbey. There's a copper coal-scuttle of the old admiral's as my wife has +got rather a fancy for. But p'raps if you was to make a hoffer previous +to the sale, the property might be disposed of as it stands by private +contrack." + +"I'll see about that," answered Major Vernon. "I'll stroll over to +Shorncliffe, this, morning, and look in upon Mr. Grogson--Grogson, I +think you said was the auctioneer's name?" + +"Yes, sir; Peter Grogson, and very much looked up to be is, and a warm +man, folks do say. His offices is in Shorncliffe High Street, sir; next +door but two from Mr. Lovell's, the solicitor's, and not more than +half-a-dozen yards from St. Gwendoline's Church." + +Major Vernon, as he now chose to call himself, walked from Lisford to +Shorncliffe. He was a very good walker, and, indeed, had become pretty +well used to pedestrian exercise in the course of long weary trampings +from one racecourse to another, when he was so far down on his luck as +to be unable to pay his railway fare. The frost had set in for the first +time this year; so the roads were dry and hard once more, and the sound +of horses' hoofs and rolling wheels, the jingling of bells, the +occasional barking of a noisy sheep-dog, and sturdy labourers' voices +calling to each other on the high-road, travelled far in the thin frosty +air. + +The town of Shorncliffe was very quiet to-day, for it was only on +market-days that there was much life or bustle in the queer old streets, +and Major Vernon found no hindrance to the business that had brought him +from Lisford. + +He went straight to Mr. Grogson, the auctioneer, and from that gentleman +heard all particulars respecting the pending sale at Woodbine Cottage. +The Major offered to take the lease at a fair price, and the furniture, +as it stood, by valuation. + +"All I want is a comfortable little place that I can jump into without +any trouble to myself," Major Vernon said, with the air of a man of the +world. "I like to take life easily. If you can honestly recommend the +place as worth seven or eight hundred pounds, I'm willing to pay that +money for it down on the nail. I'll take it at your valuation, if the +present owners are agreeable to sell it on those terms, and I'll pay a +deposit of a couple of hundred or so on Tuesday afternoon, to show that +my proposition is a _bona fide_ one." + +A little more was said, and then Mr. Grogson pledged himself to act for +the best in the interests of Major Vernon, consistently with his +allegiance to the present owners of the property. + +The auctioneer had been at first a little doubtful of this tall, shabby +stranger in the napless dirty-white beaver and the mangy poodle collar; +but the offer of a deposit of two hundred pounds or so gave a different +aspect to the case. There are always eccentric people in the world, and +appearances are very apt to be deceptive. There was a confident air +about the Major which seemed like that of a man with a balance at his +banker's. + +The Major went back to the Rose and Crown, ate a comfortable little +dinner, which he had ordered before setting out for Shorncliffe, paid +his bill, and made all arrangements for starting by the first train for +London on the following morning. It was nearly ten o'clock by the time +he had done this: but late as it was, Major Vernon put on his hat, +turned his poodle collar up about his ears, and went out into Lisford +High Street. + +There was scarcely one glimmer of light in the street as the Major +walked along it. He took the road leading to Maudesley Abbey, and walked +at a brisk pace, heedless of the snow, which was still falling thick and +fast. + +He was covered from head to foot with snow when he stopped before the +stone porch, and rang a bell, that made a clanging noise in the +stillness of the night. He looked like some grim white statue that had +descended from its pedestal to stalk hither and thither in the darkness. + +The servant who opened the door yawned undisguisedly in the face of his +master's friend. + +"Tell Mr. Dunbar that I shall be glad to speak to him for a few +minutes," the Major said, making as if he would have passed into the +hall. + +"Mr. Dunbar left the habbey uppards of a hour ago," the footman +answered, with supreme hauteur; "but he left a message for you, in case +you was to come. The period of his habsence is huncertain, and if you +wants to kermoonicate with him, you was to please to wait till he come +back." + +Major Vernon pushed aside the servant, and strode into the hall. The +doors were open, and through two or three intermediate rooms the Major +saw the tapestried chamber, dark and empty. + +There was no doubt that Henry Dunbar had given him the slip--for the +time, at least; but did the banker mean mischief? was there any deep +design in this sudden departure?--that was the question. + +"I'll write to your master," the Major said, after a pause; "what's his +London address?" + +"Mr. Dunbar left no address." + +"Humph! That's no matter. I can write to him at the bank. Good night." + +Major Vernon stalked away through the snow. The footman made no response +to his parting civility, but stood watching him for a few moments, and +then closed the door with a bang. + +"Hif that's a spessermin of your Hinjun acquaintances, I don't think +much of Hinjur or Hinjun serciety. But what can you expect of a nation +as insults the gentleman who waits behind his employer's chair at table +by callin' him a kitten-muncher?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR OF THE BANKING-HOUSE. + + +Henry Dunbar arrived in London a couple of hours after Mr. Vernon left +the Abbey. He went straight to the Clarendon Hotel. He had no servant +with him, and his luggage consisted only of a portmanteau, a +dressing-case, and a despatch-box; the same despatch-box whose contents +he had so carefully studied at the Winchester hotel, upon the night of +the murder in the grove. + +The day after his arrival was Sunday, and all that day the banker +occupied himself in reading a morocco-bound manuscript volume, which he +took from the despatch-box. + +There was a black fog upon this November day, and the atmosphere out of +doors was cold and bleak. But the room in which Henry Dunbar sat looked +the very picture of comfort and elegance. + +He had drawn his chair close to the fire, and on a table near his elbow +were arranged the open despatch-box, a tall crystal jug of Burgundy, +with a goblet-shaped glass, on a salver, and a case of cigars. + +Until long after dark that evening, Henry Dunbar sat by the fire, +smoking and drinking, and reading the manuscript volume. He only paused +now and then to take pencil-notes of its contents in a little +memorandum-book, which he carried in the breast-pocket of his coat. + +It was not till seven o'clock, when the liveried servant who waited upon +him came to inform him that his dinner was served in an adjoining +chamber, that Mr. Dunbar rose from his seat and put away the book in the +despatch-box. He laid down the volume on the table while he replaced +other papers in the box, and it fell open at the first page. On that +first page was written, in Henry Dunbar's bold, legible hand-- + +"_Journal of my life in India, from my arrival in 1815 until my +departure in 1850._" + +This was the book the banker had been studying all that winter's day. + +At twelve o'clock the next day he ordered a brougham, and was driven to +the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. This was the first time that +Henry Dunbar had visited the house in St. Gundolph Lane since his return +from India. + +Those who knew the history of the present chief partner of the house of +Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, were in nowise astonished by this fact. +They knew that, as a young man, Henry Dunbar had contracted the tastes +and habits of an aristocrat, and that, if he had afterwards developed +into a clever and successful man of business, it was only by reason of +the force of circumstances, which had thrust him into a position that he +hated. + +It was by no means wonderful, then, that, after becoming possessor of +the united fortunes of his father and his uncle, Henry Dunbar should +keep aloof from a place that had always been obnoxious to him. The +business had gone on without him very well during his absence, and it +went on without him now, for his place in India had been assumed by a +very clever man, who for twenty years had acted as cashier in the +Calcutta house. + +It may be that the banker had an unpleasant recollection of his last +visit to St. Gundolph Lane, upon the day when the existence of the +forged bills was discovered by Percival and Hugh Dunbar. All the width +of thirty-five years between the present hour and that day might not be +wide enough to separate the memory of the past from the thoughts which +were busy this morning in the mind of Henry Dunbar. + +Be it as it might, Mr. Dunbar's reflections this day were evidently not +of a pleasant nature. He was very pale as he rode citywards, in the +comfortable brougham, from the Clarendon; and his face had a stern, +fixed look, like a man who has nerved himself to meet some crisis, which +he knows is near at hand. + +There was a stoppage upon Ludgate Hill. Great wooden barricades and +mountains of uprooted paving-stones, amidst which sturdy navigators +disported themselves with spades and pickaxes, and wheelbarrows full of +rubbish, blocked the way; so the brougham turned into Farringdon Street, +and went up Snow Hill, and under the grim black walls of dreadful +Newgate. + +The vehicle travelled very slowly, for the traffic was concentrated in +this quarter by reason of the stoppage on Ludgate Hill, and Mr. Dunbar +was able to contemplate at his leisure the black prison-walls, and the +men and women selling dogs'-collars under their dismal shadows. + +It may be that the banker's face grew a shade paler after that +contemplation. The corners of his mouth twitched nervously as he got out +of the carriage before the mahogany doors of the banking-house in St. +Gundolph Lane. But he drew a long breath, and held his head proudly +erect as he pushed open the doors and went in. + +Never since the day of the discovery of the forged bills had that man +entered the banking-house. Dark thoughts came back upon his mind, and +the shadows deepened on his face as he gave one rapid glance round the +familiar office. + +He walked straight towards the private parlour in which that +well-remembered scene had occurred five-and-thirty years ago. But before +he arrived at the door leading from the public offices to the back of +the house, he was stopped by a gentlemanly-looking man, who came forward +from a desk in some shadowy region, and intercepted the stranger. + +This man was Clement Austin, the cashier. + +"Do you wish to see Mr. Balderby, sir?" he asked. + +"Yes. I have an appointment with him at one o'clock. My name is Dunbar." + +The cashier bowed and opened the door. The banker passed across the +threshold, which he had not crossed for five-and-thirty years until +to-day. + +But as Mr. Dunbar went towards the familiar parlour at the back of the +banking-house, he stopped for a minute, and looked at the cashier. + +Clement Austin was scarcely less pale than Henry Dunbar himself. He had +heard of the banker's intended visit to St. Gundolph Lane, and had +looked forward with strange anxiety to a meeting with the man whom +Margaret Wilmot declared to be the murderer of her father. Now that the +meeting had come to pass, he looked at Henry Dunbar with an earnest, +scrutinizing gaze, as if he would fain have discovered the secret of the +man's guilt or innocence in his countenance. + +The banker's face was pale, and grave, and stern; but Clement Austin +knew that for Henry Dunbar there were very humiliating and unpleasant +circumstances connected with the offices in St. Gundolph Lane, and it +was scarcely to be expected that a man would come smiling into a place +out of which he had gone five-and-thirty years before a disgraced and +degraded creature. + +For a few moments the two men paused in the passage between the public +offices and the private parlour, looking at each other. + +The banker's gaze never flinched during that encounter. It is taken as a +strong proof of a man's innocence that he should look you full in the +face with a steadfast gaze when you look at him with suspicion plainly +visible in your eyes; but would he not be the poorest villain if he +shirked that encounter of glances when he knows full surely that he is +in that moment put to the test? It is rather innocence whose eyelids +drop when you peer too closely into its eyes, for innocence is appalled +by the stern, accusing glances which it is unprepared to meet. Guilt +stares you boldly in the face, for guilt is hardened and defiant, and +has this one grand superiority over innocence--that it is _prepared for +the worst_. + +Clement Austin opened the door of Mr. Balderby's parlour; Mr. Dunbar +went in unannounced. The cashier closed the parlour-door and returned to +his desk in the public office. + +The junior partner was sitting at an office table near the fire writing, +but he rose as the banker entered the room, and went forward to meet +him. + +"You are very punctual, Mr. Dunbar," he said. + +"Yes, I am generally punctual." + +The two men shook hands, and Mr. Balderby wheeled forward a +morocco-covered arm-chair for his senior partner, and then took his seat +opposite to him, with only the small office table between them. + +"It may seem late in the day to bid you welcome to the bank, Mr. +Dunbar," said the junior partner, "but I do so, nevertheless--most +heartily!" + +There was a flatness in the accent in which these two last words were +spoken, which was like the sound of a false coin when it falls dead upon +a counter and proclaims itself spurious. + +Henry Dunbar did not return his partner's greeting. He was looking round +the room, and remembering the day upon which he had last seen it. There +was very little alteration in the appearance of the dismal city chamber. +There was the same wire-blind before the window, the same solitary tree, +leafless, in the narrow courtyard without. The morocco-covered +arm-chairs had been re-covered, perhaps, during that five-and-thirty +years; but if so, the covering had grown shabby again. Even the Turkey +carpet was in the very stage of dusky dinginess that had distinguished +the carpet on which Henry Dunbar had stood five-and-thirty years before. + +"I received your letter announcing your journey to London, and your +desire for a private interview, on Saturday afternoon," Mr. Balderby +said, after a pause. "I have made arrangements to assure our being +undisturbed so long as you may remain here. If you wish to make any +investigation of the affairs of the house, I----" + +Mr. Dunbar waved his hand with a deprecatory air. + +"Nothing is farther from my thoughts than any such design," he said. +"No, Mr. Balderby, I have only been a man of business because all chance +of another career, which I infinitely preferred, was closed upon me +five-and-thirty years ago. I am quite content to be a sleeping-partner +in the house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. For ten years prior to my +father's death he took no active part in the business. The house got on +very well without his aid; it will get on equally well without mine. The +business that brings me to London is an entirely personal matter. I am a +rich man, but I don't exactly know how rich I am, and I want to realize +rather a large sum of money." + +Mr. Balderby bowed, but his eyebrows went up a little, as if he found it +impossible to control some slight evidence of his surprise. + +"Previous to my daughter's marriage I settled upon her the house in +Portland Place and the Yorkshire property. She will have all my money +when I die; and, as Sir Philip Jocelyn is a rich man, she will perhaps +be one of the wealthiest women in England. So far so good. Neither Laura +nor her husband will have any reason for dissatisfaction. But this is +not quite enough, Mr. Balderby. I am not a demonstrative man, and I have +never made any great fuss about my love for my daughter; but I do love +her, nevertheless." + +Mr. Dunbar spoke very slowly here, and stopped once or twice to pass his +handkerchief across his forehead, as he had done in the hotel at +Winchester. + +"We Anglo-Indians have rather a magnificent way of doing things, Mr. +Balderby" he continued, "when we take it into our heads to do them at +all. I want to give my daughter a diamond-necklace as a wedding present, +and I want it to be such as an Eastern prince or a Rothschild might +offer to his only child. You understand?" + +"Oh, perfectly," answered Mr. Balderby; "I shall be most happy to be of +any use to you in the matter." + +"All I want is a large sum of money at my command. I may go rather +recklessly to work and make a large investment in this necklace; it will +be something for Lady Jocelyn to bequeath to her children. You and John +Lovell, of Shorncliffe, were the executors to my father's will. You +signed an order for the transfer of my father's money to my account some +time in last September." + +"I did, in concurrence with Mr. Lovell." + +"Precisely; Lovell wrote me a letter to that effect. My father kept two +accounts here, I believe--a deposit and a drawing account?" + +"He did." + +"And those two accounts have gone on since my return in the same manner +as during his lifetime?" + +"Precisely. The income which Mr. Percival Dunbar set aside for his own +use was seven thousand a year. He rarely, spent as much as that; +sometimes he spent less than half. The balance of this income, and his +double share in the profits of the business, went to the credit of his +deposit account, and various sums have been withdrawn from time to time, +and duly invested under his order." + +"Perhaps you can let me see the ledgers containing those two accounts?" + +"Most certainly." + +Mr. Balderby touched the spring of a handbell upon his table. + +"Ask Mr. Austin to bring the daily balance and deposit accounts +ledgers," he said to the person who answered his summons. + +Clement Austin appeared five minutes afterwards, carrying two ponderous +morocco-bound volumes. + +Mr. Balderby opened both ledgers, and placed them before his senior +partner. Henry Dunbar looked at the deposit account. His eyes ran +eagerly down the long row of figures before him until they came to the +sum total. Then his chest heaved, and he drew a long breath, like a man +who feels almost stifled by some internal oppression. + +The last figures in the page were these: + + _137,926l. 17s. 2d._ + +One hundred and thirty-seven thousand nine hundred and twenty-six pounds +seventeen shillings and twopence. The twopence seemed a ridiculous +anti-climax; but business-men are necessarily as exact in figures as +calculating-machines. + +"How is this money invested?" asked Henry Dunbar, pointing to the page. +His fingers trembled a little as he did so, and he dropped his hand +suddenly upon the ledger. + +"There's fifty thousand in India stock," Mr. Balderby answered, as +indifferently as if fifty thousand pounds more or less was scarcely +worth speaking of; "and there's five-and-twenty in railway debentures, +Great Western. Most of the remainder is floating in Exchequer bills." + +"Then you can realize the Exchequer bills?" + +Mr. Balderby winced as if some one had trodden upon one of his corns. He +was a banker heart and soul, and he did not at all relish the idea of +any withdrawal of the bank's resources, however firm that establishment +might stand. + +"It's rather a large amount of capital to withdraw from the business," +he said, rubbing his chin, thoughtfully. + +"I suppose the bank can afford it!" Mr. Dunbar exclaimed, with a tone of +surprise. + +"Oh, yes; the bank can afford it well enough. Our calls are sometimes +heavy. Lord Yarsfield--a very old customer--talks of buying an estate in +Wales; he may come down upon us at any moment for a very stiff sum of +money. However, the capital is yours, Mr. Dunbar; and you've a right to +dispose of it as you please. The Exchequer bills shall be realized +immediately." + +"Good; and if you can dispose of the railway bonds to advantage, you may +do so." + +"You think of spending----" + +"I think of reinvesting the money. I have an offer of an estate north of +the metropolis, which I think will realize cent per cent a few years +hence: but that is an after consideration. At present we have only to do +with the diamond-necklace for my daughter. I shall buy the diamonds +myself, direct from the merchant-importers. You will hold yourself ready +after Wednesday, we'll say, to cash some very heavy cheques on my +account?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Dunbar." + +"Then I think that is really all I have to say. I shall be happy to see +you at the Clarendon, if you will dine with me any evening that you are +disengaged." + +There was very little heartiness in the tone of this invitation; and Mr. +Balderby perfectly understood that it was only a formula which Mr. +Dunbar felt himself called upon to go through. The junior partner +murmured his acknowledgment of Henry Dunbar's politeness; and then the +two men talked together for a few minutes on indifferent subjects. + +Five minutes afterwards Mr. Dunbar rose to leave the room. He went into +the passage between Mr. Balderby's parlour and the public offices of the +bank. This passage was very dark; but the offices were well lighted by +lofty plate-glass windows. Between the end of the passage and the outer +doors of the bank, Henry Dunbar saw the figure of a woman sitting near +one of the desks and talking to Clement Austin. + +The banker stopped suddenly, and went back to the parlour. + +He looked about him a little absently as he re-entered the room. + +"I thought I brought a cane," he said. + +"I think not," replied Mr. Balderby, rising from before his desk. "I +don't remember seeing one in your hand." + +"Ah, then, I suppose I was mistaken." + +He still lingered in the parlour, putting on his gloves very slowly, and +looking out of the window into the dismal backyard, where there was a +dingy little wooden door set deep in the stone wall. + +While the banker loitered near the window, Clement Austin came into the +room, to show some document to the junior partner. Henry Dunbar turned +round as the cashier was about to leave the parlour. + +"I saw a woman just now talking to you in the office. That's not very +business-like, is it, Mr. Austin? Who is the woman?" + +"She is a young lady, sir." + +"A young lady?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What brings her here?" + +The cashier hesitated for a moment before he replied, "She--wishes to +see you, Mr. Dunbar," he said, after that brief pause. + +"What is her name?--who--who is she?" + +"Her name is Wilmot--Margaret Wilmot." + +"I know no such person!" answered the banker, haughtily, but looking +nervously at the half-opened door as he spoke. + +"Shut that door, sir!" he said, impatiently, to the cashier; "the +draught from the passage is strong enough to cut a man in two. Who is +this Margaret Wilmot?" + +"The daughter of that unfortunate man, Joseph Wilmot, who was cruelly +murdered at Winchester!" answered the cashier, very gravely. + +He looked Henry Dunbar full in the face as he spoke. + +The banker returned his look as unflinchingly as he had done before, and +spoke in a hard, unfaltering voice as he answered: "Tell this person, +Margaret Wilmot, that I refuse to see her to-day, as I refused to see +her in Portland Place, and as I refused to see her at Winchester!" he +said, deliberately. "Tell her that I shall always refuse to see her, +whenever or wherever she makes an attack upon me. I have suffered enough +already on account of that hideous business at Winchester, and I shall +most resolutely defend myself from any further persecution. This young +person can have no possible motive for wishing to see me. If she is poor +and wants money of me, I am ready and willing to assist her. I have +already offered to do so--I can do no more. But if she is in +distress----" + +"She is not in distress, Mr. Dunbar," interrupted Clement Austin. "She +has friends who love her well enough to shield her from that." + +"Indeed; and you are one of those friends, I suppose, Mr. Austin?" + +"I am." + +"Prove your friendship, then, by teaching Margaret Wilmot that she has a +friend and not an enemy in me. If you are--as I suspect from your +manner--something more than a friend: if you love her, and she returns +your love, marry her, and she shall have a dowry that no gentleman's +wife need be ashamed to bring to her husband." + +There was no anger, no impatience in the banker's voice now, but a tone +of deep feeling. Clement Austin locked at him, astonished by the change +in his manner. + +Henry Dunbar saw the look, and it seemed as if he endeavoured to answer +it. + +"You have no need to be surprised that I shrink from seeing Margaret +Wilmot," he said. "Cannot you understand that my nerves may be none of +the strongest, and that I cannot endure the idea of an interview with +this girl, who, no doubt, by her persistent pursuit of me, suspects me +of her father's murder? I am an old man, and I have been thirty-five +years in India. My health is shattered, and I have a horror of all +tragic scenes. I have not yet recovered from the shock of that horrible +business at Winchester. Go and tell Margaret Wilmot this: tell her that +I will be her true friend if she will accept that friendship, but that I +will not see her until she has learned to think better of me." + +There was something very straightforward, very simple, in all this. For +a time, at least, Clement Austin's mind wavered. Margaret was, perhaps, +wrong, after all, and Henry Dunbar might be an innocent man. + +It was Clement who had informed Margaret of Mr. Dunbar's expected +presence here upon this day; and it was on the strength of that +information that the girl had come to St. Gundolph Lane, with the +determination of seeing the man whom she believed to be the murderer of +her father. + +Clement returned to the office, where he had left Margaret, in order to +repeat to her Mr. Dunbar's message. + +No sooner had the door of the parlour closed upon the cashier than Henry +Dunbar turned abruptly to his junior partner. + +"There is a door leading from the yard into a court that connects St. +Gundolph Lane with another lane at the back," he said, "is there not?" + +He pointed to the dark little yard outside the window as he spoke. + +"Yes, there is a door, I believe." + +"Is it locked?" + +"No; it is seldom locked till four o'clock; the clerks use it sometimes, +when they go in and out." + +"Then I shall go out that way," said Mr. Dunbar, who was almost +breathless in his haste. "You can send the carriage back to the +Clarendon by-and-by. I don't want to see that girl. Good morning." + +He hurried out of the parlour, and into a passage leading to the yard, +followed by Mr. Balderby, who wondered at his senior partner's +excitement. The door in the yard was not locked. Henry Dunbar opened it, +went out into the court, and closed the door behind him. + +So, for the third time, he escaped from an interview with Margaret +Wilmot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING. + + +For the third time Margaret Wilmot was disappointed in the hope of +seeing Henry Dunbar. Clement Austin had on the previous evening told her +of the banker's intended visit to the office in St. Gundolph Lane, and +the young music-mistress had made hasty arrangements for the +postponement of her usual duties, in order that she might go to the City +to see Henry Dunbar. + +"He will not dare to refuse you," Clement Austin said; "for he must know +that such a refusal would excite suspicion in the minds of the people +about him." + +"He must have known that at Winchester, and yet he avoided me there," +answered Margaret Wilmot; "he must have known it when he refused to see +me in Portland Place. He will refuse to see me to-day, if I ask for an +interview with him. My only chance will be the chance of an accidental +meeting with Him. Do you think that you can arrange this for me, Mr. +Austin?" + +Clement Austin readily promised to bring about an apparently accidental +meeting between Margaret and Mr. Dunbar, and this is how it was that +Joseph Wilmot's daughter had waited in the office in St. Gundolph Lane. +She had arrived only five minutes after Mr. Dunbar entered the +banking-house, and she waited very patiently, very resolutely, in the +hope that when Henry Dunbar returned to his carriage she might snatch +the opportunity of speaking to him, of seeing his face, and discovering +whether he was guilty or not. + +She clung to the idea that some indefinable expression of his +countenance would reveal the fact of his guilt or innocence. But she +could not dispossess herself of the belief that he was guilty. What +other reason could there be for his persistent avoidance of her? + +But, for the third time, she was baffled; and she went home very +despondently, haunted by the image of her dead father; while Henry +Dunbar went back to the Clarendon in a common hack cab, which he picked +up in Cornhill. + +Margaret Wilmot found one of her pupils waiting in the pretty little +parlour in the cottage at Clapham, and she was obliged to sit down to +the piano and listen to a fantasia, very badly played, keeping sharp +watch upon the pupil's fingers, for an hour or so, before she was free +to think her own thoughts. + +Margaret was very glad when the lesson was over. The pupil was a very +vivacious young lady, who called her music-mistress "dear," and would +have been glad to waste half an hour or so in an animated conversation +about the last new style in bonnets, or the shape of the fashionable +winter mantle, or the popular novel of the month. But Margaret's pale +face seemed a mute appeal for compassion; so Miss Lamberton drew on her +gloves, settled her bonnet before the glass over the mantel-piece, and +tripped away. + +Margaret sat by the little round table, with an open book before her. +But she could not read, though the volume was one that had been lent her +by Clement, and though she took a peculiar pleasure in reading any book +that was a favourite of his. She did not read; she only sat with her +eyes fixed, and her face very pale, in the dim light of two candles that +flickered in the draught from the window. + +She was aroused from her despondent reverie by a double knock at the +door below, and presently the neat little maid-servant ushered Mr. +Austin into the room. + +Margaret started up, a little confused at the advent of this unexpected +visitor. It was the first time that Clement had ever called upon her +alone. He had often been her guest; but, until to-night, he had always +come under his mother's wing to see the pretty music-mistress. + +"I am afraid I startled you, Miss Wilmot," he said. + +"Oh, no; not at all," answered Margaret; "I was sitting here, quite +idle, thinking----" + +"Thinking of your failure of to-day, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +There was a pause, during which Margaret seated herself once more by the +little table, while Clement Austin walked up and down the room thinking. + +Presently he stopped suddenly, with his elbow leaning upon the corner of +the mantel-piece, opposite Margaret, and looked down at the girl's +thoughtful face. She had blushed when the cashier first entered the +room; but she was very pale now. + +"Margaret," said Clement Austin,--it was the first time he had called +his mother's _protegee_ by her Christian name, and the girl looked up at +him with a surprised expression,--"Margaret, that which happened to-day +makes me think that your conviction is only the horrible truth, and that +Henry Dunbar, the sole surviving kinsman of those two men whom I learnt +to honour and revere long ago, when I was a mere boy, is indeed guilty +of your father's death. If so, the cause of justice demands that this +man's crime should be brought to light. I am something of Shakspeare's +opinion; I cannot but believe that 'murder will out,' somehow or other, +sooner or later. But I think that, in this business, the police have +been culpably supine. It seems as if they feared to handle the case to +closely, lest the clue they followed should lead them to Henry Dunbar." + +"You think they have been, bribed?" + +"No; I don't think that. There seems to be a popular belief, all over +the world, that a man with a million of money can do no wrong. I don't +believe the police have been culpable; they have only been +faint-hearted. They have suffered themselves to be discouraged by the +difficulties of the case. Other crimes have been committed, other work +has arisen for them to do, and they have been obliged to abandon an +investigation which seemed hopeless. This is how criminals escape--this +is how murderers are suffered to be at large; not because discovery is +impossible, but because it can only be effected by a slow and wearisome +process in which so few men have courage to persevere. While the country +is ringing with the record of a great crime--while the murderer is on +his guard night and day, waking and sleeping--the police watch and work: +but by-and-by, when the crime is half forgotten--when security has made +the criminal careless--when the chances of detection are ten-fold--the +police have grown tired, and there is no eye to watch the guilty man's +movements. I know nothing of the science of detection, Margaret; but I +believe that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of your father; and I will do +my uttermost, with God's help, to bring this crime home to him." + +The girl's eyes flashed with a proud light, as Clement Austin finished +speaking. + +"Will you do this?" she said; "will you bring to light the mystery of my +father's death? Will you bring punishment upon his murderer? It seems a +horrible thing, perhaps, for a woman to wish detection to overtake any +man, however base; but surely it would be more horrible if I were +content to let my father's murder remain unavenged. My poor father! If +he had been a good man, I do not think it would grieve me so much to +remember his cruel death: but he was not a good man--he was not a good +man." + +"Let him have been what he may, Margaret, his murderer shall not go +unpunished if I can aid the cause of justice," said Clement Austin. "But +it was not to say this alone that I came here to-night, Margaret. I have +something more to say to you." + +There was a tenderness in the cashier's voice as he said these last +words, that brought the blushes back to Margaret's pale cheeks. + +"You know that I love you, Margaret," Clement said, in a low, earnest +voice; "you must know that I love you: or if you do not, it is because +there is no sympathy between us, and in that case my love is indeed +hopeless. I have loved you from the first, dear--yes, from the very +first summer twilight in which I saw your pale, pensive face in the +dusky little garden at Wandsworth. The tender interest which I then felt +in you was the first mysterious dawn of love, though I, in my infinite +wisdom, put it down to an artistic admiration for your peculiar beauty. +It was love, Margaret; and it has grown and strengthened in my heart +ever since that summer evening, until it leads me here to-night to tell +you all, and to ask you if there is any hope. Ah, Margaret, you must +have known my love all along! You would have banished me had you felt +that my love was hopeless: you could not have been so cruel as to +deceive me." + +Margaret looked up at her lover with a frightened face. Had she done +wrong, then, to be happy in his society, if she did not love him--if she +did not love him! But surely this sudden thrill of triumph and delight +which filled her breast, as Clement spoke to her, must be in some degree +akin to love. + +Yes, she loved him; but the bright things of this world were not for +her. Love and Duty fought for the mastery of her pure Soul: and Duty was +the conqueror. + +"Oh, Clement!" she said, "do you forget who I am? Do you forget that +letter which I showed you long ago, a letter addressed to my father when +he was a transported felon, suffering the penalty of his crime? Do you +forget who I am, and the taint that is in my blood; the disgrace that +stains my name? I am proud to think that you have loved me, Clement +Austin; but I am no fitting wife for you!" + +"You are a noble, true-hearted woman, Margaret; and as such you are a +fitting wife for a king. Besides, I am not such a grandee that I need +look for high lineage in the wife of my choice. I am only a working man, +content to accept a salary for my services; and looking forward +by-and-by to a junior partnership in the house I serve. Margaret, my +mother loves you; and she knows that you are the woman I seek to win as +my wife. Forget the taint upon your dead father's name as freely as I +forget it, dearest; and only answer me one question; Is my love +hopeless?" + +"I will never consent to be your wife, Mr. Austin!" Margaret answered, +in a low voice. + +"Because you do not love me?" + +"Because I will never cause you to blush for the history of your wife's +girlhood." + +"That is no answer to my question, Margaret," said Clement Austin, +seating himself by her side, and taking both her hands in his. "I must +ask you to look me full in the face, Miss Wilmot," he added, laughingly, +drawing her towards him as he spoke; "for I begin to fancy you're +addicted to prevarication. Look me in the face, Madge darling, and tell +me that you love me." + +But the blushing face would not be turned towards his own. Margaret's +head was still averted. + +"Don't ask me," she pleaded; "don't ask me. The day would come when you +would regret your choice. I could not endure that. It would be too +bitter. You have been very kind to me; and it would be a poor return for +your kindness, if----" + +"If you were to make me unutterably happy, eh, Margaret? I think it +would be only a proper act of gratitude. Haven't I run all over Clapham, +Brixton, and Wandsworth--to say nothing of an occasional incursion upon +Putney--in order to procure you half-a-dozen pupils? And the very first +favour I demand of you, which is only the gift of this clever little +hand, you have the audacity to refuse me point-blank." + +He waited for a few moments, in the hope that Margaret would say +something; but her face was still averted, and the trembling hand which +Mr. Austin was holding struggled to release itself from his grasp. + +"Margaret," he said, very gravely, "perhaps I have been foolish and +presumptuous in this business. In that case I fully deserve to be +disappointed, however bitter the disappointment may be. If I have been +wrong, Margaret; if I have been deceived by your sweet smile, your +gentle words; for pity's sake tell me that it is so, and I will forgive +you for having involuntarily deceived me, and will try to cure myself of +my folly. But I will not leave this room, I will not abandon the dear +hope that has brought me here to-night, until you tell me plainly that +you do not love me. Speak, Margaret, and speak fearlessly." + +But Margaret was still silent, only in the silence Clement Austin heard +a low, sobbing sound. + +"Margaret darling, you are crying. Ah! I know now that you love me, and +I will not leave this room except as your plighted husband." + +"Heaven help me!" murmured Joseph Wilmot's daughter; "Heaven lead me +right! for I do love you, Clement, with all my heart" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +BUYING DIAMONDS. + + +Mr. Dunbar did not waste much time before he began the grand business +which had brought him to London--that is to say, the purchase of such a +collection of diamonds as compose a necklace second only to that which +brought poor hoodwinked Cardinal de Rohan and the unlucky daughter of +the Caesars into such a morass of trouble and slander. + +Early upon the morning after his visit to the bank, Mr. Dunbar went out +very plainly dressed, and hailed the first empty cab that he saw in +Piccadilly. + +He ordered the cabman to drive straight to a street leading out of +Holborn, a very quiet-looking street, where you could buy diamonds +enough to set up all the jewellers in the Palais Royale and the Rue de +la Paix, and where, if you were so whimsical as to wish to transform a +service of plate into "white soup" at a moment's notice, you might +indulge your fancy in establishments of unblemished respectability. + +The gold and silver refiners, the diamond-merchants and wholesale +jewellers, in this quiet street, were a very superior class of people, +and you might dispose of a handful of gold chains and bangles without +any fear that one or two of them would find their way into the +operator's sleeve during the process of weighing. The great Mr. +Krusible, who thrust the last inch of an Eastern potentate's sceptre +into the melting-pot with the sole of his foot, as the detectives +entered his establishment in search of the missing bauble, and walked +lame for six months afterwards, lived somewhere in the depths of the +city, and far away from this dull-looking Holborn street; and would have +despised the even tenor of life, and the moderate profits of a business +in this neighbourhood. + +Mr. Dunbar left his cab at the Holborn end of the street, and walked +slowly along the pavement till he came to a very dingy-looking +parlour-window, which might have belonged to A lawyer's office but for +some gilded letters on the wire blind, which, in a very pale and faded +inscription, gave notice that the parlour belonged to Mr. Isaac +Hartgold, diamond-merchant. A grimy brass plate on the door of the house +bore another inscription to the same effect; and it was at this door +that Mr. Dunbar stopped. + +He rang a bell, and was admitted immediately by a very sharp-looking +boy, who ushered him into the parlour, where ha saw a mahogany counter, +a pair of small brass scales, a horse-hair-cushioned office-stool +considerably the worse for wear, and a couple of very formidable-looking +iron safes deeply imbedded in the wall behind the counter. There was a +desk near the window, at which a gentleman, with very black hair and +whiskers was seated, busily engaged in some abstruse calculations +between a pair of open ledgers. + +He got off his high seat as Mr. Dunbar entered, and looked rather +suspiciously at the banker. I suppose the habit of selling diamonds had +made him rather suspicious of every one. Henry Dunbar wore a fashionable +greatcoat with loose open cuffs, and it was towards these loose cuffs +that Mr. Hartgold's eyes wandered with rapid and rather uneasy glances. +He was apt to look doubtfully at gentlemen with roomy coat-sleeves, or +ladies with long-haired muffs or fringed parasols. Unset diamonds are an +eminently portable species of property, and you might carry a tolerably +valuable collection of them in the folds of the smallest parasol that +ever faded under the summer sunshine in the Lady's Mile. + +"I want to buy a collection of diamonds for a necklace," Mr. Dunbar +said, as coolly as if he had been talking of a set of silver spoons; +"and I want the necklace to be something out of the common. I should +order it of Garrard or Emanuel; but I have a fancy for buying the +diamonds upon paper, and having them made up after a design of my own. +Can you supply me with what I want?" + +"How much do you want? You may have what some people would call a +necklace for a thousand pounds, or you may have one that'll cost you +twenty thousand. How far do you mean to go?" + +"I am prepared to spend something between fifty and eighty thousand +pounds." + +The diamond merchant pursed up his lips reflectively. "You are aware +that in these sort of transactions ready money is indispensable?" he +said. + +"Oh, yes, I am quite aware of that," Mr. Dunbar answered, coolly. + +He took out his card-case as he spoke, and handed one of his cards to +Mr. Isaac Hartgold. "Any cheques signed by that name," he said, "will be +duly honoured in St. Gundolph Lane." + +Mr. Hartgold bent his head reverentially to the representative of a +million of money. He, in common with every business man in London, was +thoroughly familiar with the names of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +"I don't know that I can supply you with fifty thousand pounds' worth of +such diamonds as you may require at a moment's notice," he said; "but I +can procure them for you in a day or two, if that will do?" + +"That will do very well. This is Tuesday; suppose I give you till +Thursday?" + +"The stones shall be ready for you by Thursday, sir." + +"Very good. I will call for them on Thursday morning. In the meantime, +in order that you may understand that the transaction is a _bona fide_ +one, I'll write a cheque for ten thousand, payable to your order, on +account of diamonds to be purchased by me. I have my cheque-book in my +pocket. Oblige me with pen and ink." + +Mr. Hartgold murmured something to the effect that such a proceeding was +altogether unnecessary; but he brought Mr. Dunbar his office inkstand, +and looked on with an approving twinkle of his eyes while the banker +wrote the cheque, in that slow, formal hand peculiar to him. It made +things very smooth and comfortable, Mr. Hartgold thought, to say the +least of it. + +"And now, sir, with regard to the design of the necklace," said the +merchant, when he had folded the cheque and put it into his +waistcoat-pocket. "I suppose you've some idea that you'd like to carry +out; and you'd wish, perhaps, to see a few specimens." + +He unlocked one of the iron safes as he spoke, and brought out a lot of +little paper packets, which were folded in a peculiar fashion, and which +he opened with very gingerly fingers. + +"I suppose you'd like some tallow-drops, sir?" he said. "Tallow-drops +work-in better than anything for a necklace." + +"What, in Heaven's name, are tallow-drops?" + +Mr. Hartgold took up a diamond with a pair of pincers, and exhibited it +to the banker. + +"That's a tallow-drop, sir," he said. "It's something of a heart-shaped +stone, you see; but we call it a tallow-drop, because it's very much the +shape of a drop of tallow. You'd like large stones, of course, though +they eat into a great deal of money? There are diamonds that are known +all over Europe; diamonds that have been in the possession of royalty, +and are as well known as the family they've belonged to. The Duke of +Brunswick has pretty well cleared the market of that sort of stuff; but +still they are to be had, if you've a fancy for anything of that kind?" + +Mr. Dunbar shook his head. + +"I don't want anything of that sort," he said; "the day may come when my +daughter, or my daughter's descendants, may be obliged to realize the +jewels. I'm a commercial man, and I want eighty thousand pounds' worth +of diamonds that shall be worth the money I give for them to break up +and sell again. I should wish you to choose diamonds of moderate size, +but not small; worth, on an average, forty or fifty pounds apiece, we'll +say." + +"I shall have to be very particular about matching them in colour," said +Mr. Hartgold, "as they're for a necklace." The banker shrugged his +shoulders. + +"Don't trouble yourself about the necklace," he said, rather +impatiently. "I tell you again I'm a commercial man, and what I want is +good value for my money." + +"And you shall have it, sir," answered the diamond-merchant, briskly. + +"Very well, then; in that case I think we understand each other, and +there's no occasion for me to stop here any longer. You'll have eighty +thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, at thereabouts, ready for me when I +call here on Thursday morning. You can cash that cheque in the meantime, +and ascertain with whom you have to deal. Good morning." + +He left the diamond-merchant wondering at his sang froid, and returned +to the cab, which had been waiting for him all this time. + +He was just going to step into it, when a hand touched him lightly on +the shoulder, and turning sharply and angrily round, he recognized the +gentleman who called himself Major Vernon. But the Major was by no means +the shabby stranger who had watched the marriage of Philip Jocelyn and +Laura Dunbar in Lisford Church. Major Vernon had risen, resplendent as +the phoenix, from the ashes of his old clothes. + +The poodle collar was gone: the dilapidated boots had been exchanged for +stout water-tight Wellingtons: the napless dirty white hat had given +place to a magnificent beaver, with a broad trim curled at the sides. +Major Vernon was positively splendid. He was as much wrapped up as ever; +but his wrappings now were of a gorgeous, not to say gaudy, description. +His thick greatcoat was of a dark olive-green, and the collar turned up +over his ears was of a shiny-looking brown fur, which, to the confiding +mind of the populace, is known as imitation sable. Inside this fur +collar the Major wore a shawl-patterned scarf of all the colours in the +prismatic scale, across which his nose lacked its usual brilliancy of +hue by force of contrast. Major Vernon had a very big cigar in his +mouth, and a very big cane in his hand, and the quiet City men turned to +look at him as he stood upon the pavement talking to Henry Dunbar. + +The banker writhed under the touch of his Indian acquaintance. + +"What do you want with me?" he asked, in low angry tones; "why do you +follow me about to play the spy upon me, and stop me in the public +street? Haven't I done enough for you? Ain't you satisfied with what I +have done?" + +"Yes, dear boy," answered the Major, "perfectly satisfied, more than +satisfied--for the present. But your future favours--as those low +fellows, the butchers and bakers, have it--are respectfully requested +for yours truly. Let me get into the cab with you, Mr. H.D., and take me +back to the _casa_, and give me a comfortable little bit of perrogg. I +haven't lost my aristocratic taste for seven courses, and an elegant +succession of still fine sparkling wines, though during the last few +years I've been rather frequently constrained to accept the shadowy +hospitality of his grace of Humphrey. '_Nante dinari, nante manjare_,' +as we say in the Classics, which I translate, 'No credit at the +butcher's or the baker's.'" + +"For Heaven's sake, stop that abominable slang!" said Henry Dunbar, +impatiently. + +"It annoys you, dear friend, eh? Well, I've known the time when----But +no matter, 'let what is broken, so remain,' as the poet observes; which +is only an elegant way of saying, 'Let bygones be bygones.' And so +you've been buying diamonds, dear boy?" + +"Who told you so?" + +"You did, when you came out of Mr. Isaac Hartgold's establishment. I +happened to be passing the door as you went in, and I happened to be +passing the door again as you came out." + +"And playing the spy upon me." + +"Not at all, dear boy. It was merely a coincidence, I assure you. I +called at the bank yesterday, cashed my cheques, ascertained your +address; called at the Clarendon this morning, was told you'd that +minute gone out; looked down Albemarle Street; there you were, sure +enough; saw you get into a cab; got into another--a Hansom, and faster +than yours--came behind you to the corner of this street." + +"You followed me," said Henry Dunbar, bitterly. + +"Don't call it _following_, dear friend, because that's low. Accident +brought me into this neighbourhood at the very hour you were coming into +this neighbourhood. If you want to quarrel with anything, quarrel with +the doctrine of chances, not with me." + +Henry Dunbar turned away with a sulky gesture. His friend watched him +with very much the same malicious grin that had distorted his face under +the lamp-lit porch at Maudesley. The Major looked like a vulgar-minded +Mephistopheles: there was not even the "divinity of hell" about him. + +"And so you've been buying diamonds?" he repeated presently, after a +considerable pause. + +"Yes, I have. I am buying them for a necklace for my daughter." + +"You are so dotingly fond of your daughter!" said the Major with a leer. + +"It is necessary that I should give her a present." + +"Precisely, and you won't even trust the business to a jeweller; you +insist on doing it all yourself." + +"I shall do it for less money than a jeweller." + +"Oh, of course," answered Major Vernon; "the motive's as clear as +daylight." + +He was silent for a few minutes, then he laid his hand heavily upon his +companion's shoulder, put his lips close to the banker's ear, and said, +in a loud voice, for it was not easy for him to make himself heard above +the jolting of the cab,-- + +"Henry Dunbar, you're a very clever fellow, and I dare say you think +yourself a great deal sharper than I am; but, by Heaven, if you try any +tricks with me, you'll find yourself mistaken! You must buy me an +annuity. Do you understand? Before you move right or left, or say your +soul's your own, you must buy me an annuity!" + +The banker shook off his companion's hand, and turned round upon him, +pale, stern, and defiant. + +"Take care, Stephen Vallance," he said; "take care how you threaten me. +I should have thought you knew me of old, and would be wise enough to +keep a civil tongue in your head, with _me_. As for what you ask, I +shall do it, or I shall let it alone--as I think fit. If I do it, I +shall take my own time about it, not yours." + +"You're not afraid of me, then?" asked the other, recoiling a little, +and much more subdued in his tone. + +"No!" + +"You are very bold." + +"Perhaps I am. Do you remember the old story of some people who had a +goose that laid golden eggs? They were greedy, and, in their besotted +avarice, they killed the goose. But they have not gone down to posterity +as examples of wisdom. No, Vallance, I'm not afraid of you." + +Mr. Vallance leaned back in the cab, biting his nails savagely, and +thinking. It seemed as if he was trying to find an answer for Mr. +Dunbar's speech: but, if so, he must have failed, for he was silent for +the rest of the drive: and when he got out of the vehicle, by-and-by, +before the door of the Clarendon, his manner bore an undignified +resemblance to that of a half-bred cur who carries his tail between his +legs. + +"Good afternoon, Major Vernon," the banker said, carelessly, as a +liveried servant opened the door of the hotel: "I shall be very much +engaged during the few days I am likely to remain in town, and shall be +unable to afford myself the pleasure of your society." + +The Major stared aghast at this cool dismissal. + +"Oh," he murmured, vaguely, "that's it, is it? Well, of course, you know +what's best for yourself--so, good afternoon!" + +The door closed upon Major Vernon, alias Mr. Stephen Vallance, while he +was still staring straight before him, in utter inability to realize his +position. But he drew his cashmere shawl still higher up about his ears, +took out a gaudy scarlet-morocco cigar-case, lighted another big cigar, +and then strolled slowly down the quiet West-end street, with his bushy +eyebrows contracted into a thoughtful frown. + +"Cool," he muttered between his closed lips; "very cool, to say the +least of it. Some people would call it audacious. But the story of the +goose with the golden eggs is one of childhood's simple lessons that +we're obliged to remember in after-life. And to think that the +Government of this country should have the audacity to offer a measly +hundred pounds or so for the discovery of a great crime! The shabbiness +of the legislature must answer for it, if criminals remain at large. My +friend's a deep one, a cursedly deep one; but I shall keep my eye upon +him 'My faith is strong in time,' as the poet observes. My friend +carries it with a high hand at present; but the day may come when he may +want me; and if ever he does want me, egad, he shall pay me my own +price, and it shall be rather a stiff one into the bargain." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +GOING AWAY. + + +At one o'clock on the appointed Thursday morning, Mr. Dunbar presented +himself in the diamond-merchant's office. Henry Dunbar was not alone. He +had called in St. Gundolph Lane, and asked Mr. Balderby to go with him +to inspect the diamonds he had bought for his daughter. + +The junior partner opened his eyes to the widest extent as the +brilliants were displayed before him, and declared that big senior's +generosity was something more than princely. + +But perhaps Mr. Balderby did not feel so entirely delighted two or three +hours afterwards, when Mr. Isaac Hartgold presented himself before the +counter in St. Gundolph Lane, whence he departed some time afterwards +carrying away with him seventy-five thousand eight hundred pounds in +Bank-of-England notes. + +Henry Dunbar walked away from the neighbourhood of Holborn with his coat +buttoned tightly across his broad chest, and nearly eighty thousand +pounds' worth of property hidden away in his breast-pockets. He did not +go straight back to the Clarendon, but pierced his way across +Smithfield, and into a busy smoky street, where he stopped by-and-by at +a dingy-looking currier's shop. + +He went in and selected a couple of chamois skins, very thick and +strong. At another shop he bought some large needles, half-a-dozen +skeins of stout waxed thread, a pair of large scissors, a couple of +strong steel buckles, and a tailor's thimble. When he had made these +purchases, he hailed the first empty cab that passed him, and went back +to his hotel. + +He dined, drank the best part of a bottle of Burgundy, and then ordered +a cup of strong tea to be taken to his dressing-room. He had fires in +his bedroom and dressing-room every night. To-night he retired very +early, dismissed the servant who attended upon him, and locked the door +of the outer room, the only door communicating with the corridor of the +hotel. + +He drank a cup of tea, bathed his head with cold water, and then sat +down at a writing-table near the fire. + +But he was not going to write; he pushed aside the writing-materials, +and took his purchases of the afternoon from his pocket. He spread the +chamois leather out upon the table, and cut the skins into two long +strips, about a foot broad. He measured these round his waist, and then +began to stitch them together, slowly and laboriously. + +The work was not easy, and it took the banker a very long time to +complete it to his own satisfaction. It was past twelve o'clock when he +had stitched both sides and one end of the double chamois-leather belt; +the other end he left open. + +When he had completed the two sides and the end that was closed, he took +four or five little canvas-bags from his pocket. Every one of these +canvas-bags was full of loose diamonds. + +A thrill of rapture ran through the banker's veins as he plunged his +fingers in amongst the glittering stones. He filled his hands with the +bright gems, and let them run from one hand to the other, like streams +of liquid light. Then, very slowly and carefully, he began to drop the +diamonds into the open end of the chamois-leather belt. + +When he had dropped a few into the belt, he stitched the leather across +and across, quilting-in the stones. This work took him so long, that it +was four o'clock in the morning when he had quilted the last diamond +into the belt. He gave a long sigh of relief as he threw the waste +scraps of leather upon the top of the low fire, and watched them slowly +smoulder away into black ashes. Then he put the chamois-leather belt +under his pillow, and went to bed. + +Henry Dunbar went back to Maudesley Abbey by the express on the morning +after the day on which he had completed his purchase of the diamonds. He +wore the chamois-leather belt buckled tightly round his waist next to +his inner shirt, and was able to defy the swell-mob, had those gentry +been aware of the treasures which he carried about with him. + +He wrote from Warwickshire to one of the best and most fashionable +jewellers at the West End, and requested that a person who was +thoroughly skilled in his business might be sent down to Maudesley +Abbey, duly furnished with drawings of the newest designs in diamond +necklaces, earrings, &c. + +But when the jeweller's agent came, two or three days afterwards, Mr. +Dunbar could find no design that suited him; and the man returned to +London without having received an order, and without having even seen +the brilliants which the banker had bought. + +"Tell your employer that I will retain two or three of these designs," +Mr. Dunbar said, selecting the drawings as he spoke; "and if, upon +consideration, I find that one of them will suit me, I will communicate +with your establishment. If not, I shall take the diamonds to Paris, and +get them made up there." + +The jeweller ventured to suggest the inferiority of Parisian workmanship +as compared with that of a first-rate English establishment; but Mr. +Dunbar did not condescend to pay any attention to the young man's +remonstrance. + +"I shall write to your employer in due course," he said, coldly. "Good +morning." + +Major Vernon had returned to the Rose and Crown at Lisford. The deed +which transferred to him the possession of Woodbine Cottage was speedily +executed, and he took up his abode there. His establishment was composed +of the old housekeeper, who had waited on the deceased admiral, and a +young man-of-all-work, who was nephew to the housekeeper, and who had +also been in the service of the late owner of the cottage. + +From his new abode Mr. Vernon was able to keep a tolerably sharp +look-out upon the two great houses in his neighbourhood--Maudesley Abbey +and Jocelyn's Rock. Country people know everything about their +neighbours; and Mrs. Manders, the housekeeper, had means of +communication with both "the Abbey" and "the Rock;" for she had a niece +who was under-housemaid in the service of Henry Dunbar, and a grandson +who was a helper in Sir Philip Jocelyn's stables. Nothing could have +better pleased the new inhabitant of Woodbine Cottage, who was speedily +on excellent terms with his housekeeper. + +From her he heard that a jeweller's assistant had been to Maudesley, and +had submitted a portfolio of designs to the millionaire. + +"Which they do say," Mrs. Manders continued, "that Mr. Dunbar had laid +out nigh upon half-a-million of money in diamonds; and that he is going +to give his daughter, Lady Jocelyn, a set of jewels such as the Queen +upon her throne never set eyes on. But Mr. Dunbar is rare and difficult +to please, it seems; for the young man from the jeweller's, he says to +Mrs. Grumbleton at the western lodge, he says, 'Your master is not easy +to satisfy, ma'am,' he says; from which Mrs. Grumbleton gathers that he +had not took a order from Mr. Dunbar." + +Major Vernon whistled softly to himself when Mrs. Manders retired, after +having imparted this piece of information. + +"You're a clever fellow, dear friend," he muttered, as he lighted his +cigar; "you're a stupendous fellow, dear boy; but your friend can see +through less transparent blinds than this diamond business. It's well +planned--it's neat, to say the least of it. And you've my best wishes, +dear boy; but--you must pay for them--you must pay for them, Henry +Dunbar." + +This little conversation between the new tenant of Woodbine Cottage and +his housekeeper occurred on the very evening on which Major Vernon took +possession of his new abode. The next day was Sunday--a cold wintry +Sunday; for the snow had been falling all through the last three days +and nights, and lay deep on the ground, hiding the low thatched roofs, +and making feathery festoons about the leafless branches, until Lisford +looked like a village upon the top of a twelfth-cake. While the +Sabbath-bells were ringing in the frosty atmosphere, Major Vernon opened +the low white gate of his pleasant little garden, and went out upon the +high-road. + +But not towards the church. Major Vernon was not going to church on this +bright winter's morning. He went the other way, tramping through the +snow, towards the eastern gate of Maudesley Park. He went in by the low +iron gate, for there was a bridle-path by this part of the park--that +very bridle-path by which Philip Jocelyn had ridden to Lisford so often +in the autumn weather. + +Major Vernon struck across this path, following the tracks of late +footsteps in the deep snow, and thus took the nearest way to the Abbey. +There he found all very quiet. The supercilious footman who admitted him +to the hall seemed doubtful whether he should admit him any farther. + +"Mr. Dunbar are hup," he said; "and have breakfasted, to the best of my +knowledge, which the breakfast ekewpage have not yet been removed." + +"So much the better," Major Vernon answered, coolly. "You may bring up +some fresh coffee, John; for I haven't made much of a breakfast myself; +and if you'll tell the cook to devil the thigh of a turkey, with plenty +of cayenne-pepper and a squeeze of lemon, I shall be obliged. You +need'nt trouble yourself; I know my way." + +The Major opened the door leading to Mr. Dunbar's apartments, and walked +without ceremony into the tapestried chamber, where he found the banker +sitting near a table, upon which a silver coffee service, a Dresden cup +and saucer, and two or three covered dishes gave evidence that Mr. +Dunbar had been breakfasting. Cold meats, raised pies, and other +comestibles were laid out upon the carved-oak sideboard. + +The Major paused upon the threshold of the chamber and gravely +contemplated his friend. + +"It's comfortable!" he exclaimed; "to say the least of it, it's very +comfortable, dear boy!" + +The dear boy did not look particularly pleased as he lifted his eyes to +his visitor's face. + +"I thought you were in London?" he said. + +"Which shows how very little you trouble yourself about the concerns of +your neighbours," answered Major Vernon, "for if you had condescended to +inquire about the movements of your humble friend, you would have been +told that he had bought a comfortable little property in the +neighbourhood, and settled down to do the respectable country gentleman +for the remainder of his natural life--always supposing that the +liberality of his honoured friend enables him to do the thing decently." + +"Do you mean to say that you have bought property in this +neighbourhood?" + +"Yes! I am leasehold proprietor of Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford and +Shorncliffe." + +"And you mean to settle in Warwickshire?" + +"I do." + +Henry Dunbar smiled to himself as his friend said this. + +"You're welcome to do so," he said, "as far as I am concerned." + +The Major looked at him sharply. + +"Your sentiments are liberality itself, my dear friend. But I must +respectfully remind you that the expenses attendant upon taking +possession of my humble abode have been very heavy. In plain English, +the two thou' which you so liberally advanced as the first instalment of +future bounties, has melted like snow in a rapid thaw. I want another +two thou', friend of my youth and patron of my later years. What's a +thousand or so, more or less, to the senior partner in the house of D., +D., and B.? Make it two five this time, and your petitioner will ever +pray, &c. &c. &c. Make it two five, Prince of Maudesley!" + +There is no need for me to record the interview between these two men. +It was rather a long one; for, in congenial companionship, Major Vernon +had plenty to say for himself: it was only when he felt himself out of +his element and unappreciated that the Major wrapped himself in the +dignity of silence, at in some mystic mantle, and retired for the time +being from the outer world. + +He did not leave Maudesley Abbey until he had succeeded in the object of +his visit, and he carried away in his pocket-book cheques to the amount +of two thousand five hundred pounds. + +"I flatter myself I was just in the nick of time," the Major thought, as +he walked back to Woodbine Cottage, "for as sure as my name's what it +is, my friend means a bolt. He means a bolt; and the money I've had +to-day is the last I shall ever receive from that quarter." + +Almost immediately after Major Vernon's departure, Henry Dunbar rang the +bell for the servant who acted as his valet whenever he required the +services of one, which was not often. + +"I shall start for Paris to-night, Jeffreys," he said to this man. "I +want to see what the French jewellers can do before I trust Lady +Jocelyn's necklace into the hands of English workmen. I'm not well, and +I want change of air and scene, so I shall start for Paris to-night. +Pack a small portmanteau with everything that's indispensable, but pack +nothing unnecessary." + +"Am I to go with you, sir?" the man asked. + +Henry Dunbar looked at his watch, and seemed to reflect upon this +question some moments before he answered. + +"How do the up-trains go on a Sunday?" he asked. + +"There's an express from the north stops at Rugby at six o'clock, sir. +You might meet that, if you left Shorncliffe by the 4:35 train." + +"I could do that," answered the banker; "it's only three o'clock. Pack +my portmanteau at once, Jeffreys, and order the carriage to be ready for +me at a quarter to four. No, I won't take you to Paris with me. You can +follow me in a day or two with some more things." + +"Yes, sir." + +There was no such thing as bustle and confusion in a household organized +like that of Mr. Dunbar. The valet packed his master's portmanteau and +dressing-case; the carriage came round to the gravel-drive before the +porch at the appointed moment; and five minutes afterwards Mr. Dunbar +came out into the hall, with his greatcoat closely buttoned over his +broad chest, and a leopard-skin travelling-rug flung across his +shoulder. + +Round his waist he wore the chamois-leather belt which he had made with +his own hands at the Clarendon Hotel. This belt had never quitted him +since the night upon which he made it. The carriage conveyed him to the +Shorncliffe station. He got out and went upon the platform. Although it +was not yet five o'clock, the wintry light was fading in the grey sky, +and in the railway station it was already dark. There were lamps here +and there, but they only made separate splotches of light in the dusky +atmosphere. + +Henry Dunbar walked slowly up and down the platform. He was so deeply +absorbed by his own thoughts that he was quite startled presently when a +young man came close behind him, and addressed him eagerly. + +"Mr. Dunbar," he said; "Mr. Dunbar!" + +The banker turned sharply round, and recognized Arthur Lovell. + +"Ah! my dear Lovell, is that you? You quite startled me." + +"Are you going by the next train? I was so anxious to see you." + +"Why so?" + +"Because there's some one here who very much wishes to see you; quite an +old friend of yours, he says. Who do you think it is?" + +"I don't know, I can't guess--I've so many old friends. I can't see any +one, Lovell. I'm very ill, I saw a physician while I was in London; and +he told me that my heart is diseased, and that if I wish to live I must +avoid any agitation, any sudden emotion, as I would avoid a deadly +poison. Who is it that wants to see me?" + +"Lord Herriston, the great Anglo-Indian statesman. He is a friend of my +father's, and he has been very kind to me--indeed, he offered me an +appointment, which I found it wisest to decline. He talked a great deal +about you, when my father told him that you'd settled at Maudesley, and +would have driven over to see you if he could have managed to spare the +time, without losing his train. You'll see him, wont you?" + +"Where is he?" + +"Here, in the station--in the waiting-room. He has been visiting in +Warwickshire, and he lunched with my father _en passant_; he is going to +Derby, and he's waiting for the down-train to take him on to the main +line. You'll come and see him?" + +"Yes, I shall be very glad; I----" + +Henry Dunbar stopped suddenly, with his hand upon his side. The bell had +been ringing while Lovell and the banker had stood upon the platform +talking. The train came into the station at this moment. + +"I shan't be able to see Lord Herriston to-night," Mr. Dunbar said, +hurriedly; "I must go by this train, or I shall lose a day. Good-bye, +Lovell. Make my best compliments to Herriston; tell him I have been very +ill. Good-bye." + +"Your portmanteau's in the carriage, sir," the servant said, pointing to +the open door of a first-class compartment. Henry Dunbar got into the +carriage. At the moment of his doing so, an elderly gentleman came out +of the waiting-room. + +"Is this my train, Lovell?" he asked. + +"No, my Lord. Mr. Dunbar is here; he goes by this train. You'll have +time to speak to him." + +The train was moving. Lord Herriston was an active old fellow. He ran +along the platform, looking into the carriages. But the old man's sight +was not as good as his legs were; he looked eagerly into the +carriage-windows, but he only saw a confusion of flickering lamplight, +and strange faces, and newspapers unfurled in the hands of wakeful +travellers, and the heads of sleepy passengers rolling and jolting +against the padded sides of the carriage. + +"My eyes are not what they used to be," he said, with a good-tempered +laugh, when he went back to Arthur Lovell. "I didn't succeed in getting +a glimpse of my old friend Henry Dunbar." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +STOPPED UPON THE WAY. + + +Mr. Dunbar leant back in the corner of his comfortable seat, with his +eyes closed. But he was not asleep, he was only thinking; and every now +and then he bent forward, and looked out of the window into the darkness +of the night. He could only distinguish the faint outline of the +landscape as the train swept on upon its way, past low meadows, where +the snow lay white and stainless, unsullied by a passing footfall; and +scanty patches of woodland, where the hardy firs looked black against +the glittering whiteness of the ground. + +The country was all so much alike under its thick shroud of snow, that +Mr. Dunbar tried in vain to distinguish any landmarks upon the way. + +The train by which he travelled stopped at every station; and, though +the journey between Shorncliffe and Rugby was only to last an hour, it +seemed almost interminable to this impatient traveller, who was eager to +stand upon the deck of Messrs. ----'s electric steamers, to feel the icy +spray dashing into his face, and to see the town of Dover, shining like +a flaming crescent against the darkness of the night, and the Calais +lights in the distance rising up behind the black edge of the sea. + +The banker looked at his watch, and made a calculation about the time. +It was now a quarter past five; the train was to reach Rugby at ten +minutes to six; at six the London express left Rugby; at a quarter to +eight it reached London; at half-past eight the Dover mail would leave +London Bridge station; and at half-past seven, or thereabouts, next +morning, Henry Dunbar would be rattling through the streets of Paris. + +And then? Was his journey to end in that brilliant city, or was he to go +farther? That was a question whose answer was hidden in the traveller's +own breast. He had not shown himself a communicative man at the best of +times, and to-night he looked like a man whose soul is weighed down by +the burden of a purpose which must he achieved at any cost of personal +sacrifice. + +He could not hear the names of the stations. He only heard those +guttural and inarticulate sounds which railway officials roar out upon +the darkness of the night, to the bewilderment of helpless travellers. +His inability to distinguish the names of the stations annoyed him. The +delay attendant upon every fresh stoppage worried him, as if the pause +had been the weary interval of an hour. He sat with his watch in his +hand; for every now and then he was seized with a sudden terror that the +train had fallen out of its regular pace, and was crawling slowly along +the rails. + +What if it should not reach Rugby until after the London express had +left the station? + +Mr. Dunbar asked one of his fellow-travellers if this train was always +punctual. + +"Yes," the gentleman answered, coolly; "I believe it is generally pretty +regular. But I don't know how the snow may affect the engine. There have +been accidents in some parts of the country." + +"In consequence of the depth of snow?" + +"Yes. I understand so." + +It was about ten minutes after this brief conversation, and within a +quarter of an hour of the time at which the train was due at Rugby, when +the carriage, which had rocked a good deal from the first, began to +oscillate very violently. One meagre little elderly traveller turned +rather pale, and looked nervously at his fellow-passengers; but the +young man who had spoken to Henry Dunbar, and a bald-headed +commercial-looking gentleman opposite to him, went on reading their +newspapers as coolly as if the rocking of the carriage had been no more +perilous than the lullaby motion of an infant's cradle, guided by a +mother's gentle foot. + +Mr. Dunbar never took his eyes from the dial of his watch. So the +nervous traveller found no response to his look of terror. + +He sat quietly for a minute or so, and then lowered the window near him, +and let in a rush of icy wind, whereat the bald-headed commercial +gentleman turned upon him rather fiercely, and asked him what he was +about, and if he wanted to give them all inflammation of the lungs, by +letting in an atmosphere that was two degrees below zero. But the little +elderly gentleman scarcely heard this remonstrance; his head was out of +the window, and he was looking eagerly Rugby-wards along the line. + +"I'm afraid there's something wrong," he said, drawing in his head for a +moment, and looking with a scared white face at his fellow-passengers; +"I'm really afraid there's something wrong. We're eight minutes behind +our time, and I see the danger-signal up yonder, and the line seems +blocked up with snow, and I really fear----" + +He looked out again, and then drew in his head very suddenly. + +"There's something coming!" he cried; "there's an engine coming----" + +He never finished his sentence. There was a horrible smashing, tearing, +grinding noise, that was louder than thunder, and more hideous than the +crashing of cannon against the wooden walls of a brave ship. + +That horrible sound was followed by a yell almost as horrible; and then +there was nothing but death, and terror, and darkness, and anguish, and +bewilderment; masses of shattered woodwork and iron heaped in direful +confusion upon the blood-stained snow; human groans, stifled under the +wrecks of shivered carriages: the cries of mothers whose children had +been flung out of their arms into the very jaws of death; the piteous +wail of children, who clung, warm and living, to the breasts of dead +mothers, martyred in that moment of destruction; husbands parted from +their wives; wives shrieking for their husbands; and, amidst all, brave +men, with white faces, hurrying here and there, with lamps in their +hands, half-maimed and wounded some of them, but forgetful of themselves +in their care for the helpless wretches round them. + +The express going northwards had run into the train from Shorncliffe, +which had come upon the main line just nine minutes too late. + +One by one the dead and wounded were earned away from the great heap of +ruins; one by one the prostrate forms were borne away by quiet bearers, +who did their duty calmly and fearlessly in that hideous scene of havoc +and confusion. The great object to be achieved was the immediate +clearance of the line; and the sound of pickaxes and shovels almost +drowned those other dreadful sounds, the piteous moans of sufferers who +were so little hurt as to be conscious of their sufferings. + +The train from Shorncliffe had been completely smashed. The northern +express had suffered much less; but the engine-driver had been killed, +and several of the passengers severely injured. + +Henry Dunbar was amongst those who were carried away helpless, and, to +all appearance, lifeless from the ruin of the Shorncliffe train. + +One of the banker's legs was broken, and he had received A blow upon the +head, which had rendered him immediately unconscious. + +But there were cases much worse than that of the banker; the surgeon who +examined the sufferers said that Mr. Dunbar might recover from his +injuries in two or three months, if he was carefully treated. The +fracture of the leg was very simple; and if the limb was skilfully set, +there would not be the least fear of contraction. + +Half-a-dozen surgeons were busy in one of the waiting-rooms at the Rugby +station, whither the sufferers had been conveyed, and one of them took +possession of the banker. + +Mr. Dunbar's card-case had been found in the breast-pocket of his +overcoat, and a great many people in the waiting-room knew that the +gentleman with the white lace and grey moustache, lying so quietly upon +one of the broad sofas, was no less a personage than Henry Dunbar, of +Maudesley Abbey and St. Gundolph Lane. The surgeon knew it, and thought +his good angel had sent this particular patient across his pathway. + +He made immediate arrangements for bearing off Mr. Dunbar to the nearest +hotel; he sent for his assistant; and in a quarter of an hour's time the +millionaire was restored to consciousness, and opened his eyes upon the +eager faces of two medical gentlemen, and upon a room that was strange +to him. + +The banker looked about him with an expression of perplexity, and then +asked where he was. He knew nothing of the accident itself, and he had +quite lost the recollection of all that had occurred immediately before +the accident, or, indeed, from the time of his leaving Maudesley Abbey. + +It was only little by little that the memory of the events of that day +returned to him. He had wanted to leave Maudesley; he had wanted to go +abroad--to go upon a journey--that was no new purpose in his mind. Had +he actually set out upon that journey? Yes, surely, he must have started +upon it; but what had happened, then? + +He asked the surgeon what had happened, and why it was that he found +himself in that strange place. + +Mr. Daphney, the Rugby surgeon, told his patient all about the accident, +in such a bland, pleasant way, that anybody might have thought the +collision of a couple of engines rather an agreeable little episode in a +man's life. + +"But we are doing admirably, sir," Mr. Daphney concluded; "nothing could +be more desirable than the way in which we are going on; and when our +leg has been set, and we've taken a cooling draught, we shall be, quite +comfortable for the night. I really never saw a cleaner fracture--never, +I can assure you." + +But Mr. Dunbar raised himself into a sitting position, in spite of the +remonstrances of his medical attendant, and looked anxiously about him. + +"You say this place is Rugby?" he asked, moodily. + +"Yes, this is Rugby," answered the surgeon, smiling, and rubbing his +hands, almost as if he would have said, "Now, isn't _that_ delightful?" +"Yes, this is the Queen's Hotel, Rugby; and I'm sure that every +attention which the proprietor, Mr.----" + +"I must get away from this place to-night," said Mr. Dunbar, +interrupting the surgeon rather unceremoniously. + +"To-night, my dear sir!" cried Mr. Daphney; "impossible--utterly +impossible--suicide on your part, my dear sir, if you attempted it, and +murder upon mine, if I allowed you to carry out such an idea. You will +be a prisoner here for a month or so, sir, I regret to say; but we shall +do all in our power to make your sojourn agreeable." + +The surgeon could not help looking cheerful as he made this +announcement; but seeing a very black and ominous expression upon the +face of his patient, he contrived to modify the radiance of his own +countenance. + +"Our first proceeding, sir, must be to straighten this poor leg," he +said, soothingly. "We shall place the leg in a cradle, from the thigh +downwards: but I won't trouble you with technical details. I doubt if we +shall be justified in setting the leg to-night; we must reduce the +swelling before we can venture upon any important step. A cooling +lotion, applied with linen cloths, must be kept on all night. I have +made arrangements for a nurse, and my assistant will also remain here +all night to supervise her movements." + +The banker groaned aloud. + +"I want to get to London," he said. "I must get to London!" + +The surgeon and his assistant removed Mr. Dunbar's clothes. His trousers +had to be cut away from his broken leg before anything could be done. +Mr. Daphney removed his patient's coat and waistcoat; but the linen +shirt was left, and the chamois-leather belt worn by the banker was +under this shirt, next to and over a waistcoat of scarlet flannel. + +"I wear a leather belt next my flannel waistcoat," Mr. Dunbar said, as +the two men were undressing him; "I don't wish it to be removed." + +He fainted away presently, for his leg was very painful; and on reviving +from his fainting fit, he looked very suspiciously at his attendants, +and put his hand to the buckle of his belt, in order to make himself +sure that it had not been tampered with. + +All through the long, feverish, restless night he lay pondering over +this miserable interruption of his journey, while the sick-nurse and the +surgeon's assistant alternately slopped cooling lotions about his +wretched broken leg. + +"To think that _this_ should happen," he muttered to himself every now +and then. "Amongst all the things I've ever dreaded, I never thought of +this." + +His leg was set in the course of the next day, and in the evening he had +a long conversation with the surgeon. + +This time Henry Dunbar did not speak so much of his anxiety to get away +upon the second stage of his continental journey. His servant Jeffreys +arrived at Rugby in the course of the day; for the news of the accident +had reached Maudesley Abbey, and it was known that Mr. Dunbar had been a +sufferer. + +To-night Henry Dunbar only spoke of the misery of being in a strange +house. + +"I want to get back to Maudesley," he said. "If you can manage to take +me there, Mr. Daphney, and look after me until I've got over the effects +of this accident, I shall be very happy to make you any compensation you +please for whatever loss your absence from Rugby might entail upon you." + +This was a very diplomatic speech: Mr. Dunbar knew that the surgeon +would not care to let so rich a patient out of his hands; but he fancied +that Mr. Daphney would have no objection to carrying his patient in +triumph to Maudesley Abbey, to the admiration of the unprofessional +public, and to the aggravation of rival medical men. + +He was not mistaken in his estimate of human nature. At the end of the +week he had succeeded in persuading the surgeon to agree to his removal; +and upon the second Monday after the railway accident, Henry Dunbar was +placed in a compartment which was specially prepared for him in the +Shorncliffe train, and was conveyed from Shorncliffe station to +Maudesley Abbey, without undergoing any change of position upon the +road, and very carefully tended throughout the journey by Mr. Daphney +and Jeffreys the valet. + +They wheeled Mr. Dunbar's bed into his favourite tapestried chamber, and +laid him there, to drag out long dreary days and nights, waiting till +his broken bones should unite, and he should be free to go whither he +pleased. He was not a very patient sufferer; he bore the pain well +enough, but he chafed perpetually against the delay; and every morning +he asked the surgeon the same question-- + +"When shall I be strong enough to walk about?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE. + + +Margaret Wilmot had promised to become the wife of the man she loved; +but she had given that promise very reluctantly, and only upon one +condition. The condition was, that, before her marriage with Clement +Austin took place, the mystery of her father's death should be cleared +up for ever. + +"I cannot be your wife so long as the secret of that cruel deed remains +unknown," she said to Clement. "It seems to me as if I have already +been, wickedly neglectful of a solemn duty. Who had my father to love +him and remember him in all the world but me? and who should avenge his +death if I do not? He was an outcast from society; and people think it a +very small thing that, after having led a reckless life, he should die a +cruel death. If Henry Dunbar, the rich banker, had been murdered, the +police would never have rested until the assassin had been discovered. +But who cares what became of Joseph Wilmot, except his daughter? His +death makes no blank in the world: except to me--except to me!" + +Clement Austin did not forget his promise to do his uttermost towards +the discovery of the banker's guilt. He believed that Henry Dunbar was +the murderer of his old servant; and he had believed it ever since that +day upon which the banker stole, like a detected thief, out of the house +in St. Gundolph Lane. + +It was just possible that Henry Dunbar might avoid Joseph Wilmot's +daughter from a natural horror of the events connected with his return +to England; but that the banker should resort to a cowardly stratagem to +escape from an interview with the girl could scarcely be accounted for, +except by the fact of his guilt. + +He had an insurmountable terror of seeing this girl, because he was the +murderer of her father. + +The longer Clement Austin deliberated upon this business the more +certainly he came to that one terrible conclusion: Henry Dunbar was +guilty. He would gladly have thought otherwise: and he would have been +very happy had he been able to tell Margaret Wilmot that the mystery of +her father's death was a mystery that would never be solved upon this +earth: but he could not do so; he could only bow his head before the +awful necessity that urged him on to take his part in this drama of +crime--the part of an avenger. + +But a cashier in a London bank has very little time to play any part in +life's history, except that quiet _role_ which seems chiefly to consist +in locking and unlocking iron safes, peering furtively into mysterious +ledgers, and shovelling about new sovereigns as coolly as if they were +Wallsend or Clay-Cross coals. + +Clement Austin's life was not an easy one, and he had no time to turn +amateur detective, even in the service of the woman ha loved. + +He had no time to turn amateur detective so long as he remained at the +banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. + +But could he remain there? That question arose in his mind, and took a +very serious form. Was it possible to remain in that house when he +believed the principal member of it to be one of the most infamous of +men? + +No; it was quite impossible for him to remain in his present situation. +So long as he took a salary from Dunbar, Dunbar and Balderby, he was in +a manner under obligation to Henry Dunbar. He could not remain in this +man's service, and yet at the same time play the spy upon his actions, +and work heart and soul to drag the dreadful secret of his life into the +light of day. + +Thus it was that towards the close of the week in which Henry Dunbar, +for the first time after his return from India, visited the +banking-offices, Clement Austin handed a formal notice of resignation to +Mr. Balderby. The cashier could not immediately resign his situation, +but was compelled to give his employers a month's notice of the +withdrawal of his services. + +A thunderbolt falling upon the morocco-covered writing-table in Mr. +Balderby's private parlour could scarcely have been more astonishing to +the junior partner than this letter which Clement Austin handed him very +quietly and very respectfully. + +There were many reasons why Clement Austin should remain in the +banking-house. His father had lived for thirty years, and had eventually +died, in the employment of Dunbar and Dunbar. He had been a great +favourite with the brothers; and Clement had been admitted into the +house as a boy, and had received much notice from Percival. More than +this, he had every chance of being admitted ere long to a junior +partnership upon very easy terms, which junior partnership would of +course be the high-road to a great fortune. + +Mr. Balderby sat with the letter open in his hands, staring at the lines +before him as if he was scarcely able to comprehend their purport. + +"Do you _mean_ this, Austin?" he said at last. + +"Yes, sir. Circumstances over which I have no control compel me to offer +you my resignation." + +"Have you quarrelled with anybody in the office? Has anything occurred +in the house that has made you uncomfortable?" + +"No, indeed, Mr. Balderby; I am very comfortable in my position." + +The junior partner leaned back in his chair, and stared at the cashier +as if he had been trying to detect the traces of incipient insanity in +the young man's countenance. + +"You are comfortable in your position, and yet you--Oh! I suppose the +real truth of the matter is, that you have heard of something better, +and you are ready to give us the go-by in order to improve your own +circumstances?" said Mr. Balderby, with a tone of pique; "though I +really don't see how you can very well be better off anywhere than you +are here," he added, thoughtfully. + +"You do me wrong, sir, when you think that I could willingly leave you +for my own advantage," Clement answered, quietly. "I have no better +engagement, nor have I even a prospect of any engagement." + +"You haven't!" exclaimed the junior partner; "and yet you throw away +such a chance as only falls to the lot of one man in a thousand! I don't +particularly care about guessing riddles, Mr. Austin; perhaps you'll be +kind enough to tell me frankly why you want to leave us?" + +"I regret to say that it is impossible for me to do so, sir," replied +the cashier; "my motive for leaving this house, which is a kind of +second home to me, is no frivolous one, believe me. I have weighed well +the step I am about to take, and I am quite aware that I sacrifice very +excellent prospects in throwing up my present situation. But the reason +of my resignation must remain a secret; for the present at least. If +ever the day comes when I am able to explain my conduct, I believe that +you will give me your hand, and say to me, 'Clement Austin, you only did +your duty.'" + +"Clement," said Mr. Balderby, "you are an excellent fellow; but you +certainly must have got some romantic crotchet in your head, or you +could never have thought of writing such a letter as this. Are you going +to be married? Is that your reason for leaving us? Have you fascinated +some wealthy heiress, and are you going to retire into splendid +slavery?" + +"No, sir. I am engaged to be married; but the lady whom I hope to call +my wife is poor, and I have every necessity to be a working man for the +rest of my life." + +"Well, then, my dear fellow, it's a riddle; and, as I said before, I'm +not good at guessing enigmas. There, my boy; go home and sleep upon +this; and come back to me to-morrow morning, and tell me to throw this +stupid letter in the fire--that's the wisest thing you can do. Good +night." + +But, in spite of all that Mr. Balderby could say, Clement Austin +steadily adhered to his resolution. He worked early and late during the +month in which he remained at his post, preparing the ledgers, balancing +accounts, and making things straight and easy for the new cashier. He +told Margaret Wilmot of what he had done, but he did not tell her the +extent of the sacrifice which he had made for her sake. She was the only +person who knew the real motive of his conduct, for to his mother he +said very little more than he had said to Mr. Balderby. + +"I shall be able to tell you my motives for leaving the banking-house at +some future time, dear mother," he said; "until that time I can only +entreat you to trust me, and to believe that I have acted for the best." + +"I do believe it, my dear," answered the widow, cheerfully; "when did +you ever do anything that wasn't wise and good?" + +Her only son, Clement, was the god of this simple woman's idolatry; and +if he had seen fit to turn her out of doors, and ask her to beg by his +side in the streets of the city, I doubt if she would not have imagined +some hidden wisdom lurking at the bottom of his apparently irrational +proceedings. So she made no objection to his abandoning his desk in the +house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +"We shall be poorer, I suppose, Clem," Mrs. Austin said; "but that's +very little consequence, for your dear father left me so comfortably off +that I can very well afford to keep house for my only son; and I shall +have you more at home, dear, and that will indeed be happiness." + +But Clement told his mother that he had some very important business on +hand just then, which would occupy him a good deal; and indeed the first +step necessary would be a journey to Shorncliffe, in Warwickshire. + +"Why, that's where you went to school, Clem!" + +"Yes, mother." + +"And it's near Mr. Percival Dunbar--or, at least, Mr. Dunbar's country +house." + +"Yes, mother," answered Clement. "Now the business in which I am engaged +is--is rather of a difficult nature, and I want legal help. My old +schoolfellow, Arthur Lovell, who is as good a fellow as ever breathed, +has been educated for the law, and is now a solicitor. He lives at +Shorncliffe with his father, John Lovell, who is also a solicitor, and a +man of some standing in the county. I shall run down to Shorncliffe, see +my old friend, and get has advice; and if you'll bring Margaret down for +a few days' change of air, we'll stop at the dear old Reindeer, where +you used to come, mother, when I was at school, and where you used to +give me such jolly dinners in the days when a good dinner was a treat to +a hungry schoolboy." + +Mrs. Austin smiled at her son; she smiled tenderly as she remembered his +bright boyhood. Mothers with only sons are not very strong-minded. Had +Clement proposed a trip to the moon, she would scarcely have known how +to refuse him her company on the expedition. + +She shivered a little, and looked rather doubtfully from the blazing; +fire which lit up the cozy drawing-room to the cold grey sky outside the +window. + +"The beginning of January isn't the pleasantest time in the year for a +trip into the country, Clem, dear," she said; "but I should certainly be +very lonely at home without you. And as to poor Madge, of course it +would be a great treat to her to get away from her pupils and have a +peep at the genuine country, even though there isn't a single leaf upon +the trees. So I suppose I must say yes. But do tell me all about this +business there's a dear good boy." + +Unfortunately the dear good boy was obliged to tell his mother that the +business in question was, like his motive for resigning his situation, a +profound secret, and that it must remain so for some time to come. + +"Wait, dear mother," he said; "you shall know all about it by-and-by. +Believe me, when I tell you that it's not a very pleasant business," he +added, with a sigh. + +"It's not unpleasant for you, I hope, Clement?" + +"It isn't pleasant for any one who is concerned in it, mother," answered +the young man, thoughtfully; "it's altogether a miserable business; but +I'm not concerned in it as a principal, you know, dear mother; and when +it's all over we shall only look back upon it as the passing of a black +cloud over our lives, and you will say that I have done my duty. Dearest +mother, don't look so puzzled," added Clement; "this matter _must_ +remain a secret for the present. Only wait, and trust me." + +"I will, my dear boy," Mrs. Austin said, presently. "I will trust you +with all my heart; for I know how good you are. But I don't like +secrets, Clem; secrets always make me uncomfortable." + +No more was said upon this subject, and it was arranged by-and-by that +Mrs. Austin and Margaret should prepare to start for Warwickshire at the +beginning of the following week, when Clement would be freed from all +engagements to Messrs. Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +Margaret had waited very patiently for this time, in which Clement would +be free to give her all his help in that awful task which lay before +her--the discovery of Henry Dunbar's guilt. + +"You will go to Shorncliffe with my mother," Clement Austin said, upon +the evening after his conversation with the widow; "you will go with +her, Madge, ostensibly upon a little pleasure trip. Once there, we shall +be able to contrive an interview with Mr. Dunbar. He is a prisoner at +Maudesley Abbey, laid up by the effect of his accident the other day, +but not too ill to see people, Balderby says; therefore I should think +we may be able to plan an interview between you and him. You still hold +to your original purpose? You wish to _see_ Henry Dunbar?" + +"Yes," answered Margaret, thoughtfully; "I want to see him. I want to +look straight into the face of the man whom I believe to be my father's +murderer. I don't know why it is, but this purpose has been uppermost in +my mind ever since I heard of that dreadful journey to Winchester; ever +since I first knew that my father had been murdered while travelling +with Henry Dunbar. It might, as you have said, be wiser to watch and +wait, and to avoid all chance of alarming this man. But I can't be wise. +I want to see him. I want to look in his face, and see if his eyes can +meet mine." + +"You shall see him then, dear girl. A woman's instinct is sometimes +worth more than a man's wisdom. You shall see Henry Dunbar. I know that +my old schoolfellow Arthur Lovell will help me, with all his heart and +soul. I have called again upon the Scotland-Yard people, and I gave them +a minute description of the scene in St. Gundolph Lane; but they only +shrugged their shoulders, and said the circumstances looked queer, but +were not strong enough to act upon. If any body can help us, Arthur +Lovell can; for he was present at the inquest and all further +examination of the witnesses at Winchester." + +If Margaret Wilmot and Clement Austin had been going upon any other +errand than that which took them to Warwickshire, the journey to +Shorncliffe might have been very pleasant to them. + +To Margaret, this comfortable journey in the cushioned corner of a +first-class carriage, respectfully waited upon by the man she loved, +possessed at least the charm of novelty. Her journeys hitherto had been +long wearisome pilgrimages in draughty third-class carriages, with noisy +company, and in an atmosphere pervaded by a powerful effluvium of +various kinds of alcohol. + +Her life had been a very hard one, darkened by the ever-brooding shadow +of disgrace. It was new to her to sit quietly looking out at the low +meadows and glimmering white-walled villas, the patches of sparse +woodland, the distant villages, the glimpses of rippling water, shining +in the wintry sun. It was new to her to be loved by people whose minds +were unembittered by the baneful memories of wrong and crime. It was new +to her to hear gentle voices, sweet Christian-like words: it was new to +her to breathe the bright atmosphere that surrounds those who lead a +virtuous, God-fearing life. + +But there is little sunshine without its attendant shadow. The shadow +upon Margaret's life now was the shadow of that coming task--that +horrible work which must be done--before she could be free to thank God +for His mercies, and to be happy. + +The London train reached Shorncliffe early in the afternoon. Clement +Austin hired a roomy old fly, and carried off his companions to the +Reindeer. + +The Reindeer was a comfortable old-fashioned hotel. It had been a very +grand place in the coaching-days, and you entered the hostelry by a +broad and ponderous archway, under which Highflyers and Electrics had +driven triumphantly in the days that were for ever gone. + +The house was a roomy old place, with long corridors and wide +staircases; noble staircases, with broad, slippery, oaken banisters and +shallow steps. The rooms were grand and big, with bow windows so +spotless in their cleanness that they had rather a cold effect on a +January day, and were apt to inspire in the vulgar mind the fancy that a +little dirt or smoke would look warmer and more comfortable. Certainly, +if the Reindeer had a fault, it was that it was too clean. Everything +was actually slippery with cleanness, from the newly-calendered chintz +that covered the sofa and the chair-cushions to the copper coal-scuttle +that glittered by the side of the dazzling brass fender. There were +faint odours of soft soap in the bed-chambers, which no amount of dried +lavender could overcome. There was an effluvium of vitriol about all the +brass-work, and there was a good deal of brass-work in the Reindeer: and +if one species of decoration is more conducive to shivering than +another, it certainly is brass-work in a state of high polish. + +There was no dish ever devised by mortal cook which the sojourner at the +Reindeer could not have, according to the preliminary statement of the +landlord; but with whatever ambitious design the sojourner began to talk +about dinner, it always ended, somehow or other, by his ordering a +chicken, a little bit of boiled bacon, a dish of cutlets, and a tart. +There were days upon which divers species of fish were to be had in +Shorncliffe, but the sojourner at the Reindeer rarely happened to hit +upon one of those days. + +Clement Austin installed Margaret and the widow in a sitting-room which +would have comfortably accommodated about forty people. There was a +bow-window quite large enough for the requirements of a small family, +and Mrs. Austin settled herself there, while the landlord was struggling +with a refractory fire, and pretending not to know that the grate was +damp. + +Clement went through the usual fiction of deliberation as to what he +should have for dinner, and of course ended with the perennial chicken +and cutlets. + +"I haven't the fine appetite I had fifteen years ago, Mr. Gilwood," he +said to the landlord, "when my mother yonder, who hasn't grown fifteen +days older in all those fifteen years,--bless her dear motherly +heart!--used to come down to see me at the academy in the Lisford Road, +and give me a dinner in this dear old room. I thought your cutlets the +most ethereal morsels ever dished by mortal cook, Mr. Gilwood, and this +room the best place in all the world. You know Mr. Lovell--Mr. Arthur +Lovell?" + +"Yes, sir; and a very nice young gentleman he is." + +"He's settled in Shorncliffe, I suppose?" + +"Well, I believe he is, sir. There was some talk of his going out to +India, in a Government appointment, sir, or something of that sort; but +I'm given to understand that it's all off now, and that Mr. Arthur is to +go into partnership with his father; and a very clever young lawyer he +is, I've been told." + +"So much the better," answered Clement, "for I want to consult him upon +a little matter of business. Good-bye, mother! Take care of Madge, and +make yourselves as comfortable as you can. I think the fire will burn +now, Mr. Gilwood. I shan't be away above an hour, I dare say; and then +I'll come and take you for a walk before dinner. God bless you, my poor +Madge!" Clement whispered, as Margaret followed him to the door of the +room, and looked wistfully after him as he went down the staircase. + +Mrs. Austin had once cherished ambitious views with regard to her son's +matrimonial prospects; but she had freely given them up when she found +that he had set his heart upon winning Margaret Wilmot for his wife. The +good mother had made this sacrifice willingly and without complaint, as +she would have made any other sacrifice for her dearly-beloved only son; +and she found the reward of her devotion; for Margaret, this penniless, +friendless girl, had become very dear to her--a real daughter, not in +law, but bound by the sweet ties of gratitude and affection. + +"And I was such a silly old creature, my dear," the widow said to +Margaret, as they sat in the bow-window looking out into the quiet +street; "I was so worldly-minded that I wanted Clement to marry a rich +woman, so that I might have some stuck-up daughter-in-law, who would +despise her husband's mother, and estrange my boy from me, and make my +old age miserable. That's what I wanted, Madge, and what I might have +had, perhaps, if Clem hadn't been wiser than his silly old mother. And, +thanks to him, I've got the sweetest, truest, brightest girl that ever +lived; though you are not as bright as usual to-day, Madge," Mrs. Austin +added, thoughtfully. "You haven't smiled once this morning, my dear, and +you seem as if you'd something on your mind." + +"I've been thinking of my poor father," Margaret answered, quietly. + +"To be sure, my dear; and I might have known as much, my poor +tender-hearted lamb. I know how unhappy those thoughts always make you." + +Clement Austin had not been at Shorncliffe for three years. He had +visited Maudesley Abbey several times during the lifetime of Percival +Dunbar, for he had been a favourite with the old man; and he had been +four years at a boarding-school kept by a clergyman of the Church of +England in a fine old brick mansion on the Lisford Road. + +The town of Shorncliffe was therefore familiar to Mr. Austin; and he +looked neither to the right nor to the left as he walked towards the +archway of St. Gwendoline's Church, near which Mr. Lovell's house was +situated. + +He found Arthur at home, and very delighted to see his old schoolfellow. +The two young men went into a little panelled room, looting into the +garden, a cosy little room which Arthur Lovell called his study; and +here they sat together for upwards of an hour, discussing the +circumstances of the murder at Winchester, and the conduct of Mr. Dunbar +since that event. + +In the course of that interview, Clement Austin plainly perceived that +Arthur Lovell had come to the same conclusion as himself, though the +young lawyer was slow to express his opinion. + +"I cannot bear to think it," he said; "I know Laura Dunbar--that is to +say, Lady Jocelyn--and it is too horrible to me to imagine that her +father is guilty of this crime. What would be that innocent girl's +feelings if it should be so, and if her father's guilt should be brought +home to him!" + +"Yes, it would be very terrible for Lady Jocelyn, no doubt," Clement +answered; "but that consideration must not hinder the course of justice. +I think this man's position has served him as a shield from the very +first. People have thought it next to impossible that Henry Dunbar could +be guilty of a crime, while they would have been ready enough to suspect +some penniless vagabond of any iniquity." + +Arthur Lovell told Clement that the banker was still at Maudesley, bound +a prisoner by his broken leg, which was going on favourably enough, but +very slowly. + +Mr. Dunbar had expressed a wish to go abroad, in spite of his broken +leg, and had only desisted from his design of being conveyed somehow or +other from place to place, when he was told that any such imprudence +might result in permanent lameness. + +"Keep yourself quiet, and submit to the necessities of your accident, +and you'll recover quickly," the surgeon told his patient. "Try to hurry +the work of nature, and you'll have cause to repent your impatience for +the remainder of your life." + +So Henry Dunbar had been obliged to submit himself to the decrees of +Fate, and to lie day after day, and night after night, upon his bed in +the tapestried chamber, staring at the fire, or the figure of his valet +and attendant; nodding in the easy-chair by the hearth; or listening to +the cinders falling from the grate, and the moaning of the winter wind +amongst the bare branches of the elms. + +The banker was getting better and stronger every day, Arthur Lovell +said. His attendants were able to remove him from one chamber to +another; a pair of crutches had been made for him, but he had not yet +been able to make his first feeble trial of them. He was fain to content +himself with being carried to an easy-chair, to sit for a few hours, +wrapped in blankets, with the leopard-skin rug about his legs. No man +could have been more completely a prisoner than this man had become by +the result of the fatal accident near Rugby. + +"Providence has thrown him into my power," Margaret said, when Clement +repeated to her the information which he had received from Arthur +Lovell,--"Providence has thrown this man into my power; for he can no +longer escape, and, surrounded by his own servants, he will scarcely +dare to refuse to see me; he will surely never be so unwise as to betray +his terror of me." + +"And if he does refuse----" + +"If he does, I'll invent some stratagem by which I may see him. But he +will not refuse. When he finds that I am so resolute as to follow him +here, he will not refuse to see me." + +This conversation took place during a brief walk which the lovers took +in the wintry dusk, while Mrs. Austin nodded by the fire in that +comfortable half-hour which precedes dinner. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY. + + +Early the next day Clement Austin walked to Maudesley Abbey, in order to +procure all the information likely to facilitate Margaret Wilmot's grand +purpose. He stopped at the gate of the principal lodge. The woman who +kept it was an old servant of the Dunbar family, and had known Clement +Austin in Percival Dunbar's lifetime. She gave him a hearty welcome, and +he had no difficulty whatever in setting her tongue in motion upon the +subject of Henry Dunbar. + +She told him a great deal; she told him that the present owner of the +Abbey never had been liked, and never would be liked: for his stern and +gloomy manner was so unlike his father's easy, affable good-nature, that +people were always drawing comparisons between the dead man and the +living. + +This, in a few words, is the substance of what the worthy woman said in +a good many words. Mrs. Grumbleton gave Clement all the information he +required as to the banker's daily movements at the present time. Henry +Dunbar was now in the habit of rising about two o'clock in the day, at +which time he was assisted from his bedroom to his sitting-room, where +he remained until seven or eight o'clock in the evening. He had no +visitors, except the surgeon, Mr. Daphney, who lived in the Abbey, and a +gentleman called Vernon, who had bought Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford, +and who now and then was admitted to Mr. Dunbar's sitting-room. + +This was all Clement Austin wanted to know. Surely it might be possible, +with a little clever management, to throw the banker completely off his +guard, and to bring about the long-delayed interview between him and +Margaret Wilmot. + +Clement returned to the Reindeer, had a brief conversation with +Margaret, and made all arrangements. + +At four o'clock that afternoon, Miss Wilmot and her lover left the +Reindeer in a fly; at a quarter to five the fly stopped at the +lodge-gates. + +"I will walk to the house," Margaret said; "my coming will attract less +notice. But I may be detained for some time, Clement. Pray, don't wait +for me. Your dear mother will be alarmed if you are very long absent. Go +back to her, and send the fly for me by-and-by." + +"Nonsense, Madge. I shall wait for you, however long you may be. Do you +think my heart is not as much engaged in anything that may influence +your fate as even your own can be? I won't go with you to the Abbey; for +it will be as well that Henry Dunbar should remain in ignorance of my +presence in the neighbourhood. I will walk up and down the road here, +and wait for you." + +"But you may have to wait so long, Clement." + +"No matter how long. I can wait patiently, but I could not endure to go +home and leave you, Madge." + +They were standing before the great iron gates as Clement said this. He +pressed Margaret's cold hand; he could feel how cold it was, even +through her glove; and then rang the bell. She looked at him as the gate +was opened; she turned and looked at him with a strangely earnest gaze +as she crossed the boundary of Henry Dunbar's domain, and then walked +slowly along the broad avenue. + +That last look had shown Clement Austin a pale resolute face, something +like the countenance of a fair young martyr going quietly to the stake. + +He walked away from the gates, and they shut behind him with a loud +clanging noise. Then he went back to them, and watched Margaret's figure +growing dim and distant in the gathering dusk as she approached the +Abbey. A faint glow of crimson firelight reddened the gravel-drive +before the windows of Mr. Dunbar's apartments, and there was a footman +airing himself under the shadow of the porch, with a glimmer of light +shining out of the hall behind him. + +"I do not suppose I shall have to wait very long for my poor girl," +Clement thought, as he left the gates, and walked briskly up and down +the road. "Henry Dunbar is a resolute man; he will refuse to see her +to-day, as he refused before." + +Margaret found the footman lolling against the clustered pillars of the +gothic porch, staring thoughtfully at the low evening light, yellow and +red behind the brown trunks of the elms, and picking his teeth with a +gold toothpick. + +The sight of the open hall-door, and this languid footman lolling in the +porch, suddenly inspired Margaret Wilmot with a new idea. Would it not +be possible to slip quietly past this man, and walk straight to the +apartments of Mr. Dunbar, unquestioned, uninterrupted? + +Clement had pointed out to her the windows of the rooms occupied by the +banker. They were on the left-hand side of the entrance-hall. It would +be impossible for her to mistake the door leading to them. It was dusk, +and she was very plainly dressed, with a black straw bonnet, and a veil +over her face. Surely she might deceive this languid footman by +affecting to be some hanger-on of the household, which of course was a +large one. + +In that case she had no right to present herself at the front door, +certainly; but then, before the languid footman could recover from the +first shock of indignation at her impertinence, she might slip past him +and reach the door leading to those apartments in which the banker hid +himself and his guilt. + +Margaret lingered a little in the avenue, watching for a favourable +opportunity in which she might hazard this attempt. She waited five +minutes or so. + +The curve of the avenue screened her, in some wise, from the man in the +porch, who never happened to roll his languid eyes towards the spot +where she was standing. + +A flight of rooks came scudding through the sky presently, very much +excited, and cawing and screeching as if they had been an ornithological +fire brigade hurrying to extinguish the flames of some distant rookery. + +The footman, who was suffering acutely from the complaint of not knowing +what to do with himself, came out of the porch and stood in the middle +of the gravelled drive, with his back towards Margaret, staring at the +birds as they flew westward. + +This was her opportunity. The girl hurried to the door with a light +step, so light upon the smooth solid gravel that the footman heard +nothing until she was on the broad stone step under the porch, when the +fluttering of her skirt, as it brushed against the pillars, roused him +from a species of trance or reverie. + +He turned sharply round, as upon a pivot, and stared aghast at the +retreating figure under the porch. + +"Hi, you there, young woman!" he exclaimed, without stirring from his +post; "where are you going to? What's the meaning of your coming to this +door? Are you aware that there's such a place as a servants' 'all and a +servants' hentrance?" + +But the languid retainer was too late. Margaret's hand was upon the +massive knob of the door upon the left side of the hall before the +footman had put this last indignant question. + +He listened for an apologetic murmur from the young woman; but hearing +none, concluded that she had found her way to the servants' hall, where +she had most likely some business or other with one of the female +members of the household. + +"A dressmaker, I dessay," the footman thought. "Those gals spend all +their earnings in finery and fallals, instead of behaving like +respectable young women, and saving up their money against they can go +into the public line with the man of their choice." + +He yawned, and went on staring at the rooks, without troubling himself +any further about the impertinent young person who had dared to present +herself at the grand entrance. + +Margaret opened the door, and went into the room next the hall. + +It was a handsome apartment, lined with books from the floor to the +ceiling; but it was quite empty, and there was no fire burning in the +grate. The girl put up her veil, and looked about her. She was very, +very pale now, and trembled violently; but she controlled her agitation +by a great effort, and went slowly on to the next room. + +The second room was empty like the first; but the door between it and +the next chamber was wide open, and Margaret saw the firelight shining +upon the faded tapestry, and reflected in the sombre depths of the +polished oak furniture. She heard the low sound of the light ashes +falling on the hearth, and the shorting breath of a dog. + +She knew that the man she sought, and had so long sought without avail, +was in that room. Alone; for there was no murmur of voices, no sound of +any one moving in the apartment. That hour, to which Margaret Wilmot had +looked as the great crisis of her life, had come; and her courage failed +her all at once, and her heart sank in her breast on the very threshold +of the chamber in which she was to stand face to face with Henry Dunbar. + +"The murderer of my father!" she thought; "the man whose influence +blighted my father's life, and made him what he was. The man through +whose reckless sin my father lived a life that left him, oh! how sadly +unprepared to die! The man who, knowing this, sent his victim before an +offended God, without so much warning as would have given him time to +think one prayer. I am going to meet _that_ man face to face!" + +Her breath came in faint gasps, and the firelit chamber swam before her +eyes as she crossed the threshold of that door, and went into the room +where Henry Dunbar was sitting alone before the low fire. + +He was wrapped in crimson draperies of thick woollen stuff, and the +leopard-skin railway rug was muffled about his knees A dog of the +bull-dog breed was lying asleep at the banker's feet, half-hidden in the +folds of the leopard-skin. Henry Dunbar's head was bent over the fire, +and his eyes were closed in a kind of dozing sleep, as Margaret Wilmot +went into the room. + +There was an empty chair opposite to that in which the banker sat; an +old-fashioned, carved oak-chair, with a high back and crimson-morocco +cushions. Margaret went softly up to this chair, and laid her hand upon +the oaken framework. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick Turkey +carpet; the banker never stirred from his doze, and even the dog at his +feet slept on. + +"Mr. Dunbar!" cried Margaret, in a clear, resolute voice; "awake! it is +I, Margaret Wilmot, the daughter of the man who was murdered in the +grove near Winchester!" + +The dog awoke, and snapped at her. The man lifted his head, and looked +at her. Even the fire seemed roused by the sound of her voice! for a +little jet of vivid light leaped up out of the smouldering log, and +lighted the scared face of the banker. + +Clement Austin had promised Margaret to wait for her, and to wait +patiently; and he meant to keep his promise. But there are some limits +even to the patience of a lover, though he were the veriest +knight-errant who was ever eager to shiver a lance or hack the edge of a +battle-axe for love of his liege lady. When you have nothing to do but +to walk up and down a few yards of hard dusty high-road, upon a bleak +evening in January, an hour more or less is of considerable importance. +Five o'clock struck about ten minutes after Margaret Wilmot had entered +the park, and Clement thought to himself that even if Margaret were +successful in obtaining an interview with the banker, that interview +would be over before six. But the faint strokes of Lisford-church clock +died away upon the cold evening wind, and Clement was still pacing up +and down, and the fly was still waiting; the horse comfortable enough, +with a rug upon his back and his nose in a bag of oats; the man walking +up and down by the side of the vehicle, slapping his gloved hands across +his shoulders every now and then to keep himself warm. In that long hour +between six and seven, Clement Austin's patience wore itself almost +threadbare. It is one thing to ride into the lists on a prancing steed, +caparisoned with embroidered trappings, worked by the fair hands of your +lady-love, and with the trumpets braying, and the populace shouting, and +the Queen of beauty smiling sweet approval of your prowess: but it is +quite another thing to walk up and down a dusty country road, with the +wind biting like some ravenous animal at the tip of your nose, and no +more consciousness of your legs and arms than if you were a Miss Biffin. + +By the time seven o'clock struck, Clement Austin's patience had given up +the ghost; and to impatience had succeeded a vague sense of alarm. +Margaret Wilmot had gone to force herself into this man's presence, in +spite of his reiterated refusal to see her. What if--what if, goaded by +her persistence, maddened by the consciousness of his own guilt, he +should attempt any violence. + +Oh, no, no; that was quite impossible. If this man was guilty, his crime +had been deliberately planned, and executed with such a diabolical +cunning, that he had been able so far to escape detection. In his own +house, surrounded by prying servants, he would never dare to assail this +girl by so much as a harsh word. + +But, notwithstanding this, Clement was determined to wait no longer. He +would go to the Abbey at once, and ascertain the cause of Margaret's +delay. He rang the bell, went into the park, and ran along the avenue to +the perch. Lights were shining in Mr. Dunbar's windows, but the great +hall-door was closely shut. + +The languid footman came in answer to Clement's summons. + +"There is a young lady here," Clement said, breathlessly; "a young +lady--with Mr. Dunbar." + +"Ho! is that hall?" asked the footman, satirically. "I thought +Shorncliffe town-'all was a-fire, at the very least, from the way you +rung. There _was_ a young pusson with Mr. Dunbar above a hour ago, if +_that's_ what you mean?" + +"Above an hour ago?" cried Clement Austin, heedless of the man's +impertinence in his own growing anxiety; "do you mean to say that the +young lady has left?" + +"She _have_ left, above a hour ago." + +"She went away from this house an hour ago?" + +"More than a hour ago." + +"Impossible!" Clement said; "impossible!" + +"It may be so," answered the footman, who was of an ironical turn of +mind; "but I let her out with my own hands, and I saw her go out with my +own eyes, notwithstanding." + +The man shut the door before Clement had recovered from his surprise, +and left him standing in the porch; bewildered, though he scarcely knew +why; frightened, though he scarcely knew what he feared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +MARGARET'S RETURN. + + +For some minutes Clement Austin lingered in the porch at Maudesley +Abbey, utterly at a loss as to what he should do next. + +Margaret had left the Abbey an hour ago, according to the footman's +statement; but, in that case, where had she gone? Clement had been +walking up and down the road before the iron gates of the park, and they +had not been opened once during the hours in which he had waited outside +them. Margaret could not have left the park, therefore, by the principal +entrance. If she had gone away at all, she must have gone out by one of +the smaller gates--by the lodge-gate upon the Lisford Road, perhaps, and +thus back to Shorncliffe. + +"But then, why, in Heaven's name, had Margaret set out to walk home when +the fly was waiting for her at the gates; when her lover was also +waiting for her, full of anxiety to know the result of the step she had +taken? + +"She forgot that I was waiting for her, perhaps," Clement thought to +himself. "She may have forgotten all about me, in the fearful excitement +of this night's work." + +The young man was by no means pleased by this idea. + +"Margaret can love me very little, in that case," he said to himself. +"My first thought, in any great crisis of my life, would be to go to +her, and tell her all that had happened to me." + +There were no less than four different means of exit from the park. +Clement Austin knew this, and he knew that it would take him upwards of +two hours to go to all four of them. + +"I'll make inquiries at the gate upon the Lisford Road," he said to +himself; "and if I find Margaret has left by that way, I can get the fly +round there, and pick her up between this and Shorncliffe. Poor girl, in +her ignorance of this neighbourhood, she has no idea of the distance she +will have to walk!" + +Mr. Austin could not help feeling vexed by Margaret's conduct; but he +did all he could to save the girl from the fatigue she was likely to +entail upon herself through her own folly. He ran to the lodge upon the +Lisford Road, and asked the woman who kept it, if a lady had gone out +about an hour before. + +The woman told him that a young lady had gone out an hour and a half +before. + +This was enough. Clement ran across the park to the western entrance, +got into the fly, and told the man to drive back to Shorncliffe, by the +Lisford Road, as fast as he could go, and to look out on the way for the +young lady whom he had driven to Maudesley Abbey that afternoon. + +"You watch the left side of the road, I'll watch the right," Clement +said. + +The driver was cold and cross, but he was anxious to get back to +Shorncliffe, and he drove very fast. + +Clement sat with the window down, and the frosty wind blowing full upon +his face as he looted out for Margaret. + +But he reached Shorncliffe without having overtaken her, and the fly +crawled under the ponderous archway beneath which the dashing +mail-coaches had rolled in the days that were for ever gone. + +"She must have got home before me," the cashier thought; "I shall find +her up-stairs with my mother." + +He went up to the large room with the bow-window. The table in the +centre of the room was laid for dinner, and Mrs. Austin was nodding in a +great arm-chair near the fire, with the county newspaper in her lap. The +wax-candles were lighted, the crimson curtains were drawn before the +bow-window, and the room looked altogether very comfortable: but there +was no Margaret. + +The widow started up at the sound of the opening of the door and her +son's hurried footsteps. + +"Why, Clement," she cried, "how late you are! I seem to have been +sitting dozing here for full two hours; and the fire has been +replenished three times since the cloth was laid for dinner. What have +you been doing, my dear boy?" + +Clement looked about him before he answered. + +"Yes, I am very late, mother, I know," he said; "but where's Margaret?" + +Mrs. Austin stared aghast at her son's question. + +"Why, Margaret is with you, is she not?" she exclaimed. + +"No, mother; I expected to find her here." + +"Did you leave her, then?" + +"No, not exactly; that is to say, I----" + +Clement did not finish the sentence. He walked slowly up and down the +room thinking, whilst his mother watched him very anxiously. + +"My dear Clement," Mrs. Austin exclaimed at last, "you really quite +alarm me. You set out this afternoon upon some mysterious expedition +with Margaret; and though I ask you both where you are going, you both +refuse to satisfy my very natural curiosity, and look as solemn as if +you were about to attend a funeral. Then, after ordering dinner for +seven o'clock, you keep it waiting nearly two hours; and you come in +without Margaret, and seem alarmed at not seeing net here. What does it +all mean, Clement?" + +"I cannot tell you, mother." + +"What! is this business of to-day, then, a part of your secret?" + +"It is," answered the cashier. "I can only say again what I said before, +mother--trust me!" + +The widow sighed, and shrugged her shoulders with a deprecating gesture. + +"I suppose I _must_ be satisfied, Clem," she said. "But this is the +first time there's ever been anything like a mystery between you and +me." + +"It is, mother; and I hope it may be the last." + +The elderly waiter, who remembered the coaching days, and pretended to +believe that the Reindeer was not an institution of the past, came in +presently with the first course. + +It happened to be one of those days on which fish was to be had in +Shorncliffe; and the first course consisted of a pair of very small +soles and a large cruet-stand. The waiter removed the cover with as +lofty a flourish as if the small soles had been the noblest turbot that +ever made the glory of an aldermannic feast. + +Clement seated himself at the dinner-table, in deference to his mother, +and went through the ceremony of dinner; but he scarcely ate half a +dozen mouthfuls. His ears were strained to hear the sound of Margaret's +footstep in the corridor without; and he rejected the waiter's +fish-sauces in a manner that almost wounded the feelings of that +functionary. His mind was racked by anxiety about the missing girl. + +Had he passed her on the road? No, that was very improbable; for he had +kept so sharp a watch upon the lonely highway that it was more than +unlikely the familiar figure of her whom he looked for could have +escaped his eager eyes. Had Mr. Dunbar detained her at Maudesley Abbey +against her will? No, no, that was quite impossible; for the footman had +distinctly declared that he had seen his master's visitor leave the +house; and the footman's manner had been innocence itself. + +The dinner-table was cleared by-and-by, and Mrs. Austin produced some +coloured wools, and a pair of ivory knitting-needles, and set to work +very quietly by the light of the tall wax-candles; but even she was +beginning to be uneasy at the absence of hot son's betrothed wife. + +"My dear Clement," she said at last, "I'm really growing quite uneasy +about Madge. How is it that you left her?" + +Clement did not answer this question; but he got up and took his hat +from a side-table near the door. + +"I'm uneasy about her absence too, mother," he said, "I'll go and look +for her." + +He was leaving the room, but his mother called to him. + +"Clement!" she cried, "you surely won't go out without your +greatcoat--upon such a bitter night as this, too!" + +But Mr. Austin did not stop to listen to his mother's remonstrance; he +hurried out into the corridor, and shut the door of the room behind him. +He wanted to run away and look for Margaret, though he did not know how +or where to seek for her. Quiescence had become intolerable to him. It +was utterly impossible that he should sit calmly by the fire, waiting +for the coming of the girl he loved. + +He was hurrying along the corridor, but he stopped abruptly, for a +well-known figure appeared upon the broad landing at the top of the +stairs. There was an archway at the end of the corridor, and a lamp hung +under the archway. By the light of this lamp, Clement Austin saw +Margaret Wilmot coming towards him slowly: as if she dragged herself +along by a painful effort, and would have been well content to sink upon +the carpeted floor and lie there helpless and inert. + +Clement ran to meet her, with his face lighted up by that intense +delight which a man feels when some intolerable fear is suddenly lifted +off his mind. + +"Margaret!" he cried; "thank God you have returned! Oh, my dear, if you +only knew what misery your conduct has caused me!" + +He held out his arms, but, to his unutterable surprise, the girl +recoiled from him. She recoiled from him with a look of horror, and +shrank against the wall, as if her chief desire was to avoid the +slightest contact with her lover. + +Clement was startled by the blank whiteness of her face, the fixed stare +of her dilated eyes. The January wind had blown her hair about her +forehead in loose disordered tresses; her shawl and dress were wet with +melted snow; but the cashier scarcely looked at these. He only saw her +face; his gaze was fascinated by the girl's awful pallor, and the +strange expression of her eyes. + +"My darling," he said, "come into the parlour. My mother has been almost +as much alarmed as I have been. Come, Margaret; my poor girl, I can see +that this interview has been too much for you. Come, dear." + +Once more he approached her, and again she shrank away from him, +dragging herself along against the wall, and with her eyes still fixed +in the same deathlike stare. + +"Don't speak to me, Clement Austin," she cried; "don't approach me. +There is contamination in me. I am no fit associate for an honest man. +Don't come near me." + +He would have gone to her, to clasp her in his arms, and comfort her +with soothing, tender words; but there was something in her eyes that +held him at bay, as if he had been rooted to the spot on which he stood. + +"Margaret!" he cried. + +He followed her, but she still recoiled from him, and, as he held out +his hand to grasp her wrist, she slipped by him suddenly, and rushed +away towards the other end of the corridor. + +Clement followed her; but she opened a door at the end of the passage, +and went into Mrs. Austin's room. The cashier heard the key turned +hurriedly in the lock, and he knew that Margaret Wilmot had locked +herself in. The room in which she slept was inside that occupied by Mrs. +Austin. + +Clement stood for some moments almost paralyzed by what had happened. +Had he done wrong in seeking to bring about this interview between +Margaret Wilmot and Henry Dunbar? He began to think that he had been +most culpable. This impulsive and sensitive girl had seen her father's +assassin: and the horror of the meeting had been too much for her +impressionable nature, and had produced, for the time at least, a +fearful effect upon her over-wrought brain. + +"I must appeal to my mother," Clement thought; "she alone can give me +any help in this business." + +He hurried back to the sitting-room, and found his mother still watching +the rapid movements of her ivory knitting-needles. The Reindeer was a +well-built house, solid and old-fashioned, and listeners lurking in the +long passages had small chance of reaping much reward for their pains +unless they found a friendly keyhole. + +Mrs. Austin looked up with an expression of surprise as her son +re-entered the room. + +"I thought you had gone to look for Margaret," she said. + +"There was no occasion to do so, mother; she has returned." + +"Thank Heaven for that! I have been quite alarmed by her strange +absence." + +"So have I, mother; but I am still more alarmed by her manner, now that +she has returned. I asked you just now to trust me, mother," said +Clement, very gravely. "It is my turn now to confide in you. The +business in which Margaret has been engaged this evening was of a most +painful nature--so painful that I am scarcely surprised by the effect +that it has produced on her sensitive mind. I want you to go to her, +mother. I want you to comfort my poor girl. She has locked herself in +her own room; but she will admit you, no doubt. Go to her, dear mother, +and try and quiet her excitement, while I go for a medical man." + +"You think she is ill, then, Clement?" + +"I don't know that, mother; but such violent emotion as she has +evidently endured might produce brain-fever. I'll go and look for a +doctor." + +Clement hurried down to the hall of the hotel, while his mother went to +seek Margaret. He found the landlord, who directed him to the favourite +Shorncliffe medical man. + +Luckily, Mr. Vincent, the surgeon, was at home. He received Clement very +cordially, put on his hat without five minutes delay, and accompanied +Margaret's lover back to the Reindeer. + +"It is a case of mental excitement," Clement said. "There may be no +necessity for medical treatment; but I shall feel more comfortable when +you have seen this poor girl." + +Clement conducted Mr. Vincent to the sitting-room, which was empty. + +"I'll go and see how Miss Wilmot is now," the cashier said. The doctor +gave a scarcely perceptible start as he heard that name of Wilmot. The +murder of Joseph Wilmot had formed the subject of many a long discussion +amongst the towns-people at Shorncliffe, and the familiar name struck +the surgeon's ear. + +"But what of that?" thought Mr. Vincent. "The name is not such a very +uncommon one." + +Clement went to his mother's room and knocked softly at the door. The +widow came out to him presently. + +"How is she now?" Clement asked. + +"I can scarcely tell you. Her manner frightens me. She is lying on her +bed as motionless as if she were a corpse, and with her eyes fixed upon +the blank wall opposite to her. When I speak to her, she does not answer +me by so much as a look; but if I go near her she shivers, and gives a +long shuddering sigh. What does it all mean, Clement?" + +"Heaven knows, mother. I can only tell you that she has gone through a +meeting which was certainly calculated to have considerable effect upon +her mind. But I had no idea that the effect would be anything like this. +Can the doctor come?" + +"Yes; he had better come at once." + +Clement returned to the sitting-room, and remained there while Mr. +Vincent went to see Margaret. To Poor Clement it seemed as if the +surgeon was absent nearly an hour, so intolerable was the anguish of +that interval of suspense. + +At last, however, the creaking footstep of the medical man sounded in +the corridor. Clement hurried to the door to meet him. + +"Well!" he cried, eagerly. + +Mr. Vincent shook his head. + +"It is a case in which my services can be of very little avail," he +said; "the young lady is suffering from some mental uneasiness, which +she refuses to communicate to her friends. If you could get her to talk +to you, she would no doubt be very much benefited. If she were an +ordinary person, she would cry, and the relief of tears would have a +most advantageous effect upon her mind. Our patient is by no means an +ordinary person She has a very strong will." + +"Margaret has a strong will!" exclaimed Clement, with a look of +surprise; "why, she is gentleness itself." + +"Very likely; but she has a will of iron, nevertheless. I implored her +to speak to me just now; the tone of her voice would have helped to some +slight diagnosis of her state; but I might as well have implored a +statue. She only shook her head slowly, and she never once looked at me. +However, I will send her a sedative draught, which had better be taken +immediately, and I'll look round in the morning." + +Mr. Vincent left the Reindeer, and Clement went to his mother's room. +That loving mother was ready to sympathize with every trouble that +affected her only son. She came out of Margaret's room and went to meet +Clement. + +"Is she still the same, mother?" he asked. + +"Yes, quite the same. Would you like to see her?" + +"Very much." + +Mrs. Austin and her son went into the adjoining chamber. Margaret was +lying, dressed in the damp, draggled gown which she had worn that +afternoon, upon the outside of the bed. The dull stony look of her face +filled Clement's mind with an awful terror. He began to fear that she +was going mad. + +He sat down upon a chair close by the bed, and watched her for some +moments in silence, while his mother stood by, scarcely less anxious +than himself. + +Margaret's arm hung loosely by her side as lifeless in its attitude as +if it had belonged to the dead. Clement took the slender hand in his. +Lie had expected to find it dry and burning with feverish heat; but, to +his surprise, it was cold as ice. + +"Margaret," he said, in a low earnest voice, "you know how dearly I have +loved and do love you; you know how entirely my happiness depends upon +yours; surely, my dear one, you will not refuse--you cannot be so cruel +as to keep your sorrow a secret from him who has so good a right to +share it? Speak to me, my darling. Remember what suffering you are +inflicting upon me by this cruel silence." + +At last the hazel eyes lost their fixed look, and wandered for a moment +to Clement Austin's face. + +"Have pity upon me," the girl said, in a hoarse unnatural voice; "have +compassion upon me, for I need man's mercy as well as the mercy of God. +Have some pity upon me, Clement Austin, and leave me; I will talk to you +to-morrow." + +"You will tell me all that has happened?" + +"I will talk to you to-morrow," answered Margaret, looking at her lover +with a white, inflexible face; "but leave me now; leave me, or I will +run out of this room, and away from this house. I shall go mad if I am +not left alone!" + +Clement Austin rose from his seat near the bedside. + +"I am going, Margaret," he said, in a tone of wounded feeling; "but I +leave you with a heavy heart. I did not think there would ever come a +time in which you would reject my sympathy." + +"I will talk to you to-morrow," Margaret said, for the second time. + +She spoke in a strange mechanical way, as if this had been a set speech +which she had arranged for herself. + +Clement stood looking at her for some little time; but there was no +change either in her face or attitude, and the young man went slowly and +sorrowfully from the room. + +"I leave her in your hands, mother," he said. "I know how tender and +true a friend she has in you; I leave her in your care, under +Providence. May Heaven have pity upon her and me!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +FAREWELL. + + +Margaret submitted to take the sedative draught sent by the medical man. +She submitted, at Mrs. Austin's request; but it seemed as if she +scarcely understood why the medicine was offered to her. She was like a +sleep-walker, whose brain is peopled by the creatures of a dream, and +who has no consciousness of the substantial realities that surround him. + +The draught Mr. Vincent had spoken of as a sedative turned out to be a +very powerful opiate, and Margaret sank into a profound slumber about a +quarter of an hour after taking the medicine. + +Mrs. Austin went to Clement to carry him these good tidings. + +"I shall sit up two or three hours, and see how the poor girl goes on, +Clement," the widow said; "but I hope you'll go to bed; I know all this +excitement has worn you out." + +"No, mother; I feel no sense of fatigue." + +"But you will try to get some rest, to please me? See, dear boy, it's +already nearly twelve o'clock." + +"Yes, if you wish it, mother, I'll go to my room," Mr. Austin answered, +quickly. + +His room was near those occupied by his mother and Margaret, much nearer +than the sitting-room. He bade Mrs. Austin good night and left her; but +he had no thought of going to bed, or even trying to sleep. He went to +his own room, and walked up and down; going out into the corridor every +now and then, to listen at the door of his mother's chamber. + +He heard nothing. Some time between two and three o'clock Mrs. Austin +opened the door of her room, and found her son lingering in the +corridor. + +"Is she still asleep, mother?" he asked. + +"Yes, and she is sleeping very calmly. I am going to bed now; pray try +to get some sleep yourself, Clem." + +"I will, mother." + +Clement returned to his room. He was thankful, as he thought that sleep +would bring tranquillity and relief to Margaret's overwrought brain. He +went to bed and fell asleep, for he was exhausted by the fatigue of the +day and the anxiety of the night. Poor Clement fell asleep, and dreamt +that he met Margaret Wilmot by moonlight in the park around Maudesley +Abbey, walking with a DEAD MAN, whose face was strange to him. This was +the last of many dreams, all more or less grotesque or horrible, but +none so vivid or distinct as this. The end of the vision woke Clement +with a sudden shock, and he opened his eyes upon the cold morning light, +which seemed especially cold in this chamber at the Reindeer, where the +paper on the walls was of the palest grey, and every curtain or drapery +of a spotless white. + +Clement lost no time over his toilet. He looked at his watch while +dressing, and found that it was between seven and eight. It wanted a +quarter to eight when he left his room, and went to his mother's door to +inquire about Margaret. He knocked softly, but there was no answer; then +he tried the door, and finding it unlocked, opened it a few inches with +a cautious hand, and listened to his mother's regular breathing. + +"She is asleep, poor soul," he thought. "I won't disturb her, for she +must want rest after sitting up half last night." + +Clement closed the door as noiselessly as he had opened it, and then +went slowly to the sitting-room. There was a struggling fire in the +shining grate; and the indefatigable waiter, who refused to believe in +the extinction of mail-coaches, had laid the breakfast +apparatus--frosty-looking white-and-blue cups and saucers on a snowy +cloth, a cut-glass cream-jug that looked as if it had been made out of +ice, and a brazen urn in the last stage of polish. The breakfast service +was harmoniously adapted to the season, and eminently calculated to +produce a fit of shivering in the sojourner at the Reindeer. + +But Clement Austin did not bestow so much as one glance upon the +breakfast-table. He hurried to the bow-window, where Margaret Wilmot was +sitting, neatly dressed in her morning garments, with her shawl on, and +her bonnet lying on a chair near her. + +"Margaret!" exclaimed Clement, as he approached the place where Joseph +Wilmot's daughter was sitting; "my dear Margaret, why did you get up so +early this morning, when you so much need rest?" + +The girl rose and looked at her lover with a grave and quiet earnestness +of expression; but her face was quite as colourless as it had been upon +the previous night, and her lips trembled a little as she spoke to +Clement. + +"I have had sufficient rest," she said, in a low, tremulous voice; "I +got up early because--because--I am going away." + +Her two hands had been hanging loosely amongst the fringes of her shawl; +she lifted them now, and linked her fingers together with a convulsive +motion; but she never withdrew her eyes from Clement's face, and her +glance never faltered as she looked at him. + +"Going away, Margaret?" the cashier cried; "going away--to-day--this +morning?" + +"Yes, by the half-past nine o'clock train." + +"Margaret, you must be mad to talk of such a thing." + +"No," the girl answered, slowly; "that is the strangest thing of all--I +am not mad. I am going away, Clement--Mr. Austin. I wished to avoid +seeing you. I meant to have written to you to tell you----" + +"To tell me what, Margaret?" asked Clement. "Is it I who am going mad; +or am I dreaming all this?" + +"It is no dream, Mr. Austin. My letter would have only told you the +truth. I am going away from here because I can never be your wife." + +"You can never be my wife! Why not, Margaret?" + +"I cannot tell you the reason." + +"But you _shall_ tell me, Margaret!" cried Clement, passionately. "I +will accept no sentence such as this until I know the reason for +pronouncing it; I will suffer no imaginary barrier to stand between you +and me. There is some mystery, some mystification in all this, Margaret; +some woman's fancy, which a few words of explanation would set at rest. +Margaret, my pearl! do you think I will consent to lose you so lightly? +My own dear love! do you know me so little as to think that I will part +with you? My love is a stronger passion than you think, Madge; and the +bondage you accepted when you promised to be my wife is a bondage that +cannot so easily be shaken off!" + +Margaret watched her lover's face with melancholy, tearless eyes. + +"Fate is stronger than love, Clement," she said, mournfully, "I can +never be your wife!" + +"Why not?" + +"For a reason which you can never know." + +"Margaret, I will not submit----" + +"You must submit," the girl said, holding up her hand, as if to stop her +lover's passionate words. "You must submit, Clement. This world seems +very hard sometimes, so hard that in a dreadful interval of dull despair +the heavens are hidden from us, and we cannot recognize the Eternal +wisdom guiding the hand that afflicts us. My life seems very hard to me +to-day, Clement. Do not try to make it harder. I am a most unhappy +woman; and in all the world there is only one favour you can grant me. +Let me go away unquestioned; and blot my image from your heart for ever +when I am gone." + +"I will never consent to let you go," Clement Austin answered, +resolutely. "You are mine by right of your own most sacred promise, +Margaret. No womanish folly shall part us." + +"Heaven knows it is no woman's folly that parts us, Clement," the girl +answered, in a plaintive, tremulous voice. + +"What is it, then, Margaret?" + +"I can never tell you." + +"You will change your mind." + +"Never." + +She looked at him with an air of quiet resolution stamped upon her +colourless face. + +Clement remembered what the doctor had said of his patient's iron will. +Was it possible that Mr. Vincent had been right? Was this gentle girl's +resolution to overrule a strong man's passionate vehemence? + +"What is it that can part us, Margaret?" Mr. Austin cried. "What is it? +You saw Mr. Dunbar yesterday?" + +The girl shuddered, and over her colourless face there came a livid +shade, which was more deathlike than the marble whiteness that had +preceded it. + +"Yes," Margaret Wilmot said, after a pause. "I was--very fortunate. I +gained admission to--Mr. Dunbar's rooms." + +"And you spoke to him?" + +"Yes." + +"Did your interview with him confirm or dissipate your suspicions? Do +you still believe that Henry Dunbar murdered your unhappy father?" + +"No," answered Margaret, resolutely; "I do not." + +"You do not? The banker's manner convinced you of his innocence, then?" + +"I do not believe that Henry Dunbar murdered my--my unhappy father." + +It is impossible to describe the tone of anguish with which Margaret +spoke those last three words. + +"But something transpired in that interview at Maudesley Abbey, +Margaret? Henry Dunbar told you something--perhaps something about your +dead father--some disgraceful secret which you never heard before; and +you think that the shame of that secret is a burden which I would fear +to carry? You mistake my nature, Margaret, and you commit a cruel +treason against my love. Be my wife, dear one; and if malicious people +should point to you, and say, 'Clement Austin's wife is the daughter of +a thief and a forger,' I would give them back scorn for scorn, and tell +them that I honour my wife for virtues that have been sometimes missing +in the consort of an emperor." + +For the first time that morning Margaret's eyes grew dim, but she +brushed away the gathering tears with a rapid movement of her trembling +hand. + +"You are a good man, Clement Austin," she said; "and I--wish that I were +better worthy of you. You are a good man; but you are very cruel to me +to-day. Have pity upon me, and let me go." + +She drew a pretty little watch from her waist, and looked at the dial. +Then, suddenly remembering that the watch had been Clement's gift, she +took the slender chain from her neck, and handed them both to him. + +"You gave me these when I was your betrothed wife, Mr. Austin; I have no +right to keep them now." + +She spoke very mournfully; but poor Clement was only mortal. He was a +good man, as Margaret had just declared; but, unhappily, good men are +apt to fly into passions as well as their inferiors in the scale of +morality. + +Clement Austin threw the pretty little Genevese toy upon the floor, and +ground it to atoms under the heel of his boot. + +"You are cruel and unjust, Mr. Austin," Margaret said. + +"I am a man, Miss Wilmot," Clement answered, bitterly; "and I have the +feelings of a man. When the woman I have loved and believed in turns +upon me, and coolly tells me that she means to break my heart, without +so much as deigning to give me a reason for her conduct, I am not so +much a gentleman as to be able to smile politely, and request her to +please herself." + +The cashier turned away from Margaret, and walked two at three times up +and down the room. He was in a passion, but grief and indignation were +so intermingled in his breast that he scarcely knew which was uppermost. +But grief and love allied themselves presently, and together were much +too strong for indignation. + +Clement Austin went back to the window; Margaret was standing where he +had left her, but she had put on her bonnet and gloves, and was quite +ready to leave the house. + +"Margaret," said Mr. Austin, trying to take her hand; but she drew +herself away from him, almost as she had shrunk from him in the corridor +on the previous night; "Margaret, once for all, listen to me. I love +you, and I believe you love me. If this is true, no obstacle on earth +shall part us so long as we live. There is only one condition upon which +I will let you go this day." + +"What is that condition?" + +"Tell me that I have been fooled by my own egotism. I am twelve years +older than you, Margaret, and there is nothing very romantic or +interesting either in myself or my worldly position. Tell me that you do +not love me. I am a proud man, I will not sue _in forma pauperis_. If +you do not love me, Margaret, you are free to go." + +Margaret bowed her head, and moved slowly towards the door. + +"You are going--Miss Wilmot!" + +"Yes, I am going. Farewell, Mr. Austin." + +Clement caught the retreating girl by her wrist. + +"You shall not go thus, Margaret Wilmot!" he cried, passionately--"not +thus! You shall speak to me! You shall speak plainly! You shall speak +the truth! You do not love me?" + +"No; I do not love you." + +"It was all a farce, then--a delusion--it was all falsehood and trickery +from first to last. When you smiled at me, your smile was a mockery; +when you blushed, your blushes were the simulated blushes of a professed +coquette. Every tender word you have ever spoken to me--every tremulous +cadence in your low voice--every tearful look in the eyes that have +seemed so truthful--all--it has altogether been false--altogether a +delusion--a----" + +The strong man covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud. +Margaret watched him with tearless eyes; her lips were convulsively +contracted, but there was no other evidence of emotion in her face. + +"Why did you do this, Margaret?" Clement asked at last, in a +heart-rending voice; "why did you do this cruel thing?" + +"I will tell you why," the girl answered, slowly and deliberately; "I +will tell you why, Mr. Austin; and then I shall seem utterly despicable +in your eyes, and it will be a very easy thing for you to blot my image +from your heart. I was a poor desolate girl; and I was worse than poor +and desolate, for the stain of my father's shameful history blackened my +name. It was a fine thing for such as me to win the love of an honest +man--a gentleman--who could shelter me from all the troubles of life, +and give me a stainless name and an honourable place in society. I was +the daughter of a returned convict, an outcast, and your love offered me +a splendid chance of redemption from the black depths of disgrace and +misery in which I lived. I was only mortal, Clement Austin; what was +there in my blood that should make me noble, or good, or strong to stand +against temptation? I seized upon the one chance of my miserable life; I +plotted to win your love. Step by step I lured you on until you offered +to make me your wife. That was my end and aim. I triumphed; and for a +time enjoyed my success, and the advantages that it brought me. But I +suppose the worst sinners have some kind of conscience. Mine was +awakened last night, and I resolved to spare you the misery of being +married to a woman who comes of such a race as that from which I +spring." + +Nothing could be more callous than the manner with which Margaret Wilmot +had made this speech. Her tones had never faltered. She had spoken +slowly, pausing before every fresh sentence; but she had spoken like a +wretched creature, whose withered heart was almost incapable of womanly +emotion. Clement Austin looked at her with a blank wondering stare. + +"Oh! great heavens!" he cried at last; "how could I think it possible +that any man could be as cruelly deceived as I have been by this woman!" + +"I may go now, Mr. Austin?" said Margaret. + +"Yes, you may go now--_you_, who once were the woman I loved; you, who +have thrown away the beautiful mask I believed in, and revealed to me +the face of a skeleton; you, who have lifted the silver veil of +imagination to show me the hideous ghastliness of reality. Go, Margaret +Wilmot; and may Heaven forgive you!" + +"Do you forgive me, Mr. Austin?" + +"Not yet. I will pray God to make me strong enough to forgive you!" + +"Farewell, Clement!" + +If my readers have seen _Manfred_ at Drury Lane, let them remember the +tone in which Miss Rose Leclercq breathed her last farewell to Mr. +Phelps, and they will know how Margaret Wilmot pronounced this mournful +word--love's funeral bell,-- + +"Farewell, Clement!" + +"One word, Miss Wilmot," cried Mr. Austin. "I have loved you too much in +the past ever to become indifferent to your fate. Where are you going?" + +"To London." + +"To your old apartments at Clapham?" + +"Oh, no, no!" + +"Have you money--money enough to last you for some time?" + +"Yes; I have saved money." + +"If you should be in want of help, will you let me help you?" + +"Willingly, Mr. Austin. I am not too proud to accept your help in the +hour of my need." + +"You will write to me, then, at my mother's, or you will write to my +mother herself, if ever you require assistance. I shall tell my mother +nothing of what has passed between us this day, except that we have +parted. You are going by the half-past nine o'clock train, you say, Miss +Wilmot?" + +Clement had only spoken the truth when he said that he was a proud man. +He asked this question in the same business-like tone in which he might +have addressed a lady who was quite indifferent to him. + +"Yes, Mr. Austin." + +"I will order a fly for you, then. You have five minutes to spare. And I +will send one of the waiters to the station, so that you may have no +trouble about your luggage." + +Clement rang the bell, and gave the necessary orders. Then he bowed +gravely to Margaret, and wished her good morning as she left the room. + +And this is how Margaret Wilmot parted from Clement Austin. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG. + + +While Henry Dunbar sat in his lonely room at Maudesley Abbey, held +prisoner by his broken leg, and waiting anxiously for the hour in which +he should be allowed the privilege of taking his first experimental +promenade upon crutches, Sir Philip Jocelyn and his beautiful young wife +drove together on the crowded boulevards of the French capital. + +They had been southward, and had returned to the gayest capital in all +the world at the time when that capital is at its best and brightest. +They had returned to Paris for the early new year: and, as this year +happened fortunately to be ushered into existence by a sharp frost and a +bright sunny sky, the boulevards were not the black rivers of mud and +slush that they are apt to be in the first days of the infantine year. +Prince Louis Napoleon Buonaparte was only First President as yet; and +Paris was by no means the wonderful city of endless boulevards and +palatial edifices that it has since grown to be under the master hand +which rules and beautifies it, as a lover adorns his mistress. But it +was not the less the most charming city in the universe; and Philip +Jocelyn and his wife were as happy as two children in this paradise of +brick and mortar. + +They suited each other so well; they were never tired of each other's +society, or at a stand-still for want of something to say to each other. +They were rather frivolous, perhaps; but a little frivolity may be +pardoned in two people who were so very young and so entirely happy. Sir +Philip may have been a little too much devoted to horses and dogs, and +Laura may have been a shade too enthusiastic upon the subject of new +bonnets, and the jewellery in the Rue de la Paix. But if they idled a +little just now, in this delicious honeymoon-time, when it was so sweet +to be together always, from morning till night, driving in a sleigh with +jingling bells upon the snowy roads in the Bois, sitting on the balcony +at Meurice's at night, looking down into the long lamp-lit street and +the misty gardens, where the trees were leafless and black against the +dark blue sky, they meant to do their duty, and be useful to their +fellow-creatures, when they were settled at Jocelyn's Rock. Sir Philip +had half-a-dozen schemes for free schools, and model cottages with ovens +that would bake everything in the world, and chimneys that would never +smoke. And Laura had her own pet plans. Was she not an heiress, and +therefore specially sent into the world to give happiness to people who +had been born without that pleasant appendage of a silver spoon in their +infantine mouths? She meant to be scrupulously conscientious in the +administration of her talents; and sometimes at church on a Sunday, when +the sermon was particularly awakening, she mentally debated the serious +question as to whether new bonnets, and a pair of Jouvin's gloves daily, +were not sinful; but I think she decided that the new bonnets and gloves +were, on the whole, a pardonable weakness, as being good for trade. + +The Warwickshire baronet knew a good many people in Paris, and he and +his bride received a very enthusiastic welcome from these old friends, +who pronounced that Miladi Jocelyn was _charmante_ and _la belle des +belles_; and that Sir Jocelyn was the most fortunate of men in having +discovered this gay, lighthearted girl amongst the prudish and +pragmatical _meess_ of the _brumeuse Angleterre_. + +Laura made herself very much at home with her Parisian acquaintance; and +in the grand house in the Rue Lepelletier many a glass was turned full +upon the beautiful English bride with the _chevelure dore_ and the +violet blue eyes. + +One morning Laura told her husband, with a gay laugh, that she was going +to victimize him; but he was to promise to be patient and bear with her +for once in a way. + +"What is it you want me to do, my darling?" + +"I want you to give me a long day in the Luxembourg. I want to see all +the pictures--the modern pictures especially. I remember all the +Rubenses at the Louvre, for I saw them three years ago, when I was +staying in Paris with grandpapa. I like the modern pictures best, +Philip: and I want you to tell me all about the artists, and what I +ought to admire, and all that sort of thing." + +Sir Philip never refused his wife anything; so he said, yes: and Laura +ran away to her dressing-room like a school-girl who has been pleading +for a holiday and has won her cause. She returned in a little more than +ten minutes, in the freshest toilette, all pale shimmering blue, like +the spring sky, with pearl-grey gloves and boots and parasol, and a +bonnet that seemed made of azure butterflies. + +It was drawing towards the close of this delightful honeymoon tour, and +it was a bright sunshiny morning early in February; but February in +Paris is sometimes better than April in London. + +Philip Jocelyn's work that morning was by no means light, for Laura was +fond of pictures, in a frivolous amateurish kind of way; and she ran +from one canvas to another, like a fickle-minded bee that is bewildered +by the myriad blossoms of a boundless parterre. But she fixed upon a +picture which she said she preferred to anything she had seen in the +gallery. + +Philip Jocelyn was examining some pictures on the other side of the room +when his wife made this discovery. She hurried to him immediately, and +led him off to look at the picture. It was a peasant-girl's head, very +exquisitely painted by a modern artist, and the baronet approved his +wife's taste. + +"How I wish you could get me a copy of that picture, Philip," Laura +said, entreatingly. "I should so like one to hang in my morning-room at +Jocelyn's Rock. I wonder who painted that lovely face?" + +There was a young artist hard at work at his easel, copying a large +devotional subject that hung near the picture Laura admired. Sir Philip +asked this gentleman if he knew the name of the artist who had painted +the peasant-girl. + +"Ah, but yes, monsieur!" the painter answered, with animated politeness; +"it is the work of one of my friends; a young Englishman, of a renown +almost universal in Paris." + +"And his name, monsieur?" + +"He calls himself Kerstall--Frederick Kerstall; he is the son of an old +monsieur, who calls himself also Kerstall, and who had much of celebrity +in England it is many years." + +"Kerstall!" exclaimed Laura, suddenly; "Mr. Kerstall! why, it was a Mr. +Kerstall who painted papa's portrait; I have heard grandpapa say so +again and again; and he took it away to Italy with him, promising to +bring it back to London when he returned, after a year or two of study. +And, oh, Philip, I should so like to see this old Mr. Kerstall; because, +you know, he may have kept papa's portrait until this very day, and I +should so like to have a picture of my father as he was when he was +young, and before the troubles of a long life altered him," Laura said, +rather mournfully. + +She turned to the French artist presently, and asked him where the elder +Mr. Kerstall lived, and if there was any possibility of seeing him. + +The painter shrugged up his shoulders, and pursed up his mouth, +thoughtfully. + +"But, madame," he said, "this Monsieur Kerstall's father is very old, +and he has ceased to paint it is a long time. They have said that he is +even a little imbecile, that he does not remember himself of the most +common events of his life. But there are some others who say that his +memory has not altogether failed, and that he is still enough harshly +critical towards the works of others." + +The Frenchman might have run on much longer upon this subject, but Laura +was too impatient to be polite. She interrupted him by asking for Mr. +Kerstall's address. + +The artist took out one of his own cards, and wrote the required address +in pencil. + +"It is in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, madame, in the Rue Cailoux, +over the office of a Parisian journal," he said, as he handed the card +to Laura. "I don't think you will have any difficulty in finding the +house." + +Laura thanked the French artist and then took her husband's arm and +walked away with him. + +"I don't care about looking at any more pictures to-day, Philip," she +said; "but, oh, I do wish you would take me to this Mr. Kerstall's +studio at once! You will be doing me such a favour, Philip, if you'll +say yes." + +"When did I ever say no to anything you asked me, Laura? We'll go to Mr. +Kerstall immediately, if you like. But why are you so anxious to see +this old portrait of your father, my dear?" + +"Because I want to see what he was before he went to India. I want to +see what he was when he was bright and young before the world had +hardened him. Ah, Philip, since we have known and loved each other, it +seems to me as if I had no thought or care for any one in all this wide +world except yourself. But before that time I was very unhappy about my +father. I had expected that he would be so fond of me. I had so built +upon his return to England, thinking that we should be nearer and dearer +to each other than any father and daughter ever were before. I had +thought all this, Philip; night after night I had dreamt the same +dream,--the bright happy dream in which my father came home to me, the +fond foolish dream in which I felt his strong arms folded round me, and +his true heart beating against my own. But when he did come at last, it +seemed to me as if this father was a man of stone; his white fixed face +repelled me; his cold hard voice turned my blood to ice. I was +frightened of him, Philip; I was frightened of my own father; and little +by little we grew to shun each other, till at last we met like +strangers, or something worse than strangers; for I have seen my father +look at me with an expression of absolute horror in his stern cruel +eyes. Can you wonder, then, that I want to see what he was in his youth? +I shall learn to love him, perhaps, if I can see the smiling image of +his lost youth." + +Laura said all this in a very low voice as she walked with her husband +through the garden of the Luxembourg. She walked very fast; for she was +as eager as a child who is intent upon some scheme of pleasure. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT. + + +The Rue Cailoux was a very quiet little street--a narrow, winding +street, with tall shabby-looking houses, and untidy-little greengrocers' +shops peeping out here and there. + +The pavement suggested the idea that there had just been an outbreak of +the populace, and that the stones had been ruthlessly torn up to serve +in the construction of barricades, and only very carelessly put down +again. It was a street which seemed to have been built with a view to +achieving the largest amount of inconvenience out of a minimum of +materials; and looked at in this light the Rue Cailoux was a triumph: it +was a street in which Parisian drivers clacked their whips to a running +accompaniment of imprecations: it was a street in which you met dirty +porters carrying six feet of highly-baked bread, and shrill old women +with wonderful bandanas bound about their grisly heads: but above all, +it was a street in which you were so shaken and jostled, and bumped and +startled, by the ups and downs of the pavement, that you had very little +leisure to notice the distinctive features of the neighbourhood. + +The house in which Mr. Kerstall, the English artist, lived was a +gloomy-looking building with a dingy archway, beneath which Sir Philip +Jocelyn and his wife alighted. + +There was a door under this archway, and there was a yard beyond it, +with the door of another house opening upon it, and ranges of black +curtainless windows looking down upon it, and an air of dried herbs, +green-stuff, chickens in the moulting stage, and old women, generally +pervading it. The door which belonged to Mr. Kerstall's house, or rather +the house in which Mr. Kerstall lived in common with a colony of unknown +number and various avocations, was open, and Sir Philip and his wife +went into the hall. + +There was no such thing as a porter or portress; but a stray old woman, +hovering under the archway, informed Philip Jocelyn that Mr. Kerstall +was to be found on the second story. So Laura and her husband ascended +the stairs, which were bare of any covering except dirt, and went on +mounting through comparative darkness, past the office of the Parisian +journal, till they came to a very dingy black door. + +Philip knocked, and, after a considerable interval, the door was opened +by another old woman, tidier and cleaner than the old women who pervaded +the yard, but looking very like a near relation to those ladies. + +Philip inquired in French for the senior Mr. Kerstall; and the old woman +told him, very much through her nose, that Mr. Kerstall father saw no +one; but that Mr. Kerstall son was at his service. + +Philip Jocelyn said that in that case he would be glad to see Mr. +Kerstall junior; upon which the old woman ushered the baronet and his +wife into a saloon, distinguished by an air of faded splendour, and in +which the French clocks and ormolu candelabras were in the proportion of +two to one to the chairs and tables. + +Sir Philip gave his card to the old woman, and she carried it into the +adjoining chamber, whence there issued a gush of tobacco-smoke, as the +door between the two rooms was opened and then shut again. + +In less than three minutes by the minute-hand of the only one of the +ormolu clocks which made any pretence of going, the door was opened +again, and a burly-looking, middle-aged gentleman, with a very black +beard, and a dirty holland blouse all smeared with smudges of +oil-colour, appeared upon the threshold of the adjoining chamber, +surrounded by a cloud of tobacco-smoke--like a heathen deity, or a +good-tempered-looking African genie newly escaped from his bottle. + +This was Mr. Kerstall junior. He introduced himself to Sir Philip, and +waited to hear what that gentleman required of him. + +Philip Jocelyn explained his business, and told the painter how, more +than five-and-thirty years before, the portrait of Henry Dunbar, only +son of Percival Dunbar the great banker, had been painted by Mr. Michael +Kerstall, at that time a fashionable artist. + +"Five-and-thirty years ago!" said the painter, pulling thoughtfully at +his beard; "five-and-thirty years ago! that's a very long time, my lord, +and I'm afraid it's not likely my father will remember the circumstance; +for I regret to say that he is slow to remember the events of a few days +past. His memory has been failing a long time. You wish to know the fate +of this portrait of Mr. Dunbar, I think you said?" + +Laura answered this question, although it had been addressed to her +husband. + +"Yes, we want to see the picture, if possible," she said; "Mr. Dunbar is +my father, and there is no other portrait of him in existence. I do so +want to see this one, and to obtain possession of it, if it is possible +for me to do so." + +"And you are of opinion that my father took the picture to Italy with +him when he left England more than five-and-thirty years ago?" + +"Yes; I've heard my grandfather say so. He lost sight of Mr. Kerstall, +and could never obtain any tidings of the picture. But I hope that, late +as it is, we may be more fortunate now. You do not think the picture has +been destroyed, do you?" Laura asked eagerly. + +"Well," the artist answered, doubtfully, "I should be inclined to fear +that the portrait may have been painted out: and yet, by the bye, as the +picture belonged by right to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and not to my father, +that circumstance may have preserved it uninjured through all these +years. My father has a heap of unframed canvases, inches thick in dust, +and littering every corner of his room. Mr. Dunbar's portrait may be +amongst them. + +"Oh, I should be so very much obliged if you would allow me to examine +those pictures," said Laura. + +"You think you would recognize the portrait?" + +"Yes, surely; I could not fail to do so. I know my father's face so well +as it is, that I must certainly have some knowledge of it as it was +five-and-thirty years ago, however much he may have altered in the +interval. Pray, Mr. Kerstall, oblige me by letting me see the pictures." + +"I should be very churlish were I to refuse to do so," the painter +answered, good-naturedly. "I will just go and see if my father is able +to receive visitors. He has been a voluntary exile from England for the +last five-and-thirty years, so I fear he will have forgotten the name of +Dunbar; but he may by chance be able to give us some slight assistance." + +Mr. Kerstall left his visitors for about ten minutes, and at the end of +that time he returned to say that his father was quite ready to receive +Sir Philip and Lady Jocelyn. + +"I mentioned the name of Dunbar to him," the painter said; "but he +remembers nothing. He has been painting a little this morning, and is in +very high spirits about his work. It pleases him to handle the brushes, +though his hand is terribly shaky, and he can scarcely hold the +palette." + +The artist led the way to a large room, comfortably but plainly +furnished, and heated to a pitch of suffocation by a stove. There was a +bed in a curtained alcove at the end of the apartment; an easel stood +near the large window; and the proprietor of the chamber sat in a +cushioned arm-chair close to the suffocating stove. + +Michael Kerstall was an old man, who looked even older than he was. He +was a picturesque-looking old man, with long white hair dropping down +over his coat-collar, and a black-velvet skull-cap upon his head. He was +a cheerful old man, and life seemed very pleasant to him; for Frenchmen +have a habit of honouring their fathers and mothers, and Mr. Frederick +Kerstall was a naturalized citizen of the French republic. + +The old man nodded and smiled and chuckled as Sir Philip and Laura were +presented to him, and pointed with a courtly grace to the chairs which +his son set for his guests. + +"You want to see my pictures, sir? Ah, yes; to be sure, to be sure! The +modern school of painting, sir, is something marvellous to an old man, +sir; an old man who remembers Sir Thomas Lawrence--ay, sir, I had the +honour to know him intimately. No pre-Raphaelite theories in those days, +sir; no figures cut of coloured pasteboard and glued on to the canvas; +no green trees and vermilion draperies, and chocolate-coloured streaks +across an ultramarine background, sir; and I'm told the young people +call that a sky. No pointed chins, and angular knees and elbows, and +frizzy red hair--red, sir, and as frizzy as a blackamoor's--and I'm told +the young people call that female beauty. No, sir; nothing of that sort +in my day. There was a French painter in my day, sir, called David, and +there was an English painter in my day called Lawrence; and they painted +ladies and gentlemen, sir; and they instituted a gentlemanly school, +sir. And you put a crimson curtain behind your subject, and you put a +bran-new hat, or a roll of paper, in his right hand, and you thrust his +left hand in his waistcoat--the best black satin, sir, with strong light +in the texture--and you made your subject look like a gentleman. Yes, +sir, if he was a chimney-sweep when he went into your studio, he went +out of it a gentleman." + +The old man would have gone on talking for any length of time, for +pre-Raphaelitism was his favourite antipathy; and the black-bearded +gentleman standing behind his chair was an enthusiastic member of the +pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. + +Mr. Kerstall senior seemed so thoroughly in possession of all his +faculties while he held forth upon modern art, that Laura began to hope +his memory could scarcely be so much impaired as his son had represented +it to be. + +"When you painted portraits in England, Mr. Kerstall," she said, "before +you went to Italy, you painted a likeness of my father, Henry Dunbar, +who was then a young man. Do you remember that circumstance?" + +Laura asked this question very hopefully; but to her surprise, Mr. +Kerstall took no notice whatever of her inquiry, but went rambling on +about the degeneracy of modern art. + +"I am told there is a young man called Millais, sir, and another young +man called Holman Hunt, sir,--positive boys, sir; actually very little +more than boys, sir; and I'm given to understand, sir, that when these +young men's works are exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, sir, +people crowd round them, and go raving mad about them; while a +gentlemanly portrait of a county member, with a Corinthian pillar and a +crimson curtain, gets no more attention than if it was a bishop's +half-length of black canvas. I am told so, sir, and I am obliged to +believe it, sir." + +Poor Laura listened very impatiently to all this talk about painters and +their pictures. But Mr. Kerstall the younger perceived her anxiety, and +came to her relief. + +"Lady Jocelyn would very much like to see the pictures you have +scattered about in this room, my dear father," he said, "if you have no +objection to our turning them over?" + +The old man chuckled and nodded. + +"You'll find 'em gentlemanly," he said; "you'll find 'em all more or +less gentlemanly." + +"You're sure you don't remember painting the portrait of a Mr. Dunbar?" +Mr. Kerstall the younger said, bending over his father's chair as he +spoke. "Try again, father--try to remember--Henry Dunbar, the son of +Percival Dunbar, the great banker." + +Mr. Kerstall senior, who never left off smiling, nodded and chuckled, +and scratched his head, and seemed to plunge into a depth of profound +thought. + +Laura began to hope again. + +"I remember painting Sir Jasper Rivington, who was Lord Mayor in the +year--bless my heart how the dates do slip out of my mind, to be +sure!--I remember painting _him_, in his robes too; yes, sir--by gad, +sir, his official robes. He'd liked me to have painted him looking out +of the window of his state-coach, sir, bowing to the populace on Ludgate +Hill, with the dome of St. Paul's in the background; but I told him the +notion wasn't practicable, sir; I told him it couldn't be done, sir; +I----" + +Laura looked despairingly at Mr. Kerstall the younger. + +"May we see the pictures?" she asked. "I am sure that I shall recognize +my father's portrait, if by any chance it should be amongst them." + +"We will set to work at once, then," the artist said, briskly. "We're +going to look at your pictures, father." + +Unframed canvases, and unfinished sketches on millboard, were lying +about the room in every direction, piled against the wall, heaped on +side-tables, and stowed out of the way upon shelves, and everywhere the +dust lay thick upon them. + +"It was quite a chamber of horrors," Mr. Kerstall the younger said, +gaily: for it was here that he banished his own failures; his sketches +for his pictures that were to be painted upon some future occasion; +carelessly-drawn groups that he meant some day to improve upon; finished +pictures that he had been unable to sell; and all the other useless +litter of an artist's studio. + +There were a great many dingy performances of Mr. Kerstall senior; very +classical, and extremely uninteresting; studies from the life, grey and +chalky and muscular, with here and there a knotty-looking foot or a +lumpy arm, in the most unpleasant phases of foreshortening. There were a +good many portraits, gentlemanly to the last degree; but poor Laura +looked in vain for the face she wanted to see--the hard cold face, as +she fancied it must have been in youth. + +There were portraits of elderly ladies with stately head-gear, and +simpering young ladies with innocent short-waisted bodices and flowers +held gracefully, in their white-muslin draperies; there were portraits +of stern clerical grandees, and parliamentary non-celebrities, with +popular bills rolled up in their hands, ready to be laid upon the +speaker's table, and with a tight look about the lips, that seemed to +say the member was prepared to carry his motion, or perish on the floor +of the House. + +There were only a few portraits of young men of military aspect, looking +fiercely over regulation stocks, and with forked lightning and little +pyramids of cannon-balls in the background. + +Laura sighed heavily at last, for amongst all these portraits there was +not one which in the least possible degree recalled the hard handsome +face with which she was familiar. + +"I'm afraid my father's picture has been lost or destroyed," she said, +mournfully. + +But Mr. Kerstall would not allow this. + +I have said that it was Laura's peculiar privilege to bewitch everybody +with whom she came in contact, and to transform them, for the nonce, +into her willing slaves, eager to go through fire and water in the +service of this beautiful creature, whose eyes and hair were like blue +skies and golden sunshine, and carried light and summer wherever they +went. + +The black-bearded artist in the paint-smeared holland blouse was in no +manner proof against Lady Jocelyn's fascinations. + +He had well-nigh suffocated himself with dust half-a-dozen times already +in her service, and was ready to inhale as much more dust if she desired +him so to do. + +"We won't give it up just yet, Lady Jocelyn," he said, cheerfully; +"there's a couple of shelves still to examine. Suppose we try shelf +number one, and see if we can find Mr. Henry Dunbar up there." + +Mr. Kerstall junior mounted upon a chair, and brought down another heap +of canvases, dirtier than any previous collection. He brought these to a +table by the side of his father's easel, and one by one he wiped them +clean with a large ragged silk handkerchief, and then placed them on the +easel. + +The easel stood in the full light of the broad window. The day was +bright and clear, and there was no lack of light, therefore, upon the +portraits. + +Mr. Kerstall senior began to be quite interested in his son's +proceedings, and contemplated the younger man's operations with a +perpetual chuckling and nodding of the head, that were expressive of +unmitigated satisfaction. + +"Yes, they're gentlemanly," the old man mumbled; "nobody can deny that +they're gentlemanly. They may make a cabal against me in Trafalgar +Square, and decline to hang 'em: but they can't say my pictures are +ungentlemanly. No, no. Take a basin of water and a sponge, Fred, and +wash the dust off. It pleases me to see 'em again--yes, by gad, sir, it +pleases me to see 'em again!" + +Mr. Frederick Kerstall obeyed his father, and the pictures brightened +wonderfully under the influence of a damp sponge. It was rather a slow +operation; but Laura was bent upon seeing every picture, and Philip +Jocelyn waited patiently enough until the inspection should be +concluded. + +The old man brightened up as much as his paintings, and began presently +to call out the names of the subjects. + +"The member for Slopton-on-the-Tees," he said, as his son placed a +portrait on the easel; "that was a presentation picture, but the +subscriptions were never paid up, and the committee left the portrait +upon my hands. I don't remember the name of the member, because my +memory isn't quite so good as it used to be; but the borough was +Slopton-on-the-Tees--Slopton--yes, yes, I remember that." + +The younger Kerstall took away the member for Slopton, and put another +picture on the easel. But this was like the rest; the pictured face bore +no trace of resemblance to that face for which Laura was looking. + +"I remember him too," the old man cried, with a triumphant chuckle. "He +was an officer in the East-India Company's service. I remember him; a +dashing young fellow he was too. He had the picture painted for his +mother: paid me a third of the money at the first sitting; never paid me +a sixpence afterwards; and went off to India, promising to send me a +bill of exchange for the balance by the next mail; but I never heard any +more of him." + +Mr. Kerstall removed the Indian officer, and substituted another +portrait. + +Sir Philip, who was sitting near the window, looking on rather +listlessly, cried-- + +"What a handsome face!" + +It _was_ a handsome face--a bright young face, which smiled haughty +defiance at the world--a splendid face, with perhaps a shade of +insolence in the curve of the upper lip, sharply denned under a thick +auburn moustache, with pointed ends that curled fiercely upwards. It was +such a face as might have belonged to the favourite of a powerful king; +the face of the Cinq Mars, on the very summit of his giddy eminence, +with a hundred pairs of boots in his dressing-room, and quiet Cardinal +Richelieu watching silently for the day of his doom. English Buckingham +may have worn the same insolent smile upon his lips, the same bright +triumph in his glance, when he walked up to the throne of Louis the +Just, with the pearls and diamonds dropping from his garments as he went +along, and with forbidden love beaming on him out of Austrian Anne's +blue eyes. It was such a face as could only belong to some high +favourite of fortune, defiant of all mankind in the consciousness of his +own supreme advantages. + +But Laura Jocelyn shook her head as she looked at the picture. + +"I begin to despair of finding my father's portrait," she said; "I have +seen nothing at all like it yet." + +The old man lifted up his bony hand, and pointed to the picture on the +easel. + +"That's the best thing I ever did," he said, "the very best thing I ever +did. It was exhibited in the Academy six-and-thirty years ago--yes, by +gad, sir, six-and-thirty years ago! and the papers mentioned it very +favourably, sir; but the man who commissioned it, sent it back to me for +alteration. The expression of the face didn't please him; but he paid me +two hundred guineas for the picture, so I had no reason to complain; and +if I'd remained in England, the connection might have been advantageous +to me; for they were rich city people, sir--enormously +wealthy--something in the banking-line, and the name, the name--let me +see--let me see!" + +The old man tapped his forehead thoughtfully. + +"I remember," he added presently: "it was a great name in the City--it +was a well-known name--Dun--Dunbar--Dunbar." + +"Why, father, that was the very name I was asking you about, half an +hour ago!" + +"I don't remember your asking me any such thing," the old man answered, +rather snappishly; "but I do know that the picture on that easel is the +portrait of Mr. Dunbar's only son." + +Mr. Kerstall the younger looked at Laura Jocelyn, full; expecting to see +her face beaming with satisfaction; but, to his own surprise, she looked +more disappointed than ever. + +"Your poor father's memory deceives him," she said, in a low voice; +"that is not my father's portrait." + +"No," said Philip Jocelyn, "that was never the likeness of Henry +Dunbar." + +Mr. Frederick Kerstall shrugged his shoulders. + +"I told you as much," he murmured, confidentially. "I told you my poor +father's memory was gone. Would you like to see the rest of the +pictures?" + +"Oh, yes, if you do not mind all this trouble." + +Mr. Kerstall brought down another heap of unframed canvases from shelf +number two. Some of these were fancy heads, and some sketches for grand +historical pictures. There were only about four portraits, and not one +of them bore the faintest likeness to the face that Laura wanted to see. + +The old man chuckled as his son exhibited the pictures, and every now +and then volunteered some scrap of information about these various works +of art, to which his son listened patiently and respectfully. + +So at last the inspection was ended. The baronet and his wife thanked +the artist very warmly for his politeness, and Philip gave him a +commission for a replica of the picture which Laura had admired in the +Luxembourg. Mr. Frederick Kerstall conducted his guests down the dingy +staircase, and saw them to the hired carriage that was waiting under the +archway. + +And this was all that came of Laura Jocelyn's search for her father's +portrait. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +MARGARET'S LETTER. + + +Life seemed very blank to Clement Austin when he returned to London a +day or two after Margaret Wilmot's departure from the Reindeer. He told +his mother that he and his betrothed had parted; but he would tell no +more. + +"I have been cruelly disappointed, mother, and the subject is very +bitter to me," he said; and Mrs. Austin had not the courage to ask any +further questions. + +"I suppose I _must_ be satisfied, Clement," she said. "It seems to me as +if we had been living lately in an atmosphere of enigmas. But I can +afford to be contented, Clement, so long as I have you with me." + +Clement went back to London. His life seemed to have altogether slipped +away from him, and he felt like an old man who has lost all the bright +chances of existence; the hope of domestic happiness and a pleasant +home; the opportunity of a useful career and an honoured name; and who +has nothing more to do but to wait patiently till the slow current of +his empty life drops into the sea of death. + +"I feel so old, mother," he said, sometimes; "I feel so old." + +To a man who has been accustomed to be busy there is no affliction so +intolerable as idleness. + +Clement Austin felt this, and yet he had no heart to begin life again, +though tempting offers came to him from great commercial houses, whose +chiefs were eager to secure the well-known cashier of Messrs. Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby's establishment. + +Poor Clement could not go into the world yet. His disappointment had +been too bitter, and he had no heart to go out amongst hard men of +business, and begin life again. He wasted hour after hour, and day after +day, in gloomy thoughts about the past. What a dupe he had been! what a +shallow, miserable fool! for he had believed as firmly in Margaret +Wilmot's truth, as he had believed in the blue sky above his head. + +One day a new idea flashed into Clement Austin's mind; an idea which +placed Margaret Wilmot's character even in a worse light than that in +which she had revealed herself in her own confession. + +There could be only one reason for the sudden change in her sentiments +about Henry Dunbar: the millionaire had bribed her to silence! This +girl, who seemed the very incarnation of purity and candour, had her +price, perhaps, as well as other people, and Henry Dunbar had bought the +silence of his victim's daughter. + +"It was the knowledge of this business that made her shrink away from me +that night when she told me that she was a contaminated creature, unfit +to be the associate of an honest man Oh, Margaret, Margaret! poverty +must indeed be a bitter school if it has prepared you for such +degradation as this!" + +The longer Clement thought of the subject, the more certainly he arrived +at the conclusion that Margaret Wilmot had been, either bribed or +frightened into silence by Henry Dunbar. It might be that the banker had +terrified this unhappy girl by some awful threat that had preyed upon +her mind, and driven her from the man who loved her, whom she loved +perhaps, in spite of those heartless words which she had spoken in the +bitter hour of their parting. + +Clement could not thoroughly believe in the baseness of the woman he had +trusted. Again and again he went over the same ground, trying to find +some lurking circumstance, no matter how unlikely in its nature, which +should explain and justify Margaret's conduct. + +Sometimes in his dreams he saw the familiar face looking at him with +pensive, half-reproachful glances; and then a dark figure that was +strange to him came between him and that gentle shadow, and thrust the +vision away with a ruthless hand. At last, by dint of going over the +ground again and again, always pleading Margaret's cause against the +stern witness of cruel facts, Clement came to look upon the girl's +innocence as a settled thing. + +There was falsehood and treachery in the business, but Margaret Wilmot +was neither false nor treacherous. There was a mystery, and Henry Dunbar +was at the bottom of it. + +"It seems as if the spirit of the murdered man troubled our lives, and +cried to us for vengeance," Clement thought. "There will be no peace for +us until the secret of the deed done in the grove near Winchester has +been brought to light." + +This thought, working night and day in Clement Austin's brain, gave rise +to a fixed resolve. Before he went back to the quiet routine of life, he +set himself a task to accomplish, and that task was the solution of the +Winchester mystery. + +On the very day after this resolution took a definite form, Clement +received a letter from Margaret Wilmot. The sight of the well-known +writing gave him a shock of mingled surprise and hope, and his fingers +were faintly tremulous as they tore open the envelope. The letter was +carefully worded, and very brief. + +"_You are a good man, Mr. Austin_," Margaret wrote; "_and though you +have reason to despise me, I do not think you will refuse to receive my +testimony in favour of another who has been falsely suspected of a +terrible crime, and who has need of justification. Henry Dunbar was not +the murderer of my father. As Heaven is my witness, this is the truth, +and I know it to be the truth. Let this knowledge content you, and allow +the secret of the murder to remain for ever a mystery upon earth, God +knows the truth, and has doubtless punished the wretched sinner who was +guilty of that crime, as He punishes every other sinner, sooner or +later, in the course of His ineffable wisdom. Leave the sinner, wherever +he may be hidden, to the judgment of God, which penetrates every +hiding-place; and forget that you have ever known me, or my miserable +story._ + +"MARGARET WILMOT." + +Even this letter did not shake Clement Austin's resolution. + +"No, Margaret," he thought; "even your pleading shall not turn me from +my purpose. Besides, how can I tell in what manner this letter may have +been written? It may have been written at Henry Dunbar's dictation, and +under coercion. Be it as it may, the mystery of the Winchester murder +shall be set at rest, if patience or intelligence can solve the enigma. +No mystery shall separate me from the woman I love." + +Clement put Margaret's letter in his pocket, and went straight to +Scotland Yard, where he obtained an introduction to a +businesslike-looking man, short and stoutly built, with close-cropped +hair, very little shirt-collar, a shabby black satin stock, and a coat +buttoned tightly across the chest. He was a man whose appearance was +something between the aspect of a shabby-genteel half-pay captain and an +unlucky stockbroker: but Clement liked the steady light of his small +grey eyes, and the decided expression of his thin lips and prominent +chin. + +The detective business happened to be rather dull just now. There was +nothing stirring but a Bank-of-England forgery case; and Mr. Carter +informed Clement that there were more cats in Scotland Yard than could +find mice to kill. Under these circumstances, Mr. Carter was able to +enter into Clement's views, and sequestrate himself for a short period +for the more deliberate investigation of the Winchester business. + +"I'll look up a file of newspapers, and run my eye over the details of +the case," said the detective. "I was away in Glasgow, hunting up the +particulars of the great Scotch-plaid robberies, all last summer, and I +can't say I remember much of what was done in the Wilmot business. Mr. +Dunbar himself offered a reward for the apprehension of the guilty +party, didn't he?" + +"Yes; but that might be a blind." + +"Oh, of course it might; but then, on the other hand, it mightn't. You +must always look at these sort of things from every point of view. Start +with a conviction of the man's guilt, and you'll go hunting up evidence +to bolster that conviction. My plan is to begin at the beginning; learn +the alphabet of the case, and work up into the syntax and prosody." + +"I should like to help you in this business," Clement Austin said, "for +I have a vital interest in the issue of the case." + +"You're rather more likely to hinder than help, sir," Mr. Carter +answered, with a smile; "but you're welcome to have a finger in the pie +if you like, as long as you'll engage to hold your tongue when I tell +you." + +Clement promised to be the very spirit of discretion. The detective +called upon him two days after the interview at Scotland Yard. + +"I've read-up the Wilmot case, sir," Mr. Carter said; "and I think the +next best thing I can do is to see the scene of the murder. I shall +start for Winchester to-morrow morning." + +"Then I'll go with you," Clement said, promptly. + +"So be it, Mr. Austin. You may as well bring your cheque-book while +you're about it, for this sort of thing is apt to come rather +expensive." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS JOURNEY TO +WINCHESTER. + + +"If I had been a happy man, with no great trouble weighing upon my mind, +and giving its own dull colour to every event of my life, I think I +might have been considerably entertained by the society of Mr. Carter, +the detective. The man had an enthusiastic love of his profession; and +if there is anything degrading in the office, that degradation had in no +way affected him. It may be that Mr. Carter's knowledge of his own +usefulness was sufficient to preserve his self-respect. If, in the +course of his duty, he had unpleasant things to do; if he had to affect +friendly acquaintanceship with the man whom he was hunting to the +gallows; if he was called upon to worm-out chance clues to guilty +secrets in the careless confidence that grows out of a friendly glass; +if at times he had to stoop to acts which, in other men, would be +branded as shameful and treacherous, he knew that he did his duty, and +that society could not hold together unless some such men as +himself--clear-headed, brave, resolute, and unscrupulous in the +performance of unpleasant work--were willing to act as watch-dogs for +the protection of the general fold, and to the terror of savage and +marauding beasts. + +"Mr. Carter told me a great deal of his experience during our journey +down to Winchester. I listened to him, and understood what he said to +me; but I could not take any interest in his conversation. I could not +remember anything, or think of anything, except the mystery which +separates me from the woman I love. + +"The more I think of this, the stronger becomes my conviction that I +have not been the dupe of a heartless or mercenary woman. Margaret has +not acted as a free agent. She has paid the penalty of her determination +to force herself into the presence of Henry Dunbar. By some inexplicable +means, by some masterpiece of villany and cunning, this man has induced +his victim's daughter to become the champion of his innocence, instead +of the denouncer of his guilt. + +"There must be some hopeless entanglement, some cruel involvement, by +reason of which Margaret is compelled to falsify her nature, and +sacrifice her own happiness as well as mine. When she left me that day +at Shorncliffe, she suffered as cruelly as I could suffer: I know now +that it was so. But I was blinded then by pride and anger: I was +conscious of nothing but my own wrongs. + +"Three times in the course of my journey from London to Winchester I +have taken Margaret's strange letter from my pocket-book, and have read +the familiar lines, with the idea of putting entire confidence in my +companion, and placing the letter in his hands. But in order to do this +I must tell him the story of my love and my disappointment; and I cannot +bring myself to do that. It may be that this man could discover hidden +meanings in Margaret's words--meanings that are utterly dark to me. I +suppose the science of detection includes the power to guess at thoughts +that lurk behind expressions which are simple enough in themselves. + + * * * * * + +"We got into Winchester at twelve o'clock in the day; and Mr. Carter +proposed that we should come straight to the George Hotel, at which +house Henry Dunbar stayed after the murder in the grove. + +"'We can't do better than put up at the hotel where the suspected party +was stopping at the time of the event we're looking up,' Mr. Carter said +to me, as we strolled away from the station, after giving our small +amount of luggage into the care of a porter; 'we shall pick up all +manner of information in a promiscuous way, if we're staying in the +house; little bits that will seem nothing at all till you put them all +together, and begin at the beginning, and read them off the right way. +Now, Mr. Austin, there's a few words I must say before we begin +business; for you're an amateur at this kind of work, and it's just +possible that, with the best intentions, you may go and spoil my game. +Now, I've undertaken this affair, and I want to go through with it +conscientiously; under which circumstances I'm obliged to be candid. Are +you willing to act under orders?' + +"I told Mr. Carter that I was perfectly willing to obey his orders in +everything, so long as what I did helped the purposes of our journey. + +"'That's all square and pleasant,' he answered; 'so now for it. First +and foremost, you and me are two gentlemen that have got more time than +we know what to do with, and more money than we know how to spend. We've +heard a great deal about the fishing round Winchester; and we've come +down to spend an idle week or so, and have a look about the place +against next summer; and if we like the looks of the place, why, we +shall come and spend the summer months at the George, where we find the +accommodation in general, and say the fried soles, or the mock-turtle, +in particular, better than at any hotel in the three kingdoms. That's +number one; and that places us at once on the footing of good customers, +who are likely to be better customers. This will square the landlord and +the waiters, and there's nothing they can tell us that they won't tell +us willingly. So much for the first place. Now point number two is, that +we know nothing whatever of the man that was murdered. We know Mr. +Dunbar because he's a great man, a public character, and all that sort +of thing. We did see something about the murder in the papers, but +didn't take any interest in it. This will draw out the landlord or the +waiters, as the case may be, and we shall get the history of the murder, +with all that was said, and done, and thought, and suspected and hinted, +and whispered about it. When the landlord and the waiters have talked +about it a good deal, we begin to warm up, and take a kind of morbid +interest in the business; and then, little by little, I put in my +questions, and keep on putting 'em till every bit of information upon +this particular subject is picked away as clean as the meat that's torn +off a bone by a hungry dog. Now you'd like to help me in this business, +I dare say, Mr. Austin; and if you would, I think I can hit upon a plan +by which you might make yourself uncommonly useful.' + +"I told my companion that I was very anxious to give him any help I +could afford, however insignificant that help might be. + +"'Then, I'll tell you what you can do. I shan't go at the subject we +want to talk about at once; because, if I did, I should betray my +interest in the business and spoil my game; not that anybody would try +to thwart me, you understand, if they knew that I was detective officer +Henry Carter, of Scotland Yard. They'd be all on the _qui vive_ directly +they found out who I was, and what I was after, and they'd try to help +me. That's what they'd do; and Tom would tell me this, and Dick would +explain that, and Harry would remember the other; and among them they'd +contrive to muddle the clearest head that ever worked a difficult +problem in criminal Euclid. My game is to keep myself dark, and get all +the light I can from other people. I shan't ask any leading question, +but I shall wait quietly till the murder of Joseph Wilmot crops up in +the conversation; and I don't suppose I shall have to wait long. Your +business will be easy enough. You'll have letters to write, you will; +and as soon as ever you hear me and the landlord, or me and the waiter, +as the case may be, working round to the murder, you'll take out your +desk and begin to write.' + +"'You want me to take notes of the conversation,' I said. + +"'You've hit it. You won't appear to take any interest in the talk about +Henry Dunbar and the murder of his valet. You'll be altogether wrapped +up in those letters of yours, which must be written before the London +post goes out; but you'll contrive to write down every word that's said +by the people at the George bearing upon the business we're hunting up. +Never mind my questions; don't write them down, for they're of no +account. Write down the answers as plain as you can. They'll come all of +a heap, or anyhow; but that's no matter. It'll be my business to sort +'em, and put 'em ship-shape afterwards. You just keep your mouth shut, +and take notes, Mr. Austin; that's all you've got to do.' + +"I promised to do this to the best of my ability. We were close to the +George by this time, and I could not help thinking of that bright +summer's day upon which Henry Dunbar and his victim had driven into +Winchester on the first stage of a journey which one of them was never +to finish. The conviction of the banker's guilt had so grown upon me +since that scene in St. Gundolph Lane, that I thought of the man now +almost as if he had been fairly tried and deliberately found guilty. It +surprised me when the detective talked of his guilt as open to question, +and yet to be proved. In my mind Henry Dunbar stood self-condemned, by +the evidence of his own conduct, as the murderer of his old servant +Joseph Wilmot. + +"The weather was bleak and windy, and there were very few wanderers in +the hilly High Street of Winchester. We were received with very +courteous welcome at the George, and were conducted to a comfortable +sitting-room upon the first-floor, with windows looking out upon the +street. Two bedrooms in the vicinity of the sitting-room were assigned +to us. I ordered dinner for six o'clock, having ascertained that hour to +be agreeable to Mr. Carter, who was slowly removing his wrappings, and +looking deliberately at every separate article in the room; as if he +fancied there might be some scrap of information to be picked up from a +window-blind, or a coal-scuttle, or lurking mysteries hidden in a +sideboard-drawer. I have no doubt the habit of observation was so strong +upon this man that he observed the most insignificant things +involuntarily. + +"It was a very dull unpleasant day, and I was glad to draw my chair to +the fire and make myself comfortable, while the waiter went to fetch a +bottle of soda-water and sixpenn'orth of 'best French' for my companion, +who was walking about the room with his hands in his pockets, and his +grizzled eyebrows knotted together. + +"The reward which Government had offered for the arrest of Joseph +Wilmot's murderer was the legitimate price usually bidden for the head +of an assassin. The Government had offered to pay one hundred pounds to +any person or persons who should give such information as would lead to +the apprehension of the guilty party or parties. I had promised Mr. +Carter that I would give him another hundred pounds on my own account if +he succeeded in solving the mystery of Joseph Wilmot's death. The reward +at stake was therefore two hundred pounds; and this was a pretty high +stake, Mr. Carter told me, as the detective business went. I had given +him my written engagement to pay the hundred pounds upon the day of the +murderer's arrest, and I was very well able to do so without fear of +being compelled to ask help of my mother; for I had saved upwards of a +thousand pounds during my twelve years' service in the house of Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby. + +"I saw from Mr. Carter's countenance that he was thinking, and thinking +very earnestly. He drank the soda-water and brandy; but he said nothing +to the waiter who brought him that popular beverage. When the man was +gone, he came and planted himself opposite to me upon the hearth-rug. + +"'I'm going to talk to you very seriously, sir,' he said. + +"I assured him that I was quite ready to listen to anything he might +have to say. + +"'When you employ a detective officer, sir,' he began, 'don't employ a +man you can't put entire confidence in. If you can't trust him don't +have anything to do with him; for if he isn't to be trusted with the +dearest family secret that ever was kept sacred by an honest man, why +he's a scoundrel, and you're much better off without his help. But when +you've got a man that has been recommended to you by those who know him, +trust him, and don't be afraid to trust him, don't confide in him by +halves; don't tell him one part of your story, and keep the other half +hidden from him; because, you see, working in the twilight isn't much +more profitable than working in the dark. Now, why do I say this to you, +Mr. Austin? You know as well as I do. I say it because I know you +haven't trusted me.' + +"'I have told you all that was absolutely necessary for you to know,' I +said. + +"'Not a bit of it, sir. It's absolutely necessary for me to know +everything: that is, if you want me to succeed in the business I'm +engaged upon. You're afraid to give me your confidence out and out, +without reserve. Lor' bless your innocence, sir; in my profession a man +learns the use of his eyes; and when once he's learnt how to use them, +it ain't easy for him to keep them shut. I know as well as you do that +you're hiding something from me: you're keeping something back, though +you've half a mind to trust me. You took out a letter three times while +we wore sitting opposite to each other in the railway carriage; and you +read the letter; and every now and then, while you were reading it, you +looked up at me with a hesitating you-would-and-you-wouldn't sort of +look. You thought I was looking out of the window all the time; and so I +was, being uncommonly interested in the corn-fields we were passing just +then, so flat and stumpy and picturesque they looked; but, lor', Mr. +Austin, if I couldn't look out of the window and watch you at the same +time, I shouldn't be worth my salt to you or any one else. I saw plain +enough that you had half a mind to show me that letter; and it wasn't +very difficult to guess that the letter had some bearing upon the +business that has brought us to Winchester.' + +"Mr. Carter paused, and settled himself comfortably against the corner +of the chimney-piece. I was not surprised that he should have read my +thoughts in the railway carriage. I pondered the matter seriously. He +was right in the main, no doubt; but how could I tell a detective +officer my dearest secret--the sad story of my only love? + +"'Trust me, Mr. Austin,' my companion said; 'if you want me to be of use +to you, trust me thoroughly. The very thing you are hiding from me may +be the clue I most want to get hold of.' + +"'I don't think that,' I said. 'However, I have every reason to believe +you to be an honest, conscientious fellow, and I will trust you. I dare +say you wonder why I am so much interested in this business?' + +"'Well, to tell the honest truth, sir, it does seem rather out of the +common to see an independent gentleman like you taking all this trouble +to find out the rights and wrongs of a murder committed going on for a +twelvemonth ago: unless you're any relation of the murdered man: and +even if you're that, you're very unlike the common run of relations, for +they generally take such things quieter than anybody else,' answered Mr. +Carter. + +"I told the detective that I had never seen the murdered man in the +course of my life, and had never heard his name until after the murder. + +"'Well, sir, then all I can say is, I don't understand your motive,' +returned, Mr. Carter. + +"'Well, Carter, I think you're a good fellow, and I'll trust you,' I +said; 'but, in order to do that, I must tell you a long story, and +what's worse still, a love-story.' + +"I felt that I blushed a little as I said this, and was ashamed of the +false shame that brought that missish glow into my cheeks. Mr. Carter +perceived my embarrassment, and was kind enough to encourage me. + +"'Don't you be afraid of telling the story, because it's a sentimental +one,' he said: 'Lor' bless you, I've heard plenty of love-stories. There +ain't many bits of business come our way but what, if you sift 'em to +the bottom, you find a petticoat. You remember the Oriental bloke that +always asked, 'Who is she?' when he heard of a fight, or a fire, or a +mad bull broke loose, or any trifling calamity of that sort; because, +according to his views, a female was at the bottom of everything bad +that ever happened upon this earth. Well, sir, if that Oriental +potentate had lived in our times, and been brought up to the detective +line, I'm blest if he need have changed his opinions. So don't you be +ashamed of telling a love-story, sir. I was in love myself once, though +I do seem such a dry old chip; and I married the woman I loved too; and +she was a pretty little country girl, as fresh and innocent as the +daisies in her father's paddocks; and to this day she don't know what my +business really is. She thinks I'm something in the City, bless her dear +little heart!' + +"This touch of sentiment in Mr. Carter's conversation was quite +unaffected, and I felt all the more inclined to trust him after this +little revelation of his domestic life. I told him the story of my +acquaintance with Margaret, very briefly giving him only the necessary +details. I told him of the girl's several efforts to see Henry Dunbar, +and the banker's persistent avoidance of her. I told him then of our +journey to Shorncliffe, and Margaret's strange conduct after her +interview with the man she had been so eager to see. + +"The telling of this, though I told it briefly, occupied nearly an hour. +Mr. Carter sat opposite me all the time, listening intently; staring at +me with one fixed unvarying stare, and fingering musical passages upon +his knees, with slow cautious motions of his fingers and thumbs. But I +could see that he was not listening only: he was pondering and reasoning +upon what I told him. When I had finished my story, he remained silent +for some minutes: but he still stared at me with the same relentless and +stony gaze, and he still fingered his knees, following up his right hand +with his left, as slowly and deliberately as if he had been composing a +fugue after the manner of Mendelssohn. + +"'And up to the time of that interview at Maudesley Abbey, Miss Wilmot +had stuck to the idea that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of her father?' +he said, at last. + +"'Most resolutely.' + +"'And after that interview the young lady changed her opinion all of a +sudden, and would have it that the banker was innocent?' asked Mr. +Carter. + +"'Yes; when Margaret returned from Maudesley Abbey she declared her +conviction of Henry Dunbar's innocence.' + +"'And she refused to fulfil her engagement with you?' + +"'She did.' + +"The detective left off fingering fugues upon his knees, and began to +scratch his head, slowly pushing his hand up and down amongst his +iron-grey hair, and staring at me. I saw now that this stony glare was +only the fixed expression of Mr. Carter's face when he was thinking +profoundly, and that the relentlessness of his gaze had very little +relation to the object at which he gazed. + +"I watched his face as he pondered, in the hope of seeing some sudden +mental illumination light up his stolid countenance: but I watched in +vain. I saw that he was at fault: I saw that Margaret Wilmot's conduct +was quite as inexplicable to him as it had been to me. + +"'Mr. Dunbar's a very rich man,' he said, at last; 'and money generally +goes a good way in these cases. There was a political party, Sir Robert +somebody--but not Sir Robert Peel--who said, 'Every man has his price.' +Now, do you think it possible that Miss Wilmot would take a bribe, and +hold her tongue?' + +"'Do I think that she would take money from the man she suspected as the +murderer of her father--the man she knew to have been the enemy of her +father? No,' I answered, resolutely; 'I am certain that she is incapable +of any such baseness. The idea that she had been bribed flashed across +me in the first bitterness of my anger: but even then I dismissed it as +incredible. Now that I can think coolly of the business, I know that +such an alternative is impossible. If Margaret Wilmot has been +influenced by Henry Dunbar, it is upon her terror that he has acted. +Heaven knows how he may have threatened her! The man who could lure his +old servant into a lonely wood and there murder him--the man who, +neither early nor late, had one touch of pity for the tool and +accomplice of his youthful crime--not one lingering spark of compassion +for the humble friend who sacrificed an honest name in order to serve +his master--would have little compunction in torturing a friendless girl +who dared to come before him in the character of an accuser.' + +"'But you say that Miss Wilmot was resolute and high-spirited. Is she a +likely person to be governed by her terror of Mr. Dunbar? What threat +could he use to terrify her?' + +"I shook my head hopelessly. + +"'I am as ignorant as you are,' I said; 'but I have strong reason to +believe that Margaret Wilmot was under the influence of some great +terror when she returned from Maudesley Abbey.' + +"'What reason?' asked Mr. Carter. + +"'Her manner was sufficient evidence that she had been frightened. Her +face was as white as a sheet of paper when I met her, and she trembled +and shrank away from me, as if even my presence was horrible to her.' + +"'Could you manage to repeat what she said that night and the next +morning?' + +"It was not very pleasant to me to re-open my wounds for the benefit of +Mr. Carter the detective; but it would have been absurd to thwart the +man when he was working in my interests. I loved Margaret too well to +forget anything she ever said to me, even in our happiest and most +careless hours: and I had special reason to remember that cruel farewell +interview, and the strange scene in the corridor at the Reindeer, on the +night of her return from Maudesley Abbey. I went over all this ground +again, therefore, for Mr. Carter's edification, and told him, word for +word, all that Margaret had said to me. When I had finished, he relapsed +once more into a reverie, during which I sat listening to the ticking of +an eight-day clock in the passage outside our sitting-room, and the +occasional tramp of a passing footstep on the pavement below our +windows. + +"'There's only one thing strikes me very particular in all you've told +me,' the detective said, by-and-by, when I had grown tired of watching +him, and had suffered my thoughts to wander back to the happy time in +which Margaret and I had loved and trusted each other; 'there's only one +thing strikes me in all the young lady said to you, and that is these +words--'There is contamination in my touch,' Miss Wilmot says to you. 'I +am unfit to be the associate of an honest man,' Miss Wilmot says to you. +Now, that looks as if she had been bought over somehow or other by Mr. +Dunbar. I've turned it over in my mind every way; and however I reckon +it up, that's about what it comes to. The young woman was bought over, +and she was ashamed of herself for being bought over.' + +"I told Mr. Carter that I could never bring myself to believe this. + +"'Perhaps not, sir, but it may be gospel truth for all that. There's no +other way I can account for the young woman's carryings on. If Mr. +Dunbar was innocent, and had contrived, somehow or other, to convince +the young woman of his innocence, why, she'd have come to you free and +open, and would have said, 'My dear, I've made a mistake about Mr. +Dunbar, and I'm very sorry for it; but we must look somewhere else for +my poor pa's murderer.' But what does the young woman do? She goes and +scrapes herself along the passage-wall, and shudders and shivers, and +says, 'I'm a wretch; don't touch me--don't come near me.' It's just like +a woman, to take the bribe, and then be sorry for having taken it.' + +"I said nothing in answer to this. It was inexpressibly obnoxious to me +to hear my poor Margaret spoken of as 'a young woman' by my +business-like companion. But there was no possibility of keeping any +veil over the sacred mysteries of my heart. I wanted Mr. Carter's help. +For the present Margaret was lost to me; and my only hope of penetrating +the hidden cause of her conduct lay in Mr. Carter's power to solve the +dark enigma of Joseph Wilmot's death. + +"'Oh, by the bye,' exclaimed the detective, 'there was a letter, wasn't +there?' + +"He held out his hand as I searched for the letter in my pocket-book. +What a greedy, inquisitive-looking palm it seemed! and how I hated Mr. +Henry Carter, detective officer, at that particular moment! + +"I gave him the letter; and I did not groan aloud as I handed it to him. +He read it slowly, once, twice, three times--half-a-dozen times, I +think, in all--pushing the fingers of his left hand through his hair as +he read, and frowning at the paper before him. It was while he was +reading the letter for the last time that I saw a sudden glimmer of +light in his hard eyes, and a half-smile playing round his thin lips. + +"'Well?' I said, interrogatively, as he gave me back the letter. + +"'Well, sir, the young lady,'--Mr. Carter called Margaret a young lady +this time, and I could not help thinking that her letter had revealed +her to him as something different from the ordinary class of female +popularly described as a young woman,--'the young lady was in earnest +when she wrote that letter, sir,' he said; 'it wasn't written under +dictation, and she wasn't bribed to write it. There's heart in it, sir, +if I may be allowed the expression: there's a woman's heart in that +letter: and when a woman's heart is once allowed scope, a woman's brains +shrivel up like so much tinder. I put this letter to that speech in the +corridor at the Reindeer, Mr. Austin; and out of those two twos I verily +believe I can make the queerest four that was ever reckoned up by a +first-class detective.' + +"A faint flush, which looked like a glow of pleasure, kindled all over +Mr. Carter's sallow face as he spoke, and he got up and walked about the +room; not slowly or thoughtfully, but with a brisk eager tread that was +new to me. I could see that his spirits had risen a great many degrees +since the reading of the letter. + +"'You have got some clue,' I said; 'you see your way----' + +"He turned round and checked my eager curiosity by a warning gesture of +his uplifted hand. + +"'Don't be in a hurry, sir,' he said, gravely; 'when you lose your way +of a dark night, in a swampy country, and see a light ahead, don't begin +to clap your hands and cry hooray till you know what kind of light it +is. It may be a Jack-o'-lantern; or it may be the identical lamp over +the door of the house you're bound for. You leave this business to me, +Mr. Austin, and don't you go jumping at conclusions. I'll work it out +quietly: and when I've worked it out I'll tell you what I think of it. +And now suppose we take a stroll through the cathedral-yard, and have a +look at the place where the body was found.' + +"'How shall we find out the exact spot?' I asked, while I was putting on +my hat and overcoat. + +"'Any passer-by will point it out,' Mr. Carter answered; 'they don't +have a popular murder in the neighbourhood of Winchester every day; and +when they do, I make not the least doubt they know how to appreciate the +advantage. You may depend upon it, the place is pretty well known.' + +"It was nearly five o'clock by this time. We went down the slippery +oak-staircase, and out into the quiet street. A bleak wind was blowing +down from the hills, and the rooks' nests high up in the branches of the +old trees about the cathedral were rocking like that legendary cradle in +the tree-top. I had never been in Winchester before, and I was pleased +with the quaint old houses, the towering cathedral, the flat meadows, +and winding streams of water rippled by the wind. I was soothed, somehow +or other, by the peculiar quiet of the scene; and I could not help +thinking that, if a man's life was destined to be miserable, Winchester +would be a nice place for him to be miserable in. A dreamy, drowsy, +forgotten city, where the only changes of the slow day would be the +varying chimes of the cathedral clock, the different tones of the +cathedral bells. + +"Mr. Carter had studied every scrap of evidence connected with the +murder of Joseph Wilmot. He pointed out the door at which Henry Dunbar +had gone into the cathedral, the pathway which the two men had taken as +they went towards the grove. We followed this pathway, and walked to the +very place in which the murdered man had been found. + +"A lad who was fishing in one of the meadows near the grove went with us +to show us the exact spot. It was between an elm and a beech. + +"'There's not many beeches in the grove,' the lad said, 'and this is the +biggest of them. So that it's easy enough for any one to pick out the +spot. It was very dry weather last August at the time of the murder, and +the water wasn't above half as deep as it is now.' + +"'Is it the same depth every where?' Mr. Carter asked. + +"'Oh, dear no,' the boy said; 'that's what makes these streams so +dangerous for bathing: they're shallow enough in some places; but +there's all manner of holes about; and unless you're a good swimmer, +you'd better not try it on.' + +"Mr. Carter gave the boy sixpence and dismissed him. We strolled a +little farther on, and then turned and went back towards the cathedral. +My companion was very silent, and I could see that he was still +thinking. The change that had taken place in his manner after he had +read Margaret's letter had inspired me with new confidence in him, and I +was better able to await the working out of events. Little by little the +solemn nature of the business in which I was engaged grew and gathered +force in my mind, and I felt that I had something more to do than to +solve the mystery of Margaret's conduct to myself: I had to perform a +duty to society, by giving my uttermost help towards the discovery of +Joseph Wilmot's murderer. + +"If the heartless assassin of this wretched man was suffered to live and +prosper, to hold up his head as the master of Maudesley Abbey, the chief +partner in a great City firm that had borne an honourable name for a +century and a half, a kind of premium was offered to crime in high +places. If Henry Dunbar had been some miserable starving creature, who, +in a fit of mad fury against the inequalities of life, had lifted his +gaunt arm to slay his prosperous brother for the sake of +bread--detectives would have dogged his sneaking steps, and watched his +guilty face, and hovered round and about him till they tracked him to +his doom. But because in this case the man to whom suspicion pointed had +the supreme virtues comprised in a million of money, Justice wore her +thickest bandage, and the officials, who are so clever in tracking a +low-born wretch to the gallows, held aloof, and said respectfully, +'Henry Dunbar is too great a man to be guilty of a diabolical crime.' + +"These thoughts filled my mind as I walked back to the George Hotel with +Mr. Carter. + +"It was half-past six when we entered the house, and we had kept dinner +waiting half an hour, much to the regret of the most courteous of +waiters, who expressed intense anxiety about the condition of the fish. + +"As the man hovered about us at dinner, I expected every moment that Mr. +Carter would lead up to the only topic which had any interest either for +himself or me. But he was slow to do this; he talked of the town, the +last assizes, the state of the country, the weather, the prosperity of +the trout-fishing season--everything except the murder of Joseph Wilmot. +It was only after dinner, when some petrified specimens of dessert, in +the shape of almonds and raisins, figs and biscuits, had been arranged +on the table, that any serious business began. The preliminary +skirmishing had not been without its purpose, however; for the waiter +had been warmed into a communicative and confidential mood, and was now +ready to tell us anything he knew. + +"I delegated all our arrangements to my companion; and it was something +wonderful to see Mr. Carter lolling in his arm-chair with what he called +the 'wine-cart' in his hand, deliberating between a forty-two port, +'light and elegant,' and a forty-five port, 'tawny and rich bouquet.' + +"'I think we may as well try number fifteen,' he said, handing the list +of wines to the waiter after due consideration; 'and decant it +carefully, whatever you do. I hope your cellar isn't cold.' + +"'Oh, no, sir; master's very careful of his cellar, sir.' + +"The waiter went away impressed with the idea that he had to deal with a +couple of connoisseurs. + +"'You've got those letters to write before ten o'clock, eh, Mr. Austin?' +said the detective, as the waiter re-entered the room with a decanter on +a silver salver. + +"I understood the hint, and accordingly took my travelling-desk to a +side-table near the fireplace. Mr. Carter handed me one of the +wax-candles, and I sat down before the little table, unlocked my desk, +and began to write a few lines to my mother; while the detective smacked +his lips and knowingly deliberated over his first glass of port. + +"'Very decent quality of wine,' he said, 'very decent. Do you know where +your master got it, eh? No, you don't. Ah! bottled it himself, I +suppose. I thought he might have got it at the Warren-Court sale the +other day, at the other end of the county. Fill a glass for yourself, +waiter, and put the decanter down by the fender; the wine's rather cold. +By the bye, I heard your wines very well spoken of the other day, by a +person of some importance, too--of considerable importance, I may say.' + +"'Indeed, sir,' murmured the waiter, who was standing at a respectful +distance from the table, and was sipping his wine with deferential +slowness. + +"'Yes; I heard your house spoken of by no less a person than Mr. Dunbar, +the great banker.' + +"The waiter pricked up his ears. I pushed aside the letter to my mother, +and waited with a blank sheet of paper before me. + +"'That was a strange affair, by the bye,' said Mr. Carter. 'Fill +yourself another glass of wine, waiter; my friend here doesn't drink +port; and if you don't help me to put away that bottle, I shall take too +much. Were you examined at the inquest on Joseph Wilmot?' + +"No, sir,' answered the waiter, eagerly. 'I were not, sir; and they do +say as we ought every one of us to have been examined; for you see +there's little facks as one person will notice and as another won't +notice, and it isn't a man's place to come forward with every little +trivial thing, you see, sir; but if little trivial things was drawn out +of one and another, they might help, you see, sir.' + +"There could be no end gained by taking notes of this reply, so I amused +myself by making a good nib to my pen while I waited for something +better worth jotting down. + +"'Some of your people were examined, I suppose?' said Mr. Carter. + +"'Oh, yes, sir,' answered the waiter; 'master, he were examined, to +begin with; and then Brigmawl, the head-waiter, he give his evidence; +but, lor', sir, without unfriendliness to William Brigmawl, which me and +Brigmawl have been fellow-servants these eleven year, our head-waiter is +that wrapped up in hisself, and his own cravats, and shirt-fronts, and +gold studs, and Albert chain, that he'd scarcely take notice of an +earthquake swallering up half the world before his eyes, unless the muck +and dirt of that earthquake was to spoil his clothes. William Brigmawl +has been head-waiter in this house nigh upon thirty year; and beyond a +stately way of banging-to a carriage-door, or showing visitors to their +rooms, or poking a fire, and a kind of knack of leading on timid people +to order expensive wines, I really don't see Brigmawl's great merit. But +as to Brigmawl at an inquest, he's about as much good as the Pope of +Rome.' + +"'But why was Brigmawl examined in preference to any one else?' + +"'Because he was supposed to know more of the business than any of us, +being as it was him that took the order for the dinner. But me and Eliza +Jane, the under-chambermaid, was in the hall at the very moment when the +two gentlemen came in.' + +"'You saw them both, then?' + +"'Yes, sir, as plain as I now see you. And you might have knocked me +down with a feather when I was told afterwards that the one who was +murdered was nothing more than a valet.' + +"'You're not getting on very fast with your letters,' said Mr. Carter, +looking over his shoulder at me. + +"'I had written nothing yet, and I understood this as a hint to begin. I +wrote down the waiter's last remark. + +"'Why were you so surprised to find he was a valet?' Mr. Carter asked of +the waiter. + +"'Because, you see, sir, he had the look of a gentleman,' the man +answered; 'an out-and-out gentleman. It wasn't that he held his head +higher than Mr. Dunbar, or that he was better dressed--for Mr. Dunbar's +clothes looked the newest and best; but he had a kind of languid +don't-careish way that seems to be peculiar to first-class gentlemen.' + +"'What sort of a looking man was he?' + +"'Paler than Mr. Dunbar, and thinner built, and fairer.' + +"I jotted down the waiter's remarks; but I could not help thinking that +this talk about the murdered man's manner and appearance was about as +useless as anything could be. + +"'Paler and thinner than Mr. Dunbar,' repeated the detective; 'paler and +thinner, eh? This was one thing you noticed; but what was it, now, that +you could have said at the inquest if you had been called as a witness?' + +"'Well, sir, I'll tell you. It's a small matter, and I've mentioned it +many a time, both to William Brigmawl and to others; but they talk me +down, and say I was mistaken; and Eliza Jane being a silly giggling +hussey, can't bear me out in what I say. But I do most solemnly declare +that I speak the truth, and am not deceived. When the two +gentlemen--which gentlemen they both was to look at--came into our hall, +the one that was murdered had his coat buttoned tight across his chest, +except one button; and through the space left by that one button I saw +the glitter of a gold chain.' + +"'Well, what then?' + +"'The other gentleman, Mr. Dunbar, had his coat open as he got out of +the carriage, and I saw as plain as ever I saw anything, that he had no +gold-chain. But two minutes after he had come into the hall, and while +he was ordering dinner, he took and bottoned his coat. Well, sir, when +he came in, after visiting the cathedral, his coat was partially +unbuttoned and I saw that he wore a gold-chain, and, unless I am very +much mistaken, the same gold-chain that I had seen peeping out of the +breast of the murdered man. I could almost have sworn to that chain +because of the colour of the gold, which was a particular deep yaller. +It was only afterwards that these things came back to my mind, and I +certainly thought them very strange.' + +"'Was there anything else?' + +"'Nothing; except what Brigmawl dropped out one night at supper, some +weeks after the inquest, about his having noticed Mr. Dunbar opening his +desk while he was waiting for Joseph Wilmot to come home to dinner; and +Brigmawl do say, now that it ain't a bit of use, that Mr. Dunbar, do +what he would, couldn't find the key of his own desk for ever so long.' + +"'He was confused, I suppose; and his hands trembled, eh?' asked the +detective. + +"'No, sir; according to what Brigmawl said, Mr. Dunbar seemed as cool +and collected as if he was made of iron. But he kept trying first one +key and then another, for ever so long, before he could find the right +one.' + +"'Did he now? that was queer.' + +"'But I hope you won't think anything of what I've let drop, sir,' said +the waiter, hastily. 'I'm sure I wouldn't say any thing disrespectful +against Mr. Dunbar; but you asked me what I saw, sir, and I have told +you candid, and----' + +"'My good fellow, you're perfectly safe in talking to me,' the detective +answered, heartily. 'Suppose you bring us a little strong tea, and clear +away this dessert; and if you've anything more to tell us, you can say +it while you're pouring out the tea. There's so much connected with +these sort of things that never gets into the papers, that really it's +quite interesting to hear of 'em from an eye-witness.' + +"The waiter went away, pleased and re-assured, after clearing the table +very slowly. I was impatient to hear what Mr. Carter had gathered from +the man's talk. + +"'Well,' he said, 'unless I'm very much mistaken, I think I've got my +friend the master of Maudesley Abbey.' + +"'You do: but how so?' I asked. 'That talk about the gold-chain having +changed hands must be utterly absurd. What should Henry Dunbar want with +Joseph Wilmot's watch and chain?' + +"'Ah, you're right there,' answered Mr. Carter. 'What should Henry +Dunbar want with Joseph Wilmot's gold chain? That's one question. Why +should Joseph Wilmot's daughter be so anxious to screen Henry Dunbar now +that she has seen him for the first time since the murder? There's +another question for you. Find the answer for it, if you can. + +"I told the detective that he seemed bent upon mystifying me, and that +he certainly succeeded to his heart's content. + +"Mr. Carter laughed a triumphant little laugh. + +"'Never you mind, sir,' he said; you leave it to me, and you watch it +well, sir. It'll work out very neatly, unless I'm altogether wrong. Wait +for the end, Mr. Austin, and wait patiently. Do you know what I shall do +to-morrow?' + +"'I haven't the faintest idea.' + +"'I shall waste no more time in asking questions. I shall have the water +near the scene of the murder dragged. I shall try and find the clothes +that were stripped off the man who was murdered last August!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL CONTINUED. + + +"The rest of the evening passed quietly enough. Mr. Carter drank his +strong tea, and then asked my permission to go out and smoke a couple of +cigars in the High Street. He went, and I finished my letter to my +mother. There was a full moon, but it was obscured every now and then by +the black clouds that drifted across it. I went out myself to post the +letter, and I was glad to feel the cool breeze blowing the hair away +from my forehead, for the excitement of the day had given me a nervous +headache. + +"I posted my letter in a narrow street near the hotel. As I turned away +from the post-office to go back to the High Street, I was startled by +the apparition of a girlish figure upon the other side of the street--a +figure so like Margaret's that its presence in that street filled me +with a vague sense of fear, as if the slender figure, with garments +fluttering in the wind, had been a phantom. + +"Of course I attributed this feeling to its right cause, which was +doubtless neither more nor less than the over-excited state of my own +brain. But I was determined to set the matter quite at rest, so I +hurried across the way and went close up to the young lady, whose face +was completely hidden by a thick veil. + +"'Miss Wilmot--Margaret,' I said. + +"I had thought it impossible that Margaret should be in Winchester, and +I was only right, it seemed, for the young lady drew herself away from +me abruptly and walked across the road, as if she mistook my error in +addressing her for an intentional insult. I watched her as she walked +rapidly along the narrow street, until she turned sharply away at a +corner and disappeared. When I first saw her, as I stood by the +post-office, the moonlight had shone full upon her. As she went away the +moon was hidden by a fleecy grey cloud, and the street was wrapped in +shadow. Thus it was only for a few moments that I distinctly saw the +outline of her figure. Her face I did not see at all. + +"I went back to the hotel and sat by the fire trying to read a +newspaper, but unable to chain my thoughts to the page. Mr. Carter came +in a little before eleven o'clock. He was in very high spirits, and +drank a tumbler of steaming brandy-and-water with great gusto. But +question him how I might, I could get nothing from him except that he +meant to have a search made for the dead man's clothes. + +"I asked him why he wanted them, and what advantage would be gained by +the finding of them, but he only nodded his head significantly, and told +me to wait. + + * * * * * + +"To-day has been most wretched--a day of miserable discoveries; and yet +not altogether miserable, for the one grand discovery of the day has +justified my faith in the woman I love. + +"The morning was cold and wet. There was not a ray of sunshine in the +dense grey sky, and the flat landscape beyond the cathedral seemed +almost blotted out by the drizzling rain; only the hills, grand and +changeless, towered above the mists, and made the landmarks of the +soddened country. + +"We took an early and hasty breakfast. Quiet and business-like as the +detective's manner was even to-day, I could see that he was excited. He +took nothing but a cup of strong tea and a few mouthfuls of dry toast, +and then put on his coat and hat. + +"'I'm going down to the chief quarters of the county constabulary, he +said. 'I shall be obliged to tell the truth about my business down +there, because I want every facility for what I'm going to do. If you'd +like to see the water dragged, you can meet me at twelve o'clock in the +grove. You'll find me superintending the work.' + +"It was about half-past eight when Mr. Carter left me. The time hung +very heavily on my hands between that time and eleven o'clock. At eleven +I put on my hat and overcoat and went out into the rain. + +"I found my friend the detective standing in one of the smaller +entrances of the cathedral, in very earnest conversation with an old +man. As Mr. Carter gave me no token of recognition, I understood that he +did not want me to interrupt his companion's talk, so I walked slowly on +by the same pathway along which we had gone on the previous afternoon; +the same pathway by which the murdered man had gone to his death. + +"I had not walked half a mile before I was joined by the detective. + +"'I gave you the office just now,' he said, 'because I thought if you +spoke to me, that old chap would leave off talking, and I might miss +something that was on the tip of his tongue.' + +"'Did he tell you much?' + +"'No; he's the man who gave his evidence at the inquest. He gave me a +minute description of Henry Dunbar's watch and chain. The watch didn't +open quite in the usual manner, and the gentleman was rather awkward in +opening it, my friend the verger tells me. He was awkward with the key +of his desk. He seems to have had a fit of awkwardness that day.' + +"'You think that he was guilty, and that he was confused and agitated by +the hideous business he had been concerned in?' + +"Mr. Carter looked at me with a very queer smile on his face. + +"'You're improving, Mr. Austin,' he said; 'you'd make a first-class +detective in next to no time.' + +"I felt rather doubtful as to the meaning of this compliment, for there +was something very like irony in Mr. Carter's tone. + +"'I'll tell you what I think,' he said, stopping presently, and taking +me by the button-hole. 'I think that I know why the murdered man's coat, +waistcoat, and shirt were stripped off him.' + +"I begged the detective to tell me what he thought upon this subject; +but he refused to do so. + +"'Wait and see,' he said; 'if I'm right, you'll soon find out what I +mean; if I'm wrong, I'll keep my thoughts to myself. I'm an old hand, +and I don't want to be found out in a mistake.' + +"I said no more after this. The disappearance of the murdered man's +clothes had always appeared to me the only circumstance that was +irreconcilable with the idea of Henry Dunbar's guilt. That some brutal +wretch, who stained his soul with blood for the sake of his victim's +poor possessions, should strip off the clothes of the dead, and make a +market even out of them, was probable enough. But that Henry Dunbar, the +wealthy, hyper-refined Anglo-Indian, should linger over the body of his +valet and offer needless profanation to the dead, was something +incredible, and not to be accounted for by any theory whatever. + +"This was the one point which, from first to last, had completely +baffled me. + +"We found the man with the drags waiting for us under the dripping +trees. Mr. Carter had revealed himself to the constabulary as one of the +chief luminaries of Scotland Yard; and if he had wanted to dig up the +foundations of the cathedral, they would scarcely have ventured to +interfere with his design. One of the constables was lounging by the +water's edge, watching the men as they prepared for business. + +"I have no need to write a minute record of that miserable day. I know +that I walked up and down, up and down, backwards and forwards, upon the +soddened grass, from noon till sundown, always thinking that I would go +away presently, always lingering a little longer; hindered by the fancy +that Mr. Carter's search was on the point of being successful. I know +that for hour after hour the grating sound of the iron drags grinding on +the gravelly bed of the stream sounded in my tired ears, and yet there +was no result. I know that rusty scraps of worn-out hardware, dead +bodies of cats and dogs, old shoes laden with pebbles, rank +entanglements of vegetable corruption, and all manner of likely and +unlikely rubbish, were dragged out of the stream, and thrown aside upon +the bank. + +"The detective grew dirtier and slimier and wetter as the day wore on; +but still he did not lose heart. + +"'I'll have every inch of the bed of the stream, and every hidden hole +in the bottom, dragged ten times over, before I'll give it up,' he said +to me, when he came to me at dusk with some brandy that had been brought +by a boy who had been fetching beer, more or less, all the afternoon. + +"When it grew dark, the men lighted a couple of flaring resinous +torches, which Mr. Carter had sent for towards dusk, and worked, by the +patches of fitful light which these torches threw upon the water. I +still walked up and down under the dripping trees, in the darkness, as I +had walked in the light; and once when I was farthest from the red glare +of the torches, a strange fancy took possession of me. In amongst the +dim branches of the trees I thought I saw something moving, something +that reminded me of the figure I had seen opposite the post-office on +the previous night. + +"I ran in amongst the trees; and as I did so, the figure seemed to me to +recede, and disappear; a faint rustling of a woman's dress sounded in my +ears, or seemed so to sound, as the figure melted from my sight. But +again I had good reason to attribute these fancies to the state of my +own brain, after that long day of anxiety and suspense. + +"At last, when I was completely worn out by my weary day, Mr. Carter +came to me. + +"'They're found!' he cried. 'We've found 'em! We've found the murdered +man's clothes! They've been drifted away into one of the deepest holes +there is, and the rats have been gnawing at 'em. But, please Providence, +we shall find what we want. I'm not much of a church-goer, but I do +believe there's a Providence that lies in wait for wicked men, and +catches the very cleverest of them when they least expect it.' + +"I had never seen Mr. Carter so much excited as he seemed now. His face +was flushed, and his nostrils quivered nervously. + +"I followed him to the spot where the constable and two men, who had +been dragging the stream, were gathered round a bundle of wet rubbish +lying on the ground. + +"Mr. Carter knelt down before this bundle, which was covered with +trailing weeds and moss and slime, and the constable stooped over him +with a flaming torch in his hand. + +"'These are somebody's clothes, sure enough,' the detective said; 'and, +unless I'm very much mistaken, they're what I want. Has anybody got a +basket?' + +"Yes. The boy who had fetched beer had a basket. Mr. Carter stuffed the +slimy bundle into this basket, and put his arm through the handle. + +"'You're not going to look 'em over here, then?' said the local +constable, with an air of disappointment. + +"'No, I'll take them straight to my hotel; I shall have plenty of light +there. You can come with me, if you like,' Mr. Carter answered. + +"He paid the men, who had been at work all day, and paid them liberally, +I suppose, for they seemed very well satisfied. I had given him money +for any expenses such as these; for I knew that, in a case of this kind, +every insignificant step entailed the expenditure of money. + +"We walked homewards as rapidly as the miserable state of the path, the +increasing darkness, and the falling rain would allow us to walk. The +constable walked with us. Mr. Carter whistled softly to himself as he +went along, with the basket on his arm. The slimy green stuff and muddy +water dripped from the bottom of the basket as he carried it. + +"I was still at a loss to understand the reason of his high spirits; I +was still at a loss to comprehend why he attached so much importance to +the finding of the dead man's clothes. + +"It was past eight o'clock when we three men--the detecting the +Winchester constable, and myself--entered our sitting-room at the George +Hotel. The principal table was laid for dinner; and the waiter, our +friend of the previous evening, was hovering about, eager to receive us. +But Mr. Carter sent the waiter about his business. + +"'I've got a little matter to settle with this gentleman,' he said, +indicating the Winchester constable with a backward jerk of his thumb; +'I'll ring when I want dinner.' + +"I saw the waiter's eyes open to an abnormal extent, as he looked at the +constable, and I saw a sudden blank apprehension creep over his face, as +he retired very slowly from the room. + +"'Now,' said Mr. Carter, 'we'll examine the bundle.' + +"He pushed away the dinner-table, and drew forward a smaller table. Then +he ran out of the room, and returned in about two minutes, carrying with +him all the towels he had been able to find in my room and his own, +which were close at hand. He spread the towels on the table, and then +took the slimy bundle from the basket. + +"'Bring me the candles--both the candles,' he said to the constable. + +"The man held the two wax-candles on the right hand of the detective, as +he sat before the table. I stood on his left hand, watching him +intently. + +"He touched the ragged and mud-stained bundle as carefully as if it had +been some living thing. Foul river-insects crept out of the weeds, which +were so intermingled with the tattered fabrics that it was difficult to +distinguish one substance from the other. + +"Mr. Carter was right: the rats had been at work. The outer part of the +bundle was a coat--a cloth coat, knawed into tatters by the sharp teeth +of water-rats. + +"Inside the coat there was a waistcoat, a satin scarf that was little +better than a pulp, and a shirt that had once been white. Inside the +white shirt there was a flannel shirt, out of which there rolled +half-a-dozen heavy stones. These had been used to sink the bundle, but +were not so heavy as to prevent its drifting into the hole where it had +been found. + +"The bundle had been rolled up very tightly, and the outer garment was +the only one which had been destroyed by the rats. The inner +garment--the flannel shirt--was in a very tolerable state of +preservation. + +"The detective swept the coat and waistcoat and the pebbles back into +the basket, and then rolled both of the shirts in a towel, and did his +best to dry them. The constable watched him with open eyes, but with no +ray of intelligence in his stolid face. + +"'Well,' said Mr. Carter,' there isn't much here, is there? I don't +think I need detain you any longer. You'll be wanting your tea, I dare +say.' + +"'I did'nt think there would be much in them,' the constable said, +pointing contemptuously to the wet rags; his reverential awe of Scotland +Yard had been considerably lessened during that long tiresome day. 'I +didn't see your game from the first, and I don't see it now. But you +wanted the things found, and you've had 'em found.' + +"Yes; and I've paid for the work being done,' Mr. Carter answered +briskly; 'not but what I'm thankful to you for giving me your help, and +I shall esteem it a favour if you'll accept a trifle, to make up for +your lost day. I've made a mistake, that's all; the wisest of us are +liable to be mistaken once in a way.' + +"The constable grinned as he took the sovereign which Mr. Carter offered +him. There was something like triumph in the grin of that Winchester +constable--the triumph of a country official who was pleased to see a +Londoner at fault. + +"I confess that I groaned aloud when the door closed upon the man, and I +found myself alone with the detective, who had seated himself at the +little table, and was poring over one of the shirts outspread before +him. + +"'All this day's labour and weariness has been so much wasted trouble,' +I said; 'for it seems to have brought us no step nearer to the point we +wanted to reach." + +"'Hasn't it, Mr. Austin?" cried the detective, eagerly. 'Do you think I +am such a fool as to speak out before the man who has just left this +room? Do you think I'm going to tell him my secret, or let him share my +gains? The business of to-day has brought us to the very end we want to +reach. It has brought about the discovery to which Margaret Wilmot's +letter was the first indication--the discovery pointed to by every word +that man told us last night. Why did I want to find the clothes worn by +the murdered man? Because I knew that those garments must contain a +secret, or they never would have been stripped from the corpse. It ain't +often that a murderer cares to stop longer than he's obliged by the side +of his victim; and I knew all along that whoever stripped off those +clothes must have had a very strong reason for doing it. I have worked +this business out by my own lights, and I've been right. Look there, Mr. +Austin.' + +"He handed me the wet discoloured shirt, and pointed with his finger to +one particular spot. + +"There, amidst the stains of mud and moss, I saw something which was +distinct and different from them. A name, neatly worked in dark crimson +thread--a Christian and surname, in full. + +"'How do you make that out?' Mr. Carter asked, looking We full in the +face. + +"Neither I nor any rational creature upon this earth able to read +English characters could have well made out that name otherwise than I +made it out. + +"It was the name of Henry Dunbar. + +"'You see it all now, don't you?' said Mr. Carter; 'that's why the +clothes were stripped off the body, and hidden at the bottom of the +stream, where the water seemed deepest; that's why the watch and chain +changed hands; that's why the man who came back to this house after the +murder was slow to select the key of the desk. You understand now why it +was so difficult for Margaret Wilmot to obtain access to the man at +Maudesley Abbey; and why, when she had once seen that man, she tried to +shield him from inquiry and pursuit. When she told you that Henry Dunbar +was innocent of her father's murder, she only told you the truth. The +man who was murdered was Henry Dunbar; the man who murdered him was----' + +"I could hear no more. The blood surged up to my head, and I staggered +back and dropped into a chair. + +"When I came to myself, I found the detective splashing cold water in my +face. When I came to myself, and was able to think steadily of what had +happened, I had but one feeling in my mind; and that was pity, +unutterable pity, for the woman I loved. + + * * * * * + +"Mr. Carter carried the bundle of clothes to his own room, and returned +by-and-by, bringing his portmanteau with him. He put the portmanteau in +a corner near the fireplace. + +"'I've locked the clothes safely in that,' he said; 'and I don't mean to +let it out of my sight till it's lodged in very safe hands. That mark +upon Henry Dunbar's shirt will hang his murderer.' + +"'There may have been some mistake,' I said; 'the clothes marked with +the name of Henry Dunbar may not have really belonged to Henry Dunbar. +He may have given those clothes to his old valet.' + +"'That's not likely, sir; for the old valet only met him at Southampton +two or three hours before the murder was committed. No; I can see it all +now. It's the strangest case that ever came to my knowledge, but it's +simple enough when you've got the right clue to it. There was no +probable motive which could induce Henry Dunbar, the very pink of +respectability, and sole owner of a million of money, to run the risk of +the gallows; there were very strong reasons why Joseph Wilmot, a +vagabond and a returned criminal, should murder his late master, if by +so doing he could take the dead man's place, and slip from the position +of an outcast and a penniless reprobate into that of chief partner in +the house of Dunbar and Company. It was a bold game to hazard, and it +must have been a fearfully perilous and difficult game to play, and the +man has played it well, to have escaped suspicion so long. His +daughter's conscientious scruples have betrayed him." + +"Yes, Mr. Carter spoke the truth. Margaret's refusal to fulfil her +engagement had set in motion the machinery by means of which the secret +of this foul murder had been discovered. + +"I thought of the strange revelation, still so new to me, until my brain +grew dazed. How had it been done? How had it been managed? The man whom +I had seen and spoken with was not Henry Dunbar, then, but Joseph +Wilmot, the murderer of his master--the treacherous and deliberate +assassin of the man he had gone to meet and welcome after his +five-and-thirty years' absence from England! + +"'But surely such a conspiracy must be impossible,' I said, by-and-by; +'I have seen letters in St. Gundolph Lane, letters in Henry Dunbar's +hand, since last August.' + +"'That's very likely, sir,' the detective answered, coolly. 'I turned up +Joseph Wilmot's own history while I was making myself acquainted with +the details of this murder. He was transported thirty years ago for +forgery: he made a bold attempt at escape, but he was caught in the act, +and removed to Norfolk Island. He was one of the cleverest chaps at +counterfeiting any man's handwriting that was ever tried at the Old +Bailey. He was known as one of the most daring scoundrels that ever +stepped on board a convict-ship; a clever villain, and a bold one, but +not without some touches of good in him, I'm told. At Norfolk Island he +worked so hard and behaved so well that he got set free before he had +served half his time. He came back to England, and was seen about +London, and was suspected of being concerned in all manner of criminal +offences, from card-sharping to coining, but nothing was ever brought +home to him. I believe he tried to make an honest living, but couldn't: +the brand of the gaol-bird was upon him; and if he ever did get a +chance, it was taken away from him before the sincerity of any apparent +reformation had been tested. This is his history, and the history of +many other men like him.' + +"And Margaret was the daughter of this man. An inexpressible feeling of +melancholy took possession of me as I thought of this. I understood +everything now. This noble girl had heroically put away from her the one +chance of bright and happy life, rather than bring upon her husband the +foul taint of her father's crime. I could understand all now. I looked +back at the white face, rigid in its speechless agony; the fixed, +dilated eyes; and I pictured to myself the horror of that scene at +Maudesley Abbey, when the father and daughter stood opposite to each +other, and Margaret Wilmot discovered _why_ the murderer had +persistently hidden himself from her. + +"The mystery of my betrothed wife's renunciation of my love had been +solved; but the discovery was so hideous that I looked back now and +regretted the time of my ignorance and uncertainty. Would it not have +been better for me if I had let Margaret Wilmot go her own way, and +carry out her sublime scheme of self-sacrifice? Would it not have been +better to leave the dark secret of the murder for ever hidden from all +but that one dread Avenger whose judgments reach the sinner in his +remotest hiding-place, and follow him to the grave? Would it not have +been better to do this? + +"No! my own heart told me the argument was false and cowardly. So long +as man deals with his fellow-man, so long as laws endure for the +protection of the helpless and the punishment of the wicked, the course +of justice must know no hindrance from any personal consideration. + +"If Margaret Wilmot's father had done this hateful deed, he must pay the +penalty of his crime, though the broken heart of his innocent daughter +was a sacrifice to his iniquity. If, by a strange fatality, I, who so +dearly loved this girl, had urged on the coming of this fatal day, I had +only been a blind instrument in the mighty hand of Providence, and I had +no cause to regret the revelation of the truth. + +"There was only one thing left me. The world would shrink away, perhaps, +from the murderer's daughter; but I, who had seen her nature proved in +the fiery furnace of affliction, knew what a priceless pearl Heaven had +given me in this woman, whose name must henceforward sound vile in the +ears of honest men, and I did not recoil from the horror of my poor +girl's history. + +"'If it has been my destiny to bring this great sorrow upon her,' I +thought, 'it shall be my duty to make her future safe and happy." + +"But would Margaret ever consent to be my wife, if she discovered that I +had been the means of bringing about the discovery of her father's +crime? + +"This was not a pleasant thought, and it was uppermost in my mind while +I sat opposite to the detective, who ate a very hearty dinner, and whose +air of suppressed high spirits was intolerable to me. + +"Success is the very wine of life, and it was scarcely strange that Mr. +Carter should feel pleased at having succeeded in finding a clue to the +mystery that had so completely baffled his colleagues. So long as I had +believed in Henry Dunbar's guilt, I had felt no compunction as to the +task I was engaged in. I had even caught something of the detective's +excitement in the chase. But now, now that I knew the shame and anguish +which our discovery must inevitably entail upon the woman I loved, my +heart sank within me, and I hated Mr. Carter for his ardent enjoyment of +his triumph. + +"'You don't mind travelling by the mail-train, do you, Mr. Austin?' the +detective said, presently. + +"'Not particularly; but why do you ask me?' + +"'Because I shall leave Winchester by the mail to-night.' + +"'What for?' + +"'To get as fast as I can to Maudesley Abbey, where I shall have the +honour of arresting Mr. Joseph Wilmot.' + +"So soon! I shuddered at the rapid course of justice when once a +criminal mystery is revealed. + +"'But what if you should be mistaken! What if Joseph Wilmot was the +victim and not the murderer?" + +"'In that case I shall soon discover my mistake. If the man at Maudesley +Abbey is Henry Dunbar, there must be plenty of people able to identify +him.' + +"'But Henry Dunbar has been away five-and-thirty years.' + +"'He has; but people don't think much of the distance between England +and Calcutta nowadays. There must be people in England now who knew the +banker in India. I'm going down to the resident magistrate, Mr. Austin; +the man who had Henry Dunbar, or the supposed Henry Dunbar, arrested +last August. I shall leave the clothes in his care, for Joseph Wilmot +will be tried at the Winchester assizes. The mail leaves Winchester at a +quarter before eleven,' added Mr. Carter, looking at his watch as he +spoke; 'so I haven't much time to lose.' + +"He took the bundle from the portmanteau, wrapped it in a sheet of brown +paper which the waiter had brought him a few minutes before, and hurried +away. I sat alone brooding over the fire, and trying to reason upon the +events of the day. + +"The waiter was moving softly about the room; but though I saw him look +at me wistfully once or twice, he did not speak to me until he was about +to leave the room, when he told me that there was a letter on the +mantelpiece; a letter which had come by the evening post. + +"The letter had been staring me in the face all the evening, but in my +abstraction I had never noticed it. + +"It was from my mother. I opened it when the waiter had left me, and +read the following lines: + +"'MY DEAREST CLEM,--_I was very glad to get your letter this morning, +announcing your safe arrival at Winchester. I dare say I am a foolish +old woman, but I always begin to think of railway collisions, and all +manner of possible and impossible calamities, directly you leave me on +ever so short a journey. + +"'I was very much surprised yesterday morning by a visit from Margaret +Wilmot. I was very cool to her at first; for though you never told me +why your engagement to her was so abruptly broken off, I could not but +think she was in some manner to blame, since I knew you too well, my +darling boy, to believe you capable of inconstancy or unkindness. I +thought, therefore, that her visit was very ill-timed, and I let her see +that my feelings towards her were entirely changed. + +"'But, oh, Clement, when I saw the alteration in that unhappy girl, my +heart melted all at once, and I could not speak to her coldly or +unkindly. I never saw such a change in any one before. She is altered +from a pretty girl into a pale haggard woman. Her manners are as much +changed as her personal appearance. She had a feverish restlessness that +fidgeted me out of my life; and her limbs trembled every now and then +while she was speaking, and her words seemed to die away as she tried to +utter them. She wanted to see you, she said; and when I told her that +you were out of town, she seemed terribly distressed. But afterwards, +when she had questioned me a good deal, and I told her that you had gone +to Winchester, she started suddenly to her feet, and began to tremble +from head to foot. + +"'I rang for wine, and made her take some. She did not refuse to take +it; on the contrary, she drank the wine quite eagerly, and said, 'I hope +it will give me strength. I am so feeble, so miserably weak and feeble, +and I want to be strong. I persuaded her to stop and rest; but she +wouldn't listen to me. She wanted to go back to London, she said; she +wanted to be in London by a particular time. Do what I would, I could +not detain her. She took my hands, and pressed them to her poor pale +lips, and then hurried away, so changed from the bright Margaret of the +past, that a dreadful thought took possession of my mind, and I began to +fear that she was mad.'_ + +"The letter went on to speak of other things; but I could not think of +anything but my mother's description of Margaret's visit. I understood +her agitation at hearing of my journey to Winchester. She knew that only +one motive could lead me to that place. I knew now that the familiar +figure I had seen in the moonlit street and in the dusky grove was no +phantasm of my over-excited brain. I knew now that it was the figure of +the noble-hearted woman I loved--the figure of the heroic daughter, who +had followed me to Winchester, and dogged my footsteps, in the vain +effort to stand between her father and the penalty of his crime. + +"As I had been watched in the street on the previous night, I had been +watched to-night in the grove. The rustling dress, the shadowy figure +melting in the obscurity of the rain-blotted landscape had belonged to +Margaret Wilmot! + +"Mr. Carter came in while I was still pondering over my mother's letter. + +"'I'm off,' he said, briskly. 'Will you settle the bill, Mr. Austin? I +suppose you'd like to be with me to the end of this business. You'll go +down to Maudesley Abbey with me, won't you?' + +"'No,' I said; 'I will have no farther hand in this matter. Do your +duty, Mr. Carter; and the reward I promised shall be faithfully paid to +you. If Joseph Wilmot was the treacherous murderer of his old master, he +must pay the penalty of his crime; I have neither the power nor the wish +to shield him. But he is the father of the woman I love. It is not for +me to help in hunting him to the gallows.' + +"Mr. Carter looked very grave. + +"'To be sure, sir,' he said; 'I recollect now. I've been so wrapt up in +this business that I forgot the difference it would make to you; but +many a good girl has had a bad father, you know, sir, and----' + +"I put up my hand to stop him. + +"'Nothing that can possibly happen will lessen my esteem for Miss +Wilmot,' I said. 'That point admits of no discussion.' + +"I took out my pocket-book, gave the detective money for his expenses, +and wished him good night. + +"When he had left me, I went out into the High Street. The rain was +over, and the moon was shining in a cloudless sky. Heaven knows how I +should have met Margaret Wilmot had chance thrown her in my way +to-night. But my mind was filled with her image; and I walked about the +quiet town, expecting at every turn in the street, at every approaching +footstep sounding on the pavement, to see the figure I had seen last +night. But go where I would I saw no sign of her; so I came back to the +hotel at last, to sit alone by the dull fire, and write this record of +my day's work." + + * * * * * + +While Clement Austin sat in the lonely sitting-room at the George Inn, +with his rapid pen scratching along the paper before him, a woman walked +up and down the lamp-lit platform at Rugby, waiting for the branch train +which was to take her on to Shorncliffe. + +This woman was Margaret Wilmot--the haggard, trembling girl whose +altered manner had so terrified simple-hearted Mrs. Austin. + +But she did not tremble now. She had pushed her thick black veil away +from her face, and though no vestige of healthy colour had come back to +her cheeks or lips, her features had a set look of steadfast resolution, +and her eyes looked straight before her, like the eyes of a person who +has one special purpose in view, and will not swerve or falter until +that purpose has been carried out. + +There was only one elderly gentleman in the first-class carriage in +which Margaret Wilmot took her seat when the branch train for +Shorncliffe was ready; and as this one fellow-passenger slept throughout +the journey, with his face covered by an expansive silk handkerchief, +Margaret was left free to think her own thoughts. + +The girl was scarcely less quiet than her slumbering companion; she sat +in one changeless attitude, with her hands clasped together in her lap, +and her eyes always looking straight forward, as they had looked when +she walked upon the platform. Once she put her hand mechanically to the +belt of her dress, and then shook her head with a sigh as she drew it +away. + +"How long the time seems!" she said; "how long! and I have no watch now, +and I can't tell how late it is. If they should be there before me. If +they should be travelling by this train. No, that's impossible. I know +that neither Clement, nor the man that was with him, left Winchester by +the train that took me to London. But if they should telegraph to London +or Shorncliffe?" + +She began to tremble at the thought of this possibility. If that grand +wonder of science, the electric telegraph, should be made use of by the +men she dreaded, she would be too late upon the errand she was going on. + +The mail train stopped at Shorncliffe while she was thinking of this +fatal possibility. She got out and asked one of the porters to get her a +fly; but the man shook his head. + +"There's no flies to be had at this time of night, miss," he said, +civilly enough. "Where do you want to go?" + +She dared not tell him her destination; secresy was essential to the +fulfilment of her purpose. + +"I can walk," she said; "I am not going very far." She left the station +before the man could ask her any further questions, and went out into +the moonlit country road on which the station abutted. She went through +the town of Shorncliffe, where the diamond casements were all darkened +for the night, and under the gloomy archway, past the dark shadows which +the ponderous castle-towers flung across the rippling water. She left +the town, and went out upon the lonely country road, through patches of +moonlight and shadow, fearless in her self-abnegation, with only one +thought in her mind: "Would she be in time?" + +She was very tired when she came at last to the iron gates at the +principal entrance of Maudesley Park. She had heard Clement Austin speak +of a bridle-path through the park to Lisford, and he had told her that +this bridle-path was approached by a gate in the park-fence upwards of a +mile from the principal lodge. + +She walked along by this fence, looking for the gate. + +She found it at last; a little low wooden gate, painted white, and only +fastened by a latch. Beyond the gate there was a pathway winding in and +out among the trunks of the great elms, across the dry grass. + +Margaret Wilmot followed this winding path, slowly and doubtfully, till +she came to the margin of a vast open lawn. Upon the other side of this +lawn she saw the dark frontage of Maudesley Abbey, and three tall +lighted windows gleaming through the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +FLIGHT. + + +The man who called himself Henry Dunbar was lying on the tapestried +cushions of a carved oaken couch that stood before the fire in his +spacious sitting-room. He lay there, listening to the March wind roaring +in the broad chimney, and watching the blazing coals and the crackling +logs of wood. + +It was three o'clock in the morning now, and the servants had left the +room at midnight; but the sick man had ordered a huge fire to be made +up--a fire that promised to last for some hours. + +The master of Maudesley Abbey was in no way improved by his long +imprisonment. His complexion had faded to a dull leaden hue; his cheeks +were sunken; his eyes looked unnaturally large and unnaturally bright. +Long hours of loneliness, long sleepless nights, and thoughts that from +every diverging point for ever narrowed inwards to one hideous centre, +had done their work of him. The man lying opposite the fire to-night +looked ten years older than the man who gave his evidence so boldly and +clearly before the coroner's jury at Winchester. + +The crutches--they were made of some light, polished wood, and were +triumphs of art in their way--leaned against a table close to the couch, +and within reach to the man's hand. He had learned to walk about the +rooms and on the gravel-drive before the Abbey with these crutches, and +had even learned to do without them, for he was now able to set the +lamed foot upon the ground, and to walk a few paces pretty steadily, +with no better support than that of his cane; but as yet he walked +slowly and doubtfully, in spite of his impatience to be about once more. + +Heaven knows how many different thoughts were busy in his restless brain +that night. Strange memories came back to him, as he lay staring at the +red chasms and craggy steeps in the fire--memories of a time so long +gone by, that all the personages of that period seemed to him like the +characters in a book, or the figures in a picture. He saw their faces, +and he remembered how they had looked at him; and among these other +faces he saw the many semblances which his own had worn. + +O God, how that face had changed! The bright, frank, boyish countenance, +looking eagerly out upon a world that seemed so pleasant; the young +man's hopeful smile; and then--and then, the hard face that grew harder +with the lapse of years; the smile that took no radiance from a light +within; the frown that blackened as the soul grew darker. He saw all +these, and still for ever, amid a thousand distracting ideas, his +thoughts, which were beyond his own volition, concentrated in the one +plague-spot of his life, and held him there, fixed as a wretch bound +hand and foot upon the rack. + +"If I could only get away from this place," he said to himself; "if I +could get away, it would all be different. Change of scene, activity, +hurrying from place to place in new countries and amongst strange +people, would have the usual influence upon me. That memory would pass +away then, as other memories have passed; only to be recalled, now and +then, in a dream; or conjured up by some chance allusion dropped from +the lips of strangers, some coincidence of resemblance in a scene, or +face, or tone, or look. _That_ memory cannot be so much worse than the +rest that it should be ineffaceable, where they have been effaced. But +while I stay here, here in this dismal room, where the dropping of the +ashes on the hearth, the ticking of the clock upon the chimney-piece, +are like that torture I have read of somewhere--the drop of water +falling at intervals upon the victim's forehead until the anguish of its +monotony drives him raving mad--while I stay here there is no hope of +forgetfulness, no possibility of peace. I saw him last night, and the +night before last, and the night before that. I see him always when I go +to sleep, smiling at me, as he smiled when we went into the grove. I can +hear his voice, and the words he said, every syllable of those +insignificant words, selfish murmurs about the probability of his being +fatigued in that long walk, the possibility that it would have been +better to hire a fly, and to have driven by the road--bah! What was he +that I should be sorry for him? Am I sorry for him? No! I am sorry for +myself, and for the torture which I have created for myself. O God! I +can see him now as he looked up at me out of the water. The motion of +the stream gave a look of life to his face, and I almost thought he was +still alive, and I had never done that deed." + +These were the pleasant fireside thoughts with which the master of +Maudesley Abbey beguiled the hours of his convalescence. Heaven keep our +memories green! exclaims the poet novelist; and Heaven preserve us from +such deeds as make our memories hideous to us! + +From such a reverie as this the master of Maudesley Abbey was suddenly +aroused by the sound of a light knocking against one of the windows of +his room--the window nearest him as he lay on the couch. + +He started, and lifted himself into a sitting posture. + +"Who is there?" he cried, impatiently. + +He was frightened, and clasped his two hands upon, his forehead, trying +to think who the late visitant could be. Why should any one come to him +at such an hour, unless--unless _it_ was discovered? There could be no +other justification for such an intrusion. + +His breath came short and thick as he thought of this. Had it come at +last, then, that awful moment which he had dreamed of so many +times--that hideous crisis which he had imagined under so many different +aspects? Had it come at last, like this?--quietly, in the dead of the +night, without one moment's warning?--before he had prepared himself to +escape it, or hardened himself to meet it? Had it come now? The man +thought all this while he listened, with his chest heaving, his breath +coming in hoarse gasps, waiting for the reply to his question. + +There was no reply except the knocking, which grew louder and more +hurried. + +If there can be expression in the tapping of a hand against a pane of +glass, there was expression in that hand--the expression of entreaty +rather than of demand, as it seemed to that white and terror-stricken +listener. + +His heart gave a great throb, like a prisoner who leaps away from the +fetters that have been newly loosened. + +"What a fool I have been!" he thought. "If it was that, there would be +knocking and ringing at the hall-door, instead of that cautious summons. +I suppose that fellow Vallance has got into some kind of trouble, and +has come in the dead of the night to hound me for money. It would be +only like him to do it. He knows he must be admitted, let him come when +he may." + +The invalid gave a groan as he thought this. He got up and walked to the +window, leaning upon his cane as he went. + +The knocking still sounded. He was close to the window, and he heard +something besides the knocking--a woman's voice, not loud, but +peculiarly audible by reason of its earnestness. + +"Let me in; for pity's sake let me in!" + +The man standing at the window knew that voice: only too well, only too +well. It was the voice of the girl who had so persistently followed him, +who had only lately succeeded in seeing him. He drew back the bolts that +fastened the long French window, opened it, and admitted Margaret +Wilmot. + +"Margaret!" he cried; "what, in Heaven's name, brings you here at such +an hour as this?" + +"Danger!" answered the girl, breathlessly. "Danger to you! I have been +running, and the words seem to choke me as I speak. There's not a moment +to be lost, not one moment. They will be here directly; they cannot fail +to be here directly. I felt as if they had been close behind me all the +way--they may have been so. There is not a moment--not one moment!" + +She stopped, with her hands clasped upon her breast. She was incoherent +in her excitement, and knew that she was so, and struggled to express +herself clearly. + +"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, lifting her hands to her head, and pushing +the loose tangled hair away from her face; "I have tried to save you--I +have tried to save you! But sometimes I think that is not to be. It may +be God's mercy that you should be taken, and your wretched daughter can +die with you!" + +She fell upon her knees, suddenly, in a kind of delirium, and lifted up +her clasped hands. + +"O God, have mercy upon him!" she cried. "As I prayed in this room +before--as I have prayed every hour since that dreadful time--I pray +again to-night. Have mercy upon him, and give him a penitent heart, and +wash away his sin. What is the penalty he may suffer here, compared to +that Thou canst inflict hereafter? Let the chastisement of man fall upon +him, so as Thou wilt accept his repentance!" + +"Margaret," said Joseph Wilmot, grasping the girl's arm, "are you +praying that I may be hung? Have you come here to do that? Get up, and +tell me what is the matter!" + +Margaret Wilmot rose from her knees shuddering, and looking straight +before her, trying to be calm--trying to collect her thoughts. + +"Father," she said, "I have never known one hour's peaceful sleep since +the night I left this room. For the last three nights I have not slept +at all. I have been travelling, walking from place to place, until I +could drop on the floor at your feet. I want to tell you--but the +words--the words--won't come--somehow----" + +She pointed to her dry lips, which moved, but made no sound. There was a +bottle of brandy and a glass on the table near the couch. Joseph Wilmot +was seldom without that companion. He snatched up the bottle and glass, +poured out some of the brandy, and placed it between his daughter's +lips. She drank the spirit eagerly. She would have drunk living fire, +if, by so doing, she could have gained strength to complete her task. + +"You must leave this house directly!" she gasped. "You must go abroad, +anywhere, so long as you are safe out of the way. They will be here to +look for you--Heaven only knows how soon!" + +"They! Who? + +"Clement Austin, and a man--a detective----" + +"Clement Austin--your lover--your confederate? You have betrayed me, +Margaret!" + +"I!" cried the girl, looking at her father. + +There was something sublime in the tone of that one word--something +superb in the girl's face, as her eyes met the haggard gaze of the +murderer. + +"Forgive me, my girl! No, no, you wouldn't do that, even to a loathsome +wretch like me!" + +"But you will go away--you will escape from them?" + +"Why should I be afraid of them? Let them come when they please, they +have no proof against me." + +"No proof? Oh, father, you don't know--you don't know. They have been to +Winchester. I heard from Clement's mother that he had gone there; and I +went after him, and found out where he was--at the inn where you stayed, +where you refused to see me--and that there was a man with him. I waited +about the streets; and at night I saw them both, the man and Clement. +Oh! father, I knew they could have only one purpose in coming to that +place. I saw them at night; and the next day I watched again--waiting +about the street, and hiding myself under porches or in shops, when +there was any chance of my being seen. I saw Clement leave the George, +and take the way towards the cathedral. I went to the cathedral-yard +afterwards, and saw the strange man talking in a doorway with an old +man. I loitered about the cathedral-yard, and saw the man that was with +Clement go away, down by the meadows, towards the grove, to the place +where----" + +She stopped, and trembled so violently that she was unable to speak. + +Joseph Wilmot filled the glass with brandy for the second time, and put +it to his daughter's lips. + +She drank about a teaspoonful, and then went on, speaking very rapidly, +and in broken sentences-- + +"I followed the man, keeping a good way behind, so that he might not see +that he was followed. He went straight down to the very place where--the +murder was done. Clement was there, and three men. They were there under +the trees, and they were dragging the water." + +"Dragging the water! Oh, my God, why were they doing that?" cried the +man, dropping suddenly on the chair nearest to him, and with his face +livid. + +For the first time since Margaret had entered the room terror took +possession of him. Until now he had listened attentively, anxiously; but +the ghastly look of fear and horror was new upon his face. He had defied +discovery. There was only one thing that could be used against him--the +bundle of clothes, the marked garments of the murdered man--those fatal +garments which he had been unable to destroy, which he had only been +able to hide. These things alone could give evidence against him; but +who should think of searching for these things? Again and again he had +thought of the bundle at the bottom of the stream, only to laugh at the +wondrous science of discovery which had slunk back baffled by so slight +a mystery, only to fancy the water-rats gnawing the dead man's garments, +and all the oose and slime creeping in and out amongst the folds until +the rotting rags became a very part of the rank river-weeds that crawled +and tangled round them. + +He had thought this, and the knowledge that strangers had been busy on +that spot, dragging the water--the dreadful water that had so often +flowed through his dreams--with, not one, but a thousand dead faces +looking up and grinning at him through the stream--the tidings that a +search had been made there, came upon him like a thunderbolt. + +"Why did they drag the water?" he cried again. + +His daughter was standing at a little distance from him. She had never +gone close up to him, and she had receded a little--involuntarily, as a +woman shrinks away from some animal she is frightened of--whenever he +had approached her. He knew this--yes, amidst every other conflicting +thought, this man was conscious that his daughter avoided him. + +"They dragged the water," Margaret said; "I walked about--that +place--under the elms--all the day--only one day--but it seemed to last +for ever and ever. I was obliged to hide myself--and to keep at a +distance, for Clement was there all day; but as it grew dusk I ventured +nearer, and found out what they were doing, and that they had not found +what they were searching for; but I did not know yet what it was they +wanted to find." + +"But they found it!" gasped the girl's father; "did they find it? Come +to that." + +"Yes, they found it by-and-by. A bundle of rags, a boy told me--a boy +who had been about with the men all day--'a bundle of rags, it looked +like,' he said; but he heard the constable say that those rags were the +clothes that had belonged to the murdered man." + +"What then? What next?" + +"I waited to hear no more, father; I ran all the way to Winchester to +the station--I was in time for a train, which brought me to London--I +came on by the mail to Rugby--and----" + +"Yes, yes; I know--and you are a brave girl, a noble girl. Ah! my poor +Margaret, I don't think I should have hated that man so much if it +hadn't been for the thought of you--your lonely girlhood--your hopeless, +joyless existence--and all through him--all through the man who ruined +me at the outset of my life. But I won't talk--I daren't talk: they have +found the clothes; they know that the man who was murdered was Henry +Dunbar--they will be here--let me think--let me think how I can get +away!" + +He clasped both his hands upon his head, as if by force of their iron +grip he could steady his mind, and clear away the confusion of his +brain. + +From the first day on which he had taken possession of the dead man's +property until this moment he had lived in perpetual terror of the +crisis which had now arrived. There was no possible form or manner in +which he had not imagined the situation. There was no preparation in his +power to make that he had left unmade. But he had hoped to anticipate +the dreaded hour. He had planned his flight, and meant to have left +Maudesley Abbey for ever, in the first hour that found him capable of +travelling. He had planned his flight, and had started on that wintry +afternoon, when the Sabbath bells had a muffled sound, as their solemn +peals floated across the snow--he had started on his journey with the +intention of never again returning to Maudesley Abbey. He had meant to +leave England, and wander far away, through all manner of unfrequented +districts, choosing places that were most difficult of approach, and +least affected by English travellers. + +He had meant to do this, and had calculated that his conduct would be, +at the worst, considered eccentric; or perhaps it would be thought +scarcely unnatural in a lonely man, whose only child had married into a +higher sphere than his own. He had meant to do this, and by-and-by, when +he had been lost sight of by the world, to hide himself under a new name +and a new nationality, so that if ever, by some strange fatality, by +some awful interposition of Providence, the secret of Henry Dunbar's +death should come to light, the murderer would be as entirely removed +from human knowledge as if the grave had closed over him and hidden him +for ever. + +This is the course that Joseph Wilmot had planned for himself. There had +been plenty of time for him to think and plot in the long nights that he +had spent in those splendid rooms--those noble chambers, whose grandeur +had been more hideous to him than the blank walls of a condemned cell; +whose atmosphere had seemed more suffocating than the foetid vapours of +a fever-tainted den in St. Giles's. The passionate, revengeful yearning +of a man who has been cruelly injured and betrayed, the common greed of +wealth engendered out of poverty's slow torture, had arisen rampant in +this man's breast at the sight of Henry Dunbar. By one hideous deed both +passions were gratified; and Joseph Wilmot, the bank-messenger, the +confidential valet, the forger, the convict, the ticket-of-leave man, +the penniless reprobate, became master of a million of money. + +Yes, he had done this. He had entered Winchester upon that August +afternoon, with a few sovereigns and a handful of silver in his pocket, +and with a life of poverty and degradation, before him. He had left the +same town chief partner in the firm of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, and +sole owner of Maudesley Abbey, the Yorkshire estates, and the house in +Portland Place. + +Surely this was the very triumph of crime, a master-stroke of villany. +But had the villain ever known one moment's happiness since the +commission of that deed--one moment's peace--one moment's freedom from a +slow, torturing anguish that was like the gnawing of a ravenous beast +for ever preying on his entrails? The author of the _Opium-Eater_ +suffered so cruelly from some internal agony that he grew at last to +fancy there was indeed some living creature inside him, for ever +torturing and tormenting him. This doubtless was only the fancy of an +invalid: but what of that undying serpent called Remorse, which coils +itself about the heart of the murderer and holds it for ever in a deadly +grip--never to beat freely again, never to know a painless throb, or +feel a sweet emotion? + +In a few minutes--while the rooks were cawing in the elms, and the green +leaves fluttering in the drowsy summer air, and the blue waters rippling +in the sunshine and flecked by the shadows--Joseph Wilmot had done a +deed which had given him the richest reward that a murderer ever hoped +to win; and had so transformed his life, so changed the very current of +his being, that he went away out of that wood, not alone, but dogged +step by step by a gaunt, stalking creature, a hideous monster that +echoed his every breath, and followed at his shoulder, and clung about +him, and grappled his throat, and weighed him down; a horrid thing, +which had neither shape nor name, and yet wore every shape, and took +every name, and was the ghost of the deed that he had done. + +Joseph Wilmot stood for a few moments with his hands clasped upon his +head, and then the shadows faded from his face, which suddenly became +fixed and resolute-looking. The first thrill of terror, the first shock +of surprise, were over. This man never had been and never could be a +coward. He was ready now for the worst. It may be that he was glad the +worst had come. He had suffered such unutterable anguish, such +indescribable tortures, during the time in which his guilt had been +unsuspected, that it may have been a kind of relief to know that his +secret was discovered, and that he was free to drop the mask. + +While he paused, thinking what he was to do, some lucky thought came to +him, for his face brightened suddenly with a triumphant smile. + +"The horse!" he said. "I may ride, though I can't walk." + +He took up his cane, and went to the next room, where there was a door +that opened into the quadrangle, in which the master of the Abbey had +caused a loose box to be built for his favourite horse. Margaret +followed her father, not closely, but at a little distance, watching him +with anxious, wondering eyes. + +He unfastened the half-glass door, opened it, and went out into the +quadrangular garden, the quaint old-fashioned garden, where the +flower-beds were primly dotted on the smooth grass-plot, in the centre +of which there was a marble basin, and the machinery of a little +fountain that had never played within the memory of living man. + +"Go back for the lamp, Margaret," Joseph Wilmot whispered. "I must have +light." + +The girl obeyed. She had left off trembling now, and carried the shaded +lamp as steadily as if she had been bent on some simple womanly errand. +She followed her father into the garden, and went with him to the loose +box where the horse was to be found. + +The animal knew his master, even in that uncertain light. There was gas +laid on in the millionaire's stables, and a low jet had been left +burning by the groom. + +The horse plunged his head about his master's shoulders, and shook his +mane, and reared, and disported himself in his delight at seeing his old +friend once more, and it was only Joseph Wilmot's soothing hand and +voice that subdued the animal's exuberant spirits. + +"Steady, boy, steady! quiet, old fellow!" Joseph said, in a whisper. + +Three or four saddles and bridles hung upon a rack in one corner of the +small stable. Joseph Wilmot selected the things he wanted, and began to +saddle the horse, supporting himself on his cane as he did so. + +The groom slept in the house now, by his master's orders, and there was +no one within hearing. + +The horse was saddled and bridled in five minutes, and Joseph Wilmot led +him out of the stable, followed by Margaret, who still carried the lamp. +There was a low iron gate leading out of the quadrangle into the +grounds. Joseph led the horse to this gate. + +"Go back and get me my coat," he said to Margaret; "you'll go faster +than I can. You'll find a coat lined with fur on a chair in the +bedroom." + +His daughter obeyed, silently and quietly, as she had done before. The +rooms all opened one into the other. She saw the bedroom with the tall, +gloomy bedstead, the light of the fire flickering here and there. She +set the lamp down upon a table in this room, and found the fur-lined +coat her father had sent her to fetch. There was a purse lying on a +dressing-table, with sovereigns glittering through the silken network, +and the girl snatched it up as she hurried away, thinking, in her +innocent simplicity, that her father might have nothing but those few +sovereigns to help him in his flight. She went back to him, carrying the +bulky overcoat, and helped him to put it on in place of the +dressing-grown he had been wearing. He had taken his hat before going to +the stable. + +"Here is your purse, father," she said, thrusting it into his hand; +"there is something in it, but I'm afraid there's not very much. How +will you manage for money where you art going?" + +"Oh, I shall manage very well." + +He had got into the saddle by this time, not without considerable +difficulty; but though the fresh air made him feel faint and dizzy, he +felt himself a new man now that the horse was under him--the brave +horse, the creature that loved him, whose powerful stride could carry +him almost to the other end of the world; as it seemed to Joseph Wilmot +in the first triumph of being astride the animal once more. He put his +hand involuntarily to the belt that was strapped round him, as Margaret +asked that question about the money. + +"Oh, yes," he said, "I've money enough--I am all right." + +"But where are you going?" she asked, eagerly. + +The horse was tearing up the wet gravel, and making furious champing +noises in his impatience of all this delay. + +"I don't know," Joseph Wilmot answered; "that will depend upon--I don't +know. Good night, Margaret. God bless you! I don't suppose He listens to +the prayers of such as me. If He did, it might have been all different +long ago--when I tried to be honest!" + +Yes, this was true; the murderer of Henry Dunbar had once tried to be +honest, and had prayed God to prosper his honesty; but then he only +tried to do right in a spasmodic, fitful kind of way, and expected his +prayers to be granted as soon as they were asked, and was indignant with +a Providence that seemed to be deaf to his entreaties. He had always +lacked that sublime quality of patience, which endures the evil day, and +calmly breasts the storm. + +"Let me go with you, father," Margaret said, in an entreating voice, +"let me go with you. There is nothing in all the world for me, except +the hope of God's forgiveness for you. I want to be with you. I don't +want you to be amongst bad men, who will harden your heart. I want to be +with you--far away--where----" + +"_You_ with me?" said Joseph Wilmot, slowly; "you wish it?" + +"With all my heart!" + +"And you're true," he cried, bending down to grasp his daughter's +shoulder and look her in the face, "you're true, Margaret, eh?--true as +steel; ready for anything, no flinching, no quailing or trembling when +the danger comes. You've stood a good deal, and stood it nobly. Can you +stand still more, eh?" + +"For your sake, father, for your sake! yes, yes, I will brave anything +in the world, do anything to save you from----" + +She shuddered as she remembered what the danger was that assailed him, +the horror from which flight alone could save him. No, no, no! _that_ +could never be endured at any cost; at any sacrifice he must be saved +from _that_. No strength of womanly fortitude, no trust in the mercy of +God, could even make her resigned as to _that_. + +"I'll trust you, Margaret," said Joseph Wilmot, loosening his grasp upon +the girl's shoulder; "I'll trust you. Haven't I reason to trust you? +Didn't I see your mother, on the day when she found out what my history +was; didn't I see the colour fade out of her face till she was whiter +than the linen collar round her neck, and in the next moment her arms +were about me, and her honest eyes looking up in my face, as she cried, +'I shall never love you less, dear; there's nothing in this world can +make me love you less!'" + +He paused for a moment. His voice had grown thick and husky; but he +broke out violently in the next instant. + +"Great Heaven! why do I stop talking like this? Listen to me, Margaret; +if you want to see the last of me, you must find your way, somehow or +other, to Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford--on the Lisford Road, I think. +Find your way there--I'm going there now, and shall be there long before +you--you understand?" + +"Yes; Woodbine Cottage, Lisford--I shan't forget! God speed you, +father!--God help you!" + +"He is the God of sinners," thought the wretched girl. "He gave Cain a +long lifetime in which to repent of his sins." + +Margaret thought this as she stood at the gate, listening to the horse's +hoofs upon the gravel road that wound through the grounds away into the +park. + +She was very, very tired, but had little sense of her fatigue, and her +journey was by no means finished yet. She did not once look back at +Maudesley Abbey--that stately and splendid mansion, in which a miserable +wretch had acted his part, and endured the penalty of his guilt, for +many wearisome months She went away--hurrying along the lonely pathways, +with the night breezes blowing her loose hair across her eyes, and +half-blinding her as she went--to find the gate by which she had entered +the park. + +She went out at this gateway because it was the only point of egress by +which she could leave the park without being seen by the keeper of a +lodge. The dim morning light was grey in the sky before she met any one +whom she could ask to direct her to Woodbine Cottage; but at last a man +came out of a farmyard with a couple of milk-pails, and directed her to +the Lisford Road. + +It was broad daylight when she reached the little garden-gate before +Major Vernon's abode. It was broad daylight, and the door leading into +the prim little hall was ajar. The girl pushed it open, and fell into +the arms of a man, who caught her as she fainted. + +"Poor girl, poor child!" said Joseph Wilmot; "to think what she has +suffered. And I thought that she would profit by that crime; I thought +that she would take the money, and be content to leave the mystery +unravelled. My poor child! my poor, unhappy child!" + +The man who had murdered Henry Dunbar wept aloud over the white face of +his unconscious daughter. + +"Don't let's have any of that fooling," cried a harsh voice from the +little parlour; "we've no time to waste on snivelling!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY. + + +Mr. Carter the detective lost no time about his work; but he did not +employ the telegraph, by which means he might perhaps have expedited the +arrest of Henry Dunbar's murderer. He did not avail himself of the +facilities offered by that wonderful electric telegraph, which was once +facetiously called the rope that hung Tawell the Quaker, because in so +doing he must have taken the local police into his confidence, and he +wished to do his work quietly, only aided by a companion and humble +follower, whom he was in the habit of employing. + +He went up to London by the mail-train after parting from Clement +Austin; took a cab at the Waterloo station, and drove straight off to +the habitation of his humble assistant, whom he most unceremoniously +roused from his bed. But there was no train for Warwickshire before the +six-o'clock parliamentary, and there was a seven-o'clock express, which +would reach Rugby ten minutes after that miserably slow conveyance; so +Mr. Carter naturally elected to sacrifice the ten minutes, and travel by +the express. Meanwhile he took a hearty breakfast, which had been +hastily prepared by the wife of his friend and follower, and explained +the nature of the business before them. + +It must be confessed that, in making these explanations to his humble +friend, Mr. Carter employed a tone that implied no little superiority, +and that the friendliness of his manner was tempered by condescension. + +The friend was a middle-aged and most respectable-looking individual, +with a turnip-hued skin relieved by freckles, dark-red eyes, and +pale-red hair. He was not a very prepossessing person, and had a habit +of working about his lips and jaws when he was neither eating nor +talking, which was far from pleasant to behold. He was very much +esteemed by Mr. Carter, nevertheless; not so much because he was clever, +as because he looked so eminently stupid. This last characteristic had +won for him the _sobriquet_ of Sawney Tom, and he was considered worth +his weight in sovereigns on certain occasions, when a simple country lad +or a verdant-looking linen-draper's apprentice was required to enact +some little part in the detective drama. + +"You'll bring some of your traps with you, Sawney," said Mr. +Carter.--"I'll take another, ma'am, if you please. Three minutes and a +half this time, and let the white set tolerably firm." This last remark +was addressed to Mrs. Sawney Tom, or rather Mrs. Thomas Tibbles--Sawney +Tom's name was Tibbles--who was standing by the fire, boiling eggs and +toasting bread for her husband's patron. "You'll bring your traps, +Sawney," continued the detective, with his mouth full of buttered toast; +"there's no knowing how much trouble this chap may give us; because you +see a chap that can play the bold game he has played, and keep it up for +nigh upon a twelvemonth, could play any game. There's nothing out that +he need look upon as beyond him. So, though I've every reason to think +we shall take my friend at Maudesley as quietly as ever a child in arms +was took out of its cradle, still we may as well be prepared for the +worst." + +Mr. Tibbles, who was of a taciturn disposition, and who had been busily +chewing nothing while listening to his superior, merely gave a jerk of +acquiescence in answer to the detective's speech. + +"We start as solicitor and clerk," said Mr. Carter. "You'll carry a blue +bag. You'd better go and dress: the time's getting on. Respectable black +and a clean shave, you know, Sawney. We're going to an old gentleman in +the neighbourhood of Shorncliffe, that wants his will altered all of a +hurry, having quarrelled with his three daughters; that's what _we're_ +goin' to do, if anybody's curious about our business." + +Mr. Tibbles nodded, and retired to an inner apartment, whence he emerged +by-and-by dressed in a shabby-genteel costume of somewhat funereal +aspect, and with the lower part of his face rasped like a French roll, +and somewhat resembling that edible in colour. + +He brought a small portmanteau with him, and then departed to fetch a +cab, in which vehicle the two gentlemen drove away to the Euston-Square +station. + +It was one o'clock in the day when they reached the great iron gates of +Maudesley Abbey in a fly which they had chartered at Shorncliffe. It was +one o'clock on a bright sunshiny day, and the heart of Mr. Carter the +detective beat high with expectation of a great triumph. + +He descended from the fly himself, in order to question the woman at the +lodge. + +"You'd better get out, Sawney," he said, putting his head in at the +window, in order to speak to his companion; "I shan't take the vehicle +into the park. It'll be quieter and safer for us to walk up to the +house." + +Mr. Tibbles, with his blue-bag on his arm, got out of the fly, prepared +to attend his superior whithersoever that luminary chose to lead him. + +The woman at the lodge was not alone; a little group of gossips were +gathered in the primly-furnished parlour, and the talk was loud and +animated. + +"Which I was that took aback like, you might have knocked me down with a +feather," said the proprietress of the little parlour, as she went out +of the rustic porch to open the gate for Mr. Carter and his companion. + +"I want to see Mr. Dunbar," he said, "on particular business. You can +tell him I come from the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. I've got a +letter from the junior partner there, and I'm to deliver it to Mr. +Dunbar himself!" + +The keeper of the lodge threw up her hands and eyes in token of utter +bewilderment. + +"Begging your pardon, sir," she said, "but I've been that upset, I don't +know scarcely what I'm a-doing of. Mr. Dunbar have gone, sir, and nobody +in that house don't know why he went, or when he went, or where he's +gone. The man-servant as waited on him found the rooms all empty the +first thing this morning; and the groom as had charge of Mr. Dunbar's +horse, and slep' at the back of the house, not far from the stables, +fancied as how he heard a trampling last night where the horse was kep', +but put it down to the animal bein' restless on account of the change in +the weather; and this morning the horse was gone, and the gravel all +trampled up, and Mr. Dunbar's gold-headed cane (which the poor gentleman +was still so lame it was as much as he could do to walk from one room to +another) was lying by the garden-gate; and how he ever managed to get +out and about and saddle his horse and ride away like that without bein' +ever heard by a creetur, nobody hasn't the slightest notion; and +everybody this morning was distracted like, searchin' 'igh and low; but +not a sign of Mr. Dunbar were found nowhere." + +Mr. Carter turned pale, and stamped his foot upon the gravel-drive. Two +hundred pounds is a large stake to a poor man; and Mr. Carter's +reputation was also trembling in the balance. The very man he wanted +gone--gone away in the dead of the night, while all the household was +sleeping! + +"But he was lame," he cried. "How about that?--the railway accident--the +broken leg----" + +"Yes, sir," the woman answered, eagerly, "that's the very thing, sir; +which they're all talkin' about it at the house, sir, and how a poor +invalid gentleman, what could scarce stir hand or foot, should get up in +the middle of the night and saddle his own horse, and ride away at a +rampageous rate; which the groom says he _have_ rode rampageous, or the +gravel wouldn't be tore up as it is. And they do say, sir, as Mr. Dunbar +must have been took mad all of a sudden, and the doctor was in an awful +way when he heard it; and there's been people riding right and left +lookin' for him, sir. And Miss Dunbar--leastways Lady Jocelyn--was sent +for early this morning, and she's at the house now, sir, with her +husband Sir Philip; and if your business is so very important, perhaps +you'd like to see her----" + +"I should," answered the detective, briskly. "You stop here, Sawney," he +added, aside to his attendant; "you stop here, and pick up what you can. +I'll go up to the house and see the lady." + +Mr. Carter found the door open, and a group of servants clustered in the +gothic porch. Lady Jocelyn was in Mr. Dunbar's rooms, a footman told +him. The detective sent this man to ask if Mr. Dunbar's daughter would +receive a stranger from London, on most important business. + +The man came back in five minutes to say yes, Lady Jocelyn would see the +strange gentleman. + +The detective was ushered through the two outer rooms leading to that +tapestried apartment in which the missing man had spent so many +miserable days, so many dismal nights. He found Laura standing in one of +the windows looking out across the smooth lawn, looking anxiously out +towards the winding gravel-drive that led from the principal lodge to +the house. + +She turned away from the window as Mr. Carter approached her, and passed +her hand across her forehead. Her eyelids trembled, and she had the look +of a person whose senses had been dazed by excitement and confusion. + +"Have you come to bring me any news of my father?" she said. "I am +distracted by this serious calamity." + +Laura looked imploringly at the detective. Something in his grave face +frightened her. + +"You have come to tell me of some new trouble," she cried. + +"No, Miss Dunbar--no, Lady Jocelyn, I have no new trouble to announce to +you. I have come to this house in search of--of the gentleman who went +away last night. I must find him at any cost. All I want is a little +help from you. You may trust to me that he shall be found, and speedily, +if he lives." + +"If he lives!" cried Laura, with a sudden terror in her face. + +"Surely you do not imagine--you do not fear that----" + +"I imagine nothing, Lady Jocelyn. My duty is very simple, and lies +straight before me. I must find the missing man." + +"You will find my father," said Laura, with a puzzled expression. "Yes, +I am most anxious that he should be found; and if--if you will accept +any reward for your efforts, I shall be only too glad to give all you +can ask. But how is it that you happen to come here, and to take this +interest in my father? You come from the banking-house, I suppose?" + +"Yes," the detective answered, after a pause, "yes, Lady Jocelyn, I come +from the office in St. Gundolph Lane." + +Mr. Carter was silent for some few moments, during which his eyes +wandered about the apartment in that professional survey which took in +every detail, from the colour of the curtains and the pattern of the +carpets, to the tiniest porcelain toy in an antique cabinet on one side +of the fireplace. The only thing upon which the detective's glance +lingered was the lamp, which Margaret had extinguished. + +"I'm going to ask your ladyship a question," said Mr. Carter, presently, +looking gravely, and almost compassionately, at the beautiful face +before him; "you'll think me impertinent, perhaps, but I hope you'll +believe that I'm only a straightforward business man, anxious to do my +duty in my own line of life, and to do it with consideration for all +parties. You seem very anxious about this missing gentleman; may I ask +if you are very fond of him? It's a strange question, I know, my +lady--or it seems a strange question--but there's more in the answer +than you can guess, and I shall be very grateful to you if you'll answer +it candidly." + +A faint flush crept over Laura's face, and the tears started suddenly to +her eyes. She turned away from the detective, and brushed her +handkerchief hastily across those tearful eyes. She walked to the +window, and stood there for a minute or so, looking out. + +"Why do you ask me this question?" she asked, rather haughtily. + +"I cannot tell you that, my lady, at present," the detective answered; +"but I give you my word of honour that I have a very good reason for +what I do." + +"Very well then, I will answer you frankly," said Laura, turning and +looking Mr. Carter full in the face. "I will answer you, for I believe +that you are an honest man. There is very little love between my father +and me. It is our misfortune, perhaps: and it may be only natural that +it should be so, for we were separated from each other for so many +years, that, when at last the day of our meeting came, we met like +strangers, and there was a barrier between us that could never be broken +down. Heaven knows how anxiously I used to look forward to my father's +return from India, and how bitterly I felt the disappointment when I +discovered, little by little, that we should never be to one another +what other fathers and daughters, who have never known the long +bitterness of separation, are to each other. But pray remember that I do +not complain; my father has been very good to me, very indulgent, very +generous. His last act, before the accident which laid him up so long, +was to take a journey to London on purpose to buy diamonds for a +necklace, which was to be his wedding present to me. I do not speak of +this because I care for the jewels; but I am pleased to think that, in +spite of the coldness of his manner, my father had some affection for +his only child." + +Mr. Carter was not looking at Laura, he was staring out of the window, +and his eyes had that stolid glare with which they had gazed at Clement +Austin while the cashier told his story. + +"A diamond necklace!" he said; "humph--ha, ha--yes!" All this was in an +undertone, that hummed faintly through the detective's closed teeth. "A +diamond-necklace! You've got the necklace, I suppose, eh, my lady?" + +"No; the diamonds were bought, but they were never made up." + +"The unset diamonds were bought by Mr. Dunbar?" + +"Yes, to an enormous amount, I believe. While I was in Paris, my father +wrote to tell me that he meant to delay the making of the necklace until +he was well enough to go on the Continent. He could see no design in +England that at all satisfied him." + +"No, I dare say not," answered the detective, "I dare say he'd find it +rather difficult to please himself in that matter." + +Laura looked inquiringly at Mr. Carter. There was something +disrespectful, not to say ironical, in his tone. + +"I thank you heartily for having been so candid with me, Lady Jocelyn," +he said; "and believe me I shall have your interests at heart throughout +this matter. I shall go to work immediately; and you may rely upon it, I +shall succeed in finding the missing man." + +"You do not think that--that under some terrible hallucination, the +result of his long illness--you don't think that he has committed +suicide?" + +"No," Lady Jocelyn, answered the detective, decisively, "there is +nothing further from my thoughts now." + +"Thank Heaven for that!" + +"And now, my lady, may I ask if you'll be kind enough to let me see Mr. +Dunbar's valet, and to leave me alone with him in these rooms? I may +pick up something that will help me to find your father. By the bye, you +haven't a picture of him--a miniature, a photograph, or anything of that +sort, eh?" + +"No, unhappily I have no portrait whatever of my father." + +"Ah, that is unlucky; but never mind, we must contrive to get on without +it." + +Laura rang the bell. One of the superb footmen, the birds of paradise +who consented to glorify the halls and passages of Maudesley Abbey, +appeared in answer to the summons, and went in search of Mr. Dunbar's +own man--the man who had waited on the invalid ever since the accident. + +Having sent for this person, Laura bade the detective good morning, and +went away through the vista of rooms to the other side of the hall, to +that bright modernized wing of the house which Percival Dunbar had +improved and beautified for the granddaughter he idolized. + +Mr. Dunbar's own man was only too glad to be questioned, and to have a +good opportunity of discoursing upon the event which had caused such +excitement and consternation. But the detective was not a pleasant +person to talk to, as he had a knack of cutting people short with a +fresh question at the first symptom of rambling; and, indeed, so closely +did he keep his companion to the point, that a conversation with him was +a kind of intellectual hornpipe between a set of fire-irons. + +Under this pressure the valet told all he knew about his master's +departure, with very little loss of time by reason of discursiveness. + +"Humph!--ha!--ah, yes!" muttered the detective between his teeth; "only +one friend that was at all intimate with your master, and that was a +gentleman called Vernon, lately come to live at Woodbine Cottage, +Lisford Road; used to come at all hours to see your master; was odd in +his ways, and dressed queer; first came on Miss Laura's wedding-day; was +awful shabby then; came out quite a swell afterwards, and was very free +with his money at Lisford. Ah!--humph! You've heard your master and this +gentleman at high words--at least you've fancied so; but, the doors +being very thick, you ain't certain. It might have been only telling +anecdotes. Some gentlemen do swear and row like in telling anecdotes. +Yes, to be sure! You've felt a belt round your master's waist when +you've been lifting him in and out of bed. He wore it under his shirt, +and was always fidgety in changing his shirt, and didn't seem to want +you to see the belt. You thought it was a galvanic belt, or something of +that sort. You felt it once, when you were changing your master's shirt, +and it was all over little knobs as hard as iron, but very small. That's +all you've got to say, except that you've always fancied your master +wasn't quite easy in his mind, and you thought that was because of his +having been suspected in the first place about the Winchester murder." + +Mr. Carter jotted down some pencil-notes in his pocket-book while making +this little summary of his conversation with the valet. + +Having done this and shut his book, he prowled slowly through the +sitting-room, bed-room, and dressing-room, looking about him, with the +servant close at his heels. + +"What clothes did Mr. Dunbar wear when he went away?" + +"Grey trousers and waistcoat, small shepherd's plaid, and he must have +taken a greatcoat lined with Russian sable." + +"A black coat?" + +"No; the coat was dark blue cloth outside." + +Mr. Carter opened his pocket-book in order to add another memorandum-- + +Trousers and waistcoat, shepherd's plaid; coat, dark blue cloth lined +with sable. "How about Mr. Dunbar's personal appearance, eh?" + +The valet gave an elaborate description of his master's looks. + +"Ha!--humph!" muttered Mr. Carter; "tall, broad-shouldered, hook-nose, +brown eyes, brown hair mixed with grey." + +The detective put on his hat after making this last memorandum: but he +paused before the table, on which the lamp was still standing. + +"Was this lamp filled last night?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir; it was always fresh filled every day." + +"How long does it burn?" + +"Ten hours." + +"When was it lighted?" + +"A little before seven o'clock." + +Mr. Carter removed the glass shade, and carried the lamp to the +fireplace. He held it up over the grate, and drained the oil. + +"It must have been burning till past four this morning," he said. + +The valet stared at Mr. Carter with something of that reverential horror +with which he might have regarded a wizard of the middle ages. But Mr. +Carter was in too much haste to be aware of the man's admiration. He had +found out all he wanted to know, and now there was no time to be lost. + +He left the Abbey, ran back to the lodge, found his assistant, Mr. +Tibbles, and despatched that gentleman to the Shorncliffe railway +station, where he was to keep a sharp look out for a lame traveller in a +blue cloth coat lined with brown fur. If such a traveller appeared, +Sawney Tom was to stick to him wherever he went; but was to leave a note +with the station-master for his chief's guidance, containing information +as to what he had done. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE. + + +In less than a quarter of an hour after leaving the gate of Maudesley +Park, the fly came to a stand-still before Woodbine Cottage. Mr. Carter +paid the man and dismissed the vehicle, and went alone into the little +garden. + +He rang a bell on one side of the half-glass door, and had ample leisure +to contemplate the stuffed birds and marine curiosities that adorned the +little hall of the cottage before any one came to answer his summons. He +rang a second time before anyone came, but after a delay of about five +minutes a young woman appeared, with her face tied up in a coloured +handkerchief. The detective asked to see Major Vernon, and the young +woman ushered him into a little parlour at the back of the cottage, +without either delay or hesitation. + +The occupant of the cottage was sitting in an arm-chair by the fire. +There was very little light in the room, for the only window looked into +a miniature conservatory, where there were all manner of prickly and +spiky plants of the cactus kind, which had been the delight of the late +owner of Woodbine Cottage. + +Mr. Carter looked very sharply at the gentleman sitting in the +easy-chair; but the closest inspection showed him nothing but a +good-looking man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with a +determined-looking mouth, half shaded by a grey moustache. + +"I've come to make a few inquiries about a friend of yours, Major +Vernon," the detective said; "Mr. Dunbar, of Maudesley Abbey, who has +been missing since four o'clock this morning." + +The gentleman in the easy-chair was smoking a meerschaum. As Mr. Carter +said those two words, "four o'clock," his teeth made a little clicking +noise upon the amber mouthpiece of the pipe. + +The detective heard the sound, slight as it was, and drew his inference +from it. Major Vernon had seen Joseph Wilmot, and knew that he had left +the Abbey at four o'clock, and thus gave a little start of surprise when +he found that the exact hour was known to others. + +"You know where Mr. Dunbar has gone?" said Mr. Carter, looking still +more sharply at the gentleman in the easy-chair. + +"On the contrary, I was thinking of looking in upon him at the Abbey +this evening." + +"Humph!" murmured the detective, "then it's no use my asking you any +questions on the subject?" + +"None whatever. Henry Dunbar is gone away from the Abbey, you say? Why, +I thought he was still under medical supervision--couldn't move off his +sofa, except to take a turn upon a pair of crutches." + +"I believe it was so, but he has disappeared notwithstanding." + +"What do you mean by disappeared? He has gone away, I suppose, and he +was free to go away, wasn't he?" + +"Oh! of course; perfectly free." + +"Then I don't so much wonder that he went," exclaimed the occupant of +the cottage, stooping over the fire, and knocking the ashes out of his +meerschaum. "He'd been tied by the leg long enough, poor devil! But how +is it you're running about after him, as if he was a little boy that had +bolted from his precious mother? You're not the surgeon who was +attending him?" + +"No, I'm employed by Lady Jocelyn; in fact, to tell you the honest +truth," said the detective, with a simplicity of manner that was really +charming: "to tell you the honest truth, I'm neither more nor less than +a private detective, and I have come down from London direct to look +after the missing gentleman. You see, Lady Jocelyn is afraid the long +illness and fever, and all that sort of thing, may have had a very bad +effect upon her poor father, and that he's a little bit touched in the +upper story, perhaps;--and, upon my word," added the detective, frankly, +"I think this sudden bolt looks very like it. In which case I fancy we +may look for an attempt at suicide. What do you think, now, Major +Vernon, as a friend of the missing gentleman, eh?" + +The Major smiled. + +"Upon my word," he said, "I don't think you're so very far away from the +mark. Henry Dunbar has been rather queer in his ways since that railway +smash." + +"Just so. I suppose you wouldn't have any objection to my looking about +your house, and round the garden and outbuildings? Your friend _might_ +hide himself somewhere about your place. When once they take an +eccentric turn, there's no knowing where to have 'em." + +Major Vernon shrugged his shoulders. + +"I don't think Dunbar's likely to have got into my house without my +knowledge," he said; "but you are welcome to examine the place from +garret to cellar if that's any satisfaction to you." + +He rang a bell as he spoke. It was answered by the girl whose face was +tied up. + +"Ah, Betty, you've got the toothache again, have you? A nice excuse for +slinking your work, eh, my girl? That's about the size of your +toothache, I expect! Look here now, this gentleman wants to see the +house, and you're to show him over it, and over the garden too, if he +likes--and be quick about it, for I want my dinner." + +The girl curtseyed in an awkward countrified manner, and ushered Mr. +Carter into the hall. + +"Betty!" roared the master of the house, as the girl reached the foot of +the stair with the detective; "Betty, come here!" + +She went back to her master, and Mr. Carter heard a whispered +conversation, very brief, of which the last sentence only was audible. + +That last sentence ran thus: + +"And if you don't hold your tongue, I'll make you pay for it." + +"Ho, ho!" thought the detective; "Miss Betsy is to hold her tongue, is +she? We'll see about that." + +The girl came back to the hall, and led Mr. Carter into the two +sitting-rooms in the front of the house. They were small rooms, with +small furniture. They were old-fashioned rooms, with low ceilings, and +queer cupboards nestling in out-of-the-way holes and corners: and Mr. +Carter had enough work to do in squeezing himself into the interior of +these receptacles, which all smelt, more or less, of chandlery and +rum,--that truly seaman-like spirit having been a favourite beverage +with the late inhabitant of the cottage. + +After examining half-a-dozen cupboards in the lower regions, Mr. Carter +and his guide ascended to the upper story. + +The girl called Betsy ushered the detective into a bedroom, which she +said was her master's, and where the occupation of the Major was made +manifest by divers articles of apparel lying on the chairs and hanging +on the pegs, and, furthermore, by a powerful effluvium of stale tobacco, +and a collection of pipes and cigar-boxes on the chimney-piece. + +The girl opened the door of an impossible-looking little cupboard in a +corner behind a four-post bed; but instead of inspecting the cupboard, +Mr. Carter made a sudden rush at the door, locked it, and then put the +key in his pocket. + +"No, thank you, Miss Innocence," he said; "I don't crick my neck, or +break my back, by looking into any more of your cupboards. Just you come +here." + +"Here," was the window, before which Mr. Carter planted himself. + +The girl obeyed very quietly. She would have been a pretty-looking girl +but for her toothache, or rather, but for the coloured handkerchief +which muffled the lower part of her face, and was tied in a knot at the +top of her head. As it was, Mr. Carter could only see that she had +pretty brown eyes, which shifted left and right as he looked at her. + +"Oh, yes, you're an artful young hussy, and no mistake," he said; "and +that toothache's only a judgment upon you. What was that your master +said to you in the parlour just now, eh? What was that he told you to +hold your tongue about, eh?" + +Betty shook her head, and began to twist the corner of her apron in her +hands. + +"Master didn't say nothing, sir," she said. + +"Master didn't say nothing! Your morals and your grammar are about a +match, Miss Betsy; but you'll find yourself rather in the wrong box +by-and-by, my young lady, when you find yourself committed to prison for +perjury; which crime, in a young female, is transportation for life," +added Mr. Carter, in an awful tone. + +"Oh, sir!" cried Betty, "it isn't me; it's master: and he do swear so +when he's in his tantrums. If the 'taters isn't done to his likin', sir, +he'll grumble about them quite civil at first, and then he'll work +hisself up like, and take and throw them at me one by one, and his +language gets worse with every 'tater. Oh, what am I to do, sir! I +daren't go against him. I'd a'most sooner be transported, if it don't +hurt much." + +"Don't hurt much!" exclaimed Mr. Carter; "why, there's a ship-load of +cat-o'-nine-tails goes out to Van Diemen's Land every quarter, and +reserved specially for young females!" + +"Oh! I'll tell you all about it, sir," cried Mr. Vernon's housemaid; +"sooner than be took up for perjuring, I'll tell you everything." + +"I thought so," said Mr. Carter; "but it isn't much you've got to tell +me. Mr. Dunbar came here this morning on horseback, between five and +six?" + +"It was ten minutes past six, sir, and I was opening the shutters." + +"Precisely." + +"And the gentleman came on horseback, sir, and was nigh upon fainting +with the pain of his leg; and he sent me to call up master, and master +helped him off the horse, and took the horse to the stable; and then the +gentleman sat and rested in master's little parlour at the back of the +house; and then they sent me for a fly, and I went to the Rose and Crown +at Lisford, and fetched a fly; and before eight o'clock the gentleman +went away." + +Before eight, and it was now past three. Mr. Carter looked at his watch +while the girl made her confession. + +"And, oh, please don't tell master as I told you," she said; "oh, please +don't, sir." + +There was no time to be lost, and yet the detective paused for a minute, +thinking of what he had just heard. + +Had the girl told him the truth; or was this a story got up to throw him +off the scent? The girl's terror of her master seemed genuine. She was +crying now, real tears, that streamed down her pale cheeks, and wetted +the handkerchief that covered the lower part of her face. + +"I can find out at the Rose and Crown whether anybody did go away in a +fly," the detective thought. + +"Tell your master I've searched the place, and haven't found his +friend," he said to the girl; "and that I haven't got time to wish him +good morning." + +The detective said this as he went down stairs. The girl went into the +little rustic porch with him, and directed him to the Rose and Crown at +Lisford. + +He ran almost all the way to the little inn; for he was growing +desperate now, with the idea that his man had escaped him. + +"Why, he can do anything with such a start," he thought to himself. "And +yet there's his lameness--that'll go against him." + +At the Rose and Crown Mr. Carter was informed that a fly had been +ordered at seven o'clock that morning by a young person from Woodbine +Cottage; that the vehicle had not long come in, and that the driver was +somewhere about the stables. The driver was summoned at Mr. Carter's +request, and from him the detective ascertained that a gentleman, +wrapped up to the very nose, and wearing a coat lined with fur, and +walking very lame, had been taken up by him at Woodbine Cottage. This +gentleman had ordered the driver to go as fast as he could to +Shorncliffe station; but on reaching the station, it appeared the +gentleman was too late for the train he wanted to go by, for he came +back to the fly, limping awful, and told the man to drive to Maningsly. +The driver explained to Mr. Carter that Maningsly was a little village +three miles from Shorncliffe, on a by-road. Here the gentleman in the +fur coat had alighted at an ale-house, where he dined, and stopped, +reading the paper and drinking hot brandy-and-water till after one +o'clock. He acted altogether quite the gentleman, and paid for the +driver's dinner and brandy-and-water, as well as his own. At half-after +one he got into the fly, and ordered the man to go back to Shorncliffe +station. At five minutes after two he alighted at the station, where he +paid and dismissed the driver. + +This was all Mr. Carter wanted to know. + +"You get a fresh horse harnessed in double-quick time," he said, "and +drive me to Shorncliffe station." + +While the horse and fly were being got ready, the detective went into +the bar, and ordered a glass of steaming brandy-and-water. He was +accustomed to take liquids in a boiling state, as the greater part of +his existence was spent in hurrying from place to place, as he was +hurrying now. + +"Sawney's got the chance this time," he thought. "Suppose he was to sell +me, and go in for the reward?" + +The supposition was not a pleasant one, and Mr. Carter looked grave for +a minute or so; but he quickly relapsed into a grim smile. + +"I think Sawney knows me too well for that," he said; "I think Sawney is +too well acquainted with me to try _that_ on." + +The fly came round to the inn-door while Mr. Carter reflected upon this. +He sprang into the vehicle, and was driven off to the station. + +At the Shorncliffe station he found everything very quiet. There was no +train due for some time yet; there was no sign of human life in the +ticket-office or the waiting-rooms. + +There was a porter asleep upon his truck on the platform, and there was +one solitary young female sitting upon a bench against the wall, with +her boxes and bundles gathered round her, and an umbrella and a pair of +clogs on her lap. + +Upon all the length of the platform there was no sign of Mr. Tibbles, +otherwise Sawney Tom. + +Mr. Carter awoke the porter, and sent him to the station-master to ask +if any letter addressed to Mr. Henry Carter had been left in that +functionary's care. The porter went yawning to make this inquiry, and +came back by-and-by, still yawning, to say that there was such a letter, +and would the gentleman please step into the station-master's office to +claim and receive it. + +The note was not a long one, nor was it encumbered by any ceremonious +phraseology. + +_"Gent in furred coat turned up 2.10, took a ticket for Derby, 1 class, +took ticket for same place self, 2 class.--Yrs to commd, T.T."_ + +Mr. Carter crumpled up the note and dropped it into his pocket. The +station-master gave him all the information about the trains. There was +a train for Derby at seven o'clock that evening; and for the three and a +half weary hours that must intervene, Mr. Carter was left to amuse +himself as best he might. + +"Derby," he muttered to himself, "Derby. Why, he must be going north; +and what, in the name of all that's miraculous, takes him that way?" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +ON THE TRACK. + + +The railway journey between Shorncliffe and Derby was by no means the +most pleasant expedition for a cold spring night, with the darkness +lying like a black shroud on the flat fields, and a melancholy wind +howling over those desolate regions, across which all night-trains seem +to wend their way. I think that flat and darksome land which we look +upon out of the window of a railway carriage in the dead of the night +must be a weird district, conjured into existence by the potent magic of +an enchanter's wand,--a dreary desert transported out of Central Africa, +to make the night-season hideous, and to vanish at cock-crow. + +Mr. Carter never travelled without a railway rug and a pocket +brandy-flask; and sustained by these inward and outward fortifications +against the chilling airs of the long night, he established himself in a +corner of the second-class carriage, and made the best of his situation. + +Fortunately there was no position of hardship to which the detective was +unaccustomed; indeed, to be rolled up in a railway rug in the corner of +a second-class carriage, was to be on a bed of down as compared with +some of his experiences. He was used to take his night's rest in brief +instalments, and was snoring comfortably three minutes after the guard +had banged-to the door of his carriage. + +But he was not permitted to enjoy any prolonged rest. The door was +banged open, and a stentorian voice bawled into his ear that hideous +announcement which is so fatal to the repose of travellers, "Change +here!" &c., &c. The journey from Shorncliffe to Derby seemed almost +entirely to consist of "changing here;" and poor Mr. Carter felt as if +he had passed a long night in being hustled out of one carriage into +another, and off one line of railway on to another, with all those +pauses on draughty platforms which are so refreshing to the worn-out +traveller who works his weary way across country in the dead of the +night. + +At last, however, after a journey that seemed interminable by reason of +those short naps, which always confuse the sleeper a estimate of time, +the detective found himself at Derby still in the dead of the night; for +to the railway traveller it is all of night after dark. Here he applied +immediately to the station-master, from whom he got another little note +directed to him by Mr. Tibbles, and very much resembling that which he +had received at Shorncliffe. + +"_All right up to Derby_," wrote Sawney Tom. "_Gent in furred coat took +a ticket through to Hull. Have took the same, and go on with him +direct.--Yours to command, T.T._" + +Mr. Carter lost no time after perusing this communication. He set to +work at once to find out all about the means of following his assistant +and the lame traveller. + +Here he was told that he had a couple of hours to wait for the train +that was to take him on to Normanton, and at Normanton he would have +another hour to wait for the train that was to carry him to Hull. + +"Ah, go it, do, while you're about it!" he exclaimed, bitterly, when the +railway official had given him this pleasing intelligence. "Couldn't you +make it a little longer? When your end and aim lies in driving a man +mad, the quicker you drive the better, I should think!" + +All this was muttered in an undertone, not intended for the ear of the +railway official. It was only a kind of safety-valve by which the +detective let off his superfluous steam. + +"Sawney's got the chance," he thought, as he paced up and down the +platform; "Sawney's got the trump cards this time; and if he's knave +enough to play them against me----But I don't think he'll do that; our +profession's a conservative one, and a traitor would have an uncommon +good chance of being kicked out of it. We should drop him a hint that, +considering the state of his health, we should take it kindly of him if +he would hook it; or send him some polite message of that kind; as the +military swells do when they want to get rid of a pal." + +There were plenty of refreshments to be had at Derby, and Mr. Carter +took a steaming cup of coffee and a formidable-looking pile of +sandwiches before retiring to the waiting-room to take what he called "a +stretch." He then engaged the services of a porter, who was to call him +five minutes before the starting of the Normanton train, and was to +receive an illegal douceur for that civility. + +In the waiting-room there was a coke fire, very red and hollow, and a +dim lamp. A lady, half buried in shawls, and surrounded by a little +colony of small packages, was sitting close to the fire, and started out +of her sleep to make nervous clutches at her parcels as the detective +entered, being in that semi-conscious state in which the unprotected +female is apt to mistake every traveller for a thief. + +Mr. Carter made himself very comfortable on one of the sofas, and snored +on peacefully until the porter came to rouse him, when he sprang up +refreshed to continue his journey. + +"Hull, Hull!" he muttered to himself. "His game will be to get off to +Rotterdam, or Hamburgh, or St. Petersburg, perhaps; any place that +there's a vessel ready to take him. He'll get on board the first that +sails. It's a good dodge, a very neat dodge, and if Sawney hadn't been +at the station, Mr. Joseph Wilmot would have given us the slip as neatly +as ever a man did yet. But if Mr. Thomas Tibbles is true, we shall nab +him, and bring him home as quiet as ever any little boy was took to +school by his mar and par. If Mr. Tibbles is true,--and as he don't know +too much about the business, and don't know anything about the extra +reward, or the evidence that's turned up at Winchester,--I dare say +Thomas Tibbles will be true. Human nature is a very noble thing," mused +the detective; "but I've always remarked that the tighter you tie human +nature down, the brighter it comes out." + +It was morning, and the sun was shining, when the train that carried Mr. +Carter steamed slowly into the great station at Hull--it was morning, +and the sun was shining, and the birds singing, and in the fields about +the smoky town there were herds of sweet-breathing cattle sniffing the +fresh spring air, and labourers plodding to their work, and loaded wains +of odorous hay and dewy garden-stuff were lumbering along the quiet +country roads, and the new-born day had altogether the innocent look +appropriate to its tender youth,--when the detective stepped out on the +platform, calm, self-contained, and resolute, as brisk and business-like +in his manner as any traveller in that train, and with no distinctive +stamp upon him, however slight, that marked him as the hunter of a +murderer. + +He looked sharply up and down the platform. No, Mr. Tibbles had not +betrayed him. That gentleman was standing on the platform, watching the +passengers step out of the carriages, and looking more turnip-faced than +usual in the early sunlight. He was chewing nothing with more than +ordinary energy; and Mr. Carter, who was very familiar with the +idiosyncrasies of his assistant, knew from that sign that things had +gone amiss. + +"Well," he said, tapping Sawney Tom on the shoulder, "he's given you the +slip? Out with it; I can see by your face that he has." + +"Well, he have, then," answered Mr. Tibbles, in an injured tone; "but if +he have, you needn't glare at me like that, for it ain't no fault of +mine. If you ever follered a lame eel--and a lame eel as makes no more +of its lameness than if lameness was a advantage--you'd know what it is +to foller that chap in the furred coat." + +The detective hooked his arm through that of his assistant, and led Mr. +Tibbles out of the station by a door which opened on a desolate region +at the back of that building. + +"Now then," said Mr. Carter, "tell me all about it, and look sharp." + +"Well, I was waitin' in the Shorncliffe ticket-offis, and about five +minutes after two in comes the gent as large as life, and I sees him +take his ticket, and I hears him say Derby, on which I waits till he's +out of the offis, and I takes my own ticket, same place. Down we comes +here with more changes and botheration than ever was; and every time we +changes carriages, which we don't seem to do much else the whole time, I +spots my gentleman, limpin' awful, and lookin' about him +suspicious-like, to see if he was watched. And, of course, he weren't +watched--oh, no; nothin' like it. Of all the innercent young men as ever +was exposed to the temptations of this wicked world, there never was +sech a young innercent as that lawyer's clerk, a carryin' a blue bag, +and a tellin' a promiskruous acquaintance, loud enough for the gent in +the fur coat to hear, that he'd been telegraphed for by his master, +which was down beyond Hull, on electioneerin' business; and a cussin' of +his master promiskruous to the same acquaintance for tele-graphin' for +him to go by sech a train. Well, we come to Derby, and the furry gent, +he takes a ticket on to Hull; and we come to Normanton, and the furry +gent limps about Normanton station, and I sees him comfortable in his +carriage; and we comes to Hull, and I sees him get out on the platform, +and I sees him into a fly, and I hears him give the order, 'Victorier +Hotel,' which by this time it's nigh upon ten o'clock, and dark and +windy. Well, I got up behind the fly, and rides a bit, and walks a bit, +keepin' the fly in sight until we comes to the Victorier; and there +stoops down behind, and watches my gent hobble into the hotel, in awful +pain with that lame leg of his, judgin' the faces he makes; and he walks +into the coffee-room, and I makes bold to foller him; but there never +was sech a young innercent as me, and I sees my party sittin' warmin' +his poor lame leg, and with a carpet-bag, and railway-rug, and sechlike +on the table beside him; and presently he gets up, hobblin' worse than +ever, and goes outside, and I hears him makin' inquiries about the best +way of gettin' on to Edinborough by train; and I sat quiet, not more +than three minutes at most, becos', you see, I didn't want to _look +like_ follerin' him; and in three minutes time, out I goes, makin' as +sure to find him in the bar as I make sure of your bein' close beside me +at this moment; but when I went outside into the hall, and bar and +sechlike, there wasn't a mortal vestige of that man to be seen; but the +waiter, he tells me, as dignified and cool as yer please, that the lame +gentleman has gone out by the door looking towards the water, and has +only gone to have a look at the place, and get a few cigars, and will be +back in ten minutes to a chop which is bein' cooked for him. Well, I +cuts out by the same door, thinkin' my lame friend can't be very far; +but when I gets out on to the quay-side, there ain't a vestige of him; +and though I cut about here, there, and everywhere, lookin' for him, +until I'd nearly walked my legs off in less than half an hour's time, I +didn't see a sign of him, and all I could do was to go back to the +Victorier, and see if he'd gone back before me. + +"Well, there was his carpet-bag and his railway-rug, just as he'd left +'em, and there was a little table near the fire all laid out snug and +comfortable ready for him; but there was no more vestige of hisself than +there was in the streets where I'd been lookin' for him; and so I went +out again, with the prespiration streamin' down my face, and I walked +that blessed town till over one o'clock this mornin,' lookin' right and +left, and inquirin' at every place where such a gent was likely to try +and hide hisself, and playing up Mag's divarsions, which if it was +divarsions to Mag, was oncommon hard work to me; and then I went back to +the Victorier, and got a night's lodgin'; and the first thing this +mornin' I was on my blessed legs again, and down at the quay inquirin' +about vessels, and there's nothin' likely to sail afore to-night, and +the vessel as is expected to sail to-night is bound for Copenhagen, and +don't carry passengers; but from the looks of her captain, I should say +she'd carry anythink, even to a churchyard full of corpuses, if she was +paid to do it." + +"Humph! a sailing-vessel bound for Copenhagen; and the captain's a +villanous-looking fellow, you say?" said the detective, in a thoughtful +tone. + +"He's about the villanousest I ever set eyes on," answered Mr. Tibbles. + +"Well, Sawney, it's a bad job, certainly; but I've no doubt you've done +your best." + +"Yes, I have done my best," the assistant answered, rather indignantly: +"and considerin' the deal of confidence you honoured me with about this +here cove, I don't see as I could have done hanythink more." + +"Then the best thing you can do is to keep watch here for the starting +of the up-trains, while I go and keep my eye upon the station at the +other side of the water," said Mr. Carter, "This journey to Hull may +have been just a dodge to throw us off the scent, and our man may try +and double upon us by going back to London. You'll keep all safe here, +Sawney, while I go to the other side of the compass." + +Mr. Carter engaged a fly, and made his way to a pier at the end of the +town, whence a boat took him across the Humber to a station on the +Lincolnshire side of the river. + +Here he ascertained all particulars about the starting of the trains for +London, and here he kept watch while two or three trains started. Then, +as there was an interval of some hours before the starting of another, +he re-crossed the water, and set to work to look for his man. + +First he loitered about the quays a little, taking stock of the idle +vessels, the big steamers that went to London, Antwerp, Rotterdam, and +Hamburg--the little steamers that went short voyages up or down the +river, and carried troops of Sunday idlers to breezy little villages +beside the sea. He found out all about these boats, their destination, +and the hours and days on which they were to start, and made himself +more familiar with the water-traffic of the place in half an hour than +another man could have done in a day. He also made acquaintance with the +vessel that was to sail for Copenhagen--a black sulky-looking boat, +christened very appropriately the _Crow_, with a black sulky-looking +captain, who was lying on a heap of tarpaulin on the deck, smoking a +pipe in his sleep. Mr. Carter stood looking over the quay and +contemplating this man for some moments with a thoughtful stare. + +"He looks a bad 'un," the detective muttered, as he walked away; "Sawney +was right enough there." + +He went into the town, and walked about, looking at the jewellers' shops +with his accustomed rapid glance--a glance so furtive that it escaped +observation--so full of sharp scrutiny that it took in every detail of +the object looked at. Mr. Carter looked at the jewellers till he came to +one whose proprietor blended the trade of money-lending with his more +aristocratic commerce. Here Mr. Carter stopped, and entered by the +little alley, within whose sombre shadows the citizens of Hull were wont +to skulk, ashamed of the errand that betrayed their impecuniosity. Mr. +Carter visited three pawnbrokers, and wasted a good deal of time before +he made any discovery likely to be of use to him; but at the third +pawnbroker's he found himself on the right track. His manner with these +gentlemen was very simple. + +"I'm a detective officer," he said, "from Scotland Yard, and I have a +warrant for the apprehension of a man who's supposed to be hiding in +Hull. He's known to have a quantity of unset diamonds in his +possession--they're not stolen, mind you, so you needn't be frightened +on that score. I want to know if such a person has been to you to-day?" + +"The diamonds are all right?" asked the pawnbroker, rather nervously. + +"Quite right. I see the man has been here. I don't want to know anything +about the jewels: they're his own, and it's not them we're after. I want +to know about _him_. He's been here, I see--the question is, what time?" + +"Not above half an hour ago. A man in a dark blue coat with a fur +collar----" + +"Yes; a man that walks lame." + +The pawnbroker shook his head. + +"I didn't see that he was lame," he said. + +"Ah, you didn't notice; or he might hide it just while he was in here. +He sat down, I suppose?" + +"Yes; he was sitting all the time." + +"Of course. Thank you; that'll do." + +With this Mr. Carter departed, much to the relief of the money-lender. + +The detective looked at his watch, and found that it was half-past one. +At half-past three there was a London train to start from the station on +the Lincolnshire side of the water. The other station was safe so long +as Mr. Tibbles remained on the watch there; so for two hours Mr. Carter +was free to look about him. He went down to the quay, and ascertained +that no boat had crossed to the Lincolnshire side of the river within +the last hour. Joseph Wilmot was therefore safe on the Yorkshire side; +but if so, where was he? A man wearing a dark blue coat lined with +sable, and walking very lame, must be a conspicuous object wherever he +went; and yet Mr. Carter, with all the aid of his experience in the +detective line, could find no clue to the whereabouts of the man he +wanted. He spent an hour and a half in walking about the streets, prying +into all manner of dingy little bars and tap-rooms, in narrow back +streets and down by the water-side; and then was fain to go across to +Lincolnshire once more, and watch the departure of the train. + +Before crossing the river to do this, he had taken stock of the _Crow_ +and her master, and had seen the captain lying in exactly the same +attitude as before, smoking a dirty black pipe in hie sleep. + +Mr. Carter made a furtive inspection of every creature who went by the +up-train, and saw that conveyance safely off before he turned to leave +the station. After doing this he lost no time in re-crossing the water +again, and landed on the Yorkshire side of the Humber as the clocks of +Hull were striking four. + +He was getting tired by this time, but he was not tired of his work. He +was accustomed to spending his days very much in this manner; he was +used to taking his sleep in railway carriages, and his meals at unusual +hours, whenever and wherever he could get time to take his food. He was +getting what ha called "peckish" now, and was just going to the +coffee-room of the Victoria Hotel with the intention of ordering a steak +and a glass of brandy-and-water--Mr. Carter never took beer, which is a +sleepy beverage, inimical to that perpetual clearness of intellect +necessary to a detective--when he changed his mind, and walked back to +the edge of the quay, to prowl along once more with his hands in his +pockets, looking at the vessels, and to take another inspection of the +deck and captain of the _Crow_. + +"I shouldn't wonder if my gentleman's gone and hidden himself down below +the hatchway of that boat," he thought, as he walked slowly along the +quay-side. "I've half a mind to go on board and overhaul her." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +CHASING THE "CROW." + + +Mr. Carter was so familiar with the spot alongside which the _Crow_ lay +at anchor, that he made straight for that part of the quay and looked +down over the side, fully expecting to see the dirty captain still lying +on the tarpaulin, smoking his dirty pipe. + +But, to his amazement, he saw a strange vessel where he expected to see +the _Crow_, and in answer to his eager inquiries amongst the idlers on +the quay, and the other idlers on the boats, he was told that the _Crow_ +had weighed anchor half an hour ago, and was over yonder. + +The men pointed to a dingy speck out seaward as they gave Mr. Carter +this information--a speck which they assured him was neither more nor +less than the _Crow_, bound for Copenhagen. + +Mr. Carter asked whether she had been expected to sail so soon. + +No, the men told him; she was not expected to have sailed till daybreak +next morning, and there wasn't above two-thirds of her cargo aboard her +yet. + +The detective asked if this wasn't rather a queer proceeding. + +Yes, the men said, it was queer; but the master of the _Crow_ was a +queer chap altogether, and more than one absconding bankrupt had sailed +for furrin parts in the _Crow_. One of the men opined that the master +had got a swell cove on board to-day, inasmuch as he had seen such a one +hanging about the quay-side ten minutes or so before the _Crow_ sailed. + +"Who'll catch her?" cried Mr. Carter; "which of you will catch her for a +couple of sovereigns?" + +The men shook their heads. The _Crow_ had got too much of a start, they +said, considering that the wind was in her favour. + +"But there's a chance that the wind may change after dark," returned the +detective. "Come, my men, don't hang back. Who'll catch the _Crow_ +yonder for a fiver, come? Who'll catch her for a fi'-pound note?" + +"I will," cried a burly young fellow in a scarlet guernsey, and shiny +boots that came nearly to his waist; "me and my mate will do it, won't +us, Jim?" + +Jim was another burly young fellow in a blue guernsey, a fisherman, part +owner of a little bit of a smack with a brown mainsail. The two stalwart +young fishermen ran along the quay, and one of them dropped down into a +boat that was chained to an angle in the quay-side, where there was a +flight of slimy stone steps leading down to the water. The other young +man ran off to get some of the boat's tackle and a couple of shaggy +overcoats. + +"We'd best take something to eat and drink, sir," the young man said, as +he came running back with these things; "we may be out all night, if we +try to catch yon vessel." + +Mr. Carter gave the man a sovereign, and told him to get what he thought +proper. + +"You'd best have something to cover you besides what you've got on, +sir," the fisherman said; "you'll find it rare and cold on 't water +after dark." + +Mr. Carter assented to this proposition, and hurried off to buy himself +a railway rug; he had left his own at the railway station in Sawney +Tom's custody. He bought one at a shop near the quay, and was back to +the steps in ten minutes. + +The fisherman in the blue guernsey was in the boat, which was a +stout-built craft in her way. The fisherman in the scarlet guernsey made +his appearance in less than five minutes, carrying a great stone bottle, +with a tin drinking-cup tied to the neck of it, and a rush basket filled +with some kind of provision. The stone bottle and the basket were +speedily stowed away in the bottom of the boat, and Mr. Carter was +invited to descend and take the seat pointed out to him. + +"Can you steer, sir?" one of the men asked. + +Yes, Mr. Carter was able to steer. There was very little that he had not +learned more or less in twenty years' knocking about the world. + +He took the rudder when they had pushed out into the open water, the two +young men dipped their oars, and away the boat shot out towards that +seaward horizon on which only the keenest eyes could discover the black +speck that represented the _Crow_. + +"If it should be a sell, after all," thought Mr. Carter; "and yet that's +not likely. If he wanted to double on me and get back to London, he'd +have gone by one of the trains we've watched; if he wanted to lie-by and +hide himself in the town, he wouldn't have disposed of any of his +diamonds yet awhile--and then, on the other hand, why should the _Crow_ +have sailed before she'd got the whole of her cargo on board? Anyhow, I +think I have been wise to risk it, and follow the _Crow_. If this is a +wild-goose chase, I've been in wilder than this before to-day, and have +caught my man." + +The little fishing smack behaved bravely when she got out to sea; but +even with the help of the oars, stoutly plied by the two young men, they +gained no way upon the _Crow_, for the black speck grew fainter and +fainter upon the horizon-line, and at last dropped down behind it +altogether. + +"We shall never catch her," one of the men said, helping himself to a +cupful of spirit out of the stone-bottle, in a sudden access of +despondency. "We shall no more catch t' _Crow_ than we shall catch t' +day before yesterday, unless t' wind changes." + +"I doubt t' wind will change after dark," answered the other young man, +who had applied himself oftener than his companion to the stone-bottle, +and took a more hopeful view of things. "I doubt but we shall have a +change come dark." + +He was looking out to windward as he spoke. He took the rudder out of +Mr. Carter's hands presently, and that gentleman rolled himself in his +new railway rug, and lay down in the bottom of the boat, with one of the +men's overcoats for a blanket and the other for a pillow, and, hushed by +the monotonous plashing of the water against the keel of the boat, fell +into a pleasant slumber, whose blissfulness was only marred by the +gridiron-like sensation of the hard boards upon which he was lying. + +He awoke from this slumber to hear that the wind had changed, and that +the _Pretty Polly_--the boat belonging to the two fishermen was called +the _Pretty Polly_--was gaining on the _Crow_. + +"We shall be alongside of her in an hour," one of the men said. + +Mr. Carter shook off the drowsy influence of his long sleep, and +scrambled to his feet. It was bright moonlight, and the little boat left +a trail of tremulous silver in her wake as she cut through the water. +Far away upon the horizon there was a faint speck of shimmering white, +to which one of the young men pointed with his brawny finger It was the +dirty mainsail of the _Crow_ bleached into silver whiteness under the +light of the moon. + +"There's scarcely enough wind to puff out a farthing candle," one of the +young men said. "I think we're safe to catch her." + +Mr. Carter took a cupful of rum at the instigation of one of his +companions, and prepared himself for the business that lay before him. + +Of all the hazardous ventures in which the detective had been engaged, +this was certainly not the least hazardous. He was about to venture on +board a strange vessel, with a captain who bore no good name, and with +men who most likely closely resembled their master; he was about to +trust himself among such fellows as these, in the hope of capturing a +criminal whose chances, if once caught, were so desperate that he would +not be likely to hesitate at any measures by which he might avoid a +capture. But the detective was not unused to encounters where the odds +were against him, and he contemplated the chances of being hurled +overboard in a hand-to-hand struggle with Joseph Wilmot as calmly as if +death by drowning were the legitimate end of a man's existence. + +Once, while standing in the prow of the boat, with his face turned +steadily towards that speck in the horizon, Mr. Carter thrust his hand +into the breast-pocket of his coat, where there lurked the newest and +neatest thing in revolvers; but beyond this action, which was almost +involuntary, he made no sign that he was thinking of the danger before +him. + +The moon grew brighter and brighter in a cloudless sky, as the +fishing-smack shot through the water, while the steady dip of the oars +seemed to keep time to a wordless tune. In that bright moonlight the +sails of the _Crow_ grew whiter and larger with every dip of the oars +that were carrying the _Pretty Polly_ so lightly over the blue water. + +As the boat gained upon the vessel she was following, Mr. Carter told +the two young men his errand, and his authority to capture the runaway. + +"I think I may count on your standing by me--eh, my lads?" he asked. + +Yes, the young men answered; they would stand by him to the death. Their +spirits seemed to rise with the thought of danger, especially as Mr. +Carter hinted at a possible reward for each of them if they should +assist in the capture of the runaway. They rowed close under the side of +the black and wicked-looking vessel, and then Mr. Carter, standing up in +the boat gave a "Yo-ho! aboard there!" that resounded over the great +expanse of plashing water. + +A man with a pipe in his mouth looked over the side. + +"Hilloa! what's the row there?" he demanded fiercely. + +"I want to see the captain." + +"What do you want with him?" + +"That's my business." + +Another man, with a dingy face, and another pipe in his mouth, looked +over the side, and took his pipe from between his lips, to address the +detective. + +"What the ---- do you mean by coming alongside us?" he cried. "Get out +of the way, or we shall run you down." + +"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Spelsand," answered one of the young men from +the boat; "you'll think twice before you turn rusty with us. Don't you +remember the time you tried to get off John Bowman, the clerk that +robbed the Yorkshire Union Assurance Office--don't you remember trying +to get him off clear, and gettin' into trouble yourself about it?" + +Mr. Spelsand bawled some order to the man at the helm, and the vessel +veered round suddenly; so suddenly, that had the two young men in the +boat been anything but first-rate watermen, they and Mr. Carter would +have become very intimately acquainted with the briny element around and +about them. But the young men were very good watermen, and they were +also familiar with the manners and customs of Captain Spelsand, of the +_Crow_; so, as the black-looking schooner veered round, the little boat +shot out into the open water, and the two young oarsmen greeted the +captain's manoeuvre with a ringing peal of laughter. + +"I'll trouble you to lay-to while I come on board," said the detective, +while the boat bobbed up and down on the water, close alongside of the +schooner. "You've got a gentleman on board--a gentleman whom I've got a +warrant against. It can't much matter to him whether I take him now, or +when he gets to Copenhagen; for take him I surely shall; but it'll +matter a good deal to you, Captain Spelsand, if you resist my +authority." + +The captain hesitated for a little, while he gave a few fierce puffs at +his dirty pipe. + +"Show us your warrant," he said presently, in a sulky tone. + +The detective had started from Scotland Yard in the first instance with +an open warrant for the arrest of the supposed murderer. He handed this +document up to the captain of the _Crow_, and that gentleman, who was by +no means an adept in the unseamanlike accomplishments of reading and +writing, turned it over, and examined it thoughtfully in the vivid +moonlight. + +He could see that there were a lot of formidable-looking words and +flourishes in it, and he felt pretty well convinced that it was a +genuine document, and meant mischief. + +"You'd better come aboard," he said; "you don't want _me_; that's +certain." + +The captain of the _Crow_ said this with an air of sublime resignation; +and in the next minute the detective was scrambling up the side of the +vessel, by the aid of a rope flung out by one of the sailors on board +the _Crow_. + +Mr. Carter was followed by one of the fishermen; and with that stalwart +ally he felt himself equal to any emergency. + +"I'll just throw my eye over your place down below," he said, "if you'll +hand me a lantern." + +This request was not complied with very willingly; and it was only on a +second production of the warrant that Mr. Carter obtained the loan of a +wretched spluttering wick, glimmering in a dirty little oil-lamp. With +this feeble light he turned his back upon the lovely moonlight, and +stumbled down into a low-ceilinged cabin, darksome and dirty, with +berths which were as black and dingy, and altogether as uninviting as +the shelves made to hold coffins in a noisome underground vault. + +There were three men asleep upon these shelves; and Mr. Carter examined +these three sleepers as coolly as if they had indeed been the coffined +inmates of a vault. Amongst them he found a man whose face was turned +towards the cabin-wall, but who wore a blue coat and a traveller's cap +of fur, shaped like a Templar's helmet, and tied down over his ears. + +The detective seized this gentleman by the fur collar of his coat and +shook him roughly. + +"Come, Mr. Joseph Wilmot," he said; "get up, my man. You've given me a +fine chase for it; but you're nabbed at last." + +The man scrambled up out of his berth, and stood in a stooping attitude, +for the cabin was not high enough for him, staring at Mr. Carter. + +"What are you talking of, you confounded fool!" he said. "What have I +got to do with Joseph Wilmot?" + +The detective had never loosed his hand from the fur collar of his +prisoner's coat. The faces of the two men were opposite to each other, +but only faintly visible in the dim light of the spluttering oil-lamp. +The man in the fur-lined coat showed two rows of wolfish teeth, bared to +the gums in a malicious grin. + +"What do you mean by waking me out of sleep?" he asked. "What do you +mean by assaulting and ballyragging me in this way? I'll have it out of +you for this, my fine gentleman. You're a detective officer, are you?--a +knowing card, of course; and you've followed me all the way from +Warwickshire, and traced me, step by step, I suppose, and taken no end +of trouble, eh? Why didn't you look after the gentleman _who stayed at +home_? Why didn't you look after the poor lame gentleman who stayed at +Woodbine Cottage, Lisford, and dressed up his pretty daughter as a +housemaid, and acted a little play to sell you, you precious clever +police-officer in plain clothes. Take me with you, Mr. Detective; stop +me in going abroad to improve my mind and manners by foreign travel, do, +Mr. Detective; and won't I have a fine action against you for false +imprisonment,--that's all?" + +There was something in the man's tone of bravado that stamped it +genuine. Mr. Carter gnashed his teeth together in a silent fury. Sold by +that hazel-eyed housemaid with her face tied up! Sent away on a false +trail, while the criminal got off at his leisure! Fooled, duped, and +laughed at after twenty years of hard service! It was too bitter. + +"Not Joseph Wilmot!" muttered Mr. Carter; "not Joseph Wilmot!" + +"No more than you are, my pippin," answered the traveller, insolently. + +The two men were still standing face to face. Something in that insolent +tone, something that brought back the memory of half-forgotten times, +startled the detective. He lifted the lamp suddenly, still looking in +the traveller's face, still muttering in the same half-absent tone, "Not +Joseph Wilmot!" and brought the light on a level with the other man's +eyes. + +"No," he cried, with a sudden tone of triumph, "not Joseph Wilmot, but +Stephen Vallance--Blackguard Steeve, the forger--the man who escaped +from Norfolk Island, after murdering one of the gaolers--beating his +brains out with an iron, if I remember right. We've had our eye on you +for a long time, Mr. Vallance; but you've contrived to give us the slip. +Yours is an old case, yours is; but there's a reward to be got for the +taking of you, for all that. So I haven't had my long journey for +nothing." + +The detective tried to fasten his other hand on Mr. Vallance's shoulder; +but Stephen Vallance struck down that uplifted hand with a heavy blow of +his fist, and, wresting himself from the detective's grasp, rushed up +the cabin-stairs. + +Mr. Carter followed close at his heels. + +"Stop that man!" he roared to one of the fishermen; "stop him!" + +I suppose the instinct of self-preservation inspired Stephen Vallance to +make that frantic rush, though there was no possible means of escape out +of the vessel, except into the open boat, or the still more open sea. As +he receded from the advancing detective, one of the fishermen sprang +towards him from another part of the deck. Thus hemmed in by the two, +and dazzled, perhaps, by the sudden brilliancy of the moonlight after +the darkness of the place below, he reeled back against an opening in +the side of the vessel, lost his balance, and fell with a heavy plunge +into the water. + +There was a sudden commotion on the deck, a simultaneous shout, as the +men rushed to the side. + +"Save him!" cried the detective. "He's got a belt stuffed with diamonds +round his waist!" + +Mr. Carter said this at a venture, for he did not know which of the men +had the diamond belt. + +One of the fishermen threw off his shoes, and took a header into the +water. The rest of the men stood by breathless, eagerly watching two +heads bobbing up and down among the moonlit waves, two pairs of arms +buffeting with the water. The force of the current drifted the two men +far away from the schooner. + +For an interval that seemed a long one, all was uncertainty. The +schooner that had made so little way before seemed now to fly in the +faint night-wind. At last there was a shout, and a head appeared above +the water advancing steadily towards the vessel. + +"I've got him!" shouted the voice of the fisherman. "I've got him by the +belt!" + +He came nearer to the vessel, striking out vigorously with one arm, and +holding some burden with the other. + +When he was close under the side, the captain of the _Crow_ flung out a +rope; but as the fisherman lifted his hand to grasp it, he uttered a +sudden cry, and raised the other hand with a splash out of the water. + +"The belt's broke, and he's sunk!" he shouted. + +The belt had broken. A little ripple of light flashed briefly in the +moonlight, and fell like a shower of spray from a fountain. Those +glittering drops, that looked like fountain spray, were some of the +diamonds bought by Joseph Wilmot; and Stephen Vallance, alias Blackguard +Steeve, alias Major Vernon, had gone down to the bottom of the sea, +never in this mortal life to rise again. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +GIVING IT UP. + + +The _Pretty Polly_ went back to the port of Kingston-upon-Hull in the +grey morning light, carrying Mr. Carter, very cold and very +down-hearted--not to say humiliated--by his failure. To have been +hoodwinked by a girl, whose devotion to the unhappy wretch she called +her father had transformed her into a heroine--to have fallen so easily +into the trap that had been set for him, being all the while profoundly +impressed with the sense of his own cleverness--was, to say the least of +it, depressing to the spirits of a first-class detective. + +"And that fellow Vallance, too," mused Mr. Carter, "to think that he +should go and chuck himself into the water just to spite me! There'd +have been some credit in taking him back with me. I might have made a +bit of character out of that. But, no! he goes and tumbles back'ards +into the water, rather than let me have any advantage out of him." + +There was nothing for Mr. Carter to do but to go straight back to +Lisford, and try his luck again, with everything against him. + +"Let me get back as fast as I may, Joseph Wilmot will have had +eight-and-forty hours' start of me," he thought; "and what can't he do +in that time, if he keeps his wits about him, and don't go wild and +foolish like, as some of 'em do, when they've got such a chance as this. +Anyhow, I'm after him, and it'll go hard with me if he gives me the slip +after all, for my blood's up, and my character's at stake, and I'd think +no more of crossing the Atlantic after him than I'd think of going over +Waterloo Bridge!" + +It was a very chill and miserable time of the morning when the _Pretty +Polly_ ground her nose against the granite steps of the quay. It was a +chill and dismal hour of the morning, and Mr. Carter felt sloppy and +dirty and unshaven, as he stepped out of the boat and staggered up the +slimy stairs. He gave the two young fishermen the promised five-pound +note, and left them very well contented with their night's work, +inglorious though it had been. + +There were no vehicles to be had at that early hour of the morning, so +Mr. Carter was fain to walk from the quay to the station, where he +expected to find Mr. Tibbles, or to obtain tidings of that gentleman. He +was not disappointed; for, although the station wore its dreariest +aspect, having only just begun to throb with a little spasmodic life, in +the way of an early goods-train, Mr. Carter found his devoted follower +prowling in melancholy loneliness amid a wilderness of empty carriages +and smokeless engines, with the turnip whiteness of his complexion +relieved by a red nose. + +Mr. Thomas Tibbles was by no means in the best possible temper in this +chill early morning. He was slapping his long thin arms across his +narrow chest, and performing a kind of amateur double-shuffle with his +long flat feet, when Mr. Carter approached him; and he kept up the same +shuffling and the same slapping while engaged in conversation with his +superior, in a disrespectful if not defiant manner. + +"A pretty game you've played me," he said, in an injured tone. "You told +me to hang about the station and watch the trains, and you'd come back +in the course of the day--you would--and we'd dine together comfortable +at the Station Hotel; and a deal you come back and dined together +comfortable. Oh, yes! I don't think so; very much indeed," exclaimed Mr. +Tibbles, vaguely, but with the bitterest derision in his voice and +manner. + +"Come, Sawney, don't you go to cut up rough about it," said Mr. Carter, +coaxingly. + +"I should like to know who'd go and cut up smooth about it?" answered +the indignant Tibbles. "Why, if you could have a hangel in the detective +business--which luckily you can't, for the wings would cut out anything +as mean as legs, and be the ruin of the purfession--the temper of that +hangel would give way under what I've gone through. Hanging about this +windy station, which the number of criss-cross draughts cuttin' in from +open doors and winders would lead a hignorant person to believe there +was seventeen p'ints of the compass at the very least--hangin' about to +watch train after train, till there ain't anything goin' in the way of +sarce as yen haven't got to stand from the porters; or sittin' in the +coffee-room of the hotel yonder, watchin' and listenin' for the next +train, till bein' there to keep an appointment with your master is the +hollerest of mockeries." + +Mr. Carter took his irate subordinate to the coffee-room of the Station +Hotel, where Mr. Tibbles had engaged a bed and taken a few hours' sleep +in the dead interval between the starting of the last train at night and +the first in the morning. The detective ordered a substantial breakfast, +with a couple of glasses of pale brandy, neat, to begin with; and Mr. +Tibbles' equanimity was restored, under the influence of ham, eggs, +mutton-cutlet, a broiled sole, and a quart or so of boiling coffee. + +Mr. Carter told his assistant very briefly that he'd been wasting his +time and trouble on a false track, and that he should give the matter +up. Sawney Tom received this announcement with a great deal of champing +and working of the jaws, and with rather a doubtful expression in his +dull red eyes; but he accepted the payment which his employer offered +him, and agreed to depart for London by the ten o'clock train. + +"And whatever I do henceforth in this business, I do single-handed," Mr. +Carter said to himself, as he turned his back upon his companion. + +At five o'clock that afternoon the detective found himself at the +Shorncliffe station, where he hired a fly and drove on post-haste to +Lisford cottage. + +The neat little habitation of the late naval commander looked pretty +much as Mr. Carter had seen it last, except that in one of the upper +windows there was a bill--a large paper placard--announcing that this +house was to let, furnished; and that all information respecting the +same was to be obtained of Mr. Hogson, grocer, Lisford. + +Mr. Carter gave a long whistle. + +"The bird's flown," he muttered. "It wasn't likely he'd stop here to be +caught." + +The detective rang the bell; once, twice, three times; but there was no +answer to the summons. He ran round the low garden-fence to the back of +the premises, where there was a little wooden gate, padlocked, but so +low that he vaulted over it easily, and went in amongst the budding +currant-bushes, the neat gravel-paths and strawberry-beds, that had been +erst so cherished by the naval commander. Mr. Carter peered in at the +back windows of the house, and through the little casement he saw a +vista of emptiness. He listened, but there was no sound of voices or +footsteps. The blinds were undrawn, and he could see the bare walls of +the rooms, the fireless grates, and that cold bleakness of aspect +peculiar to an untenanted habitation. + +He gave a low groan. + +"Gone," he muttered; "gone, as neat as ever a man went yet." + +He ran back to the fly, and drove to the establishment of Mr. Hogson, +grocer and general dealer--the shop of the village of Lisford. + +Here Mr. Carter was informed that the key of "Woodbine Cottage had been +given up on the evening of that very day on which he had seen Joseph +Wilmot sitting in the little parlour. + +"Yes, sir, it were the night before the last," Mr. Hogson said; "it were +the night before last as a young woman wrapped up about the face like, +and dressed very plain, got out of a fly at my door; and, says she, +'Would you please take charge of this here key, and be so kind as to +show any one over the cottage as would like to see it, which of course +the commission is understood?--for my master is leaving for some time on +account of having a son just come home from India, which is married and +settled in Devonshire, and my master is going there to see him, not +having seen him this many a long year.' She was a very civil-spoken +young woman, and Woodbine Cottage has been good customers to us, both +with the old tenants and the new; so of course I took the key, willin' +to do any service as lay in my power. And if you'd like to see the +cottage, sir----" + +"You're very good," said Mr. Carter, with something like a groan. "No, I +won't see the cottage to-night. What time was it when the fly stopped at +your door?" + +"Between seven and eight." + +"Between seven and eight. Just in time to catch the mail from Rugby. Was +it one of the Rose-and-Crown flies, d'ye think?" + +"Oh, yes, the fly belonged to Lisford. I'm sure of that, for Tim Baling +was drivin' it and wished me good-night." + +Mr. Carter left the Lisford emporium, and ran over to the Rose and +Crown, where he saw the man who had driven him to Shorncliffe station. +This man told the detective that he had been fetched in the evening by +the same young woman who fetched him in the morning, and that he had +driven another gentleman, who walked lame like the first, and had his +head and face wrapped up a deal, not to Shorncliffe station, but to +little Petherington station, six miles on the Rugby side of Shorncliffe, +where the gentleman and the young woman who was with him got into a +second-class carriage in the slow train for Rugby. The gentleman had +said, laughing, that the young woman was his housemaid, and he was +taking her up to town on purpose to be married to her. He was a very +pleasant-spoken gentleman, the flyman added, and paid uncommon liberal. + +"I dare say he did," muttered Mr. Carter. + +He gave the man a shilling for his information, and went back to the fly +that had brought him to the station. It was getting on for seven o'clock +by this time, and Joseph Wilmot had had eight-and-forty hours' start of +him. The detective was quite down-hearted now. + +He went up to London by the same train which he had every reason to +suppose had carried Joseph Wilmot and his daughter two nights before, +and at the Euston terminus he worked very hard on that night and on the +following day to trace the missing man. But Joseph Wilmot was only a +drop in the great ocean of London life. The train that was supposed to +have brought him to town was a long train, coming through from the +north. Half-a-dozen lame men with half-a-dozen young women for their +companions might have passed unnoticed in the bustle and confusion of +the arrival platform. + +Mr. Carter questioned the guards, the ticket-collectors, the porters, +the cabmen; but not one among them gave him the least scrap of available +information. He went to Scotland Yard despairing, and laid his case +before the authorities there. + +"There's only one way of having him," he said, "and that's the diamonds. +From what I can make out, he had no money with him, and in that case +he'll be trying to turn some of those diamonds into cash." + +The following advertisement appeared in the Supplement to the _Times_ +for the next day: + +"_To Pawnbrokers and Others.--A liberal reward will be given to any +person affording information that may lead to the apprehension of a tall +man, walking lame, who is known to have a large quantity of unset +diamonds in his possession, and who most likely has attempted to dispose +of the same_." + +But this advertisement remained unanswered. + +"They're too clever for us, sir," Mr. Carter remarked to one of the +Scotland-Yard officials. "Whoever Joseph Wilmot may have sold those +diamonds to has got a good bargain, you may depend upon it, and means to +stick to it. The pawnbrokers and others think our advertisement a plant, +you may depend upon it" + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +CLEMENT'S STORY.--BEFORE THE DAWN. + + +"I went back to my mother's house a broken and a disappointed man. I had +solved the mystery of Margaret's conduct, and at the same time had set a +barrier between myself and the woman I loved. + +"Was there any hope that she would ever be my wife? Reason told me that +there was none. In her eyes I must henceforth appear the man who had +voluntarily set himself to work to discover her father's guilt, and +track him to the gallows. + +"_Could_ she ever again love me with this knowledge in her mind? Could +she ever again look me in the face, and smile at me, remembering this? +The very sound of my name must in future be hateful to her. + +"I knew the strength of my noble girl's love for her reprobate father. I +had seen the force of that affection tested by so many cruel trials. I +had witnessed my poor girl's passionate grief at Joseph Wilmot's +supposed death: and I had seen all the intensity of her anguish when the +secret of his existence, which was at the same time the secret of his +guilt, became known to her. + +"'She renounced me then, rather than renounce that guilty wretch,' I +thought; 'she will hate me now that I have been the means of bringing +his most hideous crime to light.' + +"Yes, the crime was hideous--almost unparalleled in horror. The +treachery which had lured the victim to his death seemed almost less +horrible than the diabolical art which had fixed upon the name of the +murdered man the black stigma of a suspected crime. + +"But I knew too well that, in all the blackness of his guilt, Margaret +Wilmot would cling to her father as truly, as tenderly, as she had clung +to him in those early days when the suspicion of his worthlessness had +been only a dark shadow for ever brooding between the man and his only +child. I knew this, and I had no hope that she would ever forgive me for +my part in the weaving of that strange chain of evidence which made the +condemnation of Joseph Wilmot. + +"These were the thoughts that tormented me during the first fortnight +after my return from the miserable journey to Winchester; these were the +thoughts for ever revolving in my tired brain while I waited for tidings +from the detective. + +"During all that time it never once occurred to me that there was any +chance, however remote, of Joseph Wilmot's escape from his pursuer. + +"I had seen the science of the detective police so invariably triumphant +over the best-planned schemes of the most audacious criminals, that I +should have considered--had I ever debated the question, which I never +did--Joseph Wilmot's evasion of justice an actual impossibility. It was +most likely that he would be taken at Maudesley Abbey entirely +unprepared, in his ignorance of the fatal discovery at Winchester; an +easy prey to the experienced detective. + +"Indeed, I thought that his immediate arrest was almost a certainty; and +every morning, when I took up the papers, I expected to see a prominent +announcement to the effect that the long-undiscovered Winchester mystery +was at last solved, and that the murderer had been taken by one of the +detective police. + +"But the papers gave no tidings of Joseph Wilmot; and I was surprised, +at the end of a week's time, to read the account of a detective's +skirmish on board a schooner some miles off Hull, which had resulted in +the drowning of one Stephen Vallance, an old offender. The detective's +name was given as Henry Carter. Were there two Henry Carters in the +small band of London detective police? or was it possible that my Henry +Carter could have given up so profitable a prize as Joseph Wilmot in +order to pursue unknown criminals upon the high seas? A week after I had +read of this mysterious adventure, Mr. Carter made his appearance at +Clapham, very grave of aspect and dejected of manner. + +"'It's no use, sir,' he said; 'it's humiliating to an officer of my +standing in the force; but I'd better confess it freely. I've been sold, +sir--sold by a young woman too, which makes it three times as +mortifying, and a kind of insult to the male sex in general!' + +"My heart gave a great throb. + +"'Do you mean that Joseph Wilmot has escaped? I asked. + +"He has, sir; as clean as ever a man escaped yet. He hasn't left this +country, not to my belief, for I've been running up and down between the +different outports like mad. But what of that? If he hasn't left the +country, and if he doesn't mean to leave the country, so much the better +for him, and so much the worse for those that want to catch him. It's +trying to leave England that brings most of 'em to grief, and Joseph +Wilmot's an old enough hand to know that. I'll wager he's living as +quiet and respectable as any gentleman ever lived yet.' + +"Mr. Carter went on to tell me the whole story of his disappointments +and mortifications. I could understand all now: the moonlit figure in +the Winchester street, the dusky shadow beneath the dripping branches in +the grove. I could understand all now: my poor girl--my poor, brave +girl. + +"When I was alone, I rendered up my thanks to Heaven for the escape of +Joseph Wilmot. I had done nothing to impede the course of justice, +though I had known full well that the punishment of the evil-doer would +crush the bravest and purest heart that ever beat in an innocent woman's +bosom. I had not dared to attempt any interposition between Joseph +Wilmot and the punishment of his crime; but I was, nevertheless, most +heartily thankful that Providence had suffered him to escape that +hideous earthly doom which is supposed to be the wisest means of ridding +society of a wretch. + +"But for the wretch himself, surely long years of penitence must make a +better expiation of his guilt than that one short agony--those few +spasmodic throes, which render his death such a pleasant spectacle for a +sight-seeing populace. + +"I was glad, for the sake of the guilty and miserable creature himself, +that Joseph Wilmot had escaped. I was still gladder for the sake of that +dear hope which was more to me than any hope on earth--the hope of +making Margaret my wife. + +"'There will be no hideous recollection interwoven with my image now,' I +thought; 'she will forgive me when I tell her the history of my journey +to Winchester. She will let me take her away from the companionship that +must be loathsome to her, in spite of her devotion. She will let me +bring her to a happy home as my cherished wife.' + +"I thought this, and then in the next moment I feared that Margaret +might cling persistently to the dreadful duty of her life--the duty of +shielding and protecting a criminal; the duty of teaching a wicked man +to repent of his sins. + +"I inserted an advertisement in the Times newspaper, assuring Margaret +of my unalterable love and devotion, which no circumstances could +lessen, and imploring her to write to me. Of course the advertisement +was so worded as to give no clue to the identity of the person to whom +it was addressed. The acutest official in Scotland Yard could have +gathered nothing from the lines 'From C. to M.,' so like other appeals +made through the same medium. + +"But my advertisement remained unanswered--no letter came from Margaret. + +"The weeks and months crept slowly past. The story of the evidence of +the clothes found at Winchester was made public, together with the +history of Joseph Wilmot's flight and escape. The business created a +considerable sensation, and Lord Herriston himself went down to +Winchester to witness the exhumation of the remains of the man who had +been buried under the name of Joseph Wilmot. + +"The dead man's face was no longer recognizable. Only by induction was +the identity of Henry Dunbar ever established: but the evidence of the +identity was considered conclusive by all who were interested in the +question. Still I doubt whether, in the fabric of circumstantial +evidence against Joseph Wilmot, legal sophistry could not have +discovered some loophole by which the murderer might have escaped the +full penalty of his crime. + +"The remains were removed from Winchester to Lisford Church, where +Percival Dunbar was buried in a vault beneath the chancel. The murdered +man's coffin was placed beside that of his father, and a simple marble +tablet recording the untimely death of Henry Dunbar, cruelly and +treacherously assassinated in a grove near Winchester, was erected by +order of Lady Jocelyn, who was abroad with her husband when the story of +her father's death was revealed to her. + +"The weeks and months crept by. The revelation of Joseph Wilmot's guilt +left me free to return to my old position in the house of Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby. But I had no heart to go back to the old business +now the hope that had made my commonplace city life so bright seemed for +ever broken. I was surprised, however, into a confession of the truth by +the good-natured junior partner, who lived near us on Clapham Common, +and who dropped in sometimes as he went by my mother's gate, to while +away an idle half-hour in some political discussion. + +"He insisted upon my returning to the office directly he heard the +secret of my resignation. The business was now entirely his; for there +had been no one to succeed Henry Dunbar, and Mr. John Lovell had sold +the dead man's interest on behalf of his client, Lady Jocelyn. I went +back to my old post, but not to remain long in my old position; for a +week after my return Mr. Balderby made me an offer which I considered as +generous as it was flattering, and which I ultimately and somewhat +reluctantly accepted. + +"By means of this new and most liberal arrangement, which demanded from +me a very moderate amount of capital, I became junior partner in the +firm, which was now conducted under the names of Dunbar, Dunbar, +Balderby, and Austin. The double Dunbar was still essential to us, +though the last of the male Dunbars was dead and buried under the +chancel of Lisford Church. The old name was the legitimate stamp of our +dignity as one of the oldest Anglo-Indian banking firms in the city of +London. + +"My new life was smooth enough, and there was so much business to be got +through, so much responsibility vested in my hands--for Mr. Balderby was +getting fat and lazy, as regarded affairs in the City, though untiring +in the production of more forced pine-apples and hothouse grapes than he +could consume or give away--that I had not much leisure in which to +think of the one sorrow of my life. A City man may break his heart for +disappointed love, but he must do it out of business hours if he +pretends to be an honourable man: for every sorrowful thought which +wanders to the loved and lost is a separate treason against the 'house' +he serves. + +"Smoking my after-dinner cigar in the narrow pathways and miniature +shrubberies of my mother's garden, I could venture to think of my lost +Margaret; and I did think of her, and pray for her with as fervent +aspirations as ever rose from a man's faithful heart. And in the dusky +stillness of the evening, with the faint odour of dewy flowers round me, +and distant stars shining dimly in that far-off opal sky; against which +the branches of the elms looked so black and dense, I used to beguile +myself--or it may be that the influence of the scene and hour beguiled +me--into the thought that my separation from Margaret could be only a +temporary one. We loved each other so truly! And after all, what under +heaven is stronger than love? I thought of my poor girl in some lonely, +melancholy place, hiding with her guilty father; in daily companionship +with a miserable wretch, whose life must be made hideous to himself by +the memory of his crime. I thought of the self-abnegation, the heroic +devotion, which made Margaret strong enough to endure such an existence +as this: and out of my belief in the justice of Heaven there grew up in +my mind the faith in a happier life in store for my noble girl. + +"My mother supported me in this faith. She knew all Margaret's story +now, and she sympathized with my love and admiration for Joseph Wilmot's +daughter. A woman's heart must have been something less than womanly if +it could have tailed to appreciate my darling's devotion: and my mother +was about the last of womankind to be wanting in tenderness and +compassion for any one who had need of her pity and was worthy of her +love. + +"So we both cherished the thought of the absent girl in our minds, +talking of her constantly on quiet evenings, when we sat opposite to +each other in the snug lamp-lit drawing-room, unhindered by the presence +of guests. We did not live by any means a secluded or gloomy life, for +my mother was fond of pleasant society: and I was quite as true to +Margaret while associating with agreeable people, and hearing cheerful +voices buzzing round me, as I could have been in a hermitage whose +stillness was only broken by the howling of the storm. + +"It was in the dreariest part of the winter which followed Joseph +Wilmot's escape that an incident occurred which gave me a +strangely-mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. I was sitting one +evening in my mother's breakfast-parlour--a little room situated close +to the hall-door--when I heard the ringing of the bell at the +garden-gate. It was nine o'clock at night, a bitter wintry night, in +which I should least have expected any visitor. So I went on reading my +paper, while my mother speculated about the matter. + +"Three minutes after the bell had rung, our parlour-maid came into the +room, and placed something on the table before me. + +"'A parcel, sir,' she said, lingering a little; perhaps in the hope +that, in my eager curiosity, I might immediately open the packet, and +give her an opportunity of satisfying her own desire for information. + +"I put aside my newspaper, and looked down at the object before me. + +"Yes, it was a parcel--a small oblong box--about the size of those +pasteboard receptacles which are usually associated with Seidlitz +powders--an oblong box, neatly packed in white paper, secured with +several seals, and addressed to Clement Austin, Esq., Willow Bank, +Clapham. + +"But the hand, the dear, well-known hand, which had addressed the +packet--my blood thrilled through my veins as I recognized the familiar +characters. + +"'Who brought this parcel?' I asked, starting from my comfortable +easy-chair, and going straight out into the hall. + +"The astonished parlour-maid told me that the packet had been given her +by a lady, 'a lady who was dressed in black, or dark things,' the girl +said, 'and whose face was quite hidden by a thick veil.' After leaving +the small packet, this lady got into a cab a few paces from our gate, +the girl added, 'and the cab had tore off as fast as it could tear!' + +"I went out into the open yard, and looked despairingly London-wards. +There was no vestige of any cab: of course there had been ample time for +the cab in question to get far beyond reach of pursuit. I felt almost +maddened with this disappointment and vexation. It was Margaret, +Margaret herself most likely, who had come to my door; and I had lost +the opportunity of seeing her. + +"I stood staring blankly up and down the road for some time, and then +went back to the parlour, where my mother, with pardonable weakness, had +pounced upon the packet, and was examining it with eyes opened to their +widest extent. + +"'It is Margaret's hand!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, do open--do, please, open +it directly. What on earth can it be?' + +"I tore off the white paper covering, and revealed just such an object +as I had expected to see--a box, a common-place pasteboard box, tied +securely across and across with thin twine. I cut the twine and opened +the box. At the top there was a layer of jewellers' wool, and on that +being removed, my mother gave a little shriek of surprise and +admiration. + +"The box contained a fortune--a fortune in the shape of unset diamonds, +lying as close together as their nature would admit--unset diamonds, +which glittered and flashed upon us in the lamplight. + +"Inside the lid there was a folded paper, upon, which the following +lines were written in the dear hand, the never-to-be-forgotten hand: + +"'EVER-DEAREST CLEMENT,--_The sad and miserable secret which led to our +parting is a secret no longer. You know all, and you have no doubt +forgiven, and perhaps in part forgotten, the wretched woman to whom your +love was once so dear, and to whom the memory of your love will ever be +a consolation and a happiness. If I dared to pray to you to think +pitifully of that most unhappy man whose secret is now known to you, I +would do so; but I cannot hope for so much mercy from men: I can only +hope it from God, who in His supreme wisdom alone can fathom the +mysteries of a repentant heart. I beg of you to deliver to Lady Jocelyn +the diamonds I place in your hands. They belong of right to her; and I +regret to say they only represent apart of the money withdrawn from the +funds in the name of Henry Dunbar. Good-bye, dear and generous friend; +this it the last you will ever hear of one whose name must sound odious +to the ears of honest men. Pity me, and forget me; and may a happier +woman be to you that which I can never be!_ M. W.' + + +"This was all. Nothing could be firmer than the tone of this letter, in +spite of its pensive gentleness. My poor girl could not be brought to +believe that I should hold it no disgrace to make her my wife, in spite +of the hideous story connected with her name. In my vexation and +disappointment, I appealed once more to the unfailing friend of parted +or persecuted lovers, the Jupiter of Printing-House Square. + +"'_Margaret_,' I wrote in the advertisement which adorned the second +column of the _Times_ Supplement on twenty consecutive occasions, '_I +hold you to your old promise, and consider the circumstances of our +parting as in no manner a release from your old engagement. The greatest +wrong you can inflict upon me will be inflicted by your desertion_. +C. A." + +"This advertisement was as useless as its predecessor. I looked in vain +for any answer. + +"I lost no time in fulfilling the commission intrusted to me I went down +to Shorncliffe, and delivered the box of diamonds into the hands of John +Lovell, the solicitor; for Lady Jocelyn was still on the Continent. He +packed the box in paper, and made me seal it with my signet-ring, in the +presence of one of his clerks, before he put it away in an iron safe +near his desk. + +"When this was done, and when the _Times_ advertisement had been +inserted for the twentieth time without eliciting any reply, I gave +myself up to a kind of despair about Margaret. She had failed to see my +advertisement, I thought; for she would scarcely have been so +hard-hearted as to leave it unanswered. She had failed to see this +advertisement, as well as the previous appeal made to her through the +same medium, and she would no doubt fail to see any other. I had reason +to know that she was, or had been, in England, for she would scarcely +have intrusted the diamonds to strange hands; but it was only too likely +that she had chosen the very eve of her own and her father's departure +for some distant country as the most fitting time at which to leave the +valuable parcel with me. + +"'Her influence over her father must be complete,' I thought, 'or he +would scarcely have consented to surrender such a treasure as the +diamonds. He has most likely retained enough to pay the passage out to +America for himself and Margaret; and my poor darling will wander with +her wretched father into some remote corner of the United States, where +she will be hidden from me for ever.' + +"I remembered with unspeakable pain how wide the world was, and how easy +it would be for the woman I loved to be for ever lost to me. + +"I gave myself up to despair; it was not resignation, for my life was +empty and desolate without Margaret; try as I might to carry my burden +quietly, and put a brave face upon my sorrow. Up to the time of +Margaret's appearance on that bleak winter's night, I had cherished the +hope--or even more than hope--the belief that we should be reunited: but +after that night the old faith in a happy future crumbled away, and the +idea that Joseph Wilmot's daughter had left England grew little by +little into conviction. + +"I should never see her again. I fully believed this now. There was +never to be any more sunshine in my life: and there was nothing for me +to do but to resign myself to the even tenor of an existence in which +the quiet duties of a business career would leave little time for any +idle grief or lamentation. My sorrow was a part of my life: but even +those who knew me best failed to fathom the depth of that sorrow. To +them I seemed only a grave business man, devoted to the dry details of a +business life. + +"Eighteen months had passed since the bleak winter's night on which the +box of diamonds had been intrusted to me; eighteen months, so slow and +quiet in their course that I was beginning to feel myself an old man, +older than many old men, inasmuch as I had outlived the wreck of the one +bright hope which had made life dear to me. It was midsummer time, and +the counting-house in St. Gundolph Lane, and the parlour in which--in +virtue of my new position--I had now a right to work, seemed peculiarly +hot and frowsy, dusty and obnoxious. My work being especially hard at +this time knocked me up; and I was compelled, under pain of solemn +threats from my mother's pet medical attendant, to stay at home, and +take two or three days' rest. I submitted, very unwillingly; for however +dusty and stifling the atmosphere in St. Gundolph Lane might be, it was +better to be there, victorious over my sorrow, by means of man's +grandest ally in the battle with black care--to wit, hard work--than to +be lying on the sofa in my mother's pleasant drawing-room, listening to +the cheery click of two knitting-needles, and thinking of my wasted +life. + +"I submitted, however, to take the three days' holiday; and on the +second day, after a couple of hours' penance on the sofa, I got up, +languid and tired still, but bent on some employment by which I might +escape from the sad monotony of my own thoughts. + +"'I think I'll go into the next room and put my papers to rights, +mother,' I said. + +"My dear indulgent mother remonstrated: I was to rest and keep myself +quiet, she said, and not to worry myself about papers and tiresome +things of that kind, which appertained only to the office. But I had my +own way, and went into the little room, where there were flowers +blooming and caged birds singing in the open window. + +"This room was a sort of snuggery, half library, half breakfast-parlour, +and it was in this room my mother and I had been sitting on the night on +which the diamonds had been brought to me. + +"On one side of the fireplace stood my mother's work-table, on the other +the desk at which I wrote, whenever I wrote any letters at home--a +ponderous old-fashioned office desk, with a row of drawers on each side, +a deep well in the centre, and under that a large waste-paper basket, +full of old envelopes and torn scraps of letters. + +"I wheeled a comfortable chair up to the desk, and began my task. It +was a very long one, and involved a great deal of folding, sorting, and +arranging of documents, which perhaps were scarcely worth the trouble I +took with them. At any rate, the work kept my fingers employed, though +my mind still brooded over the old trouble. + +"I sat for nearly three hours; for it was a very long time since I had +had a day's leisure, and the accumulation of letters, bills, and +receipts was something very formidable. At last all was done, the +letters and bills endorsed and tied into neat packets that would have +done credit to a lawyer's office; and I flung myself back in my chair +with a sigh of relief. + +"But I had not finished my work yet; for I drew out the waste-paper +basket presently, and emptied its contents upon the floor, in order that +I might make sure of there being no important paper thrown by chance +amongst them, before I consigned them to be swept away by the housemaid. + +"I tossed over the chaotic fragments, the soiled envelopes, the +circulars of enterprising Clapham tradesmen, and all the other rubbish +that had accumulated within the last two years. The dust floated up to +my face and almost blinded me. + +"Yes, there was something of consequence amongst the papers--something, +at least, which I should have held it sacrilegious to consign to Molly, +the housemaid--the wrapper of the box containing the diamonds; the paper +wrapper, directed in the dear hand I loved, the hand of Margaret Wilmot. + +"I must have left the wrapper on the table on the night when I received +the box, and one of the servants had no doubt put it into the +waste-paper basket. I picked up the sheet of paper and folded it neatly; +it was a very small treasure for a lover to preserve, perhaps: but then +I had so few relics of the woman who was to have been my wife. + +"As I folded the paper, I looked, half in absence of mind, at the stamp +in the corner. It was an old-fashioned sheet of Bath post, stamped with +the name of the stationer who had sold it--Jakins, Kylmington. +Kylmington; yes, I remembered there was a town in Hampshire,--a kind of +watering-place, I believed,--called Kylmington! And the paper had been +bought there--and if so, it was more than likely that Margaret had been +there. + +"Could it be so? Could it be really possible that in this sheet of paper +I had found a clue which would help me to trace my lost love? Could it +be so? The new hope sent a thrill of sudden life and energy through my +veins. Ill--worn out, knocked up by over-work? Who could dare to say I +was any thing of the kind? I was as strong as Hercules. + +"I put the folded paper in the breast-pocket of my coat, and took down +Bradshaw. Dear Bradshaw, what an interesting writer you seemed to me on +that day! Yes, Kylmington was in Hampshire; three hours and a half from +London, with due allowance for delays in changing carriages. There was a +train would convey me from Waterloo to Kylmington that afternoon--a +train that would leave Waterloo at half-past three. + +"I looked at my watch. It was half-past two. I had only an hour for all +my preparations and the drive to Waterloo. I went to the drawing-room, +where my mother was still sitting at work near the open window. She +started when she saw my face, for my new hope had given it a strange +brightness. + +"'Why, Clem,' she said, 'you look as pleased as if you'd found some +treasure among your papers.' + +"'I hope I have, mother. I hope and believe that I have found a clue +that will enable me to trace Margaret.' + +"'You don't mean it?' + +"'I've found the name of a town which I believe to be the place where +she was staying before she brought those diamonds to me. I am going +there to try and discover some tidings of her. I am going at once. Don't +look anxious, dear mother; the journey to Kylmington, and the hope that +takes me there, will do me more good than all the drugs in Mr. Bainham's +surgery. Be my own dear indulgent mother, as you have always been, and +pack me a couple of clean shirts in a portmanteau. I shall come back +to-morrow night, I dare say, as I've only three days' leave of absence +from the office.' + +"My mother, who had never in her life refused me anything, did not long +oppose me to-day. A hansom cab rattled me off to the station; and at +five minutes before the half-hour I was on the platform, with my ticket +for Kylmington in my pocket." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE DAWN. + + +"The clock of Kylmington church, which was as much behind any other +public timekeeper I had ever encountered as the town of Kylmington was +behind any other town I had ever explored, struck eight as I opened the +little wooden gate of the churchyard, and went into the shade of an +avenue of stunted sycamores, which was supposed to be the chief glory of +Kylmington. + +"It was twenty minutes past eight by London time, and the summer sun had +gone down, leaving all the low western sky bathed in vivid yellow light, +which deepened into crimson as I watched it. + +"I had been more than an hour and a half in Kylmington. I had taken some +slight refreshment at the principal hotel--a queer, old-fashioned place, +with a ruinous, weedy appearance pervading it, and the impress of +incurable melancholy stamped on the face of every scrap of rickety +furniture and lopsided window-blind. I had taken some slight +refreshment--to this hour I don't know _what_ it was I ate upon that +balmy summer evening, so entirely was my mind absorbed by that bright +hope, which was growing brighter and brighter every moment. I had been +to the stationer's shop, which still bore above its window the faded +letters of the name 'Jakins,' though the last of the Jakinses had long +left Kylmington. I had been to this shop, and from a good-natured but +pensive matron I had heard tidings that made my bright hope a still +brighter certainty. + +"I began business by asking if there was any lady in Kylmington who gave +lessons in music and singing. + +"'Yes,' Mr. Jakins's successor told me, 'there were two music-mistresses +in the town--one was Madame Carinda, who taught at Grove House, the +fashionable ladies' school; the other was Miss Wilson, whose terms were +lower than Madame Carinda's--though Madame wasn't a bit a foreigner +except by name--and who was much respected in the town. Likewise her +papa, which had been quite the gentleman, attending church twice every +Sunday as regular as the day came round, and being quite a picture of +respectability, with his venerable pious-looking grey hair.' + +"I gave a little start as I heard this. + +"'Miss Wilson lived with her papa, did she?' I asked. + +"'Yes,' the woman told me; 'Miss Wilson had lived with her papa till the +poor old gentleman's death.' + +"'Oh, he was dead, then?' + +"'Yes, Mr. Wilson had died in the previous December, of a kind of +decline, fading away like, almost unbeknown; and being, oh, so +faithfully nursed and cared for by that blessed daughter of his. And +people did say that he had once been very wealthy, and had lost his +money in some speculation; and the loss of it had preyed upon his mind, +and he had fallen into a settled melancholy like, and was never seen to +smile.' + +"The woman opened a drawer as she talked to me, and, after turning over +some papers, took out a card--a card with embossed edges, fly-spotted, +and dusty, and with a little faded blue ribbon attached to it--a card on +which there was written, in the hand I knew so well, an announcement +that Miss Wilson, of the Hermitage, would give instruction in music and +singing for a guinea a quarter. + +"I had been about to ask for a description of the young music-mistress, +but I had no need to do so now. + +"'Miss Wilson _is_ the young lady I wish to see,' I said. 'Will you +direct me to the Hermitage? I will call there early to-morrow morning.' + +"The proprietress of Jakins's, who was, I dare say, something of a +matchmaker, after the manner of all good-natured matrons, smiled +significantly. + +"'I know where you could see Miss Wilson, nearer than the Hermitage,' +she said, 'and sooner than to-morrow morning. She works very hard all +day,--poor, dear, delicate-looking young thing; but every evening when +it's tolerably fine, she goes to the churchyard. It's the only walk I've +ever seen her take since her father's death. She goes past my window +regular every night, just about when I'm shutting up, and from my door I +can see her open the gate and go into the churchyard. It's a doleful +walk to take alone at that time of the evening, to be sure, though some +folks think it's the pleasantest walk in all Kylmington.' + +"It was in consequence of this conversation that I found myself under +the shadow of the trees while the Kylmington clock was striking eight. + +"The churchyard was a square flat, surrounded on all sides by a low +stone wall, beyond which the fields sloped down to the mouth of a river +that widened into the sea at a little distance from Kylmington, but +which hereabouts had a very dingy melancholy look when the tide was out, +as it was to-night. + +"There was no living creature except myself in the churchyard as I came +out of the shadow of the trees on to the flat, where the grass grew long +among the unpretending headstones. + +"I looked at all the newest stones till I came at last to one standing +in the obscurest corner of the churchyard, almost hidden by the low +wall. + +"There was a very brief inscription on this modest headstone; but it was +enough to tell me whose ashes lay buried under the spot on which I +stood. + + _"To the Memory of + J. W. + Who died December 19, 1853. + 'Lord have mercy upon me, a sinner!'_ + +"I was still looking at this brief memorial, when I heard a woman's +dress rustling upon the long rank grass, and turning suddenly, saw my +darling coming towards me, very pale, very pensive, but with a kind of +seraphic resignation upon her face which made her seem to me more +beautiful than I had ever seen her before. + +"She started at seeing me, but did not faint. She only grew paler than +she had been before, and pressed her two hands on her breast, as if to +still the sudden tumult of her heart. + +"I made her take my arm and lean upon it, and we walked up and down the +narrow path talking until the last low line of light faded out of the +dusky sky. + +"All that I could say to her was scarcely enough to shake her +resolution--to uproot her conviction that her father's guilt was an +insurmountable barrier between us. But when I told her of my broken +life--when, in the earnestness of my pleading, she perceived the proof +of a constancy that no time could shake, I could see that she wavered. + +"'I only want you to be happy, Clement,' she said. 'My former life has +been such an unhappy one, that I tremble at the thought of linking it to +yours. The shame, Clement--think of _that_. How will you answer people +when they ask you the name of your wife?' + +"'I will tell them that she has no name, but that which she has honoured +by accepting from me. I will tell them that she is the noblest and +dearest of women, and that her history is a story of unparalleled virtue +and devotion!' + +"I sent a telegraphic message to my mother early the next morning; and +in the afternoon the dear soul arrived at Kylmington to embrace her +future daughter. We sat late in the little parlour of the Hermitage; a +dreary cottage, looking out on the flat shore, half sand, half mud, and +the low water lying in greenish pools. Margaret told us of her father's +penitence. + +"'No repentance was ever more sincere, Clement,' she said, for she +seemed afraid we should doubt the possibility of penitence in such a +criminal as Joseph Wilmot. 'My poor father--my poor wronged, unhappy +father!--yes, wronged, Clement, you must not forget that; you must never +forget that in the first instance he was wronged, and deeply wronged, by +the man who was murdered. When first we came here, his mind brooded upon +that, and he seemed to look upon what he had done as an ignorant savage +would look upon the vengeance which his heathenish creed had taught him +to consider a justifiable act of retaliation. Little by little I won my +poor father away from such thoughts as these: till by-and-by he grew to +think of Henry Dunbar as he was when they were young men together, +linked by a kind of friendship, before the forging of the bills, and all +the trouble that followed. He thought of his old master as he knew him +first, and his heart was softened towards the dead man's memory; and +from that time his penitence began. He was sorry for what he had done. +No words can describe that sorrow, Clement: and may you never have to +watch, as I have watched, the anguish of a guilty soul! Heaven is very +merciful. If my father had failed to escape, and had been hung, he would +have died hardened and impenitent. God had compassion on him, and gave +him time to repent.'" + + _(The end of the story.)_ + + + + +THE EPILOGUE: + +ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS. + + +"My wife and I hear sometimes, through my old friend Arthur Lovell, of +the new master and mistress of Maudesley Abbey, Sir Philip and Lady +Jocelyn, who oscillate between the Rock and the Abbey when they are in +Warwickshire. Lady Jocelyn is a beautiful woman, frank, generous, +noble-hearted, beloved by every creature within twenty miles' radius of +her home, and idolized by her husband. The sad history of her father's +death has been softened by the hand of Time; and she is happy with her +children and her husband in the grand old home that was so long +overshadowed by the sinister presence of the false Henry Dunbar. + +"We are very happy. No prying eye would ever read in Margaret's bright +face the sad story of her early life. A new existence has begun for her +as wife and mother. She has little time to think of that miserable past; +but I think that, sound Protestant though she may be in every other +article of faith, amidst all her prayers those are not the least fervent +which she offers up for the guilty soul of her wretched father. + +"We are very happy. The secret of my wife's history is hidden in our own +breasts--a dark chapter in the criminal romance of life, never to be +revealed upon earth. The Winchester murder is forgotten amongst the many +other guilty mysteries which are never entirely solved. If Joseph +Wilmot's name is ever mentioned, people suggest that he went to America; +indeed, there are people who go farther, and say they have seen him in +America. + +"My mother keeps house for us; and in very nearly seven years' +experience we have never found any disunion to arise from this +arrangement. The pretty Clapham villa is gay with the sound of +children's voices, and the shrill carol of singing birds, and the joyous +barking of Skye terriers. We have added a nursery wing already to one +side of the house, and have balanced it on the other by a vinery, built +after the model of those which adorn the mansion of my senior. The +Misses Balderby have taken what they call a 'great fancy' to my wife, +and they swarm over our drawing-room carpets in blue or pink flounces +very often, on what they call 'social evenings for a little music.' I +find that a little music is only a synonym with the Misses Balderby for +a great deal of noise. + +"I love my wife's playing best, though they are kind enough to perform +twenty-page compositions by Bach and Mendelssohn for my amusement: and I +am never happier than on those dusky summer evenings when we sit alone +together in the shadowy drawing-room, and talk to each other, while +Margaret's skilful fingers glide softly over the keys in wandering +snatches of melody that melt and die away like the low breath of the +summer wind." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Henry Dunbar, by M. E. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Henry Dunbar + A Novel + +Author: M. E. Braddon + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9189] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HENRY DUNBAR *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + HENRY DUNBAR + + A Novel + + By + + M.E. Braddon + + + + + DEDICATION + + THIS STORY IS INSCRIBED TO + + JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ. + + IN SINCERE ADMIRATION OF + + HIS GENIUS AS A DRAMATIC AUTHOR + + AND POPULAR ACTOR. + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND + BALDERBY + + II. MARGARET'S FATHER + + III. THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION + + IV. THE STROKE OF DEATH + + V. SINKING THE PAST + + VI. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY + + VII. AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS + + VIII. THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME + + IX. HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER + + X. LAURA DUNBAR + + XI. THE INQUEST + + XII. ARRESTED + + XIII. THE PRISONER IS REMANDED + + XIV. MARGARET'S JOURNEY + + XV. BAFFLED + + XVI. IS IT LOVE OR FEAR? + + XVII. THE BROKEN PICTURE + + XVIII. THREE WHO SUSPECT + + XIX. LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT + + XX. NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM + + XXI. A NEW LIFE + + XXII. THE STEEPLE-CHASE + + XXIII. THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON + + XXIV. THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING + + XXV. AFTER THE WEDDING + + XXVI. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR, OF THE BANKING-HOUSE + + XXVII. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING + + XXVIII. BUYING DIAMONDS + + XXIX. GOING AWAY + + XXX. STOPPED UPON THE WAY + + XXXI. CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE + + XXXII. WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY + + XXXIII. MARGARET'S RETURN + + XXXIV. FAREWELL + + XXXV. A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG + + XXXVI. LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT + + XXXVII. MARGARET'S LETTER + +XXXVIII. NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS + JOURNEY TO WINCHESTER + + XXXIX. CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL, CONTINUED + + XL. FLIGHT + + XLI. AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY + + XLII. THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE + + XLIII. ON THE TRACK + + XLIV. CHASING THE "CROW" + + XLV. GIVING IT UP + + XLVI. CLEMENT'S STORY,--BEFORE THE DAWN + + XLVII. THE DAWN + +THE EPILOGUE: ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND BALDERBY. + + +The house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, East India bankers, was one +of the richest firms in the city of London--so rich that it would be +quite in vain to endeavour to describe the amount of its wealth. It was +something fabulous, people said. The offices were situated in a dingy +and narrow thoroughfare leading out of King William Street, and were +certainly no great things to look at; but the cellars below their +offices--wonderful cellars, that stretched far away underneath the +church of St. Gundolph, and were only separated by party-walls from the +vaults in which the dead lay buried--were popularly supposed to be +filled with hogsheads of sovereigns, bars of bullion built up in stacks +like so much firewood, and impregnable iron safes crammed to overflowing +with bank bills and railway shares, government securities, family +jewels, and a hundred other trifles of that kind, every one of which was +worth a poor man's fortune. + +The firm of Dunbar had been established very soon after the English +first grew powerful in India. It was one of the oldest firms in the +City; and the names of Dunbar and Dunbar, painted upon the door-posts, +and engraved upon shining brass plates on the mahogany doors, had never +been expunged or altered: though time and death had done their work of +change amongst the owners of that name. + +The last heads of the firm had been two brothers, Hugh and Percival +Dunbar; and Percival, the younger of these brothers, had lately died at +eighty years of age, leaving his only son, Henry Dunbar, sole inheritor +of his enormous wealth. + +That wealth consisted of a splendid estate in Warwickshire; another +estate, scarcely less splendid, in Yorkshire; a noble mansion in +Portland Place; and three-fourths of the bank. The junior partner, Mr. +Balderby, a good-tempered, middle-aged man, with a large family of +daughters, and a handsome red-brick mansion on Clapham Common, had never +possessed more than a fourth share in the business. The three other +shares had been divided between the two brothers, and had lapsed +entirely into the hands of Percival upon the death of Hugh. + +On the evening of the 15th of August, 1850, three men sat together in +one of the shady offices at the back of the banking-house in St. +Gundolph Lane. + +These three men were Mr. Balderby, a confidential cashier called Clement +Austin, and an old clerk, a man of about sixty-five years of age, who +had been a faithful servant of the firm ever since his boyhood. + +This man's name was Sampson Wilmot. + +He was old, but he looked much older than he was. His hair was white, +and hung in long thin locks upon the collar of his shabby bottle-green +great coat. He wore a great coat, although it was the height of summer, +and most people found the weather insupportably hot. His face was wizen +and wrinkled, his faded blue eyes dim and weak-looking. He was feeble, +and his hands were tremulous with a perpetual nervous motion. Already he +had been stricken twice with paralysis, and he knew that whenever the +third stroke came it must be fatal. + +He was not very much afraid of death, however; for his life had been a +joyless one, a monotonous existence of perpetual toil, unrelieved by any +home joys or social pleasures. He was not a bad man, for he was honest, +conscientious, industrious, and persevering. + +He lived in a humble lodging, in a narrow court near the bank, and went +twice every Sunday to the church of St. Gundolph. + +When he died he hoped to be buried beneath the flagstones of that City +church, and to lie cheek by jowl with the gold in the cellars of the +bank. + +The three men were assembled in this gloomy private room after office +hours, on a sultry August evening, in order to consult together upon +rather an important subject, namely, the reception of Henry Dunbar, the +new head of the firm. + +This Henry Dunbar had been absent from England for five-and-thirty +years, and no living creature now employed in the bank, except Sampson +Wilmot, had ever set eyes upon him. + +He had sailed for Calcutta five-and-thirty years before, and had ever +since been employed in the offices of the Indian branch of the bank; +first as clerk, afterwards as chief and manager. He had been sent to +India because of a great error which he had committed in his early +youth. + +He had been guilty of forgery. He, or rather an accomplice employed by +him, had forged the acceptance of a young nobleman, a brother officer of +Henry Dunbar's, and had circulated forged bills of accommodation to the +amount of three thousand pounds. + +These bills were taken up and duly honoured by the heads of the firm. +Percival Dunbar gladly paid three thousand pounds as the price of his +son's honour. That which would have been called a crime in a poorer man +was only considered an error in the dashing young cornet of dragoons, +who had lost money upon the turf, and was fain to forge his friend's +signature rather than become a defaulter. + +His accomplice, the man who had actually manufactured the fictitious +signatures, was the younger brother of Sampson Wilmot, who had been a +few months prior to that time engaged as messenger in the +banking-house--a young fellow of nineteen, little better than a lad; a +reckless boy, easily influenced by the dashing soldier who had need of +his services. + +The bill-broker who discounted the bills speedily discovered their +fraudulent nature; but he knew that the money was safe. + +Lord Adolphus Vanlorme was a customer of the house of Dunbar and Dunbar; +the bill-brokers knew that _his_ acceptance was a forgery; but they knew +also that the signature of the drawer, Henry Dunbar, was genuine. + +Messrs. Dunbar and Dunbar would not care to see the heir of their house +in a criminal dock. + +There had been no hitch, therefore, no scandal, no prosecution. The +bills were duly honoured; but the dashing young officer was compelled to +sell his commission, and begin life afresh as a junior clerk in the +Calcutta banking-house. + +This was a terrible mortification to the high-spirited young man. + +The three men assembled in the quiet room behind the bank on this +oppressive August evening were talking together of that old story. + +"I never saw Henry Dunbar," Mr. Balderby said; "for, as you know, +Wilmot, I didn't come into the firm till ten years after he sailed for +India; but I've heard the story hinted at amongst the clerks in the days +when I was only a clerk myself." + +"I don't suppose you ever heard the rights of it, sir," Sampson Wilmot +answered, fumbling nervously with an old horn snuff-box and a red cotton +handkerchief, "and I doubt if any one knows the rights of that story +except me, and I can remember it as well as if it all happened +yesterday--ay, that I can--better than I remember many things that +really did happen yesterday." + +"Let's hear the story from you, then, Sampson," Mr. Balderby said. "As +Henry Dunbar is coming home in a few days, we may as well know the real +truth. We shall better understand what sort of a man our new chief is." + +"To be sure, sir, to be sure," returned the old clerk. "It's +five-and-thirty years ago,--five-and-thirty years ago this month, since +it all happened. If I hadn't good cause to remember the date because of +my own troubles, I should remember it for another reason, for it was the +Waterloo year, and city people had been losing and making money like +wildfire. It was in the year '15, sir, and our house had done wonders on +'Change. Mr. Henry Dunbar was a very handsome young man in those +days--very handsome, very aristocratic-looking, rather haughty in his +manners to strangers, but affable and free-spoken to those who happened +to take his fancy. He was very extravagant in all his ways; generous and +open-handed with money; but passionate and self-willed. It's scarcely +strange he should have been so, for he was an only child; he had neither +brother nor sister to interfere with him; and his uncle Hugh, who was +then close upon fifty, was a confirmed bachelor,--so Henry considered +himself heir to an enormous fortune." + +"And he began his career by squandering every farthing he could get, I +suppose?" said Mr. Balderby. + +"He did, sir. His father was very liberal to him; but give him what he +would, Mr. Percival Dunbar could never give his son enough to keep him +free of gambling debts and losses on the turf. Mr. Henry's regiment was +quartered at Knightsbridge, and the young man was very often at this +office, in and out, in and out, sometimes twice and three times a week; +and I expect that every time he came, he came to get money, or to ask +for it. It was in coming here he met my brother, who was a handsome +lad--ay, as handsome and as gentlemanly a lad as the young cornet +himself; for poor Joseph--that's my brother, gentlemen--had been +educated a bit above his station, being my mother's favourite son, and +fifteen years younger than me. Mr. Henry took a great deal of notice of +Joseph, and used to talk to him while he was waiting about to see his +father or his uncle. At last he asked the lad one day if he'd like to +leave the bank, and go and live with him as a sort of confidential +servant and amanuensis, to write his letters, and all that sort of +thing. 'I shan't treat you altogether as a servant, you know, Joseph,' +he said, 'but I shall make quite a companion of you, and you'll go about +with me wherever I go. You'll find my quarters a great deal pleasanter +than this musty old banking-house, I can tell you.' Joseph accepted this +offer, in spite of everything my poor mother and I could say to him. He +went to live with the cornet in the January of the year in which the +fabricated bills were presented at our counter." + +"And when were the bills presented?" + +"Not till the following August, sir. It seems that Mr. Henry had lost +five or six thousand pounds on the Derby. He got what he could out of +his father towards paying his losses, but he could not get more than +three thousand pounds; so then he went to Joseph in an awful state of +mind, declaring that he should be able to get the money in a month or so +from his father, and that if he could do anything just to preserve his +credit for the time, and meet the claims of the vulgar City betting +fellows who were pressing him, he should be able to make all square +afterwards. Then, little by little, it came out that he wanted my +brother, who had a wonderful knack of imitating any body's handwriting, +to forge the acceptance of Lord Vanlorme. 'I shall get the bills back +into my own hands before they fall due, Joe,' he said; 'it's only a +little dodge to keep matters sweet for the time being.' Well, gentlemen, +the poor foolish boy was very fond of his master, and he consented to do +this wicked thing." + +"Do you believe this to be the first time your brother ever Committed +forgery?" + +"I do, Mr. Balderby. Remember he was only a lad, and I dare say he +thought it a fine thing to oblige his generous-hearted young master. +I've seen him many a time imitate the signature of this firm, and other +signatures, upon a half-sheet of letter-paper, for the mere fun of the +thing: but I don't believe my brother Joseph ever did a dishonest action +in his life until he forged those bills. He hadn't need have done so, +for he was only eighteen at the time." + +"Young enough, young enough!" murmured Mr. Balderby, compassionately. + +"Ay, sir, very young to be ruined for life. That one error, that one +wicked act, was his ruin; for though no steps were taken against him, he +lost his character, and never held his head up in an honest situation +again. He went from bad to worse, and three years after Mr. Henry sailed +for India, my brother, Joseph Wilmot, was convicted, with two or three +others, upon a charge of manufacturing forged Bank of England notes, and +was transported for life." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby; "a sad story,--a very sad story. I +have heard something of it before, but never the whole truth. Your +brother is dead, I suppose." + +"I have every reason to believe so, sir," answered the old clerk, +producing a red cotton handkerchief and wiping away a couple of tears +that were slowly trickling down his poor faded cheeks. "For the first +few years of his time, he wrote now and then, complaining bitterly of +his fate; but for five-and-twenty years I've never had a line from him. +I can't doubt that he's dead. Poor Joseph!--poor boy!--poor boy! The +misery of all this killed my mother. Mr. Henry Dunbar committed a great +sin when he tempted that lad to wrong; and many a cruel sorrow arose out +of that sin, perhaps to lie heavy at his door some day or other, sooner +or later, sooner or later. I'm an old man, and I've seen a good deal of +the ways of this world, and I've found that retribution seldom fails to +overtake those who do wrong." + +Mr. Balderby shrugged his shoulders. + +"I should doubt the force of your philosophy in this case, my good +Sampson," he said; "Mr. Dunbar has had a long immunity from his sins. I +should scarcely think it likely he would ever be called upon to atone +for them." + +"I don't know, sir," the old clerk answered; "I don't know that. I've +seen retribution come very late, very late; when the man who committed +the sin had well nigh forgotten it. Evil trees bear evil fruit, Mr. +Balderby: the Scriptures tell us that; and take my word for it, evil +consequences are sure to come from evil deeds." + +"But to return to the story of the forged bills," said Mr. Austin, the +cashier, looking at his watch as he spoke. + +He was evidently growing rather impatient of the old clerk's rambling +talk. + +"To be sure, sir, to be sure," answered Sampson Wilmot. "Well, you see, +sir, one of the bills was brought to our counter, and the cashier didn't +much like the look of my lord's signature, and he took the bill to the +inspector, and the inspector said,' Pay the money, but don't debit it +against his lordship.' About an hour afterwards the inspector carried +the bill to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and directly he set eyes upon it, he +knew that Lord Vanlorme's acceptance was a forgery. He sent for me to +his room; and when I went in, he was as white as a sheet, poor +gentleman. He handed me the bill without speaking, and when I had looked +at it, he said-- + +"'Your brother is at the bottom of this business, Sampson. Do you +remember the half-sheet of paper I found on a blotting-pad in the +counting-house one day; half a sheet of paper scrawled over with the +imitation of two or three signatures? I asked who had copied those +signatures, and your brother came forward and owned to having done it, +laughing at his own cleverness. I told him then that it was a fatal +facility, a fatal facility, and now he has proved the truth of my words +by helping my son to turn forger and thief. That signature must be +honoured, though I should have to sacrifice half my fortune to meet the +demands upon us. Heaven knows to what amount such paper as that may be +in circulation. There are some forged bills that are as good as genuine +documents; and the Jew who discounted these knew that. If my son comes +into the bank this morning send him to me.'" + +"And did the young man come?" asked the junior partner. + +"Yes, Mr. Balderby, sir; in less than half an hour after I left Mr. +Percival Dunbar's room, in comes Mr. Henry, dashing and swaggering into +the place as if it was his own. + +"'Will you please step into your father's room, sir?' I said; 'he wants +to see you very particular.' + +"The cornet's jaw dropped, and his face turned ghastly white as I said +this; but he tried to carry it off with a swagger, and followed me into +Mr. Percival Dunbar's room. + +"'You needn't leave us, Sampson,' said Mr. Hugh, who was sitting +opposite his brother at the writing-table. 'You may as well hear what I +have to say. I wish somebody whom I can rely upon to know the truth of +this business, and I think we may rely upon you.' + +"'Yes, gentlemen,' I answered, 'you may trust me.' + +"'What's the meaning of all this?' Mr. Henry Dunbar asked, pretending to +look innocent and surprised; but it wouldn't do, for his lips trembled +so, that it was painful to watch him. 'What's the matter?' he asked. + +"Mr. Hugh Dunbar handed him the forged bill. + +"'This is what's the matter,' he said. + +"The young man stammered out something in the endeavour to deny any +knowledge of the bill in his hand; but his uncle checked him. 'Do not +add perjury to the crime you have already committed,' he said. 'How many +of these are in circulation?' + +"'How many!' Mr. Henry repeated, in a faltering voice. 'Yes,' his uncle +answered; 'how many--to what amount?' 'Three thousand pounds,' the +cornet replied, hanging his head. 'I meant to take them up before they +fell due, Uncle Hugh,' he said. 'I did, indeed; I stood to win a hatful +of money upon the Liverpool Summer Meeting, and I made sure I should be +able to take up those bills: but I've had the devil's own luck all this +year. I never thought those bills would be presented; indeed, I never +did.' + +"'Henry Dunbar,' Mr. Hugh said, very solemnly, 'nine men out of ten, who +do what you have done, think what you say you thought: that they shall +be able to escape the consequences of their deeds. They act under the +pressure of circumstances. They don't mean to do any wrong--they don't +intend to rob any body of a sixpence. But that first false step is the +starting point upon the road that leads to the gallows; and the worst +that can happen to a man is for him to succeed in his first crime. +Happily for you, detection has speedily overtaken you. Why did you do +this?' + +"The young man stammered out some rambling excuse about his turf losses, +debts of honour which he was compelled to pay. Then Mr. Hugh asked him +whether the forged signature was his own doing, or the work of any body +else. The cornet hesitated for a little, and then told his uncle the +name of his accomplice. I thought this was cruel and cowardly. He had +tempted my brother to do wrong, and the least he could have done would +have been to try to shield him. + +"One of the messengers was sent to fetch poor Joseph. The lad reached +the banking house in an hour's time, and was brought straight into the +private room, where we had all been sitting in silence, waiting for him. + +"He was as pale as his master, but he didn't tremble, and he had +altogether a more determined look than Mr. Henry. + +"Mr. Hugh Dunbar taxed him with what he had done. + +"'Do you deny it, Joseph Wilmot?' he asked. + +"'No,' my brother said, looking contemptuously at the cornet. 'If my +master has betrayed me, I have no wish to deny anything. But I dare say +he and I will square accounts some day.' + +"'I am not going to prosecute my nephew,' Mr. Hugh said; 'so, of course +I shall not prosecute you. But I believe that you have been an evil +counsellor to this young man, and I give you warning that you will get +no character from me. I respect your brother Sampson, and shall retain +him in my service in spite of what you have done; but I hope never to +see your face again. You are free to go; but have a care how you tamper +with other men's signatures, for the next time you may not get off so +easily.' + +"The lad took up his hat and walked slowly towards the door. + +"'Gentlemen--gentlemen!' I cried, 'have pity upon him. Remember he is +little more than a boy; and whatever he did, he did out of love for his +master.' + +"Mr. Hugh shook his head. 'I have no pity,' he answered, sternly: 'his +master might never have done wrong but for him.' + +"Joseph did not say a word in answer to all this; but, when his hand was +on the handle of the door, he turned and looked at Mr. Henry Dunbar. + +"'Have you nothing to say in my behalf, sir?' he said, very quietly; 'I +have been very much attached to you, sir, and I don't want to think +badly of you at parting. Haven't you one word to say in my behalf?' + +"Mr. Henry made no answer. He sat with his head bent forward upon his +breast, and seemed as if he dare not lift his eyes to his uncle's face. + +"'No!' Mr. Hugh answered, as sternly as before, 'he has nothing to say +for you. Go; and consider this a lucky escape.' + +"Joseph turned upon the banker, with his face all in a crimson flame, +and his eyes flashing fire. 'Let _him_ consider it a lucky escape,' he +said, pointing to Mr. Henry Dunbar,--'let _him_ consider it a lucky +escape, if when we next meet he gets off scot free.' + +"He was gone before any body could answer him. + +"Then Mr. Hugh Dunbar turned to his nephew. + +"'As for you,' he said, 'you have been a spoilt child of fortune, and +you have not known how to value the good things that Providence has +given you. You have begun life at the top of the tree, and you have +chosen to fling your chances into the gutter. You must begin again, and +begin this time upon the lowest step of the ladder. You will sell your +commission, and sail for Calcutta by the next ship that leaves +Southampton. To-day is the 23rd of August, and I see by the _Shipping +Gazette_ that the _Oronoko_ sails on the 10th of September. This will +give you little better than a fortnight to make all your arrangements." + +"The young cornet started from his chair as if he had been shot. + +"'Sell my commission!' he cried; 'go to India! You don't mean it, Uncle +Hugh; surely you don't mean it. Father, you will never compel me to do +this.' + +"Percival Dunbar had never looked at his son since the young man had +entered the room. He sat with his elbow resting upon the arm of his +easy-chair, and his face shaded by his hand, and had not once spoken. + +"He did not speak now, even when his son appealed to him. + +"'Your father has given me full authority to act in this business,' Mr. +Hugh Dunbar said. 'I shall never marry, Henry, and you are my only +nephew, and my acknowledged heir. But I will never leave my wealth to a +dishonest or dishonourable man, and it remains for you to prove whether +you are worthy to inherit it. You will have to begin life afresh. You +have played the man of fashion, and your aristocratic associates have +led you to the position in which you find yourself to-day. You must turn +your back upon the past, Henry. Of course you are free to choose for +yourself. Sell your commission, go to India, and enter the +counting-house of our establishment in Calcutta as a junior clerk; or +refuse to do so, and renounce all hope of succeeding to my fortune or to +your father's.' + +"The young man was silent for some minutes, then he said, sullenly +enough-- + +"'I will go. I consider that I have been harshly treated; but I will +go.'" + +"And he did go?" said Mr. Balderby. + +"He did, sir," answered the clerk, who had displayed considerable +emotion in relating this story of the past. "He did go, sir,--he sold +his commission, and left England by the _Oronoko_. But he never took +leave of a living creature, and I fully believe that he never in his +heart forgave either his father or his uncle. He worked his way up, as +you know, sir, in the Calcutta counting-house, and by slow degrees rose +to be manager of the Indian branch of the business. He married in 1831, +and he has an only child, a daughter, who has been brought up in England +since her infancy, under the care of Mr. Percival." + +"Yes," answered Mr. Balderby, "I have seen Miss Laura Dunbar at her +grandfather's country seat. She is a very beautiful girl, and Percival +Dunbar idolized her. But now to return to business, my good Sampson. I +believe you are the only person in this house who has ever seen our +present chief, Henry Dunbar." + +"I am, sir." + +"So far so good. He is expected to arrive at Southampton in less than a +week's time, and somebody must be there to meet him and receive him. +After five-and-thirty years' absence he will be a perfect stranger in +England, and will require a business man about him to manage matters for +him, and take all trouble off his hands. These Anglo-Indians are apt to +be indolent, you know, and he may be all the worse for the fatigues of +the overland journey. Now, as you know him, Sampson, and as you are an +excellent man of business, and as active as a boy, I should like you to +meet him. Have you any objection to do this?" + +"No, sir," answered the clerk; "I have no great love for Mr. Henry +Dunbar, for I can never cease to look upon him as the cause of my poor +brother Joseph's ruin; but I am ready to do what you wish, Mr. Balderby. +It's business, and I'm ready to do anything in the way of business. I'm +only a sort of machine, sir--a machine that's pretty nearly worn out, I +fancy, now--but as long as I last you can make what use of me you like, +sir. I'm ready to do my duty." + +"I am sure of that, Sampson." + +"When am I to start for Southampton, sir?" + +"Well, I think you'd better go to-morrow, Sampson. You can leave London +by the afternoon train, which starts at four o'clock. You can see to +your work here in the morning, and reach your destination between seven +and eight. I leave everything in your hands. Miss Laura Dunbar will come +up to town to meet her father at the house in Portland Place. The poor +girl is very anxious to see him, as she has not set eyes upon him since +she was a child of two years old. Strange, isn't it, the effect of these +long separations? Laura Dunbar might pass her father in the street +without recognizing him, and yet her affection for him has been +unchanged in all these years." + +Mr. Balderby gave the old clerk a pocket-book containing six five-pound +notes. + +"You will want plenty of money," he said, "though, of course, Mr. Dunbar +will be well supplied. You will tell him that all will be ready for his +reception here. I really am quite anxious to see the new head of the +house. I wonder what he is like, now. By the way, it's rather a singular +circumstance that there is, I believe, no portrait of Henry Dunbar in +existence. His picture was painted when he was a young man, and +exhibited in the Royal Academy; but his father didn't think the likeness +a good one, and sent it back to the artist, who promised to alter and +improve it. Strange to say, this artist, whose name I forget, delayed +from day to day performing his promise, and at the expiration of a +twelvemonth left England for Italy, taking the young man's portrait with +him, amongst a lot of other unframed canvases. This artist never +returned from Italy, and Percival Dunbar could never find out his +whereabouts, or whether he was dead or alive. I have often heard the old +man regret that he possessed no likeness of his son. Our chief was +handsome, you say, in his youth?" + +"Yes, sir," Sampson Wilmot answered, "he was very handsome--tall and +fair, with bright blue eyes." + +"You have seen Miss Dunbar: is she like her father?" + +"No, sir. Her features are altogether different, and her expression is +more amiable than his." + +"Indeed! Well, Sampson, we won't detain you any longer. You understand +what you have to do?" + +"Yes, sir, perfectly." + +"Very well, then. Good night! By the bye, you will put up at one of the +best hotels at Southampton--say the Dolphin--and wait there till the +_Electra_ steamer comes in. It is by the _Electra_ that Mr. Dunbar is to +arrive. Once more, good evening!" + +The old clerk bowed and left the room. + +"Well, Austin," said Mr. Balderby, turning to the cashier, "we may +prepare ourselves to meet our new chief very speedily. He must know that +you and I cannot be entirely ignorant of the story of his youthful +peccadilloes, and he will scarcely give himself airs to us, I should +fancy." + +"I don't know that, Mr. Balderby," the cashier answered; "if I am any +judge of human nature, Henry Dunbar will hate us because of that very +crime of his own, knowing that we are in the secret, and will be all the +more disagreeable and disdainful in his intercourse with us. He will +carry it off with a high hand, depend upon it." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +MARGARET'S FATHER. + + +The town of Wandsworth is not a gay place. There is an air of old-world +quiet in the old-fashioned street, though dashing vehicles drive through +it sometimes on their way to Wimbledon or Richmond Park. + +The sloping roofs, the gable-ends, the queer old chimneys, the quaint +casement windows, belong to a bygone age; and the traveller, coming a +stranger to the little town, might fancy himself a hundred miles away +from boisterous London; though he is barely clear of the great city's +smoky breath, or beyond the hearing of her myriad clamorous tongues. + +There are lanes and byways leading out of that humble High Street down +to the low bank of the river; and in one of these, a pleasant place +enough, there is a row of old-fashioned semi-detached cottages, standing +in small gardens, and sheltered by sycamores and laburnums from the +dust, which in dry summer weather lies thick upon the narrow roadway. + +In one of these cottages a young lady lived with her father; a young +lady who gave lessons on the piano-forte, or taught singing, for very +small remuneration. She wore shabby dresses, and was rarely known to +have a new bonnet; but people respected and admired her, +notwithstanding; and the female inhabitants of Godolphin Cottages, who +gave her good-day sometimes as she went along the dusty lane with her +well-used roll of music in her hand, declared that she was a lady bred +and born. Perhaps the good people who admired Margaret Wentworth would +have come nearer the mark if they had said that she was a lady by right +divine of her own beautiful nature, which had never required to be +schooled into grace or gentleness. + +She had no mother, and she had not even the memory of her mother, who +had died seventeen years before, leaving an only child of twelve months +old for James Wentworth to keep. + +But James Wentworth, being a scapegrace and a reprobate, who lived by +means that were a secret from his neighbours, had sadly neglected this +only child. He had neglected her, though with every passing year she +grew more and more like her dead mother, until at last, at eighteen +years of age, she had grown into a beautiful woman, with hazel-brown +hair, and hazel eyes to match. + +And yet James Wentworth was fond of his only child, after a fashion of +his own. Sometimes he was at home for weeks together, a prey to a fit of +melancholy; under the influence of which he would sit brooding in +silence over his daughter's humble hearth for hours and days together. + +At other times he would disappear, sometimes for a few days, sometimes +for weeks and months at a time; and during his absence Margaret suffered +wearisome agonies of suspense. + +Sometimes he brought her money; sometimes he lived upon her own slender +earnings. + +But use her as he might, he was always proud of her, and fond of her; +and she, after the way of womankind, loved him devotedly, and believed +him to be the noblest and most brilliant of men. + +It was no grief to her to toil, taking long weary walks and giving +tedious lessons for the small stipends which her employers had the +conscience to offer her; they felt no compunction about bargaining and +haggling as to a few pitiful shillings with a music mistress who looked +so very poor, and seemed so glad to work for their paltry pay. The +girl's chief sorrow was, that her father, who to her mind was calculated +to shine in the highest station the world could give, should be a +reprobate and a pauper. + +She told him so sometimes, regretfully, tenderly, as she sat by his +side, with her arms twined caressingly about his neck. And there were +times when the strong man would cry aloud over his blighted life, and +the ruin which had fallen upon his youth. + +"You're right, Madge," he said sometimes, "you're right, my girl. I +ought to have been something better; I ought to have been, and I might +have been, perhaps, but for one man--but for one base-minded villain, +whose treachery blasted my character, and left me alone in the world to +fight against society. You don't know what it is, Madge, to have to +fight that battle. A man who began life with an honest name, and fair +prospects before him, finds himself cast, by one fatal error, disgraced +and broken, on a pitiless world. Nameless, friendless, characterless, he +has to begin life afresh, with every man's hand against him. He is the +outcast of society. The faces that once looked kindly on him turn away +from him with a frown. The voices that once spoke in his praise are loud +in his disfavour. Driven from every place where once he found a welcome, +the ruined wretch hides himself among strangers, and tries to sink his +hateful identity under a false name. He succeeds, perhaps, for a time, +and is trusted, and being honestly disposed at heart, is honest: but he +cannot long escape from the hateful past. No! In the day and hour when +he is proudest of the new name he has made, and the respect he has won +for himself, some old acquaintance, once a friend, but now an enemy, +falls across his pathway. He is recognized; a cruel voice betrays him. +Every hope that he had cherished is swept away from him. Every good deed +that he has done is denounced as the act of a hypocrite. Because once +sinned he can never do well. _That_ is the world's argument." + +"But not the teaching of the gospel," Margaret murmured. "Remember, +father, who it was that said to the guilty woman, Go, and sin no more.'" + +"Ay, my girl," James Wentworth answered, bitterly, "but the world would +have said, 'Hence, abandoned creature! go, and sin afresh; for you shall +never be suffered to live an honest life, or herd with honest people. +Repent, and we will laugh at your penitence as a shallow deception. +Weep, and we will cry out upon your tears. Toil and struggle to regain +the eminence from which you have fallen, and when you have nearly +reached the top of that difficult hill, we will band ourselves together +to hurl you back into the black abyss.' That's what the _world_ says to +the sinner, Margaret, my girl. I don't know much of the gospel; I have +never read it since I was a boy, and used to read long chapters aloud to +my mother, on quiet Sunday evenings; I can see the little old-fashioned +parlour now as I speak of that time; I can hear the ticking of the +eight-day clock, and I can see my mother's fond eyes looking up at me +every now and then. But I don't know much about the gospel now; and +when, you, poor child, try to read it to me, there's some devil rises in +my breast, and shuts my ears against the words. I don't know the gospel, +but I _do_ know the world. The laws of society are inflexible, Madge; +there is no forgiveness for a man who is once found out. He may commit +any crime in the calendar, so long as his crimes are profitable, and he +is content to share his profits with his neighbours. But he mustn't be +found out." + +Upon the 16th of August, 1850, the day on which Sampson Wilmot, the +banker's clerk, was to start for Southampton, James Wentworth spent the +morning in his daughter's humble little sitting-room, and sat smoking by +the open window, while Margaret worked beside a table near him. + +The father sat with his long clay pipe in his mouth, watching his +daughter's fair face as she bent over the work upon her knee. + +The room was neatly kept, but poorly furnished, with that old-fashioned +spindle-legged furniture which seems peculiar to lodging-houses. Yet the +little sitting-room had an aspect of simple rustic prettiness, which is +almost pleasanter to look at than fine furniture. There were +pictures,--simple water-colour sketches,--and cheap engravings on the +walls, and a bunch of flowers on the table, and between the muslin +curtains that shadowed the window you saw the branches of the sycamores +waving in the summer wind. + +James Wentworth had once been a handsome man. It was impossible to look +at him and not perceive as much as that. He might, indeed, have been +handsome still, but for the moody defiance in his eyes, but for the +half-contemptuous curve of his finely-moulded upper lip. + +He was about fifty-three years of age, and his hair was grey, but this +grey hair did not impart a look of age to his appearance. His erect +figure, the carriage of his head, his dashing, nay, almost swaggering +walk, all belonged to a man in the prime of middle age. He wore a beard +and thick moustache of grizzled auburn. His nose was aquiline, his +forehead high and square, his chin massive. The form of his head and +face denoted force of intellect. His long, muscular limbs gave evidence +of great physical power. Even the tones of his voice, and his manner of +speaking, betokened a strength of will that verged upon obstinacy. + +A dangerous man to offend! A relentless and determined man; not easily +to be diverted from any purpose, however long the time between the +formation of his resolve and the opportunity of carrying it into +execution. + +As he sat now watching his daughter at her work, the shadows of black +thoughts darkened his brow, and spread a sombre gloom over his face. + +And yet the picture before him could have scarcely been unpleasing to +the most fastidious eye. The girl's face, drooping over her work, was +very fair. The features were delicate and statuesque in their form; the +large hazel eyes were very beautiful--all the more beautiful, perhaps, +because of a soft melancholy that subdued their natural brightness; the +smooth brown hair rippling upon the white forehead, which was low and +broad, was of a colour which a duchess might have envied, or an empress +tried to imitate with subtle dyes compounded by court chemists. The +girl's figure, tall, slender, and flexible, imparted grace and beauty to +a shabby cotton dress and linen collar, that many a maid-servant would +have disdained to wear; and the foot visible below the scanty skirt was +slim and arched as the foot of an Arab chief. + +There was something in Margaret Wentworth's face, some shade of +expression, vague and transitory in its nature, that bore a likeness to +her father; but the likeness was a very faint one, and it was from her +mother that the girl had inherited her beauty. + +She had inherited her mother's nature also: but mingled with that soft +and womanly disposition there was much of the father's determination, +much of the strong man's force of intellect and resolute will. + +A beautiful woman--an amiable woman; but a woman whose resentment for a +great wrong could be deep and lasting. + +"Madge," said James Wentworth, throwing his pipe aside, and looking full +at his daughter, "I sit and watch you sometimes till I begin to wonder +at you. You seem contented and most happy, though the monotonous life +you lead would drive some women mad. Have you no ambition, girl?" + +"Plenty, father," she answered, lifting her eyes from her work, and +looking at him mournfully; "plenty--for you." + +The man shrugged his shoulders, and sighed heavily. + +"It's too late for that, my girl," he said; "the day is past--the day is +past and gone--and the chance gone with it. You know how I've striven, +and worked, and struggled; and how I've seen my poor schemes crushed +when I had built them up with more patience than perhaps man ever built +before. You've been a good girl, Margaret--a noble girl; and you've been +true to me alike in joy and sorrow--the joy's been little enough beside +the sorrow, poor child--but you've borne it all; you've endured it all. +You've been the truest woman that was ever born upon this earth, to my +thinking; but there's one thing in which you've been unlike the rest of +your sex." + +"And what's that, father?" + +"You've shown no curiosity. You've seen me knocked down and disgraced +wherever I tried to get a footing; you've seen me try first one trade +and then another, and fail in every one of them. You've seen me a clerk +in a merchant's office; an actor; an author; a common labourer, working +for a daily wage; and you've seen ruin overtake me whichever way I've +turned. You've seen all this, and suffered from it; but you've never +asked me why it has been so. You've never sought to discover the secret +of my life." + +The tears welled up to the girl's eyes as her father spoke. + +"If I have not done so, dear father," she answered, gently, "it has been +because I knew your secret must be a painful one. I have lain awake +night after night, wondering what was the cause of the blight that has +been upon you and all you have done. But why should I ask you questions +that you could not answer without pain? I have heard people say cruel +things of you; but they have never said them twice in my hearing." Her +eyes flashed through a veil of tears as she spoke. "Oh, father,--dearest +father!" she cried, suddenly throwing aside her work, and dropping on +her knees beside the man's chair, "I do not ask for your confidence if +it is painful to you to give it; I only want your love. But believe +this, father,--always believe this,--that, whether you trust me or not, +there is nothing upon this earth strong enough to turn my heart from +you." + +She placed her hand in her father's as she spoke, and he grasped it so +tightly that her pale face grew crimson with the pain. + +"Are you sure of that, Madge?" he asked, bending his head to look more +closely in her earnest face. + +"I am quite sure, father." + +"Nothing can tear your heart from me?" + +"Nothing in this world." + +"What if I am not worthy of your love?" + +"I cannot stop to think of that, father. Love is not mete out in strict +proportion to the merits of those we love. If it were, there would be no +difference between love and justice." + +James Wentworth laughed sneeringly. + +"There is little enough difference as it is, perhaps," he said; "they're +both blind. Well, Madge," he added, in a more serious tone, "you're a +generous-minded, noble-spirited girl, and I believe you do love me. I +fancy that if you never asked the secret of my life, you can guess it +pretty closely, eh?" + +He looked searchingly at the girl's face. She hung her head, but did not +answer him. + +"You can guess the secret, can't you, Madge? Don't be afraid to speak, +girl." + +"I fear I can guess it, father dear," she murmured in a low voice. + +"Speak out, then." + +"I am afraid the reason you have never prospered--the reason that so +many are against you--is that you once did something wrong, very long +ago, when you were young and reckless, and scarcely knew the nature of +your own act; and that now, though you are truly penitent and sorry, and +have long wished to lead an altered life, the world won't forget or +forgive that old wrong. Is it so, father?" + +"It is, Margaret. You've guessed right enough, child, except that you've +omitted one fact. The wrong I did was done for the sake of another. I +was tempted to do it by another. I made no profit by it myself, and I +never hoped to make any. But when detection came, it was upon _me_ that +the disgrace and ruin fell; while the man for whom I had done wrong--the +man who had made me his tool--turned his back upon me, and refused to +utter one word in my justification, though he was in no danger himself, +and the lightest word from his lips might have saved me. That was a hard +case, wasn't it, Madge?" + +"Hard!" cried the girl, with her nostrils quivering and her hands +clenched; "it was cruel, dastardly, infamous!" + +"From that day, Margaret, I was a ruined man. The brand of society was +upon me. The world would not let me live honestly, and the love of life +was too strong in me to let me face death. I tried to live dishonestly, +and I led a wild, rackety, dare-devil kind of a life, amongst men who +found they had a skilful tool, and knew how to use me. They did use me +to their heart's content, and left me in the lurch when danger came. I +was arrested for forgery, tried, found guilty, and transported for life. +Don't flinch, girl! don't turn so white! You must have heard something +of this whispered and hinted at often enough before to-day. You may as +well know the whole truth. I was transported, for life, Madge; and for +thirteen years I toiled amongst the wretched, guilty slaves in Norfolk +Island--that was the favourite place in those days for such as me--and +at the end of that time, my conduct having been approved of by my +gaolers, the governor sent for me, gave me a good-service certificate, +and I went into a counting-house and served as a clerk. But I got a kind +of fever in my blood, and night and day I only thought of one thing, and +that was my chance of escape. I did escape,--never you mind how, that's +a long story,--and I got back to England, a free man; a free man, Madge, +_I_ thought; but the world soon told me another story. I was a felon, a +gaol-bird; and I was never more to lift my head amongst honest people. I +couldn't bear it, Madge, my girl. Perhaps a better man might have +persevered in spite of all till he conquered the world's prejudice. But +_I_ couldn't. I sank under my trials, and fell lower and lower. And for +every disgrace that has ever fallen upon me--for every sorrow I have +ever suffered--for every sin I have ever committed--I look to one man as +the cause." + +Margaret Wentworth had risen to her feet. She stood before her father +now, pale and breathless, with her lips parted, and her bosom heaving. + +"Tell me his name, father," she whispered; "tell me that man's name." + +"Why do you want to know his name, Madge?" + +"Never mind why, father. Tell it to me--tell it!" + +She stamped her foot in the vehemence of her passion. + +"Tell me his name, father," she repeated, impatiently. + +"His name is Henry Dunbar," James Wentworth answered, "and he is the son +of a rich banker. I saw his father's death in the paper last March. His +uncle died ten years ago, and he will inherit the fortunes of both +father and uncle. The world has smiled upon him. He has never suffered +for that one false step in life, which brought such ruin upon me. He +will come home from India now, I dare say, and the world will be under +his feet. He will be worth a million of money, I should fancy; curse +him! If my wishes could be accomplished, every guinea he possesses would +be a separate scorpion to sting and to torture him." + +"Henry Dunbar," whispered Margaret to herself--"Henry Dunbar. I will not +forget that name." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION. + + +When the hands of the little clock in Margaret's sitting-room pointed to +five minutes before three, James Wentworth rose from his lounging +attitude in the easy-chair, and took his hat from a side-table. + +"Are you going out, father?" the girl asked. + +"Yes, Madge; I'm going up to London. It don't do for me to sit still too +long. Bad thoughts come fast enough at any time; but they come fastest +when a fellow sits twirling his thumbs. Don't look so frightened, Madge; +I'm not going to do any harm. I'm only going to look about me. I may +fall in with a bit of luck, perhaps; no matter what, if it puts a few +shillings into my pocket." + +"I'd rather you stayed at home, father dear," Margaret said, gently. + +"I dare say you would, child. But I tell you, I can't. I _can't_ sit +quiet this afternoon. I've been talking of things that always seem to +set my brain on fire. No harm shall come of my going away, girl; I +promise you that. The worst I shall do is to sit in a tavern parlour, +drink a glass of gin-and-water, and read the papers. There's no crime in +that, is there, Madge?" + +His daughter smiled as she tried to arrange the shabby velvet collar of +his threadbare coat. + +"No, father dear," she said; "and I'm sure I always wish you to enjoy +yourself. But you'll come home soon, won't you?" + +"What do you call 'soon,' my lass?" + +"Before ten o'clock. My day's work will be all over long before that, +and I'll try and get something nice for your supper." + +"Very well, then, I'll be back by ten o'clock to-night. There's my hand +upon it." + +He gave Margaret his hand, kissed her smooth cheeks, took his cane from +a corner of the room, and then went out. + +His daughter watched him from the open window as he walked up the narrow +lane, amongst the groups of children gathered every here and there upon +the dusty pathway. + +"Heaven have pity upon him, and keep him from sin!" murmured Margaret +Wentworth, clasping her hands, and with her eyes still following the +retreating figure. + +James Wentworth jingled the money in his waistcoat-pocket as he walked +towards the railway station. He had very little; a couple of sixpences +and a few halfpence. Just about enough to pay for a second-class return +ticket, and for his glass of gin-and-water at a London tavern. + +He reached the station three minutes before the train was due, and took +his ticket. + +At half-past three he was in London. + +But as he was an idle, purposeless man, without friends to visit or +money to spend, he was in no hurry to leave the railway station. + +He hated solitude or quiet; and here in this crowded terminus there was +life and bustle and variety enough in all conscience; and all to be seen +for nothing: so he strolled backwards and forwards upon the platform, +watching the busy porters, the eager passengers rushing to and fro, and +meditating as to where he should spend the rest of his afternoon. + +By-and-by he stood against a wooden pillar in a doorway, looking at the +cabs, as, one after another, they tore up to the station, and disgorged +their loads. + +He had witnessed the arrival of a great many different travellers, when +his attention was suddenly arrested by a little old man, wan and wizen +and near-sighted, feeble-looking, but active, who alighted from a cab, +and gave his small black-leather portmanteau into the hands of a porter. + +This man was Sampson Wilmot, the old confidential clerk in the house of +Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +James Wentworth followed the old man and the porter. + +"I wonder if it _is_ he," he muttered to himself; "there's a +likeness--there's certainly a likeness. But it's so many years ago--so +many years--I don't suppose I should know him. And yet this man recalls +him to me somehow. I'll keep my eye upon the old fellow, at any rate." + +Sampson Wilmot had arrived at the station about ten minutes before the +starting of the train. He asked some questions of the porter, and left +his portmanteau in the man's care while he went to get his ticket. + +James Wentworth lingered behind, and contrived to look at the +portmanteau. + +There was a label pasted on the lid, with an address, written in a +business-like hand-- + + "MR. SAMPSON WILMOT, + PASSENGER TO SOUTHAMPTON." + +James Wentworth gave a long whistle. + +"I thought as much," he muttered; "I thought I couldn't be mistaken!" + +He went into the ticket-office, where the clerk was standing amongst the +crowd, waiting to take his ticket. + +James Wentworth went up close to him, and touched him lightly on the +shoulder. + +Sampson Wilmot turned and looked him full in the face. He looked, but +there was no ray of recognition in that look. + +"Do you want me, sir?" he asked, with rather a suspicious glance at the +reprobate's shabby dress. + +"Yes, Mr. Wilmot, I want to speak to you. You can come into the +waiting-room with me, after you've taken your ticket." + +The clerk stared aghast. The tone of this shabby-looking stranger was +almost one of command. + +"I don't know you, my good sir," stammered Sampson; "I never set eyes +upon you before; and unless you are a messenger sent after me from the +office, you must be under a mistake. You are a stranger to me!" + +"I am no stranger, and I am no messenger!" answered the other. "You've +got your ticket? That's all right! Now you can come with me." + +He walked into a waiting-room, the half-glass doors of which opened out +of the office. The room was empty, for it only wanted five minutes to +the starting of the train, and the passengers had hurried off to take +their seats. + +James Wentworth took off his hat, and brushed his rumpled grey hair from +his forehead. + +"Put on your spectacles, Sampson Wilmot," he said, "and look hard at me, +and then tell me if I am a stranger to you." + +The old clerk obeyed, nervously, fearfully. His tremulous hands could +scarcely adjust his spectacles. + +He looked at the reprobate's face for some moments and said nothing. But +his breath came quicker and his face grew very pale. + +"Ay," said James Wentworth, "look your hardest, and deny me if you can. +It will be only wise to deny me; I'm no credit to any one--least of all +to a steady respectable old chap like you!" + +"Joseph!--Joseph!" gasped the old clerk; "is it you? Is it really my +wretched brother? I thought you were dead, Joseph--I thought you were +dead and gone!" + +"And wished it, I dare say!" the other answered, bitterly. "No, +Joseph,--no!" cried Sampson Wilmot; "Heaven knows I never wished you +ill. Heaven knows I was always sorry for you, and could make excuses for +you even when you sank lowest!" + +"That's strange!" Joseph muttered, with a sneer; "that's very strange! +If you were so precious fond of me, how was it that you stopped in the +house of Dunbar and Dunbar? If you had had one spark of natural +affection for me, you could never have eaten their bread!" + +Sampson Wilmot shook his head sorrowfully. + +"Don't be too hard upon me, Joseph," he said, with mild reproachfulness; +"if I hadn't stopped at the banking-house your mother might have +starved!" + +The reprobate made no answer to this; but he turned his face away and +sighed. + +The bell rang for the starting of the train. + +"I must go," Sampson cried. "Give me your address, Joseph, and I will +write to you." + +"Oh, yes, I dare say!" answered his brother, scornfully; "no, no, _that_ +won't do. I've found you, my rich respectable brother, and I'll stick to +you. Where are you going?" + +"To Southampton." + +"What for?" + +"To meet Henry Dunbar." + +Joseph Wilmot's face grew livid with rage. + +The change that came over it was so sudden and so awful in its nature, +that the old clerk started back as if he had seen a ghost. + +"You are going to meet _him_?" said Joseph, in a hoarse whisper; "he is +in England, then?" + +"No; but he is expected to arrive almost immediately. Why do you look +like that, Joseph?" + +"Why do I look like that?" cried the younger man; "have you grown to be +such a mere machine, such a speaking automaton, such a living tool of +the men you serve, that all human feeling has perished in your breast? +Bah! how should such as you understand what I feel? Hark! the bell's +ringing--I'll come with you." + +The train was on the point of starting: the two men hurried out to the +platform. + +"No,--no," cried Sampson Wilmot, as his brother stepped after him into +the carriage; "no,--no, Joseph, don't come with me,--don't come with +me!" + +"I will go with you." + +"But you've no ticket." + +"I can get one--or you can get me one, for I've no money--at the first +station we stop at." + +They were seated in a second-class railway carriage by this time. The +ticket-collector, running from carriage to carriage, was in too great a +hurry to discover that the little bit of pasteboard which Joseph Wilmot +exhibited was only a return-ticket to Wandsworth. There was a brief +scramble, a banging of doors, and Babel-like confusion of tongues; and +then the engine gave its farewell shriek and rushed away. + +The old clerk looked very uneasily at his younger brother's face. The +livid pallor had passed away, but the strongly-marked eyebrows met in a +dark frown. + +"Joseph--Joseph!" said Sampson, "Heaven only knows I'm glad to see you, +after more than thirty years' separation, and any help I can give you +out of my slender means I'll give freely--I will, indeed, Joseph, for +the memory of our dear mother, if not for love of you; and I do love +you, Joseph--I do love you very dearly still. But I'd rather you didn't +take this journey with me--I would, indeed. I can't see that any good +can come of it." + +"Never you mind what comes of it. I want to talk to you. You're a nice +affectionate brother to wish to shuffle me off directly after our first +meeting. I want to talk to you, Sampson Wilmot. And I want to see _him_. +I know how the world's used _me_ for the last five-and-thirty years; I +want to see how the same world--such a just and merciful world as it +is--has treated my tempter and betrayer, Henry Dunbar!" + +Sampson Wilmot trembled like a leaf. His health had been very feeble +ever since the second shock of paralysis--that dire and silent foe, +whose invisible hand had stricken the old man down as he sat at his +desk, without one moment's warning. His health was feeble, and the shock +of meeting with his brother--this poor lost disgraced brother--whom he +had for five-and-twenty years believed to be dead, had been almost too +much for him. Nor was this all--unutterable terror took possession of +him when he thought of a meeting between Joseph Wilmot and Henry Dunbar. +The old man could remember his brother's words: + +"Let him consider it a lucky escape, if, when we next meet, he gets off +scot free!" + +Sampson Wilmot had prayed night and day that such a meeting might never +take place. For five-and-thirty years it had been delayed. Surely it +would not take place now. + +The old clerk looked nervously at his brother's face. + +"Joseph," he murmured, "I'd rather you didn't go with me to Southampton; +I'd rather you didn't meet Mr. Dunbar. You were very badly +treated--cruelly and unjustly treated--nobody knows that better than I. +But it's a long time ago, Joseph--it's a very, very long time ago. +Bitter feelings die out of a man's breast as the years roll by--don't +they, Joseph? Time heals all old wounds, and we learn to forgive others +as we hope to be forgiven--don't we, Joseph?" + +"_You_ may," answered the reprobate, fiercely; "I don't!" + +He said no more, but sat silent, with his arms folded over his breast. + +He looked straight before him out of the carriage-window; but he saw no +more of the pleasant landscape,--the fair fields of waving corn, with +scarlet poppies and deep-blue corn flowers, bright glimpses of sunlit +water, and distant villages, with grey church-turrets, nestling among +trees. He looked out of the carriage-window, and some of earth's +pleasantest pictures sped by him; but he saw no more of that +ever-changing prospect than if he had been looking at a blank sheet of +paper. + +Sampson Wilmot sat opposite to him, restless and uneasy, watching his +fierce gloomy countenance. + +The clerk took a ticket for his brother at the first station the train +stopped at. But still Joseph was silent. + +An hour passed by, and he had not yet spoken. + +He had no love for his brother. The world had hardened him. The +consequences of his own sins, falling very heavily upon his head, had +embittered his nature. He looked upon the man whom he had once loved and +trusted as the primary cause of his disgrace and misery, and this +thought influenced his opinion of all mankind. + +He could not believe in the goodness of any man, remembering, as he did, +how he had once trusted Henry Dunbar. + +The brothers were alone in the carriage. + +Sampson watched the gloomy face opposite to him for some time, and then, +with a weary sigh, he drew his handkerchief over his face, and sank back +in the corner of the carriage. But he did not sleep. He was agitated and +anxious. A dizzy faintness had seized upon him, and there was a strange +buzzing in his ears, and unwonted clouds before his dim eyes. He tried +to speak once or twice, but it seemed to him as if he was powerless to +form the words that were in his mind. + +Then his mind began to grow confused. The hoarse snorting of the engine +sounded monotonously in his ears: growing louder and louder with every +moment; until the noise of it grew hideous and intolerable--a perpetual +thunder, deafening and bewildering him. + +The train was fast approaching Basingstoke, when Joseph Wilmot was +suddenly startled from his moody reverie. + +There was an awful cause for that sudden start, that look of horror in +the reprobate's face. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE STROKE OF DEATH. + + +The old clerk had fallen from his seat, and lay in a motionless heap at +the bottom of the railway carriage. + +The third stroke of paralysis had come upon him; inevitable, no doubt, +long ago; but hastened, it may be, by that unlooked-for meeting at the +Waterloo terminus. + +Joseph Wilmot knelt beside the stricken man. He was a vagabond and an +outcast, and scenes of horror were not new to him. He had seen death +under many of its worst aspects, and the grim King of Terrors had little +terror for him. He was hardened, steeped in guilt, and callous as to the +sufferings of others. The love which he bore for his daughter was, +perhaps, the last ray of feeling that yet lingered in this man's +perverted nature. + +But he did all he could, nevertheless, for the unconscious old man. He +loosened his cravat, unfastened his waistcoat, and felt for the beating +of his heart. + +That heart did beat: very fitfully, as if the old clerk's weary soul had +been making feeble struggles to be released from its frail tabernacle of +clay. + +"Better, perhaps, if this should prove fatal," Joseph muttered; "I +should go on alone to meet Henry Dunbar." + +The train reached Basingstoke; Joseph put his head out of the open +window, and called loudly to a porter. + +The man came quickly, in answer to that impatient summons. + +"My brother is in a fit," Joseph cried; "help me to lift him out of the +carriage, and then send some one for a doctor." + +The unconscious form was lifted out in the arms of the two strong men. +They carried it into the waiting-room, and laid it on a sofa. + +The bell rang, and the Southampton train rushed onward without the two +travellers. + +In another moment the whole station was in commotion. A gentleman had +been seized with paralysis, and was dying. + +The doctor arrived in less than ten minutes. He shook his head, after +examining his patient. + +"It's a bad case," said he; "very bad; but we must do our best. Is there +anybody with this old gentleman?" + +"Yes, sir," the porter answered, pointing to Joseph; "this person is +with him." + +The country surgeon glanced rather suspiciously at Joseph Wilmot. He +looked a vagabond, certainly--every inch a vagabond; a reckless, +dare-devil scoundrel, at war with society, and defiant of a world he +hated. + +"Are you--any--relation to this gentleman?" the doctor asked, +hesitatingly. + +"Yes, I am his brother." + +"I should recommend his being removed to the nearest hotel. I will send +a woman to nurse him. Do you know if this is the first stroke he has +ever had?" + +"No, I do not." + +The surgeon looked more suspicious than ever, after receiving this +answer. + +"Strange," he said, "that you, who say you are his brother, should not +be able to give me information upon that point." + +Joseph Wilmot answered with an air of carelessness that was almost +contemptuous: + +"It is strange," he said; "but many stranger things have happened in +this world before now. My brother and I haven't met for years until we +met to-day." + +The unconscious man was removed from the railway station to an inn near +at hand--a humble, countrified place, but clean and orderly. Here he was +taken to a bed-chamber, whose old-fashioned latticed windows looked out +upon the dusty road. + +The doctor did all that his skill could devise, but he could not restore +consciousness to the paralyzed brain. The soul was gone already. The +body lay, a form of motionless and senseless clay, under the white +counterpane; and Joseph Wilmot, sitting near the foot of the bed, +watched it with a gloomy face. + +The woman who was to nurse the sick man came by-and-by, and took her +place by the pillow. But there was very little for her to do. + +"Is there any hope of his recovering?" Joseph asked eagerly, as the +doctor was about to leave the room. + +"I fear not--I fear there is no hope." + +"Will it be over soon?" + +"Very soon, I think. I do not believe that he can last more than +four-and-twenty hours." + +The surgeon waited for a few moments after saying this, expecting some +exclamation of surprise or grief from the dying man's brother: but there +was none; and with a hasty "good evening" the medical man quitted the +room. + +It was growing dusk, and the twilight shadows upon Joseph Wilmot's face +made it, in its sullen gloom, darker even than it had been in the +railway carriage. + +"I'm glad of it, I'm glad of it," he muttered; "I shall meet Harry +Dunbar alone." + +The bed-chamber in which the sick man lay opened out of a little +sitting-room. Sampson's carpet-bag and portmanteau had been left in this +sitting-room. + +Joseph Wilmot searched the pockets in the clothes that had been taken +off his brother's senseless form. + +There was some loose silver and a bunch of keys in the waistcoat-pocket, +and a well-worn leather-covered memorandum-book in the breast-pocket of +the old-fashioned coat. + +Joseph took these things into the sitting-room, closed the door between +the two apartments, and then rang for lights. + +The chambermaid who brought the candles asked if he had dined. + +"Yes," he said, "I dined five hours ago. Bring me some brandy." + +The girl brought a small decanter of spirit and a wine-glass, set them +on the table, and left the room. Joseph Wilmot followed her to the door, +and turned the key in the lock. + +"I don't want any intruders," he muttered; "these country people are +always inquisitive." + +He seated himself at the table, poured out a glass of brandy, drank it, +and then drew one of the candles towards him. + +He had put the money, the keys, and the memorandum-book, in one of his +own pockets. He took out the memorandum-book first, and examined it. +There were five Bank of England notes for five pounds each in one of the +pockets, and a letter in the other. + +The letter was directed to Henry Dunbar, and sealed with the official +seal of the banking-house. The name of Stephen Balderby was written on +the left-hand lower corner of the envelope. + +"So, so," whispered Joseph Wilmot, "this is the junior partner's letter +of welcome to his chief. I'll take care of that." + +He replaced the letter in the pocket of the memorandum-book, and then +looked at the pencil entries on the different pages. + +The last entry was the only memorandum that had any interest for him. + +It consisted of these few words-- + +_"H.D., expected to arrive at Southampton Docks on or about the 19th +inst., per steamer_ Electra; _will be met by Miss Laura D. at Portland +Place."_ + +"Who's Laura D.?" mused the spy, as he closed the memorandum-book. "His +daughter, I suppose. I remember seeing his marriage in the papers, +twenty years ago. He married well, of course. Fortune made _everything_ +smooth for him. He married a lady of rank. Curse him!" + +Joseph Wilmot sat for some time with his arms folded upon the table +before him, brooding, brooding, brooding; with a sinister smile upon his +lips, and an ominous light in his eyes. + +A dangerous man always--a dangerous man when he was loud, reckless, +brutal, violent: but most of all dangerous when he was most quiet. + +By-and-by he took the bunch of keys from his pocket, knelt down before +the portmanteau, and examined its contents. + +There was very little to reward his scrutiny--only a suit of clothes, a +couple of clean shirts, and the necessaries of the clerk's simple +toilet. The carpet-bag contained a pair of boots, a hat-brush, a +night-shirt, and a faded old chintz dressing-gown. + +Joseph Wilmot rose from his knees after examining these things, and +softly opened the door between the two rooms. There had been no change +in the sick chamber. The nurse still sat by the head of the bed. She +looked round at Joseph, as he opened the door. + +"No change, I suppose?" he said. + +"No, sir; none." + +"I am going out for a stroll, presently. I shall be in again in an +hour's time." + +He shut the door again, but he did not go out immediately. He knelt down +once more by the side of the portmanteau, and tore off the label with +his brother's name upon it. He tore a similar label off the carpet-bag, +taking care that no vestige of the clerk's name was left behind. + +When he had done this, and thrust the torn labels into his pocket, he +began to walk up and down the room, softly, with his arms folded upon +his breast. + +"The _Electra_, is expected to arrive on the nineteenth," he said, in a +low, thoughtful voice, "on or about the nineteenth. She may arrive +either before or after. To-morrow will be the seventeenth. If Sampson +dies, there will be an inquest, no doubt: a post-mortem examination, +perhaps: and I shall be detained till all that is over. I shall be +detained two or three days at least: and in the mean time Henry Dunbar +may arrive at Southampton, hurry on to London, and I may miss the one +chance of meeting that man face to face. I won't be balked of this +meeting--I won't be balked. Why should I stop here to watch by an +unconscious man's death-bed? No! Fate has thrown Henry Dunbar once more +across my pathway: and I won't throw my chance away." + +He took up his hat--a battered, shabby-looking white hat, which +harmonized well with his vagabond appearance--and went out, after +stopping for a minute at the bar to tell the landlord that he would be +back in an hour's time. + +He went straight to the railway station, and made inquiries as to the +trains. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +SINKING THE PAST. + + +The train from London to Southampton was due in an hour. The clerk who +gave Joseph Wilmot this information asked him how his brother was +getting on. + +"He is much better," Joseph answered. "I am going on to Southampton to +execute some important business he was to have done there. I shall come +back early to-morrow morning." + +He walked into the waiting-room, and stopped there, seated in the same +attitude the whole time: never stirring, never lifting his head from his +breast: always brooding, brooding, brooding: as he had brooded in the +railway carriage, as he had brooded in the little parlour of the inn. He +took his ticket for Southampton as soon as the office was open, and then +stood on the platform, where there were two or three stragglers, waiting +for the train to come up. + +It came at last. Joseph Wilmot sprang into a second-class carriage, took +his seat in the corner, with his hat slouched over his eyes, which were +almost hidden by its dilapidated brim. + +It was late when he reached Southampton; but he seemed to be acquainted +with the town, and he walked straight to a small public-house by the +river-side, almost hidden under the shadow of the town wall. + +Here he got a bed, and here he ascertained that the _Electra_ had not +yet arrived. + +He ate his supper in his own room, though he was requested to take it in +the public apartment. He seemed to shrink from meeting any one, or +talking to any one; and still brooded over his own black thoughts: as he +had brooded at the railway station, in the parlour of the Basingstoke +inn, in the carriage with his brother Sampson. + +Whatever his thoughts were, they absorbed him so entirely that he seemed +like a man who walks in his sleep, doing everything mechanically, and +without knowing what he does. + +But for all this he was active, for he rose very early the next morning. +He had not had an hour's sleep throughout the night, but had lain in +every variety of restless attitude, tossing first on this side and then +on that: always thinking, thinking, thinking, till the action of his +brain became as mechanical as that of any other machine, and went on in +spite of himself. + +He went downstairs, paid the money for his supper and night's lodging to +a sleepy servant-girl, and left the house as the church-clock in an +old-fashioned square hard by struck eight. + +He walked straight to the High Street, and entered the shop of a tailor +and general outfitter. It was a stylish establishment, and there was a +languid young man taking down the shutters, who appeared to be the only +person on the establishment just at present. + +He looked superciliously enough at Joseph Wilmot, eyeing him lazily from +head to foot, and yawning as he did so. + +"You'd better make yourself scarce," he said; "our principal never gives +anything to tramps." + +"Your principal may give or keep what he likes," Joseph answered, +carelessly; "I can pay for what I want. Call your master down: or stay, +you'll do as well, I dare say. I want a complete rig-out from head to +heel. Do you understand?" + +"I shall, perhaps, when I see the money for it," the languid youth +answered, with a sneer. + +"So you've learned the way of the world already, have you, my lad?" said +Joseph Wilmot, bitterly. Then, pulling his brother's memorandum-book +from his pocket, he opened it, and took out the little packet of +bank-notes. "I suppose you can understand these?" he said. + +The languid youth lifted his nose, which by its natural conformation +betrayed an aspiring character, and looked dubiously at his customer. + +"I can understand as they might be flash uns," he remarked, +significantly. + +Mr. Joseph Wilmot growled out an oath, and made a plunge at the young +shopman. + +"I said as they _might_ be flash," the youth remonstrated, quite meekly; +"there's no call to fly at me. I didn't mean to give no offence." + +"No," muttered Mr. Wilmot; "egad! you'd better _not_ mean it. Call your +master." + +The youth retired to obey: he was quite subdued and submissive by this +time. + +Joseph Wilmot looked about the shop. + +"The cur forgot the till," he muttered; "I might try my hand at that, +if--" He stopped and smiled with a strange, deliberate expression, not +quite agreeable to behold--"if I wasn't going to meet Henry Dunbar." + +There was a full-length looking-glass in one corner of the shop. Joseph +Wilmot walked up to it, looked at himself for a few moments in silent +contemplation, and then shook his clenched hand at the reflected image. + +"You're a vagabond!" he muttered between his set teeth, "and you look +it! You're an outcast; and you look it! But who set the mark upon you? +Who's to blame for all the evil you have done? Whose treachery made you +what you are? That's the question!" + +The owner of the shop appeared, and looked sharply at his customer. + +"Now, listen to me!" Joseph Wilmot said, slowly and deliberately. "I've +been down upon my luck for some time past, and I've just got a bit of +money. I've got it honestly, mind you; and I don't want to be questioned +by such a jackanapes as that shopboy of yours." + +The languid youth folded his arms, and endeavoured to look ferocious in +his fiery indignation; but he drew a little way behind his master as he +did so. + +The proprietor of the shop bowed and smiled. + +"We shall be happy to wait upon you, sir," he said; "and I have no doubt +we shall be able to give you satisfaction. If my shopman has been +impertinent--" + +"He has," interrupted Joseph; "but I don't want to make any palaver +about that. He's like the rest of the world, and he thinks if a man +wears a shabby coat, he must be a scoundrel; that's all. I forgive him." + +The languid youth, very much in the background, and quite sheltered, by +his master, might have been heard murmuring faintly-- + +"Oh, indeed! Forgive, indeed! Do you really, now? Thank you for +nothing!" and other sentences of a derisive character. + +"I want a complete rig-out," continued Joseph Wilmot; "a new suit of +clothes--hat, boots, umbrella, a carpet-bag, half-a-dozen shirts, brush +and comb, shaving tackle, and all the et-ceteras. Now, as you may be no +more inclined to trust me than that young whipper-snapper of yours, for +all you're so uncommon civil, I'll tell you what I'll do. I want this +beard of mine trimmed and altered. I'll go to a barber's and get that +done, and in the meantime you can make your mind easy about the +character of these gentlemen." + +He handed the tradesman three of the Bank of England notes. The man +looked at them doubtfully. + +"If you think they ain't genuine, send 'em round to one of your +neighbours, and get 'em changed," Joseph Wilmot said; "but be quick +about it. I shall be back here in half an hour." + +He walked out of the shop, leaving the man still staring, with the three +notes in his hand. + +The vagabond, with his hat slouched over his eyes, and big hands in his +pockets, strolled away from the High Street down to a barber's shop near +the docks. + +Here he had his beard shaved off, his ragged moustache trimmed into the +most aristocratic shape, and his long, straggling grey hair cut and +arranged according to his own directions. + +If he had been the vainest of men, bent on no higher object in life than +the embellishment of his person, he could not have been more particular +or more difficult to please. + +When the barber had completed his work, Joseph Wilmot washed his face, +readjusted the hair upon his ample forehead, and looked at himself in a +little shaving-glass that hung against the wall. + +So far as the man's head and face went, the transformation was perfect. +He was no longer a vagabond. He was a respectable, handsome-looking +gentleman, advanced in middle age. Not altogether +unaristocratic-looking. + +The very expression of his face was altered. The defiant sneer was +changed into a haughty smile; the sullen scowl was now a thoughtful +frown. + +Whether this change was natural to him, and merely brought about by the +alteration in his hair and beard, or whether it was an assumption of his +own, was only known to the man himself. + +He put on his hat, still slouching the brim over his eyes, paid the +barber, and went away. He walked straight to the docks, and made +inquiries about the steamer _Electra_. She was not expected to arrive +until the next day, at the earliest. Having satisfied himself upon this +point, Joseph Wilmot went back to the outfitter's to choose his new +clothes. + +This business occupied him for a long time; for in this he was as +difficult to please as he had been in the matter of his beard and hair. +No punctilious old bachelor, the best and brightest hours of whose life +had been devoted to the cares of the toilet, could have shown himself +more fastidious than this vagabond, who had been out-at-elbows for ten +years past, and who had worn a felon's dress for thirteen years at a +stretch in Norfolk Island. + +But he evinced no bad taste in the selection of a costume. He chose no +gaudy colours, or flashily-cut vestments. On the contrary, the garb he +assumed was in perfect keeping with the style of his hair and moustache. +It was the dress of a middle-aged gentleman; fashionable, but +scrupulously simple, quiet alike in colour and in cut. + +When his toilet was complete, from his twenty-one shilling hat to the +polished boots upon his well-shaped feet, he left the shady little +parlour in which he had changed his clothes, and came into the shop, +with a glove dangling loosely in one ungloved hand, and a cane in the +other. + +The tradesman and his shopboy stared aghast. + +"If that turn-out had cost you fifty pound, sir, instead of eighteen +pound, twelve, and elevenpence, it would be worth all the money to you; +for you look like a dook;" cried the tailor, with enthusiasm. + +"I'm glad to hear it," Mr. Wilmot said, carelessly. He stood before the +cheval-glass, and twirled his moustache as he spoke, looking at himself +thoughtfully, with a smile upon his face. Then he took his change from +the tailor, counted it, and dropped the gold and silver into his +waistcoat-pocket. + +The man's manner was as much altered as his person. He had entered the +shop at eight o'clock that morning a blackguard as well as a vagabond. +He left it now a gentleman; subdued in voice, easy and rather listless +in gait, haughty and self-possessed in tone. + +"Oh, by the bye," he said, pausing upon the threshold of the door, "I'll +thank you to bundle all those old things of mine together into a sheet +of brown paper: tie them up tightly. I'll call for them after dark +to-night." + +Having said this, very carelessly and indifferently, Mr. Wilmot left the +shop: but though he was now as well dressed and as gentlemanly-looking +as any man in Southampton, he turned into the first by-street, and +hurried away from the town to a lonely walk beside the water. + +He walked along the shore until he came to a village near the river, and +about a couple of miles from Southampton. There he entered a low-roofed +little public-house, very quiet and unfrequented, ordered some brandy +and cold water of a girl who was seated at work behind the bar, and then +went into the parlour,--a low-ceilinged, wainscoted room, whose walls +were adorned here and there with auctioneers' announcements of coming +sales of live and dead stock, farm-houses, and farming implements, +interspersed with railway time-tables. + +Mr. Joseph Wilmot had this room all to himself. He seated himself by the +open window, took up a country newspaper, and tried to read. + +But that attempt was a most dismal failure. In the first place, there +was very little in the paper to read: and in the second, Joseph Wilmot +would have been unable to chain his attention to the page upon which his +eyes were fixed, though all the wisdom of the world had been +concentrated upon that one sheet of printed paper. + +No; he could not read. He could only think. He could only think of this +strange chance which had come to him after five-and-thirty weary years. +He could only think of his probable meeting with Henry Dunbar. + +He entered the village public-house at a little after one, and he stayed +there throughout the rest of the day, drinking brandy-and-water--not +immoderately: he was very careful and watchful of himself in that +matter--taking a snack of bread and cold meat for his dinner, and +thinking of Henry Dunbar. + +In that he never varied, let him do what he would. + +In the railway carriage, at the Basingstoke inn, at the station, through +the long sleepless night at the public-house by the water, in the +tailor's shop, even when he was most occupied by the choice of his +clothes, he had still thought of Henry Dunbar. From the time of his +meeting the old clerk at the Waterloo terminus, he had never ceased to +think of Henry Dunbar. + +He never once thought of his brother: not so much even as to wonder +whether the stroke had been fatal,--whether the old man was yet dead. He +never thought of his daughter, or the anguish his prolonged absence +might cause her to suffer. + +He had put away the past as if it had never been, and concentrated all +the force of his mind upon the one idea which possessed him like some +strong demon. + +Sometimes a sudden terror seized him. + +What if Henry Dunbar should have died upon the passage home? What if the +_Electra_ should bring nothing but a sealed leaden coffin, and a corpse +embalmed in spirit? + +No, he could not imagine that! Fate, darkly brooding over these two men +throughout half a long lifetime, had held them asunder for +five-and-thirty years, to fling them mysteriously together now. + +It seemed as if the old clerk's philosophy was not so very unsound, +after all. Sooner or later,--sooner or later,--the day of retribution +comes. + +When it grew dusk, Joseph Wilmot left the little inn, and walked back to +Southampton. It was quite dark when he entered the High Street, and the +tailor's shop was closing. + +"I thought you'd forgotten your parcel, sir," the man said; "I've had it +ready for you ever so long. Can I send it any where for you?" + +"No, thank you; I'll take it myself." + +With the brown-paper parcel--which was a very bulky one--under his arm, +Joseph Wilmot left the tailor's shop, and walked down to an open pier or +quay abutting on the water. + +On his way along the river shore, between the village public-house and +the town of Southampton, he had filled his pockets with stones. He knelt +down now by the edge of the pier, and tied all these stones together in +an old cotton pocket-handkerchief. + +When he had done this, carefully, compactly, and quickly, like a man +accustomed to do all sorts of strange things, he tied the handkerchief +full of stones to the whipcord that bound the brown-paper parcel, and +dropped both packages into the water. + +The spot which he had chosen for this purpose was at the extreme end of +the pier, where the water was deepest. + +He had done all this cautiously, taking care to make sure every now and +then that he was unobserved. + +And when the parcel had sunk, he watched the widening circle upon the +surface of the water till it died away. + +"So much for James Wentworth, and the clothes he wore," he said to +himself as he walked away. + +He slept that night at the village inn where he had spent the day, and +the next morning walked into Southampton. + +It was a little after nine o'clock when he entered the docks, and the +_Electra_ was visible to the naked eye, steaming through the blue water +under a cloudless summer sky. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY. + + +"To-day I close a volume of the rough, careless, imperfect record which +I have kept of my life. As I run my fingers through the pages of the +limp morocco-covered volume, I almost wonder at my wasted labour;--the +random notes, jotted down now and then, sometimes with long intervals +between their dates, make such a mass of worthless literature. This +diary-keeping is a very foolish habit, after all. Why do I keep this +record of a most commonplace existence? For my own edification and +improvement? Scarcely, since I very rarely read these uninteresting +entries; and I very much doubt if posterity will care to know that I +went to the office at ten o'clock on Wednesday morning; that I couldn't +get a seat in the omnibus, and was compelled to take a Hansom, which +cost me two shillings; that I dined _tête-à-tête_ with my mother, and +finished the third volume of Carlyle's 'French Revolution' in the course +of the evening. _Is_ there any use in such a journal as mine? Will the +celebrated New Zealander, that is to be, discover the volumes amidst the +ruins of Clapham? and shall I be quoted as the Pepys of the nineteenth +century? But then I am by no means as racy as that worldly-minded little +government clerk; or perhaps it may be that the time in which I live +wants the spice and seasoning of that golden age of rascality in which +my Lady Castlemain's white petticoats were to be seen flaunting in the +wind by any frivolous-minded lounger who chose to take notes about those +garments. + +"After all, it is a silly, old-fogeyish habit, this of diary-keeping; +and I think the renowned Pepys himself was only a bachelor spoiled. Just +now, however, I have something more than cab-drives, lost omnibuses, and +the perusal of a favourite book to jot down, inasmuch as my mother and +myself have lately had all our accustomed habits, in a manner, +disorganized by the advent of a lady. + +"She is a very young lady, being, in point of fact, still at a remote +distance from an epoch to which she appears to look forward as a grand +and enviable period of existence. She has not yet entered what she calls +her 'teens,' and two years must elapse before she can enter them, as she +is only eleven years old. She is the only daughter of my only sister, +Marian Lester, and has been newly imported from Sydney, where my sister +Marian and her husband have been settled for the last twelve years. Miss +Elizabeth Lester became a member of our family upon the first of July, +and has since that time continued to make herself quite at home with my +mother and myself. She is rather a pretty little girl, with very auburn +plaits hanging in loops at the back of her head. (Will the New Zealander +and his countrymen care to know the mysteries of juvenile coiffures in +the nineteenth century?) She is a very good little girl, and my mother +adores her. As for myself, I am only gradually growing resigned to the +fact that I am three-and-thirty years of age, and the uncle of a +bouncing niece, who plays variations upon 'Non più mesta.' + +"And 'Non più mesta' brings me to another strange figure in the narrow +circle of my acquaintance; a figure that had no place in the volume +which I have just closed, but which, in the six weeks' interval between +my last record and that which I begin to-day, has become almost as +familiar as the oldest friends of my youth. 'Non più mesta'--I hear my +niece strumming the notes I know so well in the parlour below my room, +as I write these lines, and the sound of the melody brings before me the +image of a sweet pale face and dove-like brown eyes. + +"I never fully realized the number and extent of feminine requirements +until a hack cab deposited my niece and her deal travelling-cases at our +hall-door. Miss Elizabeth Lester seemed to want everything that it was +possible for the human mind to imagine or desire. She had grown during +the homeward voyage; her frocks were too short, her boots were too +small, her bonnets tumbled off her head and hung forlornly at the back +of her neck. She wanted parasols and hair-brushes, frilled and +furbelowed mysteries of muslin and lace, copybooks, penholders, and +pomatum, a backboard and a pair of gloves, drawing-pencils, dumb-bells, +geological specimens for the illustration of her studies, and a hundred +other items, whose very names are as a strange language to my masculine +comprehension; and, last of all, she wanted a musical governess. The +little girl was supposed to be very tolerably advanced in her study of +the piano, and my sister was anxious that she should continue that study +under the superintendence of a duly-qualified instructress, whose terms +should be moderate. My sister Marian underlined this last condition. The +buying and making of the new frocks and muslin furbelows seemed almost +to absorb my mother's mind, and she was fain to delegate to me the duty +of finding a musical governess for Miss Lester. + +"I began my task in the simplest possible way by consulting the daily +newspapers, where I found so many advertisements emanating from ladies +who declared themselves proficients in the art of music, that I was +confused and embarrassed by the wealth of my resources: but I took the +ladies singly, and called upon them in the pleasant summer evenings +after office hours, sometimes with my mother, sometimes alone. + +"It may be that the seal of old-bachelorhood is already set upon me, and +that I am that odious and hyper-sensitive creature commonly called a +'fidget;' but somehow I could not find a governess whom I really felt +inclined to choose for my little Lizzie. Some of the ladies were elderly +and stern; others were young and frivolous; some of them were uncertain +as to the distribution of the letter _h_. One young lady declared that +she was fonder of music than anything in the world. Some were a great +deal too enthusiastic, and were prepared to adore my little niece at a +moment's notice. Many, who seemed otherwise eligible, demanded a higher +rate of remuneration than we were prepared to give. So, somehow or +other, the business languished, and after the researches of a week we +found ourselves no nearer a decision than when first I looked at the +advertisements in the _Times_ supplement. + +"Had our resources been reduced, we should most likely have been much +easier to please; but my mother said, that as there were so many people +to be had, we should do well to deliberate before we came to any +decision. So it happened that, when I went out for a walk one evening, +at the end of the second week in July, Miss Lester was still without a +governess. She was still without a governess: but I was tired of +catechizing the fair advertisers as to their qualifications, and went +out on this particular evening for a solitary ramble amongst the quiet +Surrey suburbs, in any lonely lanes or scraps of common-land where the +speculating builder had not yet set his hateful foot. It was a lovely +evening; and I, who am so much a Cockney as to believe that a London +sunset is one of the grandest spectacles in the universe, set my face +towards the yellow light in the west, and walked across Wandsworth +Common, where faint wreaths of purple mist were rising from the hollows, +and a deserted donkey was breaking the twilight stillness with a +plaintive braying. Wandsworth Common was as lonely this evening as a +patch of sand in the centre of Africa; and being something of a +day-dreamer, I liked the place because of its stillness and solitude. + +"Something of a dreamer: and yet I had so little to dream about. My +thoughts were pleasant, as I walked across the common in the sunset; and +yet, looking back now, I wonder what I thought of, and what image there +was in my mind that could make my fancies pleasant to me. I know what I +thought of, as I went home in the dim light of the newly-risen moon, the +pale crescent that glimmered high in a cloudless heaven. + +"I went into the little town of Wandsworth, the queer old-fashioned High +Street, the dear old street, which seems to me like a town in a Dutch +picture, where all the tints are of a sombre brown, yet in which there +is, nevertheless, so much light and warmth. The lights were beginning to +twinkle here and there in the windows; and upon this July evening there +seemed to be flowers blooming in every casement. I loitered idly through +the street, staring at the shop-windows, in utter absence of mind while +I thought-- + +"What could I have thought of that evening? and how was it that I did +not think the world blank and empty? + +"While I was looking idly in at one of those shop-windows--it was a +fancy-shop and stationer's--a kind of bazaar, in its humble way--my eye +was attracted by the word 'Music;' and on a little card hung in the +window I read that a lady would be happy to give lessons on the +piano-forte, at the residences of her pupils, or at her own residence, +on very moderate terms. The word 'very' was underscored. I thought it +had a pitiful look somehow, that underscoring of the adverb, and seemed +almost an appeal for employment. The inscription on the card was in a +woman's hand, and a very pretty hand--elegant but not illegible, firm +and yet feminine. I was in a very idle frame of mind, ready to be driven +by any chance wind; and I thought I might just as well turn my evening +walk to some account by calling upon the proprietress of the card. She +was not likely to suit my ideas of perfection, any more than the other +ladies I had seen; but I should at least be able to return home with the +consciousness of having made another effort to find an instructress for +my niece. + +"The address on the card was, 'No. 3, Godolphin Cottages.' I asked the +first person I met to direct me to Godolphin Cottages, and was told to +take the second turning on my right. The second turning on my right took +me into a kind of lane or by-road, where there were some old-fashioned, +semi-detached cottages, sheltered by a row of sycamores, and shut in by +wooden palings. I opened the low gate before the third cottage, and went +into the garden,--a primly-kept little garden, with a grass-plat and +miniature gravel-walks, and with a grotto of shells and moss and craggy +blocks of stone in a corner. Under a laburnum-tree there was a green +rustic bench; and here I found a young lady sitting reading by the dying +light. She started at the sound of my footsteps on the crisp gravel, and +rose, blushing like one of the cabbage-roses that grew near her. The +blush was all the more becoming to her inasmuch as she was naturally +very pale. I saw this almost immediately, for the bright colour faded +out of her face while I was speaking to her. + +"'I have come to inquire for a lady who teaches music,' I said; 'I saw a +card, just now, in the High Street, and as I am searching for an +instructress for my little niece, I took the opportunity of calling. But +I fear I have chosen an inconvenient time for my visit.' + +"I scarcely know why I made this apology, since I had omitted to +apologize to the other ladies, on whom I had ventured to intrude at +abnormal hours. I fear that I was weak enough to feel bewildered by the +pensive loveliness of the face at which I looked, and that my confidence +ebbed away under the influence of those grave hazel eyes. + +"The face is so beautiful,--as beautiful now that I have learned the +trick of every feature, though even now I cannot learn all the varying +changes of expression which make it ever new to me, as it was that +evening when it beamed on me for the first time. Shall I describe +her,--the woman whom I have only known four weeks, and who seems to fill +all the universe when I think of her?--and when do I not think of her? +Shall I describe her for the New Zealander, when the best description +must fall so far below the bright reality, and when the very act of +reducing her beauty into hard commonplace words seems in some manner a +sacrilege against the sanctity of that beauty? Yes, I will describe her; +not for the sake of the New Zealander, who may have new and +extraordinary ideas as to female loveliness, and may require a blue nose +or pea-green tresses in the lady he elects as the only type of beautiful +womanhood. I will describe her because it is sweet to me to dwell upon +her image, and to translate that dear image, no matter how poorly, into +words. Were I a painter, I should be like Claude Melnotte, and paint no +face but hers. Were I a poet, I should cover reams of paper with wild +rhapsodies about her beauty. Being only a cashier in a bank, I can do +nothing but enshrine her in the commonplace pages of my diary. + +"I have said that she is pale. Hers is that ivory pallor which sometimes +accompanies hazel eyes and hazel-brown hair. Her eyes are of that rare +hazel, that soft golden brown, so rarely seen, so beautiful wherever +they are seen. These eyes are unvarying in their colour; it is only the +expression of them that varies with every emotion, but in repose they +have a mournful earnestness in their look, a pensive gravity that seems +to tell of a life in which there has been much shadow. The hair, parted +above the most beautiful brow I ever looked upon, is of exactly the same +colour as the eyes, and has a natural ripple in it. For the rest of the +features I must refer my New Zealander to the pictures of the old +Italian masters--of which I trust he may retain a handsome +collection;--for only on the canvases of Signori Raffaello Sanzio +d'Urbino, Titian, and the pupils who emulated them, will he find that +exquisite harmony, that purity of form and tender softness of outline, +which I beheld that summer evening in the features of Margaret +Wentworth. + +"Margaret Wentworth,--that is her name. She told it me presently, when I +had explained to her, in some awkward vague manner, who I was, and how +it was I wanted to engage her services. Throughout that interview, I +think I must have been intoxicated by her presence, as by some subtle +and mysterious influence, stronger than the fumes of opium, or the juice +of lotus flowers. I only know that after ten minutes' conversation, +during which she was perfectly self-possessed, I opened the little +garden-gate again, very much embarrassed by the latch on one hand, and +my hat on the other, and went back out of that little paradise of twenty +feet square into the dusty lane. + +"I went home in triumph to my mother, and told her that I had succeeded +at last in engaging a lady who was in every way suitable, and that she +was coming the following morning at eleven o'clock to give her first +lesson. But I was somewhat embarrassed when my mother asked if I had +heard the lady play; if I had inquired her terms; if I had asked for +references as to respectability, capability, and so forth. + +"I was fain to confess, with much confusion, that I had not done any one +of these things. And then my mother asked me why, in that case, did I +consider the lady suitable,--which question increased my embarrassment +by tenfold. I could not say that I had engaged her because her eyes were +hazel, and her hair of the same colour; nor could I declare that I had +judged of her proficiency as a teacher of the piano by the exquisite +line of her pencilled eyebrows. So, in this dilemma, I had recourse to a +piece of jesuitry, of which I was not a little proud. I told my dear +mother that Miss Wentworth's head was, from a phrenological point of +view, magnificent, and that the organs of time and tune were developed +to an unusual degree. + +"I was almost ashamed of myself when my mother rewarded this falsehood +by a kiss, declaring that I was a dear clever boy, and _such_ a judge of +character, and that she would rather confide in a stranger, upon the +strength of my instinct, than, upon any inferior person's experience. + +"After this I could only trust to the chance of Miss Wentworth's +proficiency; and when I went home from the city upon the following +afternoon, my mind was far less occupied with the business events of the +day than with abstruse speculations at to the probabilities with regard +to that young lady's skill upon the piano-forte. It was with an air of +supreme carelessness that I asked my mother whether she had been pleased +with Miss Wentworth. + +"'Pleased with her!' cried the good soul; 'why, she plays magnificently, +Clement. Such a touch, such brilliancy! In my young days it was only +concert-players who played like that; but nowadays girls of eighteen and +twenty sit down, and dash away at the keys like a professor. I think +you'll be charmed with her, Clem'--(I'm afraid I blushed as my mother +said this; had I not been charmed with her already?)--'when you hear her +play, for she has expression as well as brilliancy. She is passionately +fond of music, I know; not because she went into any ridiculous +sentimental raptures about it, as some girls do, but because her eyes +lighted up when she told me what a happiness her piano had been to her +ever since she was a child. She gave a little sigh after saying that; +and I fancied, poor girl, that she had perhaps known very little other +happiness.' + +"'And her terms, mother?' I said. + +"'Oh, you dear commercial Clem, always thinking of terms!' cried my +mother. + +"Heaven bless her innocent heart! I had asked that sordid question only +to hide the unreasoning gladness of my heart. What was it to me that +this hazel-eyed girl was engaged to teach my little niece 'Non più +mesta'? what was it to me that my breast should be all of a sudden +filled with a tumult of glad emotions, and thus shrink from any +encounter with my mother's honest eyes? + +"'Well, Clem, the terms are almost ridiculously moderate,' my mother +said, presently. 'There's only one thing that's at all inconvenient, +that is to say, not to me, but I'm afraid _you'll_ think it an +objection.' + +"I eagerly asked the nature of this objection. Was there some cold chill +of disappointment in store for me, after all? + +"'Well, you see, Clem,' said my mother, with some little hesitation, +'Miss Wentworth is engaged almost all through the day, as her pupils +live at long distances from one another, and she has to waste a good +deal of time in going backwards and forwards; so the only time she can +possibly give Lizzie is either very early in the morning or rather late +in the evening. Now _I_ should prefer the evening, as I should like to +hear the dear child's lessons; but the question is, would _you_ object +to the noise of the piano while you are at home?' + +"Would I object? Would I object to the music of the spheres? In spite of +the grand capabilities for falsehood and hypocrisy which had been +developed in my nature since the previous evening, it was as much as I +could do to answer my mother's question deliberately, to the effect that +I didn't think I should mind the music-lessons _much_. + +"'You'll be out generally, you know, Clem,' my mother said. + +"'Yes,' I replied, 'of course, if I found the music in any way a +nuisance.' + +"Coming home from the City the next day, I felt like a schoolboy who +turns his back upon all the hardships of his life, on some sunny summer +holiday. The rattling Hansom seemed a fairy car, that was bearing me in +triumph through a region of brightness and splendour. The sunlit +suburban roads were enchanted glades; and I think I should have been +scarcely surprised to see Aladdin's jewelled fruit hanging on the trees +in the villa gardens, or the gigantic wings of Sinbad's roc +overshadowing the hills of Sydenham. A wonderful transformation had +changed the earth to fairy land, and it was in vain that I fought +against the subtle influence in the air around me. + +"Oh, was I in love, was I really in love at last, with a young lady +whose face I had only looked upon eight-and-forty hours before? Was I, +who had flirted with the Miss Balderbys; and half lost my heart to Lucy +Sedwicke, the surgeon's sister; and corresponded for nearly a year with +Clara Carpenter, with the sanction of both our houses, and everything +_en règle_, only to be jilted ignominiously for the sake of an +evangelical curate?--was I, who had railed at the foolish passion--(I +have one of Miss Carpenter's long tresses in the desk on which I am +writing, sealed in a sheet of letter-paper, with Swift's savage +inscription, 'Only a woman's hair,' on the cover)--was I caught at last +by a pair of hazel eyes and a Raffaellesque profile? Were the wings that +had fluttered in so many flames burnt and maimed by the first breath of +this new fire? I was ashamed of my silly fancy in one moment, and proud +of my love in the next. I was ten years younger all of a sudden, and my +heart was all a-glow with chivalrous devotion for this beautiful +stranger. I reasoned with myself, and ridiculed my madness, and yet +yielded like the veriest craven to the sweet intoxication. I gave the +driver of the Hansom five shillings. Had I not a right to pay him a +trifle extra for driving me through fairy-land? + +"What had we for dinner that day? I have a vague idea that I ate cherry +tart and roast veal, fried soles, boiled custard, and anchovy sauce, all +mixed together. I know that the meal seemed to endure for the abnormal +period of half-a-dozen hours or so; and yet it was only seven o'clock +when we adjourned to the drawing-room, and Miss Wentworth was not due +until half-past seven. My niece was all in a flutter of expectation, and +ran out of the drawing-room window every now and then to see if the new +governess was coming. She need not have had that trouble, poor child, +had I been inclined to give her information; since, from the chair in +which I had seated myself to read the evening papers, I could see the +road along which Miss Wentworth must come. My eyes wandered very often +from the page before me, and fixed themselves upon this dusty suburban +road; and presently I saw a parasol, rather a shabby one, and then a +slender figure coming quickly towards our gate, and then the face, which +I am weak enough to think the most beautiful face in Christendom. + +"Since then Miss Wentworth has come three times a week; and somehow or +other I have never found myself in any way bored by 'Non più mesta,' or +even the major and minor scales, which, as interpreted by a juvenile +performer, are not especially enthralling to the ear of the ordinary +listener. I read my books or papers, or stroll upon the lawn, while the +lesson is going on, and every now and then I hear Margaret's--I really +must write of her as Margaret; it is such a nuisance to write Miss +Wentworth--pretty voice explaining the importance of a steady position +of the wrist, or the dexterous turning over or under of a thumb, or +something equally interesting. And then, when the lesson is concluded, +my mother rouses herself from her after-dinner nap, and asks Margaret to +take a cup of tea, and even insists on her accepting that feminine +hospitality. And then we sit talking in the tender summer dusk, or in +the subdued light of a shaded lamp on the piano. We talk of books; and +it is wonderful to me to find how Margaret's tastes and opinions +coincide with mine. Miss Carpenter was stupid about books, and used to +call Carlyle nonsensical; and never really enjoyed Dickens half as much +as she pretended. I have lent Margaret some of my books; and a little +shower of withered rose-leaves dropped from the pages of 'Wilhelm +Meister,' after she had returned me the volume. I have put them in an +envelope, and sealed it. I may as well burn Miss Carpenter's hair, by +the way. + +"Though it is only a month since the evening on which I saw the card in +the window at Wandsworth, Margaret and I seem to be old friends. After a +year Miss Carpenter and I were as far as ever--farther than ever, +perhaps--from understanding each other; but with Margaret I need no +words to tell me that I am understood. A look, a smile, a movement of +the graceful head, is a more eloquent answer than the most elaborate of +Miss Carpenter's rhapsodies. She was one of those girls whom her friends +call 'gushing;' and she called Byron a 'love,' and Shelley an 'angel:' +but if you tried her with a stanza that hasn't been done to death in +'Gems of Verse,' or 'Strings of Poetic Pearls,' or 'Drawing-room Table +Lyrics,' she couldn't tell whether you were quoting Byron or Ben Jonson. +But with Margaret--Margaret,--sweet name! If it were not that I live in +perpetual terror of the day when the dilettante New Zealander will edit +this manuscript, I think I should write that lovely name over and over +again for a page or so. If the New Zealander should exercise his +editorial discretion, and delete my raptures, it wouldn't matter; but I +might furnish him with the text for an elaborate disquisition on the +manners and customs of English lovers. Let me be reasonable about my +dear love, if I can. My dear love--do I dare to call her that already, +when, for anything I know to the contrary, there may be another +evangelical curate in the background? + +"We seem to be old friends; and yet I know so little of her. She shuns +all allusion to her home or her past history. Now and then she has +spoken of her father; always tenderly, but always with a sigh; and I +fancy that a deepening shadow steals over her face when she mentions +that name. + +"Friendly as we are, I can never induce her to let me see her home, +though my mother has suggested that I should do so. She is accustomed to +go about by herself, she says, after dark, as well as in the daytime. +She seems as fearless as a modern Una; and that would indeed be a savage +beast which could molest such a pure and lovely creature." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS. + + +Joseph Wilmot waited patiently enough, in all outward seeming, for the +arrival of the steamer. Everybody was respectful to him now, paying +deference to his altered guise, and he went where he liked without +question or hindrance. + +There were several people waiting for passengers who were expected to +arrive by the _Electra_, and the coming of the steamer was hailed by a +feeble cheer from the bystanders grouped about the landing-place. + +The passengers began to come on shore at about eleven o'clock. There +were a good many children and English nursemaids; three or four +military-looking men, dressed in loose garments of grey and nankeen +colour; several ladies, all more or less sunburnt; a couple of ayahs; +three men-servants; and an aristocratic-looking man of about fifty-five, +dressed, unlike the rest of the travellers, in fine broadcloth, with a +black-satin cravat, a gold pin, a carefully brushed hat, and varnished +boots. + +His clothes, in fact, were very much of the same fashion as those which +Joseph Wilmot had chosen for himself. + +This man was Henry Dunbar; tall and broad-chested, with grey hair and +moustache, and with a haughty smile upon his handsome face. + +Joseph Wilmot stood among the little crowd, motionless as a statue, +watching his old betrayer. + +"Not much changed," he murmured; "very little changed! Proud, and +selfish, and cruel then--proud, and selfish, and cruel now. He has grown +older, and stouter, and greyer; but he is the same man he was +five-and-thirty years ago. I can see it all in his face." + +He advanced as Henry Dunbar landed, and approached the Anglo-Indian. + +"Mr. Dunbar, I believe?" he said, removing his hat. + +"Yes, I am Mr. Dunbar." + +"I have been sent from the office in St. Gundolph Lane, sir," returned +Joseph; "I have a letter for you from Mr. Balderby. I came to meet you, +and to be of service to you." + +Henry Dunbar looked at him doubtfully. + +"You are not one of the clerks in St. Gundolph Lane?" he said. + +"No, Mr. Dunbar." + +"I thought as much; you don't look like a clerk; but who are you, then?" + +"I will tell you presently, sir. I am a substitute for another person, +who was taken ill upon the road. But there is no time to speak of that +now. I came to be of use to you. Shall I see after your luggage?" + +"Yes, I shall be glad if you will do so." + +"You have a servant with you, Mr. Dunbar?" + +"No, my valet was taken ill at Malta, and I left him behind." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Joseph Wilmot; "that was a misfortune." + +A sudden flash of light sparkled in his eyes as he spoke. + +"Yes, it was devilish provoking. You'll find the luggage packed, and +directed to Portland Place; be so good as to see that it is sent off +immediately by the speediest route. There is a portmanteau in my cabin, +and my travelling-desk. I require those with me. All the rest can go +on." + +"I will see to it, sir." + +"Thank you; you are very good. At what hotel are you staying?" + +"I have not been to any hotel yet. I only arrived this morning. The +_Electra_ was not expected until to-morrow." + +"I will go on to the Dolphin, then," returned Mr. Dunbar; "and I shall +be glad if you will follow me directly you have attended to the luggage. +I want to get to London to-night, if possible." + +Henry Dunbar walked away, holding his head high in the air, and swinging +his cane as he went. Ha was one of those men who most confidently +believe in their own merits. The sin he had committed in his youth sat +very lightly upon his conscience. If he thought about that old story at +all, it was only to remember that he had been very badly used by his +father and his Uncle Hugh. + +And the poor wretch who had helped him--the clever, bright-faced, +high-spirited lad who had acted as his tool and accomplice--was as +completely forgotten as if he had never existed. + +Mr. Dunbar was ushered into a great sunny sitting-room at the Dolphin; a +vast desert of Brussels carpet, with little islands of chairs and tables +scattered here and there. He ordered a bottle of soda-water, sank into +an easy-chair, and took up the _Times_ newspaper. + +But presently he threw it down impatiently, and took his watch from his +waistcoat-pocket. + +Attached to the watch there was a locket of chased yellow gold. Henry +Dunbar opened this locket, which contained the miniature of a beautiful +girl, with fair rippling hair as bright as burnished gold, and limpid +blue eyes. + +"My poor little Laura!" he murmured; "I wonder whether she will be glad +to see me. She was a mere baby when she left India. It isn't likely +she'll remember me. But I hope she may be glad of my coming back--I hope +she may be glad." + +He put the locket again in its place, and took a letter from his +breast-pocket. It was directed in a woman's hand, and the envelope was +surrounded by a deep border of black. + +"If there's any faith to be put in this, she will be glad to have me +home at last," Henry Dunbar said, as he drew the letter out of its +envelope. + +He read one passage softly to himself. + +"If anything can console me for the loss of my dear grandfather, it is +the thought that you will come back at last, and that I shall see you +once more. You can never know, dearest father, what a bitter sorrow this +cruel separation has been to me. It has seemed so hard that we who are +so rich should have been parted as we have been, while poor children +have their fathers with them. Money seems such a small thing when it +cannot bring us the presence of those we love. And I do love you, dear +papa, truly and devotedly, though I cannot even remember your face, and +have not so much as a picture of you to recall you to my recollection." + +The letter was a very long one, and Henry Dunbar was still reading it +when Joseph Wilmot came into the room. + +The Anglo-Indian crushed the letter into his pocket, and looked up +languidly. + +"Have you seen to all that?" he asked. + +"Yes, Mr. Dunbar; the luggage has been sent off." + +Joseph Wilmot had not yet removed his hat. He had rather an undecided +manner, and walked once or twice up and down the room, stopping now and +then, and then walking on again, in an unsettled way; like a man who has +some purpose in his mind, yet is oppressed by a feverish irresolution as +to the performance of that purpose. + +But Mr. Dunbar took no notice of this. He sat with the newspaper in his +hand, and did not deign to lift his eyes to his companion, after that +first brief question. He was accustomed to be waited upon, and to look +upon the people who served him as beings of an inferior class: and he +had no idea of troubling himself about this gentlemanly-looking clerk +from St. Gundolph Lane. + +Joseph Wilmot stopped suddenly upon the other side of the table, near +which Mr. Dunbar sat, and, laying his hand upon it, said quietly-- + +"You asked me just now who I was, Mr. Dunbar." + +The banker looked up at him with haughty indifference. + +"Did I? Oh, yea, I remember; and you told me you came from the office. +That is quite enough." + +"Pardon me, Mr. Dunbar, it is not quite enough. You are mistaken: I did +not say I came from the office in St. Gundolph Lane. I told you, on the +contrary, that I came here as a substitute for another person, who was +ordered to meet you." + +"Indeed! That is pretty much the same thing. You seem a very agreeable +fellow, and will, no doubt, be quite as useful as the original person +could have been. It was very civil of Mr. Balderby to send some one to +meet me--very civil indeed." + +The Anglo-Indian's head sank back upon the morocco cushion of the +easy-chair, and he looked languidly at his companion, with half-closed +eyes. + +Joseph Wilmot removed his hat. + +"I don't think you've looked at me very closely, have you, Mr. Dunbar?" +he said. + +"Have I looked at you closely!" exclaimed the banker. "My good fellow, +what do you mean?" + +"Look me full in the face, Mr. Dunbar, and tell me if you see anything +there that reminds you of the past." + +Henry Dunbar started. + +He opened his eyes widely enough this time, and started at the handsome +face before him. It was as handsome as his own, and almost as +aristocratic-looking. For Nature has odd caprices now and then, and had +made very little distinction between the banker, who was worth half a +million, and the runaway convict, who was not worth sixpence. + +"Have I met you before?" he said. "In India?" + +"No, Mr. Dunbar, not in India. You know that as well as I do. Carry your +mind farther back. Carry it back to the time before you went to India." + +"What then?" + +"Do you remember losing a heap of money on the Derby, and being in so +desperate a frame of mind that you took the holster-pistols down from +their place above the chimney-piece in your barrack sitting-room, and +threatened to blow your brains out? Do you remember, in your despair, +appealing to a lad who served you, and who loved you, better perhaps +than a brother would have loved you, though he _was_ your inferior by +birth and station, and the son of a poor, hard-working woman? Do you +remember entreating this boy--who had a knack of counterfeiting other +people's signatures, but who had never used his talent for any guilty +purpose until that hour, so help me Heaven!--to aid you in a scheme by +which your creditors were to be kept quiet till you could get the money +to pay them? Do you remember all this? Yes, I see you do--the answer is +written on your face; and you remember me--Joseph Wilmot." + +He struck his hand upon his breast, and stood with his eyes fixed upon +the other's face. They had a strange expression in them, those eyes--a +sort of hungry, eager look, as if the very sight of his old foe was a +kind of food that went some way towards satisfying this man's vengeful +fury. + +"I do remember you," Henry Dunbar said slowly. He had turned deadly +pale, and cold drops of sweat had broken out upon his forehead: he wiped +them away with his perfumed cambric handkerchief as he spoke. + +"You do remember me?" the other man repeated, with no change in the +expression of his face. + +"I do; and, believe me, I am heartily sorry for the past. I dare say you +fancy I acted cruelly towards you on that wretched day in St. Gundolph +Lane; but I really could scarcely act otherwise. I was so harassed and +tormented by my own position, that I could not be expected to get myself +deeper into the mire by interceding for you. However, now that I am my +own master, I can make it up to you. Rely upon it, my good fellow, I'll +atone for the past." + +"Atone for the past!" cried Joseph Wilmot. "Can you make me an honest +man, or a respectable member of society? Can you remove the stamp of the +felon from me, and win for me the position I _might_ have held in this +hard world but for you? Can you give me back the five-and-thirty +blighted years of my life, and take the blight from them? Can you heal +my mother's broken heart,--broken, long ago by my disgrace? Can you give +me back the dead? Or can you give me pleasant memories, or peaceful +thoughts, or the hope of God's forgiveness? No, no; you can give me none +of these." + +Mr. Henry Dunbar was essentially a man of the world. He was not a +passionate man. He was a gentlemanly creature, very seldom demonstrative +in his manner, and he wished to take life pleasantly. + +He was utterly selfish and heartless. But as he was very rich, people +readily overlooked such small failings as selfishness and want of heart, +and were loud in praise of the graces of his manner and the elegance of +his person. + +"My dear Wilmot," he said, in no wise startled by the vehemence of his +companion, "all that is so much sentimental talk. Of course I can't give +you back the past. The past was your own, and you might have fashioned +it as you pleased. If you went wrong, you have no right to throw the +blame of your wrong-doing upon me. Pray don't talk about broken hearts, +and blighted lives, and all that sort of thing. I'm a man of the world, +and I can appreciate the exact value of that kind of twaddle. I am sorry +for the scrape I got you into, and am ready to do anything reasonable to +atone for that old business. I can't give you back the past; but I can +give you that for which most men are ready to barter past, present, and +future,--I can give you money." + +"How much?" asked Joseph Wilmot, with a half-suppressed fierceness in +his manner. + +"Humph!" murmured the Anglo-Indian, pulling his grey moustaches with a +reflective air. "Let me see; what would satisfy you, now, my good +fellow?" + +"I leave that for you to decide." + +"Very well, then. I suppose you'd be quite contented if I were to buy +you a small annuity, that would keep you straight with the world for the +rest of your life. Say, fifty pounds a year." + +"Fifty pounds a year," Joseph Wilmot repeated. He had quite conquered +that fierceness of expression by this time, and spoke very quietly. +"Fifty pounds a year--a pound a week." + +"Yes." + +"I'll accept your offer, Mr. Dunbar. A pound a week. That will enable me +to live--to live as labouring men live, in some hovel or other; and will +insure me bread every day. I have a daughter, a very beautiful girl, +about the same age as your daughter: and, of course, she'll share my +income with me, and will have as much cause to bless your generosity as +I shall have." + +"It's a bargain, then?" asked the East Indian, languidly. + +"Oh, yes, it's a bargain. You have estates in Warwickshire and +Yorkshire, a house in Portland Place, and half a million of money; but, +of course, all those things are necessary to you. I shall have--thanks +to your generosity, and as an atonement for all the shame and misery, +the want, and peril, and disgrace, which I have suffered for +five-and-thirty years--a pound a week secured to me for the rest of my +life. A thousand thanks, Mr. Dunbar. You are your own self still, I +find; the same master I loved when I was a boy; and I accept your +generous offer." + +He laughed as he finished speaking, loudly but not heartily--rather +strangely, perhaps; but Mr. Dunbar did not trouble himself to notice any +such insignificant fact as the merriment of his old valet. + +"Now we have done with all these heroics," he said, "perhaps you'll be +good enough to order luncheon for me." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME. + + +Joseph Wilmot obeyed his old master, and ordered a very excellent +luncheon, which was served in the best style of the Dolphin; and a +sojourn at the Dolphin is almost a recompense for the pains and +penalties of the voyage home from India. Mr. Dunbar, from the sublime +height of his own grandeur, stooped to be very friendly with his old +valet, and insisted upon Joseph's sitting down with him at the +well-spread table. But although the Anglo-Indian did ample justice to +the luncheon, and washed down a spatchcock and a lobster-salad with +several glasses of iced Moselle, the reprobate ate and drank very +little, and sat for the best part of the time crumbling his bread in a +strange absent manner, and watching his companion's face. He only spoke +when his old master addressed him; and then in a constrained, +half-mechanical way, which might have excited the wonder of any one less +supremely indifferent than Henry Dunbar to the feelings of his +fellow-creatures. + +The Anglo-Indian finished his luncheon, left the table, and walked to +the window: but Joseph Wilmot still sat with a full glass before him. +The sparkling bubbles had vanished from the clear amber wine; but +although Moselle at half-a-guinea a bottle could scarcely have been a +very common beverage to the ex-convict, he seemed to have no +appreciation of the vintage. He sat with his head bent and his elbow on +his knee; brooding, brooding, brooding. + +Henry Dunbar amused himself for about ten minutes looking out at the +busy street--the brightest, airiest, lightest, prettiest High Street in +all England, perhaps; and then turned away from the window and looked at +his old valet. He had been accustomed, five-and-thirty years ago, to be +familiar with the man, and to make a confidant and companion of him, and +he fell into the same manner now, naturally; as if the five-and-thirty +years had never been; as if Joseph Wilmot had never been wronged by him. +He fell into the old way, and treated his companion with that haughty +affability which a monarch may be supposed to exhibit towards his prime +favourite. + +"Drink your wine, Wilmot," he exclaimed; "don't sit meditating there, as +if you were a great speculator brooding over the stagnation of the +money-market. I want bright looks, man, to welcome me back to my native +country. I've seen dark faces enough out yonder; and I want to see +smiling and pleasanter faces here. You look as black as if you had +committed a murder, or were plotting one." + +The Outcast smiled. + +"I've so much reason to look cheerful, haven't I?" he said, in the same +tone he had used when he had declared his acceptance of the banker's +bounty. "I've such a pleasant life before me, and such agreeable +recollections to look back upon. A man's memory seems to me like a book +of pictures that he must be continually looking at, whether he will or +not: and if the pictures are horrible, if he shudders as he looks at +them, if the sight of them is worse than the pain of death to him, he +must look nevertheless. I read a story the other day--at least my girl +was reading it to me; poor child! she tries to soften me with these +things sometimes--and the man who wrote the story said it was well for +the most miserable of us to pray, 'Lord, keep my memory green!' But what +if the memory is a record of crime, Mr. Dunbar? Can we pray that _those_ +memories may be kept green? Wouldn't it be better to pray that our +brains and hearts may wither, leaving us no power to look back upon the +past? If I could have forgotten the wrong you did me five-and-thirty +years ago, I might have been a different man: but I couldn't forget it. +Every day and every hour I have remembered it. My memory is as fresh +to-day as it was four-and-thirty years ago, when my wrongs were only a +twelvemonth old." + +Joseph Wilmot had said all this almost as if he yielded to an +uncontrollable impulse, and spoke because he must speak, rather than +from the desire to upbraid Henry Dunbar. He had not looked at the +Anglo-Indian; he had not changed his attitude; he had spoken with his +head still bent, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. + +Mr. Dunbar had gone back to the window, and had resumed his +contemplation of the street; but he turned round with a gesture of angry +impatience as Joseph Wilmot finished speaking. + +"Now, listen to me, Wilmot," he said. "If the firm in St. Gundolph Lane +sent you down here to annoy and insult me directly I set foot upon +British ground, they have chosen a very nice way of testifying their +respect for their chief: and they have made a mistake which they shall +repent having made sooner or later. If you came here upon your own +account, with a view to terrify me, or to extort money from me, you have +made a mistake. If you think to make a fool of me by any maudlin +sentimentality, you make a still greater mistake. I give you fair +warning. If you expect any advantage from me, you must make yourself +agreeable to me. I am a rich man, and know how to recompense those who +please me: but I will not be bored or tormented by any man alive: least +of all by you. If you choose to make yourself useful, you can stay: if +you don't choose to do so, the sooner you leave this room the better for +yourself, if you wish to escape the humiliation of being turned out by +the waiter." + +At the end of this speech Joseph Wilmot looked up for the first time. He +was very pale, and there were strange hard lines about his compressed +lips, and a new light in his eyes. + +"I am a poor weak fool," he said, quietly; "very weak and very foolish, +when I think there can be anything in that old story to touch your +heart, Mr. Dunbar. I will not offend you again, believe me. I have not +led a very sober life of late years: I've had a touch of _delirium +tremens_, and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be: but I'll +not annoy you again. I'm quite ready to make myself useful in any way +you may require." + +"Get me a time-table, then, and let's see about the trains. I don't want +to stay in Southampton all day." + +Joseph Wilmot rang, and ordered the time-table; Henry Dunbar studied it. + +"There is no express before ten o'clock at night," he said; "and I don't +care about travelling by a slow train. What am I to do with myself in +the interim?" + +He was silent for a few moments, turning over the leaves of Bradshaw's +Guide, and thinking. + +"How far is it from here to Winchester?" he asked presently. + +"Ten miles, or thereabouts, I believe," Joseph answered. + +"Ten miles! Very well, then, Wilmot, I'll tell you what I'll do. I've a +friend in the neighbourhood of Winchester, an old college companion, a +man who has a fine estate in Hampshire, and a house near St. Cross. If +you'll order a carriage and pair to be got ready immediately, we'll +drive over to Winchester. I'll go and see my old friend Michael Marston; +we'll dine at the George, and go up to London by the express which +leaves Winchester at a quarter past ten. Go and order the carriage, and +lose no time about it, that's a good fellow." + +Half an hour after this the two men left Southampton in an open +carriage, with the banker's portmanteau, dressing-case, and +despatch-box, and Joseph Wilmot's carpet-bag. It was three o'clock when +the carriage drove away from the entrance of the Dolphin Hotel: it +wanted five minutes to four when Mr. Dunbar and his companion entered +the handsome hall of the George. + +Throughout the drive the banker had been in very excellent spirits, +smoking cheroots, and admiring the lovely English landscape, the +spreading pastures, the glimpses of woodland, the hills beyond the grey +cathedral city, purple in the distance. + +He had talked a good deal, making himself very familiar with his humble +friend. But he had not talked so much or so loudly as Joseph Wilmot. All +gloomy memories seemed to have melted away from this man's mind. His +former moody silence had been succeeded by a manner that was almost +unnaturally gay. A close observer would have detected that his laugh was +a little forced, his loudest merriment wanting in geniality: but Henry +Dunbar was not a close observer. People in Calcutta, who courted and +admired the rich banker, had been wont to praise the aristocratic ease +of his manner, which was not often disturbed by any vulgar demonstration +of his own emotions, and very rarely ruffled by any sympathy with the +joys, or pity for the sorrows, of his fellow-creatures. + +His companion's ready wit and knowledge of the world--the very worst +part of the world, unhappily--amused the languid Anglo-Indian: and by +the time the travellers reached Winchester, they were on excellent terms +with each other. Joseph Wilmot was thoroughly at home with his patron; +and as the two men were dressed in the same fashion, and had pretty much +the same nonchalance of manner, it would have been very difficult for a +stranger to have discovered which was the servant and which the master. + +One of them ordered dinner for eight o'clock, the best dinner the house +could provide. The luggage was taken up to a private room, and the two +men walked away from the hotel arm-in-arm. + +They walked under the shadow of a low stone colonnade, and then turned +aside by the market-place, and made their way into the precincts of the +cathedral. There are quaint old courtyards, and shadowy quadrangles +hereabouts; there are pleasant gardens, where the flowers seem to grow +brighter in the sanctified shade than other flowers that flaunt in the +unhallowed sunshine. There are low old-fashioned houses, with Tudor +windows and ponderous porches, grey gables crowned with yellow +stone-moss, high garden-walls, queer nooks and corners, deep +window-seats in painted oriels, great oaken beams supporting low dark +ceilings, heavy clusters of chimneys half borne down by the weight of +the ivy that clings about them; and over all, the shadow of the great +cathedral broods, like a sheltering wing, preserving the cool quiet of +these cosy sanctuaries. + +Beyond this holy shelter fair pastures stretch away to the feet of the +grassy hills: and a winding stream of water wanders in and out: now +hiding in dim groves of spreading elms: now creeping from the darkness, +with a murmuring voice and stealthy gliding motion, to change its very +nature, and become the noisiest brook that ever babbled over sunlit +pebbles on its way to the blue sea. + +In one of the grey stone quadrangles close under the cathedral wall, the +two men, still arm-in-arm, stopped to make an inquiry about Mr. Michael +Marston, of the Ferns, St. Cross. + +Alas! Ben Bolt, it is a fine thing to sail away to foreign shores and +prosper there; but it is not so pleasant to come home and hear that +Alice is dead and buried; that of all your old companions there is only +one left to greet you; and that even the brook, which rippled through +your boyish dreams, as you lay asleep amongst the rushes on its brink, +has dried up for ever! + +Mr. Michael Marston had been dead more than ten, years. His widow, an +elderly lady, was still living at the Ferns. + +This was the information which the two men obtained from a verger, whom +they found prowling about the quadrangle, Very little was said. One of +the men asked the necessary questions. But neither of them expressed +either regret or surprise. + +They walked away silently, still arm-in-arm, towards the shady groves +and spreading pastures beyond the cathedral precincts. + +The verger, who was elderly and slow, called after them in a feeble +voice as they went away: + +"Maybe you'd like to see the cathedral, gentlemen; it's well worth +seeing." + +But he received no answer. The two men were out of hearing, or did not +care to reply to him. + +"We'll take a stroll towards St. Cross, and get an appetite for dinner," +Mr. Dunbar said, as he and his companion walked along a pathway, under +the shadow of a moss-grown wall, across a patch of meadow-land, and away +into the holy quiet of a grove. + +A serene stillness reigned beneath the shelter of the spreading +branches. The winding streamlet rippled along amidst wild flowers and +trembling rushes; the ground beneath the feet of these two idle +wanderers was a soft bed of moss and rarely-trodden grass. + +It was a lonely place this grove; for it lay between the meadows and the +high-road. Feeble old pensioners from St. Cross came here sometimes, but +not often. Enthusiastic disciples of old Izaak Walton now and then +invaded the holy quiet of the place: but not often. The loveliest spots +on earth are those where man seldom comes. + +This spot was most lovely because of its solitude. Only the gentle +waving of the leaves, the long melodious note of a lonely bird, and the +low whisper of the streamlet, broke the silence. + +The two men went into the grove arm-in-arm. One of them was talking, the +other listening, and smoking a cigar as he listened. They went into the +long arcade beneath the over-arching trees, and the sombre shadows +closed about them and hid them from the world. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER. + + +The old verger was still pottering about the grey quadrangle, sunning +himself in such glimpses of the glorious light as found their way into +that shadowy place, when one of the two gentlemen who had spoken to him +returned. He was smoking a cigar, and swinging his gold-headed cane +lightly as he came along. + +"You may as well show me the cathedral," he said to the verger; "I +shouldn't like to leave Winchester without having seen it; that is to +say without having seen it again. I was here forty years ago, when I was +a boy; but I have been in India five-and-thirty years, and have seen +nothing but Pagan temples." + +"And very beautiful them Pagan places be, sir, bain't they?" the old man +asked, as he unlocked a low door, leading into one of the side aisles of +the cathedral. + +"Oh yes, very magnificent, of course. But as I was not a soldier, and +had no opportunity of handling any of the magnificence in the way of +diamonds and so forth, I didn't particularly care about them." + +They were in the shadowy aisle by this time, and Mr. Dunbar was looking +about him with his hat in his hand. + +"You didn't go on to the Ferns, then, sir?" said the verger. + +"No, I sent my servant on to inquire if the old lady is at home. If I +find that she is, I shall sleep in Winchester to-night, and drive over +to-morrow morning to see her. Her husband was a very old friend of mine. +How far is it from here to the Ferns?" + +"A matter of two mile, sir." + +Mr. Dunbar looked at his watch. + +"Then my man ought to be back in an hour's time," he said; "I told him +to come on to me here. I left him half-way between here and St. Cross." + +"Is that other gentleman your servant, sir?" asked the verger, with +unmitigated surprise. + +"Yes, that gentleman, as you call him, is, or rather was, my +confidential servant. He is a clever fellow, and I make a companion of +him. Now, if you please, we will see the chapels." + +Mr. Dunbar evidently desired to put a stop to the garrulous inclinations +of the verger. + +He walked through the aisle with a careless easy step, and with his head +erect, looking about him as he went along: but presently, while the +verger was busy unlocking the door of one of the chapels, Mr. Dunbar +suddenly reeled like a drunken man, and then dropped heavily upon an +oaken bench near the chapel-door. + +The verger turned to look at him, and found him wiping the perspiration +from his forehead with his perfumed silk handkerchief. + +"Don't be alarmed," he said, smiling at the man's scared face; "my +Indian habits have unfitted me for any exertion. The walk in the +broiling afternoon sun has knocked me up: or perhaps the wine I drank at +Southampton may have had something to do with it," he added, with a +laugh. + +The verger ventured to laugh too: and the laughter of the two men echoed +harshly through the solemn place. + +For more than an hour Mr. Dunbar amused himself by inspecting the +cathedral. He was eager to see everything, and to know the meaning of +everything. He peered into every nook and corner, going from monument to +monument with the patient talkative old verger at his heels; asking +questions about every thing he saw; trying to decipher half-obliterated +inscriptions upon long-forgotten tombs; sounding the praises of William +of Wykeham; admiring the splendid shrines, the sanctified relics of the +past, with the delight of a scholar and an antiquarian. + +The old verger thought that he had never had so pleasant a task as that +of exhibiting his beloved cathedral to this delightful gentleman, just +returned from India, and ready to admire everything belonging to his +native land. + +The verger was still better pleased when Mr. Dunbar gave him half a +sovereign as the reward for his afternoon's trouble. + +"Thank you, sir, and kindly, to be sure," the old man cackled, +gratefully. "It's very seldom as I get gold for my trouble, sir. I've +shown this cathedral to a dook, sir; but the dook didn't treat me as +liberal as this here, sir." + +Mr. Dunbar smiled. + +"Perhaps not," he said; "the duke mightn't have been as rich a man as I +am in spite of his dukedom." + +"No, to be sure, sir," the old man answered, looking admiringly at the +banker, and sighing plaintively. "It's well to be rich, sir, it is +indeed; and when one have twelve grand-children, and a bed-ridden wife, +one finds it hard, sir; one do indeed." + +Perhaps the verger had faint hopes of another half sovereign from this +very rich gentleman. + +But Mr. Dunbar seated himself upon a bench near the low doorway by which +he had entered the cathedral, and looked at his watch. + +The verger looked at the watch too; it was a hundred-guinea chronometer, +a masterpiece of Benson's workmanship; and Mr. Dunbar's arms were +emblazoned upon the back. There was a locket attached to the massive +gold chain, the locket which contained Laura Dunbar's miniature. + +"Seven o'clock," exclaimed the banker; "my servant ought to be here by +this time." + +"So he ought, sir," said the verger, who was ready to agree to anything +Mr. Dunbar might say; "if he had only to go to the Ferns, sir, he might +have been back by this time easy." + +"I'll smoke a cheroot while I wait for him," the banker said, passing +out into the quadrangle; "he's sure to come to this door to look for +me--I gave him particular orders to do so." + +Henry Dunbar finished his cheroot, and another, and the cathedral clock +chimed the three-quarters after seven, but Joseph Wilmot had not come +back from the Ferns. The verger waited upon his patron's pleasure, and +lingered in attendance upon him, though he would fain have gone home to +his tea, which in the common course he would have taken at five o'clock. + +"Really this is too bad," cried the banker, as the clock chimed the +three-quarters; "Wilmot knows that I dine at eight, and that I expect +him to dine with me. I think I have a right to a little more +consideration from him. I shall go back to the George. Perhaps you'll be +good enough to wait here, and tell him to follow me." + +Mr. Dunbar went away, still muttering, and the verger gave up all +thoughts of his tea, and waited conscientiously. He waited till the +cathedral clock struck nine, and the stars were bright in the dark blue +heaven above him: but he waited in vain. Joseph Wilmot had not come back +from the Ferns. + +The banker returned to the George. A small round table was set in a +pleasant room on the first floor; a bright array of glass and silver +glittered under the light of five wax-candles in a silver candelabrum; +and the waiter was beginning to be nervous about the fish. + +"You may countermand the dinner," Mr. Dunbar said, with evident +vexation: "I shall not dine till Mr. Wilmot, who is my old confidential +servant--my friend, I may say--returns." + +"Has he gone far, sir?" + +"To the Ferns, about a mile beyond St. Cross. I shall wait dinner for +him. Put a couple of candles on that writing-table, and bring me my +desk." + +The waiter obeyed; he placed a pair of tall wax-candles upon the table; +and then brought the desk, or rather despatch-box, which had cost forty +pounds, and was provided with every possible convenience for a business +man, and every elegant luxury that the most extravagant traveller could +desire. It was like everything else about this man: it bore upon it the +stamp of almost limitless wealth. + +Mr. Dunbar took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and unlocked his +despatch-box. He was some little time doing this, as he had a difficulty +in finding the right key. He looked up and smiled at the waiter, who was +still hovering about, anxious to be useful. + +"I _must_ have taken too much Moselle at luncheon to-day," he said, +laughing, "or, at least, my enemies might say so, if they were to see me +puzzled to find the key of my own desk." + +He had opened the box by this time, and was examining one of the +numerous packets of papers, which were arranged in very methodical +order, carefully tied together, and neatly endorsed. + +"I am to put off the dinner, then, sir?" asked the waiter. + +"Certainly; I shall wait for my friend, however long he may be. I'm not +particularly hungry, for I took a very substantial luncheon at +Southampton. I'll ring the bell if I change my mind." + +The waiter departed with a sigh; and Henry Dunbar was left alone with +the contents of the open despatch-box spread out on the table before him +under the light of the tall wax-candles. + +For nearly two hours he sat in the same attitude, examining the papers +one after the other, and re-sorting them. + +Mr. Dunbar must have been possessed of the very spirit of order and +precision; for, although the papers had been neatly arranged before, he +re-sorted every one of them; tying up the packets afresh, reading letter +after letter, and making pencil memoranda in his pocket-book as he did +so. + +He betrayed none of the impatience which is natural to a man who is kept +waiting by another. He was so completely absorbed by his occupation, +that he, perhaps, had forgotten all about the missing man: but at nine +o'clock he closed and locked the despatch-box, jumped up from his seat +and rang the bell. + +"I am beginning to feel alarmed about my friend," he said; "will you ask +the landlord to come to me?" + +Mr. Dunbar went to the window and looked out while the waiter was gone +upon this errand. The High Street was very quiet, a lamp glimmered here +and there, and the pavements were white in the moonlight. The footstep +of a passer-by sounded in the quiet street almost as it might have +sounded in the solemn cathedral aisle. + +The landlord came to wait upon his guest. + +"Can I be of any service to you, sir?" he asked, respectfully. + +"You can be of very great service to me, if you can find my friend; I am +really getting alarmed about him." + +Mr. Dunbar went on to say how he had parted with the missing man in the +grove, on the way to St. Cross, with the understanding that Wilmot was +to go on to the Ferns, and rejoin his old master in the cathedral. He +explained who Joseph Wilmot was, and in what relation he stood towards +him. + +"I don't suppose there is any real cause for anxiety," the banker said, +in conclusion; "Wilmot owned to me that he had not been leading a sober +life of late years. He may have dropped into some roadside public-house +and be sitting boozing amongst a lot of country fellows at this moment. +It's really too bad of him." + +The landlord shook his head. + +"It is, indeed, sir; but I hope you won't wait dinner any longer, sir?" + +"No, no; you can send up the dinner. I'm afraid I shall scarcely do +justice to your cook's achievements, for I took a very substantial +luncheon at Southampton." + +The landlord brought in the silver soup-tureen with his own hands, and +uncorked a bottle of still hock, which Mr. Dunbar had selected from the +wine-list. There was something in the banker's manner that declared him +to be a person of no small importance; and the proprietor of the George +wished to do him honour. + +Mr. Dunbar had spoken the truth as to his appetite for his dinner. He +took a few spoonfuls of soup, he ate two or three mouthfuls of fish, and +then pushed away his plate. + +"It's no use," he said, rising suddenly, and walking to the window; "I +am really uneasy about this fellow's absence." + +He walked up and down the room two or three times, and then walked back +to the open window. The August night was hot and still; the shadows of +the queer old gabled roofs were sharply defined upon the moonlit +pavement. The quaint cross, the low stone colonnade, the solemn towers +of the cathedral, gave an ancient aspect to the quiet city. + +The cathedral clock chimed the half-hour after nine while Mr. Dunbar +stood at the open window looking out into the street. + +"I shall sleep here to-night," he said presently, without turning to +look at the landlord, who was standing behind him. "I shall not leave +Winchester without this fellow Wilmot. It is really too bad of him to +treat me in this manner. It is really very much too bad of him, taking +into consideration the position in which he stands towards me." + +The banker spoke with the offended tone of a proud and selfish man, who +feels that he has been outraged by his inferior. The landlord of the +George murmured a few stereotyped phrases, expressive of his sympathy +with the wrongs of Henry Dunbar, and his entire reprobation of the +missing man's conduct. + +"No, I shall not go to London to-night," Mr. Dunbar said; "though my +daughter, my only child, whom I have not seen for sixteen years, is +waiting for me at my town house. I shall not leave Winchester without +Joseph Wilmot." + +"I'm sure it's very good of you, sir," the landlord murmured; "it's very +kind of you to think so much of this--ahem--person." + +He had hesitated a little before the last word; for although Mr. Dunbar +spoke of Joseph Wilmot as his inferior and dependant, the landlord of +the George remembered that the missing man had looked quite as much a +gentleman as his companion. + +The landlord still lingered in attendance upon Mr. Dunbar. The dishes +upon the table were still hidden under the glistening silver covers. + +Surely such an unsatisfactory dinner had never before been served at the +George Hotel. + +"I am getting seriously uncomfortable about this man," Mr. Dunbar +exclaimed at last. "Can you send a messenger to the Ferns, to ask if he +has been seen there?" + +"Certainly, sir. One of the lads in the stable shall get a horse ready, +and ride over there directly. Will you write a note to Mrs. Marston, +sir?" + +"A note? No. Mrs. Marston is a stranger to me. My old friend Michael +Marston did not marry until after I left England. A message will do just +as well. The lad has only to ask if any messenger from Mr. Dunbar has +called at the Ferns; and if so, at what time he was there, and at what +hour he left. That's all I want to know. Which way will the boy go; +through the meadows, or by the high road?" + +"By the high road, sir; there's only a footpath across the meadows. The +shortest way to the Ferns is the pathway through the grove between here +and St. Cross; but you can only walk that way, for there's gates and +stiles, and such like." + +"Yes, I know; it was there I parted from my servant--from this man +Wilmot." + +"It's a pretty spot, sir, but very lonely at night; lonely enough in the +day, for the matter of that." + +"Yes, it seems so. Send your messenger off at once, there's a good +fellow. Joseph Wilmot may be sitting drinking in the servants' hall at +the Ferns." + +The landlord went away to do his guest's bidding. + +Mr. Dunbar flung himself into a low easy-chair, and took up a newspaper. +But he did not read a line upon the page before him. He was in that +unsettled frame of mind which is common to the least nervous persons +when they are kept waiting, kept in suspense by some unaccountable +event. The absence of Joseph Wilmot became every moment more +unaccountable: and his old master made no attempt to conceal his +uneasiness. The newspaper dropped out of his hand: and he sat with his +face turned towards the door: listening. + +He sat thus for more than an hour, and at the end of that time the +landlord came to him. + +"Well?" exclaimed Henry Dunbar. + +"The lad has come back, sir. No messenger from you or any one else has +called at the Ferns this afternoon." + +Mr. Dunbar started suddenly to his feet, and stared at the landlord. He +paused for a few moments, watching the man's face with a thoughtful +countenance. Then he said, slowly and deliberately,-- + +"I am afraid that something has happened." + +The landlord fidgeted with his ponderous watch-chain, and shrugged his +shoulders with a dubious gesture. + +"Well, it is _strange_, sir, to say the least of it. But you don't think +that----" + +He looked at Henry Dunbar as if scarcely knowing how to finish his +sentence. + +"I don't know what to think," exclaimed the banker. "Remember, I am +almost as much a stranger in this country as if I had never set foot on +British soil before to-day. This man may have played me a trick, and +gone off for some purpose of his own, though I don't know what purpose. +He could have best served his own interests by staying with me. On the +other hand, something may have happened to him. And yet what _can_ have +happened to him?" + +The landlord suggested that the missing man might have fallen down in a +fit, or might have loitered somewhere or other until after dark, and +then lost his way, and wandered into a mill-stream. There was many a +deep bit of water between Winchester Cathedral and the Ferns, the +landlord said. + +"Let a search be made at daybreak to-morrow morning," exclaimed Mr. +Dunbar. "I don't care what it costs me, but I am determined this +business shall be cleared up before I leave Winchester. Let every inch +of ground between this and the Ferns be searched at daybreak to-morrow +morning; let----" + +He did not finish the sentence, for there was a sudden clamour of +voices, and trampling, and hubbub in the hall below. The landlord opened +the door, and went out upon the broad landing-place, followed by Mr. +Dunbar. + +The hall below was crowded by the servants of the place, and by eager +strangers who had pressed in from outside; and the two men standing at +the top of the stairs heard a hoarse murmur; which seemed all in one +voice, though it was in reality a blending of many voices; and which +grew louder and louder, until it swelled into the awful word "Murder!" + +Henry Dunbar heard it and understood it, for his handsome face grew of a +bluish white, like snow in the moonlight, and he leaned his hand upon +the oaken balustrade. + +The landlord passed his guest, and ran down the stairs. It was no time +for ceremony. + +He came back again in less than five minutes, looking almost as pale as +Mr. Dunbar. + +"I'm afraid your friend--your servant--is found, sir," he said. + +"You don't mean that he is----" + +"I'm afraid it is so, sir. It seems that two Irish reapers, coming from +Farmer Matfield's, five mile beyond St. Cross, stumbled against a man +lying in a little streamlet under the trees----" + +"Under the trees! Where?" + +"In the very place where you parted from this Mr. Wilmot, sir." + +"Good God! Well?" + +"The man was dead, sir; quite dead. They carried him to the Foresters' +Arms, sir, as that was the nearest place to where they found him; and +there's been a doctor sent for, and a deal of fuss: but the doctor--Mr. +Cricklewood, a very respectable gentleman, sir--says that the man had +been lying in the water hours and hours, and that the murder had been +done hours and hours ago." + +"The murder!" cried Henry Dunbar; "but he may not have been murdered! +His death may have been accidental. He wandered into the water, +perhaps." + +"Oh, no, sir; it's not that. He wasn't drowned; for the water where he +was found wasn't three foot deep. He had been strangled, sir; strangled +with a running-noose of rope; strangled from behind, sir, for the +slip-knot was pulled tight at the back of his neck. Mr. Cricklewood the +surgeon's in the hall below, if you'd like to see him; and he knows all +about it. It seems, from what the two Irishmen say, that the body was +dragged into the water by the rope. There was the track of where it had +been dragged along the grass. I'm sure, sir, I'm very sorry such an +awful thing should have happened to the--the person who attended you +here." + +Mr. Dunbar had need of sympathy. His white face was turned towards the +landlord's, fixed in a blank stare. He had not seemed to listen to the +man's account of the crime that had been committed, and yet he had +evidently heard everything; for he said presently, in slow, thick +accents,-- + +"Strangled--and the body dragged down--to the water Who--who could--have +done it?" + +"Ah! that's the question, indeed, sir. It must all have been done for +the sake of a bit of money, I suppose; for there was an empty +pocket-book found by the water's edge. There are always tramps and +such-like about the country at this time of year; and some of them will +commit almost any crime for the sake of a few pounds. I remember--ah, as +long ago as forty years and more--when I was a bit of a boy in +pinafores, there was a gentleman murdered on the Twyford road, and they +did say----" + +But Mr. Dunbar was in no humour to listen to the landlord's +reminiscences. He interrupted the man's story with a long-drawn sigh,-- + +"Is there anything I can do? What am I to do?" he said. "Is there +anything I can do?" + +"Nothing, sir, until to-morrow. The inquest will be held to-morrow, I +suppose." + +"Yes--yes, to be sure. There'll be an inquest." + +"An inquest! Oh, yes, sir; of course there will," answered the landlord. + +"Remember that I am a stranger to English habits. I don't know what +steps ought to be taken in such a case as this. Should there not be some +attempt made to find--the--the murderer?" + +"Yes, sir; I've _no doubt_ the constables are on the look-out already. +There'll be every effort made, depend upon it; but I'm really afraid +this is a case in which the murderer will escape from justice." + +"Why so?" + +"Because, you see, sir, the man has had plenty of time to get off; and +unless he's a fool, he must be far away from here by this time, and then +what is there to trace him by--that's to say, unless you could identify +the money, or watch and chain, or what not, which the murdered man had +about him?" + +Mr. Dunbar shook his head. + +"I don't even know whether he wore a watch and chain," he said; "I only +met him this morning. I have no idea what money he may have had about +him." + +"Would you like to see the doctor, sir--Mr. Cricklewood?" + +"Yes--no--you have told me all that there is to tell, I suppose?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I shall go to bed. I'm thoroughly upset by all this. Stay. Is it a +settled thing that this man who has been found murdered is the person +who accompanied me to this house to-day?" + +"Oh, yes, sir; there's no doubt about that. One of our people went down +to the Foresters' Arms, out of curiosity, as you may say, and he +recognized the murdered man directly as the very gentleman that came +into this house with you, sir, at four o'clock to-day." + +Mr. Dunbar retired to the apartment that had been prepared for him. It +was a spacious and handsome chamber, the best room in the hotel; and one +of the waiters attended upon the rich man. + +"As you've been accustomed to have your valet about you, you'll find it +awkward, sir," the landlord had said; "so I'll send Henry to wait upon +you." + +This Henry, who was a smart, active young fellow, unpacked Mr. Dunbar's +portmanteau, unlocked his dressing-case, and spread the gold-topped +crystal bottles and shaving apparatus upon the dressing-table. + +Mr. Dunbar sat in an easy-chair before the looking-glass, staring +thoughtfully at the reflection of his own face, pale in the light of the +tall wax-candles. + +He got up early the next morning, and before breakfasting he despatched +a telegraphic message to the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. + +It was from Henry Maddison Dunbar to William Balderby, and it consisted +of these words:-- + +"_Pray come to me directly, at the George, Winchester. A very awful +event has happened; and I am in great trouble and perplexity. Bring a +lawyer with you. Let my daughter know that I shall not come to London +for some days_." + +All this time the body of the murdered man lay on a long table in a +darkened chamber at the Foresters' Arms. + +The rigid outline of the corpse was plainly visible under the linen +sheet that shrouded it; but the door of the dread chamber was locked, +and no one was to enter until the coming of the coroner. + +Meanwhile the Foresters' Arms did more business than had been done there +in the same space of time within the memory of man. People went in and +out, in and out, all through the long morning; little groups clustered +together in the bar, discoursing in solemn under-tones; and other groups +straggled on the seemed as if every living creature in Winchester was +talking of the murder that had been done in the grove near St. Cross. + +Henry Dunbar sat in his own room, waiting for an answer to the +telegraphic message. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +LAURA DUNBAR. + + +While these things had been happening between London and Southampton, +Laura Dunbar, the banker's daughter, had been anxiously waiting the +coming of her father. + +She resembled her mother, Lady Louisa Dunbar, the youngest daughter of +the Earl of Grantwick, a very beautiful and aristocratic woman. She had +met Mr. Dunbar in India, after the death of her first husband, a young +captain in a cavalry regiment, who had been killed in an encounter with +the Sikhs a year after his marriage, leaving his young widow with an +infant daughter, a helpless baby of six weeks old. + +The poor, high-born Lady Louisa Macmahon was left most desolate and +miserable after the death of her first husband. She was very poor, and +she knew that her relations in England were very little better off than +herself. She was almost as helpless as her six-weeks' old baby; she was +heart-broken by the loss of the handsome young Irishman, whom she had +fondly loved; and ill and broken down by her sorrows, she lingered in +Calcutta, subsisting upon her pension, and too weak to undertake the +perils of the voyage home. + +It was at this time that poor widowed Lady Louisa met Henry Dunbar, the +rich banker. She came in contact with him on account of some money +arrangements of her dead husband's, who had always banked with Dunbar +and Dunbar; and Henry, then getting on for forty years of age, had +fallen desperately in love with the beautiful young widow. + +There is no need for me to dwell upon the history of this courtship. +Lady Louisa married the rich man eighteen months after her first +husband's death. Little Dorothea Macmahon was sent to England with a +native nurse, and placed under the care of her maternal relatives; and +Henry Dunbar's beautiful wife became queen of the best society in the +city of palaces, by the right of her own rank and her husband's wealth. + +Henry Dunbar loved her desperately, as even a selfish man can sometimes +love for once in his life. + +But Lady Louisa never truly returned the millionaire's affection. She +was haunted by the memory of her first and purest love; she was tortured +by remorseful thoughts about the fatherless child who had been so +ruthlessly banished from her. Henry Dunbar was a jealous man, and he +grudged the love which his wife bore to his dead rival's child. It was +by his contrivance the girl had been sent from India. + +Lady Louisa Dunbar held her place in Calcutta society for two years. But +in the very hour when her social position was most brilliant, her beauty +in the full splendour of its prime, she died so suddenly that the +fashionables of Calcutta were discussing the promised splendour of a +ball, for which Lady Louisa had issued her invitations, when the tidings +of her death spread like wildfire through the city--Henry Dunbar was a +widower. He might have married again, had he pleased to do so. The +proudest beauty in Calcutta would have been glad to become the wife of +the sole heir of that dingy banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. + +There was a good deal of excitement upon this subject in the matrimonial +market for two or three years after Lady Louisa's death. A good many +young ladies were expressly imported from England by anxious papas and +mammas, with a view to the capture of the wealthy widower. + +But though Griselda's yellow hair fell down to her waist in glossy, +rippling curls, that shone like molten gold; though Amanda's black eyes +glittered like the stars in a midnight sky; though the dashing Georgina +was more graceful than Diana, the gentle Lavinia more beautiful than +Venus,--Mr. Dunbar went among them without pleasure, and left them +without regret. + +The charms of all these ladies concentrated in the person of one perfect +woman would have had no witchery for the banker. His heart was dead. He +had given all the truth, all the passion of which his nature was +capable, to the one woman who had possessed the power to charm him. + +To seek to win love from him was about as hopeless as it would have been +to ask alms of a man whose purse was empty. The bright young English +beauties found this out by and by, and devoted themselves to other +speculations in the matrimonial market. + +Henry Dunbar sent his little girl, his only child, to England. He parted +with her, not because of his indifference, but rather by reason of his +idolatry. It was the only unselfish act of his life, this parting with +his child; and yet even in this there was selfishness. + +"It would be sweet to me to keep her here," he thought; "but then, if +the climate should kill her; if I should lose her, as I lost her mother? +I will send her away from me now, that she may be my blessing by-and-by, +when I return to England after my father's death." + +Henry Dunbar had sworn when he left the office in St. Gundolph Lane, +after the discovery of the forgery, that he would never look upon his +father's face again,--and he kept his oath. + +This was the father to whose coming Laura Dunbar looked forward with +eager anxiety, with a heart overflowing with tender womanly love. + +She was a very beautiful girl; so beautiful that her presence was like +the sunlight, and made the meanest place splendid. There was a +queenliness in her beauty, which she inherited from her mother's +high-born race. But though her beauty was queenlike, it was not +imperious. There was no conscious pride in her aspect, no cold hauteur +in her ever-changing face. She was such a woman as might have sat by the +side of an English king to plead for all trembling petitioners kneeling +on the steps of the throne. She would have been only in her fitting +place beneath the shadow of a regal canopy; for in soul, as well as in +aspect, she was worthy to be a queen. She was like some tall white lily, +unconsciously beautiful, unconsciously grand; and the meanest natures +kindled with a faint glow of poetry when they came in contact with her. + +She had been spoiled by an adoring nurse, a devoted governess, masters +who had fallen madly in love with their pupil, and servants who were +ready to worship their young mistress. Yes, according to the common +acceptation of the term, she had been spoiled; she had been allowed to +have her own way in everything; to go hither and thither, free as the +butterflies in her carefully tended garden; to scatter her money right +and left; to be imposed upon and cheated by every wandering vagabond who +found his way to her gates; to ride, and hunt, and drive--to do as she +liked, in short. And I am fain to say that the consequence of all this +foolish and reprehensible indulgence had been to make the young heiress +of Maudesley Abbey the most fascinating woman in all Warwickshire. + +She was a little capricious, just a trifle wayward, I will confess. But +then that trifling waywardness gave just the spice that was wanting to +this grand young lily. The white lilies are never more beautiful than +when they wave capriciously in the summer wind; and if Laura Dunbar was +a little passionate when you tried to thwart her; and if her great blue +eyes at such times had a trick of lighting up with sudden fire in them, +like a burst of lurid sunlight through a summer storm-cloud, there were +plenty of gentlemen in Warwickshire ready to swear that the sight of +those lightning-flashes of womanly anger was well worth the penalty of +incurring Miss Dunbar's displeasure. + +She was only eighteen, and had not yet "come out." But she had seen a +great deal of society, for it had been the delight of her grandfather to +have her perpetually with him. + +She travelled from Maudesley Abbey to Portland Place in the company of +her nurse,--a certain Elizabeth Madden, who had been Lady Louisa's own +maid before her marriage with Captain Macmahon, and who was devotedly +attached to the motherless girl. + +But Mrs. Madden was not Laura Dunbar's only companion upon this +occasion. She was accompanied by her half-sister, Dora Macmahon, who of +late years had almost lived at the Abbey, much to the delight of Laura. +Nor was the little party without an escort; for Arthur Lovell, the son +of the principal solicitor in the town of Shorncliffe, near Maudesley +Abbey, attended Miss Dunbar to London. + +This young man had been a very great favourite with Percival Dunbar and +had been a constant visitor at the Abbey. Before the old man died, he +told Arthur Lovell to act in everything as Laura's friend and legal +adviser; and the young lawyer was very enthusiastic in behalf of his +beautiful client. Why should I seek to make a mystery of this +gentleman's feelings? He loved her. He loved this girl, who, by reason +of her father's wealth, was as far removed from him as if she had been a +duchess. He paid a terrible penalty for every happy hour, every +delicious day of simple and innocent enjoyment, that he had spent at +Maudesley Abbey; for he loved Laura Dunbar, and he feared that his love +was hopeless. + +It was hopeless in the present, at any rate; for although he was +handsome, clever, high-spirited, and honourable, a gentleman in the +noblest sense of that noble word, he was no fit husband for the daughter +of Henry Dunbar. He was an only son, and he was heir to a very +comfortable little fortune: but he knew that the millionaire would have +laughed him to scorn had he dared to make proposals for Laura's hand. + +But was his love hopeless in the future? That was the question which he +perpetually asked himself. + +He was proud and ambitious. He knew that he was clever; he could not +help knowing this, though he was entirely without conceit. A government +appointment in India had been offered to him through the intervention of +a nobleman, a friend of his father's. This appointment would afford the +chance of a noble career to a man who knew how to seize the golden +opportunity, which mediocrity neglects, but which genius makes the +stepping-stone to greatness. + +The nobleman who made the offer to Arthur Lovell had written to say that +there was no necessity for an immediate decision. If Arthur accepted the +appointment, he would not be obliged to leave England until the end of a +twelvemonth, as the vacancy would not occur before that time. + +"In the meanwhile," Lord Herriston wrote to the solicitor, "your son can +think the matter over, my dear Lovell, and make his decision with all +due deliberation." + +Arthur Lovell had already made that decision. + +"I will go to India," he said; "for if ever I am to win Laura Dunbar, I +must succeed in life. But before I go I will tell her that I love her. +If she returns my love, my struggles will be sweet to me, for they will +be made for her sake. If she does not----" + +He did not finish the sentence even in his own mind. He could not bear +to think that it was possible he might hear his death-knell from the +lips he worshipped. He had gladly seized upon the opportunity afforded +by this visit to the town house. + +"I will speak to her before her father returns," he thought; "she will +speak the truth to me now fearlessly; for it is her nature to be +fearless and candid as a child. But his coming may change her. She is +fond of him, and will be ruled by him. Heaven grant he may rule her +wisely and gently!" + +On the 17th of August, Laura and Mrs. Madden arrived in Portland Place. + +Arthur Lovell parted with his beautiful client at the railway station, +and drove off to the hotel at which he was in the habit of staying. He +called upon Miss Dunbar on the 18th; but found that she was out shopping +with Mrs. Madden. He called again, on the morning of the 19th; that +bright sunny August morning on which the body of the murdered man lay in +the darkened chamber at Winchester. + +It was only ten o'clock when the young lawyer made his appearance in the +pleasant morning-room occupied by Laura Dunbar whenever she stayed in +Portland Place. The breakfast equipage was still upon the table in the +centre of the room. Mrs. Madden, who was companion, housekeeper, and +confidential maid to her charming young mistress, was officiating at the +breakfast-table; Dora Macmahon was sitting near her, with an open book +by the side of her breakfast-cup; and Miss Laura Dunbar was lounging in +a low easy-chair, near a broad window that opened into a conservatory +filled with exotics, that made the air heavy with their almost +overpowering perfume. + +She rose as Arthur Lovell came into the room, and she looked more like a +lily than ever in her long loose morning-dress of soft semi-diaphanous +muslin. Her thick auburn hair was twisted into a diadem that crowned her +broad white forehead, and added a couple of inches to her height. She +held out her little ringed hand, and the jewels on the white fingers +scintillated in the sunlight. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Lovell," she said. "Dora and I have been +miserable, haven't we, Dora? London is as dull as a desert. I went for a +drive yesterday, and the Lady's Mile is as lonely as the Great Sahara. +There are plenty of theatres open, and there was a concert at one of the +opera-houses last night; but that disagreeable Elizabeth wouldn't allow +me to go to any one of those entertainments. Grandpapa would have taken +me. Dear grandpapa went everywhere with me." + +Mrs. Madden shook her head solemnly. + +"Your gran'pa would have gone after you to the remotest end of this +world, Miss Laura, if you'd so much as held your finger up to beckon of +him. Your gran'pa spiled you, Miss Laura. A pretty thing it would have +been if your pa had come all the way from India to find his only +daughter gallivanting at a theaytre." + +Miss Dunbar looked at her old nurse with an arch smile. She was very +lovely when she smiled; she was very lovely when she frowned. She was +most beautiful always, Arthur Lovell thought. + +"But I shouldn't have been gallivanting, you dear old Madden," she +cried, with a joyous silver laugh, that was like the ripple of a cascade +under a sunny sky. "I should only have been sitting quietly in a private +box, with my rapid, precious, aggravating, darling old nurse to keep +watch and ward over me. Besides, how could papa be angry with me upon +the first day of his coming home?" + +Mrs. Madden shook her head again even more solemnly than before. + +"I don't know about that, Miss Laura. You mustn't expect to find Mr. +Dunbar like your gran'pa." + +A sudden cloud fell upon the girl's lovely face. + +"Why, Elizabeth," she said, "you don't mean that papa will be unkind to +me?" + +"I don't know your pa, Miss Laura. I never set eyes upon Mr. Dunbar in +my life. But the Indian servant that brought you over, when you was but +a bit of a baby, said that your pa was proud and passionate; and that +even your poor mar, which he loved her better than any livin' creature +upon this earth, was almost afraid of him." + +The smile had quite vanished from Laura Dunbar's face by this time, and +the blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. + +"Oh, what shall I do if my father is unkind to me?" she said, piteously. +"I have so looked forward to his coming home. I have counted the very +days; and if he is unkind to me--if he does not love me----" + +She covered her face with her hands, and turned away her head. "Laura," +exclaimed Arthur Lovell, addressing her for the first time by her +Christian name, "how could any one help loving you? How----" + +He stopped, half ashamed of his passionate enthusiasm. In those few +words he had revealed the secret of his heart: but Laura Dunbar was too +innocent to understand the meaning of those eager words. + +Mrs. Madden understood them perfectly; and she smiled approvingly at the +young man. + +Arthur Lovell was a great favourite with Laura Dunbar's nurse. She knew +that he adored her young mistress; and she looked upon him as a model of +all that is noble and chivalrous. + +She began to fidget with the silver tea-canisters; and then looked +significantly at Dora Macmahon. But Miss Macmahon did not understand +that significant glance. Her dark eyes--and she had very beautiful eyes, +with a grave, half-pensive softness in their sombre depths--were fixed +upon the two young faces in the sunny window; the girl's face clouded +with a look of sorrowful perplexity, the young man's face eloquent with +tender meaning. Dora Macmahon's colour went and came as she looked at +that earnest countenance, and the fingers which were absently turning +the leaves of her book were faintly tremulous. + +"Your new bonnet's come home this morning, Miss Dora," Elizabeth Madden +said, rather sharply. "Perhaps you'd like to come up-stairs and have a +look at it." + +"My new bonnet!" murmured Dora, vaguely. + +"La, yes, miss; the new bonnet you bought in Regent Street only +yesterday afternoon. I never did see such a forgetful wool-gathering +young lady in all my life as you are this blessed morning, Miss Dora." + +The absent-minded young lady rose suddenly, bewildered by Mrs. Madden's +animated desire for an inspection of the bonnet. But she very willingly +left the room with Laura's old nurse, who was accustomed to have her +mandates obeyed even by the wayward heiress of Maudesley Abbey; and +Laura was left alone with the young lawyer. + +Miss Dunbar had seated herself once more in the low easy-chair by the +window. She sat with her elbow resting on the cushioned arm of the +chair, and her head supported by her hand. Her eyes were fixed, and +looked straight before her, with a thoughtful gaze that was strange to +her: for her nature was as joyous as that of a bird, whose music fills +all the wide heaven with one rejoicing psalm. + +Arthur Lovell drew his chair nearer to the thoughtful girl. + +"Laura," he said, "why are you so silent? I never saw you so serious +before, except after your grandfather's death." + +"I am thinking of my father," she answered, in a low, tremulous voice, +that was broken by her tears: "I am thinking that, perhaps, he will not +love me." + +"Not love you, Laura! who could help loving you? Oh, if I dared--if I +could venture--I must speak, Laura Dunbar. My whole life hangs upon the +issue, and I will speak. I am not a poor man, Laura; but you are so +divided from the rest of the world by your father's wealth, that I have +feared to speak. I have feared to tell you that which you might have +discovered for yourself, had you not been as innocent as your own pet +doves in the dovecote at Maudesley." + +The girl looked at him with wondering eyes that were still wet with +unshed tears. + +"I love you, Laura; I love you. The world would call me beneath you in +station, now; but I am a man, and I have a man's ambition--a strong +man's iron will. Everything is possible to him who has sworn to conquer; +and for your sake. Laura, for your love I should overcome obstacles that +to another man might be invincible. I am going to India, Laura: I am +going to carve my way to fame and fortune, for fame and fortune are +_slaves_ that come at the brave man's bidding; they are only _masters_ +when the coward calls them. Remember, my beloved one, this wealth that +now stands between you and me may not always be yours. Your father is +not an old man; he may marry again, and have a son to inherit his +wealth. Would to Heaven, Laura, that it might be so! But be that as it +may, I despair of nothing if I dare hope for your love. Oh, Laura, +dearest, one word to tell me that I _may_ hope! Remember how happy we +have been together; little children playing with flowers and butterflies +in the gardens at Maudesley; boy and girl, rambling hand-in-hand beside +the wandering Avon; man and woman standing in mournful silence by your +grandfather's deathbed. The past is a bond of union betwixt us, Laura. +Look back at all those happy days and give me one word, my darling--one +word to tell me that you love me." + +Laura Dunbar looked up at him with a sweet smile, and laid her soft +white hand in his. + +"I do love you, Arthur," she said, "as dearly as I should have loved my +brother had I ever known a brother's love." + +The young man bowed his head in silence. When he looked up, Laura Dunbar +saw that he was very pale. + +"You only love me as a brother, Laura?" + +"How else should I love you?" she asked, innocently. + +Arthur Lovell looked at her with a mournful smile; a tender smile that +was exquisitely beautiful, for it was the look of a man who is prepared +to resign his own happiness for the sake of her he loves. + +"Enough, Laura," he said, quietly; "I have received my sentence. You do +not love me, dearest; you have yet to suffer life's great fever." + +She clasped her hands, and looked at him beseechingly. + +"You are not angry with me, Arthur?" she said. + +"Angry with you, my sweet one!" + +"And you will still love me?" + +"Yes, Laura, with all a brother's devotion. And if ever you have need of +my services, you shall find what it is to have a faithful friend, who +holds his life at small value beside your happiness." + +He said no more, for there was the sound of carriage-wheels below the +window, and then a loud double-knock at the hall-door. + +Laura started to her feet, and her bright face grew pale. + +"My father has come!" she exclaimed. + +But it was not her father. It was Mr. Balderby, who had just come from +St. Gundolph Lane, where he had received Henry Dunbar's telegraphic +despatch. + +Every vestige of colour faded out of Laura's face as she recognized the +junior partner of the banking-house. + +"Something has happened to my father!" she cried. + +"No, no, Miss Dunbar!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby, anxious to reassure her. +"Your father has arrived in England safely, and is well, as I believe. +He is staying at Winchester; and he has telegraphed to me to go to him +there immediately." + +"Something has happened, then?" + +"Yes, but not to Mr. Dunbar individually; so far as I can make out by +the telegraphic message. I was to come to you here, Miss Dunbar, to tell +you not to expect your papa for some few days; and then I am to go on to +Winchester, taking a lawyer with me." + +"A lawyer!" exclaimed Laura. + +"Yes, I am going to Lincoln's Inn immediately to Messrs. Walford and +Walford, our own solicitors." + +"Let Mr. Lovell go with you," cried Miss Dunbar; "he always acted as +poor grandpapa's solicitor. Let him go with you." + +"Yes, Mr. Balderby," exclaimed the young man, "I beg you to allow me to +accompany you. I shall be very glad to be of service to Mr. Dunbar." + +Mr. Balderby hesitated for a few moments. + +"Well, I really don't see why you shouldn't go, if you wish to do so," +he said, presently. "Mr. Dunbar says he wants a lawyer; he doesn't name +any particular lawyer. We shall save time by your going; for we shall be +able to catch the eleven o'clock express." + +He looked at his watch. + +"There's not a moment to lose. Good morning, Miss Dunbar. We'll take +care of your papa, and bring him to you in triumph. Come, Lovell." + +Arthur Lovell shook hands with Laura, murmured a few words in her ear, +and hurried away with Mr. Balderby. + +She had spoken the death-knell of his dearest hopes. He had seen his +sentence in her innocent face; but he loved her still. + +There was something in her virginal candour, her bright young +loveliness, that touched the noblest chords of his heart. He loved her +with a chivalrous devotion, which, after all, is as natural to the +breast of a young Englishman in these modern days, miscalled degenerate, +as when the spotless knight King Arthur loved and wooed his queen. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE INQUEST. + + +The coroner's inquest, which had been appointed to take place at noon +that day, was postponed until three o'clock in the afternoon, in +compliance with the earnest request of Henry Dunbar. + +When ever was the earnest request of a millionaire refused? + +The coroner, who was a fussy little man, very readily acceded to Mr. +Dunbar's entreaties. + +"I am a stranger in England," the Anglo-Indian said; "I was never in my +life present at an inquest. The murdered man was connected with me. He +was last seen in my company. It is vitally necessary that I should have +a legal adviser to watch the proceedings on my behalf. Who knows what +dark suspicions may arise, affecting my name and honour?" + +The banker made this remark in the presence of four or five of the +jurymen, the coroner, and Mr. Cricklewood, the surgeon who had been +called in to examine the body of the man supposed to have been murdered. +Every one of those gentlemen protested loudly and indignantly against +the idea of the bare possibility that any suspicion, or the shadow of a +suspicion, could attach to such a man as Mr. Dunbar. + +They knew nothing of him, of course, except that he was Henry Dunbar, +chief of the rich banking-house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, and +that he was a millionaire. + +Was it likely that a millionaire would commit a murder? + +When had a millionaire ever been known to commit a murder? Never, of +course! + +The Anglo-Indian sat in his private sitting-room at the George Hotel, +writing, and examining his papers--perpetually writing, perpetually +sorting and re-sorting those packets of letters in the +despatch-box--while he waited for the coming of Mr. Balderby. + +The postponement of the coroner's inquest was a very good thing for the +landlord of the Foresters' Arms. People went in and out, and loitered +about the premises, and lounged in the bar, drinking and talking all the +morning, and the theme of every conversation was the murder that had +been done in the grove on the way to St. Cross. + +Mr. Balderby and Arthur Lovell arrived at the George a few minutes +before two o'clock. They were shown at once into the apartment in which +Henry Dunbar sat waiting for them. + +Arthur Lovell had been thinking of Laura and Laura's father throughout +the journey from London. He had wondered, as he got nearer and nearer to +Winchester, what would be his first impression respecting Mr. Dunbar. + +That first impression was not a good one--no, it was not a good one. Mr. +Dunbar was a handsome man--a very handsome man--tall and +aristocratic-looking, with a certain haughty pace in his manner that +harmonized well with his good looks. But, in spite of all this, the +impression which he made upon the mind of Arthur Lovell was not an +agreeable one. + +The young lawyer had heard the story of the forgery vaguely hinted at by +those who were familiar with the history of the Dunbar family; and he +had heard that the early life of Henry Dunbar had been that of a selfish +spendthrift. + +Perhaps this may have had some influence upon his feelings in this his +first meeting with the father of the woman he loved. + +Henry Dunbar told the story of the murder. The two men were +inexpressibly shocked by this story. + +"But where is Sampson Wilmot?" exclaimed Mr. Balderby. "It was he whom I +sent to meet you, knowing that he was the only person in the office who +remembered you, or whom you remembered." + +"Sampson was taken ill upon the way, according to his brother's story," +Mr. Dunbar answered. "Joseph left the poor old man somewhere upon the +road." + +"He did not say where?" + +"No; and, strange to say, I forgot to ask him the question. The poor +fellow amused me by old memories of the past on the road between +Southampton and this place, and we therefore talked very little of the +present." + +"Sampson must be very ill," exclaimed Mr. Balderby, "or he would +certainly have returned to St. Gundolph Lane to tell me what had taken +place." + +Mr. Dunbar smiled. + +"If he was too ill to go on to Southampton, he would, of course, be too +ill to return to London," he said, with supreme indifference. + +Mr. Balderby, who was a good-hearted man, was distressed at the idea of +Sampson Wilmot's desolation; an old man, stricken with sudden illness, +and abandoned to strangers. + +Arthur Lovell was silent: he sat a little way apart from the two others, +watching Henry Dunbar. + +At three o'clock the inquest commenced. The witnesses summoned were the +two Irishmen, Patrick Hennessy and Philip Murtock, who had found the +body in the stream near St. Cross; Mr. Cricklewood, the surgeon; the +verger, who had seen and spoken to the two men, and who had afterwards +shown the cathedral to Mr. Dunbar; the landlord of the George, and the +waiter who had received the travellers and had taken Mr. Dunbar's orders +for the dinner; and Henry Dunbar himself. + +There were a great many people in the room, for by this time the tidings +of the murder had spread far and wide. There were influential people +present, amongst others, Sir Arden Westhorpe, one of the county +magistrates resident at Winchester. Arthur Lovell, Mr. Balderby, and the +Anglo-Indian sat in a little group apart from the rest. + +The jurymen were ranged upon either side of a long mahogany table. The +coroner sat at the top. + +But before the examination of the witnesses was commenced, the jurymen +were conducted into that dismal chamber where the dead man lay upon one +of the long tap-room tables. Arthur Lovell went with them; and Mr. +Cricklewood, the surgeon, proceeded to examine the corpse, so as to +enable him to give evidence respecting the cause of death. + +The face of the dead man was distorted and blackened by the agony of +strangulation. The coroner and the jurymen looked at that dead face with +wondering, awe-stricken glances. Sometimes a cruel stab, that goes +straight home to the heart, will leave the face of the murdered as calm, +as the face of a sleeping child. + +But in this case it was not so. The horrible stamp of assassination was +branded upon that rigid brow. Horror, surprise, and the dread agony of +sudden death were all blended in the expression of the face. + +The jurymen talked a little to one another in scarcely audible whispers, +asked a few questions of the surgeon, and then walked softly from the +darkened room. + +The facts of the case were very simple, and speedily elicited. But +whatever the truth of that awful story might be, there was nothing that +threw any light upon the mystery. + +Arthur Lovell, watching the case in the interests of Mr. Dunbar, asked +several questions of the witnesses. Henry Dunbar was himself the first +person examined. He gave a very simple and intelligible account of all +that had taken place from the moment of his landing at Southampton. + +"I found the deceased waiting to receive me when I landed," he said. "He +told me that he came as a substitute for another person. I did not know +him at first--that is to say, I did not recognize him as the valet who +had been in my service prior to my leaving England five-and-thirty years +ago. But he made himself known to me afterwards, and he told me that he +had met his brother in London on the sixteenth of this month, and had +travelled with him part of the way to Southampton. He also told me that, +on the way to Southampton, his brother, Sampson Wilmot, a much older man +than the deceased, was taken ill, and that the two men then parted +company." + +Mr. Dunbar had said all this with perfect self-possession, and with +great deliberation. He was so very self-possessed, so very deliberate, +that it seemed almost as if he had been reciting something which he had +learned by heart. + +Arthur Lovell, watching him very intently, saw this, and wondered at it. +It is very usual for a witness, even the most indifferent witness, +giving evidence about some trifling matter, to be confused, to falter, +and hesitate, and contradict himself, embarrassed by the strangeness of +his position. But Henry Dunbar was in nowise discomposed by the awful +nature of the event which had happened. He was pale; but his firmly-set +lips, his erect carriage, the determined glance of his eyes, bore +witness to the strength of his nerves and the power of his intellect. + +"The man must be made of iron," Arthur Lovell thought to himself. "He is +either a very great man, or a very wicked one. I almost fear to ask +myself which." + +"Where did the deceased Joseph Wilmot say he left his brother Sampson, +Mr. Dunbar?" asked the coroner. + +"I do not remember." + +The coroner scratched his chin, thoughtfully. + +"That is rather awkward," he said; "the evidence of this man Sampson +might throw some light upon this most mysterious event." + +Mr. Dunbar then told the rest of his story. + +He spoke of the luncheon at Southampton, the journey from Southampton to +Winchester, the afternoon stroll down to the meadows near St. Cross. + +"Can you tell us the exact spot at which you parted with the deceased?" +asked the coroner. + +"No," Mr. Dunbar answered; "you must bear in mind that I am a stranger +in England. I have not been in this neighbourhood since I was a boy. My +old schoolfellow, Michael Marston, married and settled at the Ferns +during my absence in India. I found at Southampton that I should have a +few hours on my hands before I could travel express for London, and I +came to this place on purpose to see my old friend. I was very much +disappointed to find that he was dead. But I thought that I would call +upon his widow, from whom I should no doubt hear the history of my poor +friend's last moments. I went with Joseph Wilmot through the cathedral +yard, and down towards St. Cross. The verger saw us, and spoke to us as +we went by." + +The verger, who was standing amongst the other witnesses, waiting to be +examined, here exclaimed,-- + +"Ay, that I did, sir; I remember it well." + +"At what time did you leave the George?" + +"At a little after four o'clock." + +"Where did you go then?" + +"I went," answered Mr. Dunbar, boldly, "into the grove with the +deceased, arm-in-arm. We walked together about a quarter of a mile under +the trees, and I had intended to go on to the Ferns, to call upon +Michael Marston's widow; but my habits of late years have been +sedentary; the heat of the day and the walk together were too much for +me. I sent Joseph Wilmot on to the Ferns with a message for Mrs. +Marston, asking at what hour she could conveniently receive me to-day; +and I returned to the cathedral. Joseph Wilmot was to deliver his +message at the Ferns, and rejoin me in the cathedral." + +"He was to return to the cathedral?" + +"Yes." + +"But why should he not have returned to the George Hotel? Why should you +wait for him at the cathedral?" + +Arthur Lovell listened, with a strange expression upon his face. If +Henry Dunbar was pale, Henry Dunbar's legal adviser was still more so. +The jurymen stared aghast at the coroner, as if they had been +awe-stricken by his impertinence towards the chief partner of the great +banking-house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. How dared he--a man with +an income of five hundred a year at the most--how dared he discredit or +question any assertion made by Henry Dunbar? + +The Anglo-Indian smiled, a little contemptuously. He stood in a careless +attitude, playing with the golden trinkets at his watch-chain, with the +hot August sunshine streaming upon his face from a bare unshaded window +opposite him. But he did not attempt to escape that almost blinding +glare. He stood facing the sunlight; facing the gaze of the coroner and +the jurymen; the scrutinizing glance of Arthur Lovell. Unabashed and +_nonchalant_ as if he had been standing in a ball-room, the hero of the +hour, the admired of all who looked upon him, Mr. Dunbar stood before +the coroner and jury, and told the broken history of his old servant's +death. + +"Yes," Mr. Lovell thought again, as he watched the rich man's face, "his +nerves must be made of iron." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +ARRESTED. + + +The coroner repeated his question: + +"Why did you tell the deceased to join you at the cathedral, Mr. +Dunbar?" + +"Merely because it suited my humour at the time to do so," answered the +Anglo-Indian, coolly. "We had been very friendly together, and I had a +fancy for going over the cathedral. I thought that Wilmot might return +from the Ferns in time to go over some portion of the edifice with me. +He was a very intelligent fellow, and I liked his society." + +"But the journey to the Ferns and back would have occupied some time." + +"Perhaps so," answered Mr. Dunbar; "I did not know the distance to the +Ferns, and I did not make any calculation as to time. I merely said to +the deceased, 'I shall go back and look at the cathedral; and I will +wait for you there.' I said this, and I told him to be as quick as he +could." + +"That was all that passed between you?" + +"It was. I then returned to the cathedral." + +"And you waited there for the deceased?" + +"I did. I waited until close upon the hour at which I had ordered dinner +at the George." + +There was a pause, during which the coroner looked very thoughtful. + +"I am compelled to ask you one more question, Mr. Dunbar," he said, +presently, hesitating a little as he spoke. + +"I am ready to answer any questions you may wish to ask," Mr. Dunbar +replied, very quietly. + +"Were you upon friendly terms with the deceased?" + +"I have just told you so. We were on excellent terms. I found him an +agreeable companion. His manners were those of a gentleman. I don't know +how he had picked up his education, but he certainly had contrived to +educate himself some how or other." + +"I understand you were friendly together at the time of his death; but +prior to that time----" + +Mr. Dunbar smiled. + +"I have been in India five-and-thirty years," he said. + +"Precisely. But before your departure for India, had you any +misunderstanding, any serious quarrel with the deceased?" + +Mr. Dunbar's face flushed suddenly, and his brows contracted as if even +his self-possession were not proof against the unpleasant memories of +the past. + +"No," he said, with determination; "I never quarrelled with him." + +"There had been no cause of quarrel between you?" + +"I don't understand your question. I have told you that I never +quarrelled with him." + +"Perhaps not; but there might have been some hidden animosity, some +smothered feeling, stronger than any openly-expressed anger, hidden in +your breast. Was there any such feeling?" + +"Not on my part." + +"Was there any such feeling on the part of the deceased?" + +Mr. Dunbar looked furtively at William Balderby. The junior partner's +eyelids dropped under that stolen glance. + +It was clear that he knew the story of the forged bills. + +Had the coroner for Winchester been a clever man, he would have followed +that glance of Mr. Dunbar's, and would have understood that the junior +partner knew something about the antecedents of the dead man. But the +coroner was not a very close observer, and Mr. Dunbar's eager glance +escaped him altogether. + +"Yes," answered the Anglo-Indian, "Joseph Wilmot had a grudge against me +before I sailed for Calcutta, but we settled all that at Southampton, +and I promised to allow him an annuity." + +"You promised him an annuity?" + +"Yes--not a very large one--only fifty pounds a year; but he was quite +satisfied with that promise." + +"He had some claim upon you, then?" + +"No, he had no claim whatever upon me," replied Mr. Dunbar, haughtily. + +Of course, it could be scarcely pleasant for a millionaire to be +cross-questioned in this manner by an impertinent Hampshire coroner. + +The jurymen sympathized with the banker. + +The coroner looked rather puzzled. + +"If the deceased had no claim upon you, why did you promise him an +annuity?" he asked, after a pause. + +"I made that promise for the sake of 'auld lang syne,'" answered Mr. +Dunbar. "Joseph Wilmot was a favourite servant of mine five-and-thirty +years ago. We were young men together. I believe that he had, at one +time, a very sincere affection for me. I know that I always liked him." + +"How long were you in the grove with the deceased?" + +"Not more than ten minutes." + +"And you cannot describe the spot where you left him?" + +"Not very easily; I could point it out, perhaps, if I were taken there." + +"What time elapsed between your leaving the cathedral yard with the +deceased and your returning to it without him?" + +"Perhaps half an hour." + +"Not longer?" + +"No; I do not imagine that it can have been longer." + +"Thank you, Mr. Dunbar; that will do for the present," said the coroner. + +The banker returned to his seat. + +Arthur Lovell, still watching him, saw that his strong white hand +trembled a little as his fingers trifled with those glittering toys +hanging to his watch-chain. + +The verger was the next person examined. + +He described how he had been loitering in the yard of the cathedral as +the two men passed across it. He told how they had gone by arm-in-arm, +laughing and talking together. + +"Which of them was talking as they passed you?" asked the coroner. + +"Mr. Dunbar." + +"Could you hear what he was saying?" + +"No, sir. I could hear his voice, but I couldn't hear the words." + +"What time elapsed between Mr. Dunbar and the deceased leaving the +cathedral yard, and Mr. Dunbar returning alone?" + +The verger scratched his head, and looked doubtfully at Henry Dunbar. + +That gentleman was looking straight before him, and seemed quite +unconscious of the verger's glance. + +"I can't quite exactly say how long it was, sir," the old man answered, +after a pause. + +"Why can't you say exactly?" + +"Because, you see, sir, I didn't keep no particular 'count of the time, +and I shouldn't like to tell a falsehood." + +"You must not tell a falsehood. We want the truth, and nothing but the +truth." + +"I know, sir; but you see I am an old man, and my memory is not as good +as it used to be. I _think_ Mr. Dunbar was away an hour." + +Arthur Lovell gave an involuntary start. Every one of the jurymen looked +suddenly at Mr. Dunbar. + +But the Anglo-Indian did not flinch. He was looking at the verger now +with a quiet steady gaze, which seemed that of a man who had nothing to +fear, and who was serene and undisturbed by reason of his innocence. + +"We don't want to know what you _think_," the coroner said; "you must +tell us only what you are certain of." + +"Then I'm not certain, sir." + +"You are not certain that Mr. Dunbar was absent for an hour?" + +"Not quite certain, sir." + +"But very nearly certain. Is that so?" + +"Yes, sir, I'm very nearly certain. You see, sir, when the two gentlemen +went through the yard, the cathedral clock was chiming the quarter after +four; I remember that. And when Mr. Dunbar came back, I was just going +away to my tea, and I seldom go to my tea until it's gone five." + +"But supposing it to have struck five when Mr. Dunbar returned, that +would only make it three quarters of an hour after the time at which he +went through the yard, supposing him to have gone through, as you say, +at the quarter past four." + +The verger scratched his head again. + +"I'd been loiterin' about yesterday afternoon, sir," he said; "and I was +a bit late thinkin' of my tea." + +"And you believe, therefore, that Mr. Dunbar was absent for an hour?" + +"Yes, sir; an hour--or more." + +"An hour, or more?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He was absent more than an hour; do you mean to say that?" + +"It might have been more, sir. I didn't keep no particular 'count of the +time." + +Arthur Lovell had taken out his pocket-book, and was making notes of the +verger's evidence. + +The old man went on to describe his having shown Mr. Dunbar all over the +cathedral. He made no mention of that sudden faintness which had seized +upon the Anglo-Indian at the door of one of the chapels; but he +described the rich man's manner as having been affable in the extreme. +He told how Henry Dunbar had loitered at the door of the cathedral, and +afterwards lingered in the quadrangle, waiting for the coming of his +servant. He told all this with many encomiums upon the rich man's +pleasant manner. + +The next, and perhaps the most important, witnesses were the two +labourers, Philip Murtock and Patrick Hennessy, who had found the body +of the murdered man. + +Patrick Hennessy was sent out of the room while Murtock gave his +evidence; but the evidence of the two men tallied in every particular. + +They were Irishmen, reapers, and were returning from a harvest supper at +a farm five miles from St. Cross, upon the previous evening. One of them +had knelt down upon the edge of the stream to get a drink of water in +the crown of his felt hat, and had been horrified by seeing the face of +the dead man looking up at him in the moonlight, through the shallow +water that barely covered it. The two men had dragged the body out of +the streamlet, and Philip Murtock had watched beside it while Patrick +Hennessy had gone to seek assistance. + +The dead man's clothes had been stripped from him, with the exception of +his trousers and boots, and the other part of his body was bare. There +was a revolting brutality in this fact. It seemed that the murderer had +stripped his victim for the sake of the clothes which he had worn. There +could be little doubt, therefore, that the murder had been committed for +the greed of gain, and not from any motive of revenge. + +Arthur Lovell breathed more freely; until this moment his mind had been +racked in agonizing doubts. Dark suspicions had been working in his +breast. He had been tortured by the idea that the Anglo-Indian had +murdered his old servant, in order to remove out of his way the chief +witness of the crime of his youth. + +But if this had been so, the murderer would never have lingered upon the +scene of his crime in order to strip the clothes from his victim's body. + +No! the deed had doubtless been done by some savage wretch, some lost +and ignorant creature, hardened by a long life of crime, and preying +like a wild beast upon his fellow-men. + +Such murders are done in the world. Blood has been shed for the sake of +some prize so small, so paltry, that it has been difficult for men to +believe that one human being could destroy another for such an object. + +Heaven have pity upon the wretch so lost as to be separated from his +fellow-creatures by reason of the vileness of his nature! Heaven +strengthen the hands of those who seek to spread Christian enlightenment +and education through the land! for it is only those blessings that will +thin the crowded prison wards, and rob the gallows of its victims. + +The robbery of the dead man's clothes, and such property as he might +have had about him at the time of his death, gave a new aspect to the +murder in the eyes of Arthur Lovell. The case was clear and plain now, +and the young man's duty was no longer loathsome to him; for he no +longer suspected Henry Dunbar. + +The constabulary had already been busy; the spot upon which the murder +had been committed, and the neighbourhood of that spot, had been +diligently searched. But no vestige of the dead man's garments had been +found. + +The medical man's evidence was very brief. He stated, that when he +arrived at the Foresters' Arms he found the deceased quite dead, and +that he appeared to have been dead some hours; that from the bruises and +marks on the throat and neck, some contusions on the back of the head, +and other appearances on the body, which witness minutely described, he +said there were indications of a struggle having taken place between +deceased and some other person or persons; that the man had been thrown, +or had fallen down violently; and that death had ultimately been caused +by strangling and suffocation. + +The coroner questioned the surgeon very closely as to how long he +thought the murdered man had been dead. The medical man declined to give +any positive statement on this point; he could only say that when he was +called in, the body was cold, and that the deceased might have been dead +three hours--or he might have been dead five hours. It was impossible to +form an opinion with regard to the exact time at which death had taken +place. + +The evidence of the waiter and the landlord of the George only went to +show that the two men had arrived at the hotel together; that they had +appeared in very high spirits, and on excellent terms with each other; +that Mr. Dunbar had shown very great concern and anxiety about the +absence of his companion, and had declined to eat his dinner until nine +o'clock. + +This closed the evidence; and the jury retired. + +They were absent about a quarter of an hour, and then returned a verdict +of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown. + +Henry Dunbar, Arthur Lovell, and Mr. Balderby went back to the hotel. It +was past six o'clock when the coroner's inquest was concluded, and the +three men sat down to dinner together at seven. + +That dinner-party was not a pleasant one; there was a feeling of +oppression upon the minds of the three men. The awful event of the +previous day cast its dreadful shadow upon them. They could not talk +freely of this subject--for it was too ghastly a theme for +discussion--and to talk of any other seemed almost impossible. + +Arthur Lovell had observed with surprise that Henry Dunbar had not once +spoken of his daughter. And yet this was scarcely strange; the utterance +of that name might have jarred upon the father's feelings at such a time +as this. + +"You will write to Miss Dunbar to-night, will you not, sir?" the young +man said at last. "I fear that she will have been very anxious about you +all this day. She was alarmed by your message to Mr. Balderby." + +"I shall not write," said the banker; "for I hope to see my daughter +to-night." + +"You will leave Winchester this evening, then?" + +"Yes, by the 10.15 express. I should have travelled by that train +yesterday evening, but for this terrible event." + +Arthur Lovell looked rather astonished at this. + +"You are surprised," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"I thought perhaps that you might stay--until----" + +"Until what?" asked the Anglo-Indian; "everything is finished, is it +not? The inquest was concluded to-day. I shall leave full directions for +the burial of this poor fellow, and an ample sum for his funeral +expenses. I spoke to the coroner upon that subject this afternoon. What +more can I do?" + +"Nothing, certainly," answered Arthur Lovell, with rather a hesitating +manner; "but I thought, under the peculiar circumstances, it might be +better that you should remain upon the spot, if possible, until some +steps shall have been taken for the finding of the murderer." + +He did not like to give utterance to the thought that was in his mind; +for he was thinking that some people would perhaps suspect Mr. Dunbar +himself, and that it might be well for him to remain upon the scene of +the murder until that suspicion should be done away with by the arrest +of the real murderer. + +The banker shook his head. + +"I very much doubt the discovery of the guilty man," he said; "what is +there to hinder his escape?" + +"Everything," answered Arthur Lovell, warmly. "First, the stupidity of +guilt, the blind besotted folly which so often betrays the murderer. It +is not the commission of a crime only that is horrible; think of the +hideous state of the criminal's mind _after_ the deed is done. And it is +at that time, immediately after the crime has been perpetrated, when the +breast of the murderer is like a raging hell; it is at that time that he +is called upon to be most circumspect--to keep guard upon his every +look, his smallest word, his most trivial action,--for he knows that +every look and action is watched; that every word is greedily listened +to by men who are eager to bring his guilt home to him; by hungry men, +wrestling for his conviction as a result that will bring them a golden +reward; by practised men, who have studied the philosophy of crime, and +who, by reason of their peculiar skill, are able to read dark meanings +in words and looks that to other people are like a strange language. He +knows that the scent of blood is in the air, and that the bloodhounds +are at their loathsome work. He knows this; and at such a time he is +called upon to face the world with a bold front, and so to fashion his +words and looks that he shall deceive the secret watchers. He is never +alone. The servant who waits upon him, or the railway guard who shows +him to his seat in the first-class carriage, the porter who carries his +luggage, or the sailor who looks at him scrutinizingly as he breathes +the fresh sea-air upon the deck of that ship which is to carry him to a +secure hiding-place--any one of these may be a disguised detective, and +at any moment the bolt may fall; he may feel the light hand upon his +shoulder, and know that he is a doomed man. Who can wonder, then, that a +criminal is generally a coward, and that he betrays himself by some +blind folly of his own?" + +The young man had been carried away by his subject, and had spoken with +a strange energy. + +Mr. Dunbar laughed aloud at the lawyer's enthusiasm. + +"You should have been a barrister, Mr. Lovell," he said; "that would +have been a capital opening for your speech as counsel for the crown. I +can see the wretched criminal shivering in the dock, cowering under that +burst of forensic eloquence." + +Henry Dunbar laughed heartily as he finished speaking, and then threw +himself back in his easy-chair, and passed his handkerchief across his +handsome forehead, as it was his habit to do occasionally. + +"In this case I think the criminal will be most likely arrested," Arthur +Lovell continued, still dwelling upon the subject of the murder; "he +will be traced by those clothes. He will endeavour to sell them, of +course; and as he is most likely some wretchedly ignorant boor, he will +very probably try to sell them within a few miles of the scene of the +crime." + +"I hope he will be found," said Mr. Balderby, filling his glass with +claret as he spoke; "I never heard any good of this man Wilmot, and, +indeed, I believe he went to the bad altogether after you left England, +Mr. Dunbar." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes," answered the junior partner, looking rather nervously at his +chief; "he committed forgery, I believe; fabricated forged bank notes, +or something of that kind, and was transported for life, I heard; but I +suppose he got a remission of his sentence, or something of that kind, +and returned to England." + +"I had no idea of this," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"He did not tell you, then?" + +"Oh, no; it was scarcely likely that he should tell me." + +Very little more was said upon the subject just then. At nine o'clock +Mr. Dunbar left the room to see to the packing of his things, at a +little before ten the three gentlemen drove away from the George Hotel, +on their way to the station. + +They reached the station at five minutes past ten; the train was not due +until a quarter past. + +Mr. Balderby went to the office to procure the three tickets. Henry +Dunbar and Arthur Lovell walked arm-in-arm up and down the platform. + +As the bell for the up-train was ringing, a man came suddenly upon the +platform and looked about him. + +He recognized the banker, walked straight up to him, and, taking off his +hat, addressed Mr. Dunbar respectfully. + +"I am sorry to detain you, sir," he said; "but I have a warrant to +prevent you leaving Winchester." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I hold a warrant for your apprehension, sir." + +"From whom?" + +"From Sir Arden Westhorpe, our chief county magistrate; and I am to take +you before him immediately, sir." + +"Upon what charge?" cried Arthur Lovell. + +"Upon suspicion of having been concerned in the murder of Joseph +Wilmot." + +The millionaire drew himself up haughtily, and looked at the constable +with a proud smile. + +"This is too absurd," he said; "but I am quite ready to go with you. Be +good enough to telegraph to my daughter, Mr. Lovell," he added, turning +to the young man; "tell her that circumstances over which I have no +control will detain me in Winchester for a week. Take care not to alarm +her." + +Everybody about the station had collected on the platform, and made a +circle about Mr. Dunbar. They stood a little aloof from him, looking at +him with respectful interest: altogether different from the eager +clamorous curiosity with which they would have regarded any ordinary man +suspected of the same crime. + +He was suspected; but he could not be guilty. Why should a millionaire +commit a murder? The motives that might influence other men could have +had no weight with him. + +The bystanders repeated this to one another, as they followed Mr. Dunbar +and his custodian from the station, loudly indignant against the minions +of the law. + +Mr. Dunbar, the constable, and Mr. Balderby drove straight to the +magistrate's house. + +The junior partner offered any amount of bail for his chief; but the +Anglo-Indian motioned him to silence, with a haughty gesture. + +"I thank you, Mr. Balderby," he said, proudly; "but I will not accept my +liberty on sufferance. Sir Arden Westhorpe has chosen to arrest me, and +I shall abide the issue of that arrest." + +It was in vain that the junior partner protested against this. Henry +Dunbar was inflexible. + +"I hope, and I venture to believe, that you are as innocent as I am +myself of this horrible crime, Mr. Dunbar," the baronet said, kindly; +"and I sympathize with you in this very terrible position. But upon the +information laid before me, I consider it my duty to detain you until +the matter shall have been further investigated. You were the last +person seen with the deceased." + +"And for that reason it is supposed that I strangled my old servant for +the sake of his clothes," cried Mr. Dunbar, bitterly. "I am a stranger +in England; but if that is your English law, I am not sorry that the +best part of my life has been passed in India. However, I am perfectly +willing to submit to any examination that may be considered necessary to +the furtherance of justice." + +So, upon the second night of his arrival in England, Henry Dunbar, chief +of the wealthy house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, slept in +Winchester gaol. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE PRISONER IS REMANDED. + + +Mr. Dunbar was brought before Sir Arden Westhorpe, at ten o'clock, on +the morning after his arrest. The witnesses who had given evidence at +the inquest were again summoned, and--with the exception of the verger, +and Mr. Dunbar, who was now a prisoner--gave the same evidence, or +evidence to the same effect. + +Arthur Lovell again watched the proceedings in the interest of Laura's +father, and cross-examined some of the witnesses. + +But very little new evidence was elicited. The empty pocket-book, which +had been found a few paces from the body, was produced. The rope by +which the murdered man had been strangled was also produced and +examined. + +It was a common rope, rather slender, and about a yard and a half in +length. It was made into a running noose that had been drawn tightly +round the neck of the victim. + +Had the victim been a strong man he might perhaps have resisted the +attack, and might have prevented his assailant tightening the fatal +knot; but the surgeon bore witness that the dead man, though tall and +stalwart-looking, had not been strong. + +It was a strange murder, a bloodless murder; a deed that must have been +done by a man of unfaltering resolution and iron nerve: for it must have +been the work of a moment, in which the victim's first cry of surprise +was stifled ere it was half uttered. + +The chief witness upon this day was the verger; and it was in +consequence of certain remarks dropped by him that Henry Dunbar had been +arrested. + +Upon the afternoon of the inquest this official had found himself a +person of considerable importance. He was surrounded by eager gossips, +greedy to hear anything he might have to tell upon the subject of the +murder; and amongst those who listened to his talk was one of the +constables--a sharp, clear-headed fellow--who was on the watch for any +hint that might point to the secret of Joseph Wilmot's death. The +verger, in describing the events of the previous afternoon, spoke of +that one fact which he had omitted to refer to before the coroner. He +spoke of the sudden faintness which had come over Mr. Dunbar. + +"Poor gentleman!" he said, "I don't think I ever see the like of +anything as come over him so sudden. He walked along the aisle with his +head up, dashing and millingtary-like; but, all in a minute, he reeled +as if he'd been dead drunk, and he would have fell if there hadn't been +a bench handy. Down he dropped upon that bench like a stone; and when I +turned round to look at him the drops of perspiration was rollin' down +his forehead like beads. I never see such a face in my life, as +ghastly-like as if he'd seen a ghost. But he was laughin' and smilin' +the next minute; and it was only the heat of the weather, he says." + +"It's odd as a gentleman that's just come home from India should +complain of the heat on such a day as yesterday," said one of the +bystanders. + +This was the substance of the evidence that the verger gave before Sir +Arden Westhorpe. This, with the evidence of a boy who had met the +deceased and Henry Dunbar close to the spot where the body was found, +was the only evidence against the rich man. + +To the mind of Sir Arden Westhorpe the agitation displayed by Henry +Dunbar in the cathedral was a very strong point; yet, what more possible +than that the Anglo-Indian should have been seized with a momentary +giddiness? He was not a young man; and though his broad chest, square +shoulders, and long, muscular arms betokened strength, that natural +vigour might have been impaired by the effects of a warm climate. + +There were new witnesses upon this day, people who testified to having +been in the neighbourhood of the grove, and in the grove itself, upon +that fatal afternoon and evening. + +Other labourers, besides the two Irishmen, had passed beneath the shadow +of the trees in the moonlight. Idle pedestrians had strolled through the +grove in the still twilight; not one of these had seen Joseph Wilmot, +nor had there been heard any cry of anguish, or wild shrieks of terror. + +One man deposed to having met a rough-looking fellow, half-gipsy, +half-hawker, in the grove between seven and eight o'clock. + +Arthur Lovell questioned this person as to the appearance and manner of +the man he had met. + +But the witness declared that there was nothing peculiar in the man's +manner. He had not seemed confused, or excited, or hurried, or +frightened. He was a coarse-featured, sunburnt ruffianly-looking fellow; +and that was all. + +Mr. Balderby was examined, and swore to the splendid position which +Henry Dunbar occupied as chief of the house in St. Gundolph Lane; and +then the examination was adjourned, and the prisoner remanded, although +Arthur Lovell contended that there was no evidence to justify his +detention. + +Mr. Dunbar still protested against any offer of bail; he again declared +that he would rather remain in prison than accept his liberty on +sufferance, and go out into the world a suspected man. + +"I will never leave Winchester Gaol," he said, "until I leave it with my +character cleared in the eyes of every living creature." + +He had been treated with the greatest respect by the prison officials, +and had been provided with comfortable apartments. Arthur Lovell and Mr. +Balderby were admitted to him whenever he chose to receive them. + +Meanwhile every voice in Winchester was loud in indignation against +those who had caused the detention of the millionaire. + +Here was an English gentleman, a man whose wealth was something +fabulous, newly returned from India, eager to embrace his only child; +and before he had done more than set his foot upon his native soil, he +was seized upon by obstinate and pig-headed officials, and thrown into a +prison. + +Arthur Lovell worked nobly in the service of Laura's father. He did not +particularly like the man, though he wished to like him; but he believed +him to be innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him, and he was +determined to make that innocence clear to the eyes of other people. + +For this purpose he urged on the police upon the track of the strange +man, the rough-looking hawker, who had been seen in the grove on the day +of the murder. + +He himself left Winchester upon another errand. He went away with the +determination of discovering the sick man, Sampson Wilmot. The old +clerk's evidence might be most important in such a case as this; as he +would perhaps be able to throw much light upon the antecedents and +associations of the dead man. + +The young lawyer travelled along the line, stopping at every station. At +Basingstoke he was informed that an old man, travelling with his +brother, had been taken ill; and that he had since died. An inquest had +been held upon his remains some days before, and he had been buried by +the parish. + +It was upon the 21st of August that Arthur Lovell visited Basingstoke. +The people at the village inn told him that the old man had died at two +o'clock upon the morning of the 17th, only a few hours after his +brother's desertion of him. He had never spoken after the final stroke +of paralysis. + +There was nothing to be learned here, therefore. Death had closed the +lips of this witness. + +But even if Sampson Wilmot had lived to speak, what could he have told? +The dead man's antecedents could have thrown little light upon the way +in which he had met his death. It was a common murder, after all; a +murder that had been done for the sake of the victim's little property; +a silver watch, perhaps; a few sovereigns; a coat, waistcoat, and shirt. + +The only evidence that tended in the least to implicate Henry Dunbar was +the fact that he had been the last person seen in company with the dead +man, and the discrepancy between his assertion and that of the verger +respecting the time during which he had been absent from the cathedral +yard. + +No magistrate in his senses would commit the Anglo-Indian for trial upon +such evidence as this. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +MARGARET'S JOURNEY. + + +While these things were taking place at Winchester, Margaret waited for +the coming of her father. She waited until her heart grew sick, but +still she did not despair of his return. He had promised to come back to +her by ten o'clock upon the evening of the 16th; but he was not a man +who always kept his promises. He had often left her in the same manner, +and had stayed away for days and weeks together. + +There was nothing extraordinary, therefore, in his absence; and if the +girl's heart grew sick, it was not with the fear that her father would +not return to her; but with the thought of what dishonest work he might +be engaged in during his absence. + +She knew now that he led a dishonest life. His own lips had told her the +cruel truth. She would no longer be able to defend him when people spoke +against him. Henceforth she must only plead for him. + +The poor girl had been proud of her father, reprobate though he was; she +had been proud of his gentlemanly bearing, his cleverness, his air of +superiority over other men of his station; and the thought of his +acknowledged guilt stung her to the heart. She pitied him, and she tried +to make excuses for him in her own mind: and with every thought of the +penniless reprobate there was intermingled the memory of the wrong that +had been done him by Henry Dunbar. + +"If my father has been guilty, that man is answerable for his guilt," +she thought perpetually. + +Meanwhile she waited, Heaven only knows how anxiously, for her father's +coming. A week passed, and another week began, and still he did not +come; but she was not alarmed for his personal safety, she was only +anxious about him; and she expected his return every day, every hour. +But he did not come. + +And all this time, with her mind racked by anxious thoughts, the girl +went about the weary duties of her daily life. Her thoughts might wander +away into vague speculations about her father's absence while she sat by +her pupil's side; but her eyes never wandered from the fingers it was +her duty to watch. Her life had been a hard one, and she was better able +to hide her sorrows and anxieties than any one to whom such a burden had +been a novelty. So, very few people suspected that there was anything +amiss with the grave young music-mistress. + +One person did see the vague change in her manner; but that person was +Clement Austin, who had already grown skilled in reading the varying +expressions of her face, and who saw now that she was changed. She +listened to him when he talked to her of the books or the music she +loved; but her face never lighted up now with a bright look of pleasure; +and he heard her sigh now and then as she gave her lesson. + +He asked her once if there was anything in which his services, or his +mother's, could be of any assistance to her; but she thanked him for the +kindness of his offer, and told him, "No, there was nothing in which he +could help her." + +"But I am sure there is something on your mind. Pray do not think me +intrusive or impertinent for saying so; but I am sure of it." + +Margaret only shook her head. + +"I am mistaken, then?" said Clement, interrogatively. + +"You are indeed. I have no special trouble. I am only a little uneasy +about my father, who has been away from home for the last week or two. +But there is nothing strange in that; he is often away. Only I am apt to +be foolishly anxious about him. He will scold me when he comes home and +hears that I have been so." + +Upon the evening of the 27th August, Margaret gave her accustomed +lesson, and lingered a little as usual after the lesson, talking to Mrs. +Austin, who had taken a wonderful fancy to her granddaughter's +music-mistress; and to Clement, who somehow or other had discontinued +his summer evening walks of late, more especially on those occasions on +which his niece took he music-lesson. They talked of all manner of +things, and it was scarcely strange that amongst other topics they +should come by and-by to the Winchester murder. + +"By the bye, Miss Wentworth," exclaimed Mrs. Austin, breaking in upon +Clement's disquisition on his favourite Carlyle's "Hero-Worship," "I +suppose you've heard about this dreadful murder that is making such a +sensation?" + +"A dreadful murder--no, Mrs. Austin; I rarely hear anything of that +kind; for the person with whom I lodge is old and deaf. She troubles +herself very little about what is going on in the world, and I never +read the newspapers myself." + +"Indeed," said Mrs. Austin; "well, my dear, you really surprise me. I +thought this dreadful business had made such a sensation, on account of +the great Mr. Dunbar being mixed up in it." + +"Mr. Dunbar!" cried Margaret, looking at the speaker with dilated eyes. + +"Yes, my dear, Mr. Dunbar, the rich banker. I have been very much +interested in the matter, because my son is employed in Mr. Dunbar's +bank. It seems that an old servant, a confidential valet of Mr. +Dunbar's, has been murdered at Winchester; and at first Mr. Dunbar +himself was suspected of the crime,--though, of course, that was utterly +ridiculous; for what motive could he possibly have had for murdering his +old servant? However, he has been suspected, and some stupid country +magistrate actually had him arrested. There was an examination about a +week ago, which was adjourned until to-day. We shan't know the result of +it till to-morrow." + +Margaret sat listening to these words with a face that was as white as +the face of the dead. + +Clement Austin saw the sudden change that had come over her countenance. + +"Mother," he said, "you should not talk of these things before Miss +Wentworth; you have made her look quite ill. Remember, she may not be so +strong-minded as you are." + +"No, no!" gasped Margaret, in a choking voice. "I--I--wish to hear of +this. Tell me, Mrs. Austin, what was the name of the murdered man?" + +"Joseph Wilmot." + +"Joseph Wilmot!" repeated Margaret, slowly. She had always known her +father by the name of James Wentworth; but what more likely than that +Wilmot was his real name! She had good reason to suspect that Wentworth +was a false one. + +"I'll lend you a newspaper," Mrs. Austin said, good-naturedly, "if you +really want to learn the particulars of this murder." + +"I do, if you please." + +Mrs. Austin took a weekly paper from amongst some others that were +scattered upon a side-table. She folded up this paper and handed it to +Margaret. + +"Give Miss Wentworth a glass of wine, mother," exclaimed Clement Austin; +"I'm sure all this talk about the murder has upset her." + +"No, no, indeed!" Margaret answered, "I would rather not take anything. +I want to get home quickly. Good evening, Mrs. Austin." + +She tried to say something more, but her voice failed her. She had been +in the habit of shaking hands with Mrs. Austin and Clement when she left +them; and the cashier had always accompanied her to the gate, and had +sometimes lingered with her there in the dusk, prolonging some +conversation that had been begun in the drawing-room; but to-night she +hurried from the room before the widow could remonstrate with her. +Clement followed her into the hall. + +"Miss Wentworth," he said, "I know that something has agitated you. Pray +return to the drawing-room, and stop with us until you are more +composed." + +"No--no--no!" + +"Let me see you home, then?" + +"Oh! no! no!" she cried, as the young man barred her passage, to the +door; "for pity's sake don't detain me, Mr. Austin; don't detain me, or +follow me!" + +She passed by him, and hurried out of the house. He followed her to the +gate, and watched her disappear in the twilight; and then went back to +the drawing-room, sighing heavily as he went. + +"I have no right to follow her against her own wish," he said to +himself. "She has given me no right to interfere with her; or to think +of her, for the matter of that." + +He threw himself into a chair, and took up a newspaper; but he did not +read half-a-dozen lines. He sat with his eyes fixed upon the page before +him, thinking of Margaret Wentworth. + +"Poor girl!" he said to himself, presently; "poor lonely girl! She is +too pure and beautiful for the hard struggles of this world." + + * * * * * + +Margaret Wentworth walked rapidly along the road that led her back to +Wandsworth. She held the folded newspaper clutched tightly against her +breast. It was her death-warrant, perhaps. She never paused or slackened +her pace until she reached the lane leading down to the water. + +She, opened the gate of the simple cottage-garden--there was no need of +bolts or locks for the fortification of Godolphin Cottages--and went up +to her own little sitting-room,--the room in which her father had told +her the secret of his life,--the room in which she had sworn to remember +the Henry Dunbar. All was dark and quiet in the house, for the mistress +of it was elderly-and old-fashioned in her ways; and Margaret was +accustomed to wait upon herself when she came home after nightfall. + +She struck a lucifer, lighted her candle, and sat down with the +newspaper in her hand. She unfolded it, and examined the pages. She was +not long finding what she wanted. + + "_The Winchester Murder. Latest Particulars_." + +Margaret Wentworth read that horrible story. She read the newspaper +record of the cruel deed that had been done--twice--slowly and +deliberately. Her eyes were tearless, and there was a desperate courage +at her heart; that miserable, agonized heart, which seemed like a block +of ice in her breast. + +"I swore to remember the name of Henry Dunbar," she said in, a low, +sombre voice; "I have good reason to remember it now." + +From the first she had no doubt in her mind--from the very first she had +but one idea: and that idea was a conviction. Her father had been +murdered by his old master. The man Joseph Wilmot was her father: the +murderer was Henry Dunbar. The newspaper record told how the murdered +man had, according to his own account, met his brother at the Waterloo +station upon the afternoon of the 16th of August. That was the very +afternoon upon which James Wentworth had left his daughter to go to +London by rail. + +He had met his old master, the man who had so bitterly injured him; the +cold-hearted scoundrel who had so cruelly betrayed him. He had been +violent, perhaps, and had threatened Henry Dunbar: and then--then the +rich man, treacherous and cold-hearted in his age as in his youth, had +beguiled his old valet by a pretended friendship, had lured him into a +lonely place, and had there murdered him; in order that all the wicked +secrets of the past might be buried with his victim. + +As to the robbery of the clothes--the rifling of the pocketbook--that, +of course, was only a part of Henry Dunbar's deep laid scheme. + +The girl folded the paper and put it in her breast. It was a strange +document to lie against that virginal bosom: and the breast beneath it +ached with a sick, cold pain, that was like the pain of death. + +Margaret took up her candle, and went into a neatly-kept little room at +the back of the house,--the room in which her father had always slept +when he stayed in that house. + +There was an old box, a battered and dilapidated hair-trunk, with a worn +rope knotted about it. The girl knelt down before the box, and put her +candle on a chair beside it. Then with her slender fingers she tried to +unfasten the knots that secured the cord. This task was not an easy one, +and her fingers ached before she had done. But she succeeded at last, +and lifted the lid of the trunk. + +There were worn and shabby garments, tumbled and dusty, that had been +thrown pell-mell into the box: there were broken meerschaum-pipes; old +newspapers, pale with age, and with passages here and there marked by +thick strokes in faded ink. A faint effluvium that arose from the mass +of dilapidated rubbish--the weeds which the great ocean Time casts up +upon the shore of the present--testified to the neighbourhood of mice: +and scattered about the bottom of the box, amongst loose shreds of +tobacco--broken lumps of petrified cavendish--and scraps of paper, there +were a few letters. + +Margaret gathered together these letters, and examined them. Three of +them--very old, faded, and flabby--were directed to "Joseph Wilmot, care +of the Governor of Norfolk Island," in a prim, clerk-like hand. + +It was an ominous address. Margaret Wentworth bowed her head upon her +knees and sobbed aloud. + +"He had been very wicked, and had need of a long life of penitence," she +thought; "but he has been murdered by Henry Dunbar." + +There was no shadow of doubt now in her mind. She had in her own hand +the conclusive proof of the identity between Joseph Wilmot and her +father; and to her this seemed quite enough to prove that Henry Dunbar +was the murderer of his old servant. He had injured the man, and it was +in the man's power to do him injury. He had resolved, therefore, to get +rid of this old accomplice, this dangerous witness of the past. + +This was how Margaret reasoned. That the crime committed in the quiet +grove, near St. Cross, was an every-day deed, done for the most pitiful +and sordid motives that can tempt a man to shed his brother's blood, +never for a moment entered into her thoughts. Other people might think +this in their ignorance of the story of the past. + +At daybreak the next morning she left the house, after giving a very +brief explanation of her departure to the old woman with whom she +lodged. She took the first train to Winchester, and reached the station +two hours before noon. She had her whole stock of money with her, but +nothing else. Her own wants, her own necessities, had no place in her +thoughts. Her errand was a fearful one, for she went to tell so much as +she knew of the story of the past, and to bear witness against Henry +Dunbar. + +The railway official to whom she addressed herself at the Winchester +station treated her with civility and good-nature. The pale beauty of +her pensive face won her friends wherever she went. It is very hard upon +pug-nosed merit and red-haired virtue, that a Grecian profile, or raven +tresses, should be such an excellent letter of introduction; but, +unhappily, human nature is weak; and while beauty appeals straight to +the eye of the frivolous, merit requires to be appreciated by the wise. + +"If there is anything I can do for you, miss," the railway official +said, politely, "I shall be very happy, I'm sure." + +"I want to know about the murder," the girl answered, in a low, +tremulous voice, "the murder that was committed----" + +"Yes, miss, to be sure. Everybody in Winchester is talking about it; a +most mysterious event! But," cried the official, brightening suddenly, +"you ain't a witness, miss, are you? You don't know anything +about----eh?" + +He was quite excited at the bare idea that this pretty girl had +something to say about the murder, and that he might have the privilege +of introducing her to his fellow-citizens. To know anybody who knew +anything about Joseph Wilmot's murder was to occupy a post of some +distinction in Winchester just now. + +"Yes," Margaret said; "I want to give evidence against Henry Dunbar." + +The railway official started, and stared aghast. + +"Evidence against Mr. Dunbar, miss?" he said; "why, Mr. Henry Dunbar was +dismissed from custody only yesterday afternoon, and is going up to town +by the express this night, and everybody in Winchester is full of the +shameful way in which he has been treated. Why, as far as that goes, +there was no more ground for suspecting Mr. Dunbar--not that has come +out yet, at any rate--than there is for suspecting me!" And the porter +snapped his fingers contemptuously. "But if you know anything against +Mr. Dunbar, why, of course, that alters the case; and it's yer bounden +dooty, miss, to go before the magistrate directly-minute and make yer +statement." + +The porter could hardly refrain, from smacking his lips with an air of +relish as he said this. Distinction had come to him unsought. + +"Wait a minute, miss," he said; "I'll go and ask lief to take you round +to the magistrate's. You'll never find your way by yourself. The next up +isn't till 12.7--I can be spared." + +The porter ran away, presented himself to a higher official, told his +story, and obtained a brief leave of absence. Then he returned to +Margaret. + +"Now, miss," he said, "if you'll come along with me I'll take you to Sir +Arden Westhorpe's house. Sir Arden is the gentleman that has taken so +much trouble with this case." + +On the way through the back-streets of the quiet city the porter would +fain have extracted from Margaret all that she had to tell. But the girl +would reveal nothing; she only said that she wanted to bear witness +against Henry Dunbar. + +The porter, upon the other hand, was very communicative. He told his +companion what had happened at the adjourned examination. + +"There was a deal of applause in the court when Mr. Dunbar was told he +might consider himself free," said the porter; "but Sir Arden checked +it; there was no need for clapping of hands, he says, or for anything +but sorrow that such a wicked deed had been done, and that the cruel +wretch as did it should escape. A young man as was in the court told me +that them was Sir Arden's exack words." + +They had reached Sir Arden's house by this time. It was a very handsome +house, though it stood in a back sweet; and a grave man-servant, in a +linen jacket, admitted Margaret into the oak-panelled hall. + +She might have had some difficulty perhaps in seeing Sir Arden, had not +the railway porter immediately declared her business. But the name of +the murdered man was a passport, and she was ushered at once into a low +room, which was lined with book-shelves, and opened into an +old-fashioned garden. + +Here Sir Arden Westhorpe, the magistrate, sat at a table writing. He was +an elderly man, with grey hair and whiskers, and with rather a stern +expression of countenance. Rut he was a good and a just man; and though +Henry Dunbar had been the emperor of half Europe instead of an +Anglo-Indian banker, Sir Arden would have committed him for trial had he +seen just cause for so doing. + +Margaret was in nowise abashed by the presence of the magistrate. She +had but one thought in her mind, the thought of her father's wrongs; and +she could have spoken freely in the presence of a king. + +"I hope I am not too late, sir," she said; "I hear that Mr. Dunbar has +been discharged from custody. I hope I am not too late to bear witness +against him." + +The magistrate looked up with an expression of surprise. "That will +depend upon circumstances," he said; "that is to say, upon the nature of +the statement which you may have to make." + +The magistrate summoned his clerk from an adjoining room, and then took +down the girl's information. + +But he shook his head doubtfully when Margaret had told him all she had +to tell. That which to the impulsive girl seemed proof positive of Henry +Dunbar's guilt was very little when written down in a business-like +manner by Sir Arden Westhorpe's clerk. + +"You know your unhappy father to have been injured by Mr. Dunbar, and +you think he may have been in the possession of secrets of a damaging +nature to that gentleman; but you do not know what those secrets were. +My poor girl, I cannot possibly move in this business upon such evidence +as this. The police are at work. This matter will not be allowed to pass +off without the closest investigation, believe me. I shall take care to +have your statement placed in the hands of the detective officer who is +entrusted with the conduct of this affair. We must wait--we must wait. I +cannot bring myself to believe that Henry Dunbar has been guilty of this +fearful crime. He is rich enough to have bribed your father to keep +silence, if he had any reason to fear what he might say. Money is a very +powerful agent, and can buy almost anything. It is rarely that a man, +with almost unlimited wealth at his command, finds himself compelled to +commit an act of violence." + +The magistrate read aloud Margaret Wilmot's deposition, and the girl +signed it in the presence of the clerk; she signed it with her father's +real name, the name that she had never written before that day. + +Then, having given the magistrate the address of her Wandsworth lodging, +she bade him good morning, and went out into the unfamiliar street. + +Nothing that Sir Arden Westhorpe had said had in any way weakened her +rooted conviction of Henry Dunbar's guilt. She still believed that he +was the murderer of her father. + +She walked for some distance without knowing where she went, then +suddenly she stopped; her face flushed, her eyes grew bright, and an +ominous smile lit up her countenance. + +"I will go to Henry Dunbar," she said to herself, "since the law will +not help me; I will go to my father's murderer. Surely he will tremble +when he knows that his victim left a daughter who will rest neither +night nor day until she sees justice done." + +Sir Arden had mentioned the hotel at which Henry Dunbar was staying; so +Margaret asked the first passer-by to direct her to the George. + +She found a waiter lounging in the doorway of the hotel. + +"I want to see Mr. Dunbar," she said. + +The man looked at her with considerable surprise. + +"I don't think it's likely Mr. Dunbar will see you, miss," he said; "but +I'll take your name up if you wish it." + +"I shall be much obliged if you will do so." + +"Certainly, miss. If you'll please to sit down in the hall I'll go to +Mr. Dunbar immediately. Your name is----" + +"My name is Margaret Wilmot." + +The waiter started as if he had been shot. + +"Wilmot!" he exclaimed; "any relation to----" + +"I am the daughter of Joseph Wilmot," answered Margaret, quietly. "You +can tell Mr. Dunbar so if you please." + +"Yes, miss; I will, miss. Bless my soul! you really might knock me down +with a feather, miss. Mr. Dunbar can't possibly refuse to see _you_, I +should think, miss." + +The waiter went up-stairs, looking back at Margaret as he went. He +seemed to think that the daughter of the murdered man ought to be, in +some way or other, different from other young women. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +BAFFLED. + + +Mr. Dunbar was sitting in a luxurious easy-chair, with a newspaper lying +across his knee. Mr. Balderby had returned to London upon the previous +evening, but Arthur Lovell still remained with the Anglo-Indian. + +Henry Dunbar was a good deal the worse for the close confinement which +he had suffered since his arrival in the cathedral city. Everybody who +looked at him saw the change which the last ten days had made in his +appearance. He was very pale; there were dark purple rings about his +eyes; the eyes themselves were unnaturally bright: and the mouth--that +tell-tale feature, over whose expression no man has perfect +control--betrayed that the banker had suffered. + +Arthur Lovell had been indefatigable in the service of his client: not +from any love towards the man, but always influenced more or less by the +reflection that Henry Dunbar was Laura's father; and that to serve Henry +Dunbar was in some manner to serve the woman he loved. + +Mr. Dunbar had only been discharged from custody upon the previous +evening, after a long and wearisome examination and cross-examination of +the witnesses who had given evidence at the coroner's inquest, and that +additional testimony upon which the magistrate had issued his warrant. +He had slept till late, and had only just finished breakfast, when the +waiter entered with Margaret's message. + +"A young person wishes to see you, sir," he said, respectfully. + +"A young person!" exclaimed Mr. Dunbar, impatiently; "I can't see any +one. What should any young person want with me?" + +"She wants to see you particularly, sir; she says her name is +Wilmot--Margaret Wilmot; and that she is the daughter of----" + +The sickly pallor of Mr. Dunbar's face changed to an awful livid hue: +and Arthur Lovell, looking at his client at this moment, saw the change. + +It was the first time he had seen any evidence of fear either in the +face or manner of Henry Dunbar. + +"I will not see her," exclaimed Mr. Dunbar; "I never heard Wilmot speak +of any daughter. This woman is some impudent impostor, who wants to +extort money out of me. I will not see her: let her be sent about her +business." + +The waiter hesitated. + +"She is a very respectable-looking person, sir," he said; "she doesn't +look anything like an impostor." + +"Perhaps not!" answered Mr. Dunbar, haughtily; "but she is an impostor, +for all that. Joseph Wilmot had no daughter, to my knowledge. Pray do +not let me be disturbed about this business. I have suffered quite +enough already on account of this man's death." + +He sank back in his chair, and took up his newspaper as he finished +speaking. His face was completely hidden behind the newspaper. + +"Shall I go and speak to this girl?" asked Arthur Lovell. "On no +account! The girl is an impostor. Let her be sent about her business!" + +The waiter left the room. + +"Pardon me, Mr. Dunbar," said the young lawyer; "but if you will allow +me to make a suggestion, as your legal adviser in this business, I would +really recommend you to see this girl." + +"Why?" + +"Because the people in a place like this are notorious gossips and +scandal-mongers. If you refuse to see this person, who, at any rate, +calls herself Joseph Wilmot's daughter, they may say----" + +"They may say what?" asked Henry Dunbar. + +"They may say that it is because you have some special reason for not +seeing her." + +"Indeed, Mr. Lovell. Then I am to put myself out of the way--after being +fagged and harassed to death already about this business--and am to see +every adventuress who chooses to trade upon the name of the murdered +man, in order to stop the mouths of the good people of Winchester. I beg +to tell you, my dear sir, that I am utterly indifferent to anything that +may be said of me: and that I shall only study my own ease and comfort. +If people choose to think that Henry Dunbar is the murderer of his old +servant, they are welcome to their opinion: I shall not trouble myself +to set them right." + +The waiter re-entered the room as Mr. Dunbar finished speaking. + +"The young person says that she must see you, sir," the man said. "She +says that if you refuse to see her, she will wait at the door of this +house until you leave it. My master has spoken to her, sir; but it's no +use: she's the most determined young woman I ever saw." + +Mr. Dunbar's face was still hidden by the newspaper. There was a little +pause before he replied. + +"Lovell," he said at last, "perhaps you had better go and see this +person. You can find out if she is really related to that unhappy man. +Here is my purse. You can let her have any money you think proper. If +she is the daughter of that wretched man, I should, of course, wish her +to be well provided for. I will thank you to tell her that, Lovell. Tell +her that I am willing to settle an annuity upon her; always on condition +that she does not intrude herself upon me. But remember, whatever I give +is contingent upon her own good conduct, and must not in any way be +taken as a bribe. If she chooses to think and speak ill of me, she is +free to do so. I have no fear of her; nor of any one else." + +Arthur Lovell took the millionaire's purse and went down stairs with the +waiter. He found Margaret sitting in the hall. There was no impatience, +no violence in her manner: but there was a steady, fixed, resolute look +in her white face. The young lawyer felt that this girl would not be +easily put off by any denial of Mr. Dunbar. + +He ushered Margaret into a private sitting-room leading out of the hall, +and then closed the door behind him. The disappointed waiter lingered +upon the door-mat: but the George is a well-built house, and that waiter +lingered in vain. + +"You want to see Mr. Dunbar?" he said. + +"Yes, sir!" + +"He is very much fatigued by yesterday's business, and he declines to +see you. What is your motive for being so eager to see him?" + +"I will tell that to Mr. Dunbar himself." + +"You are _really_ the daughter of Joseph Wilmot? Mr. Dunbar seems to +doubt the fact of his having had a daughter." + +"Perhaps so. Mr. Dunbar may have been unaware of my existence until this +moment. I did not know until last night what had happened." + +She stopped for a moment, half-stifled by a hysterical sob, which she +could not repress: but she very quickly regained her self-control, and +continued, slowly and deliberately, looking earnestly in the young man's +face with her clear brown eyes, "I did not know until last night that my +father's name was Wilmot; he had called himself by a false name--but +last night, after hearing of the--the--murder"--the horrible word seemed +to suffocate her, but she still went bravely on--"I searched a box of my +father's and found this." + +She took from her pocket the letter directed to Norfolk Island, and +handed it to the lawyer. + +"Read it," she said; "you will see then how my father had been wronged +by Henry Dunbar." + +Arthur Lovell unfolded the worn and faded letter. It had been written +five-and-twenty years before by Sampson Wilmot. Margaret pointed to one +passage on the second page. + +_"Your bitterness against Henry Dunbar is very painful to me, my dear +Joseph; yet I cannot but feel that your hatred against my employer's son +is only natural. I know that he was the first cause of your ruin; and +that, but for him, your lot in life might have been very different. Try +to forgive him; try to forget him, even if you cannot forgive. Do not +talk of revenge. The revelation of that secret which you hold respecting +the forged bills would bring disgrace not only upon him, but upon his +father and his uncle. They are both good and honourable men, and I think +that shame would kill them. Remember this, and keep the secret of that +painful story."_ + +Arthur Lovell's face grew terribly grave as he read these lines. He had +heard the story of the forgery hinted at, but he had never heard its +details. He had looked upon it as a cruel scandal, which had perhaps +arisen out of some trifling error, some unpaid debt of honour; some +foolish gambling transaction in the early youth of Henry Dunbar. + +But here, in the handwriting of the dead clerk, here was the evidence of +that old story. Those few lines in Sampson Wilmot's letter suggested a +_motive_. + +The young lawyer dropped into a chair, and sat for some minutes silently +poring over the clerk's letter. He did not like Henry Dunbar. His +generous young heart, which had yearned towards Laura's father, had sunk +in his breast with a dull, chill feeling of disappointment, at his first +meeting with the rich man. + +Still, after carefully sifting the evidence of the coroner's inquest, he +had come to the conclusion that Henry Dunbar was innocent of Joseph +Wilmot's death. He had carefully weighed every scrap of evidence against +the Anglo-Indian; and had deliberately arrived at this conclusion. + +But now he looked at everything in a new light. The clerk's letter +suggested a motive, perhaps an adequate motive. The two men had gone +down together into that silent grove, the servant had threatened his +patron, they had quarrelled, and-- + +No! the murder could scarcely have happened in this way. The assassin +had been armed with the cruel rope, and had crept stealthily behind his +victim. It was not a common murder; the rope and the slip-knot, the +treacherous running noose, hinted darkly at Oriental experiences: +somewhat in this fashion might a murderous Thug have assailed his +unconscious victim. + +But then, on the other hand, there was one circumstance that always +remained in Henry Dunbar's favour--that circumstance was the robbery of +the dead man's clothes. The Anglo-Indian might very well have rifled the +pocket-book, and left it empty upon the scene of the murder, in order to +throw the officers of justice upon a wrong scent. That would have been +only the work of a few moments. + +But was it probable--was it even possible--that the murderer would have +lingered in broad daylight, with every chance against him, long enough +to strip off the garments of his victim, in order still more effectually +to hoodwink suspicion? Was it not a great deal more likely that Joseph +Wilmot had spent the afternoon drinking in the tap-room of some roadside +public-house, and had rambled back into the grove after dark, to meet +his death at the hands of some every-day assassin, bent only upon +plunder? + +All these thoughts passed through Arthur Lovell's mind as he sat with +Sampson's faded letter in his hands. Margaret Wilmot watched him with +eager, scrutinizing eyes. She saw doubt, perplexity, horror, indecision, +all struggling in his handsome face. + +But the lawyer felt that it was his duty to act, and to act in the +interests of his client, whatever vaguely-hideous doubts might arise in +his own breast. Nothing but his _conviction_ of Henry Dunbar's guilt +could justify him in deserting his client. He was not convinced; he was +only horror-stricken by the first whisper of doubt. + +"Mr. Dunbar declines to see you," he said to Margaret; "and I do not +really see what good could possibly arise out of an interview between +you. In the meantime, if you are in any way distressed--and you must +most likely need assistance at such a time as this--he is quite ready to +help you: and he is also ready to give you permanent help if you require +it." + +He opened Henry Dunbar's purse as he spoke, but the girl rose and looked +at him with icy disdain in her fixed white face. + +"I would sooner crawl from door to door, begging my bread of the hardest +strangers in this cruel world--I would sooner die from the lingering +agonies of starvation--than I would accept help from Henry Dunbar. No +power on earth will ever induce me to take a sixpence from that man's +hand." + +"Why not?" + +"_You_ know why not. I can see that knowledge in your face. Tell Mr. +Dunbar that I will wait at the door of this house till he comes out to +speak to me. I will wait until I drop down dead." + +Arthur Lovell went back to his client, and told him what the girl said. + +Mr. Dunbar was walking up and down the room, with his head bent moodily +upon his breast. + +"By heavens!" he cried, angrily, "I will have this girl removed by the +police, if----" + +He stopped abruptly, and his head sank once more upon his breast. + +"I would most earnestly advise you to see her," pleaded Arthur Lovell; +"if she goes away in her present frame of mind, she may spread a +horrible scandal against you. Your refusing to see her will confirm the +suspicions which----" + +"What!" cried Henry Dunbar; "does she dare to suspect me?" + +"I fear so." + +"Has she said as much?" + +"Not in actual words. But her manner betrayed her suspicions. You must +not wonder if this girl is unreasonable. Her father's miserable fate +must have been a terrible blow to her." + +"Did you offer her money?" + +"I did." + +"And she----" + +"She refused it." + +Mr. Dunbar winced, as if the announcement of the girl's refusal had +stung him to the quick. + +"Since it must be so," he said, "I will see this importunate woman. But +not to-day. To-day I must and will have rest. Tell her to come to me +to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. I will see her then." + +Arthur Lovell carried this message to Margaret. + +The girl looked at him with an earnest questioning glance. + +"You are not deceiving me?" she said. + +"No, indeed!" + +"Mr. Dunbar said that?" + +"He did." + +"Then I will go away. But do not let Henry Dunbar try to deceive me! for +I will follow him to the end of the world. I care very little where I go +in my search for the man who murdered my father!" + +She went slowly away. She went down into the cathedral yard, across +which the murdered man had gone arm-in-arm with his companion. Some +boys, loitering about at the entrance to the meadows, answered all her +questions, and took her to the spot upon which the body had been found. + +It was a dull misty day, and there was a low wind wailing amongst the +wet branches of the old trees. The rain-drops from the fading leaves +fell into the streamlet, from whose shallow waters the dead man's face +had looked up to the moonlit sky. + +Later in the afternoon, Margaret found her way to a cemetery outside the +town, where, under a newly-made mound of turf, the murdered man lay. + +A great many people had been to see this grave, and had been very much +disappointed at finding it in no way different from other graves. + +Already the good citizens of Winchester had begun to hint that the grove +near St. Cross was haunted; and there was a vague report to the effect +that the dead man had been seen there, walking in the twilight. + +Punctual to the very striking of the clock, Margaret Wilmot presented +herself at the George at the time appointed by Mr. Dunbar. + +She had passed a wretched night at a humble inn a little way put of the +town, and had been dreaming all night of her meeting with Mr. Dunbar. In +those troubled dreams she had met the rich man perpetually: now in one +place, now in another: but always in the most unlikely places: yet she +had never seen his face. She had tried to see it; but by some strange +devilry or other, peculiar to the incidents of a dream, it had been +always hidden from her. + +The same waiter was lounging in the same attitude at the door of the +hotel. He looked up with an expression of surprise as Margaret +approached him. + +"You've not gone, then, miss?" he exclaimed. + +"Gone! No! I have waited to see Mr. Dunbar!" + +"Well, that's queer," said the waiter; "did he tell you he'd see you?" + +"Yes, he promised to see me at ten o'clock this morning." + +"That's uncommon queer." + +"Why so?" asked Margaret, eagerly. + +"Because Mr. Dunbar, and that young gent as was with him, went away, bag +and baggage, by last night's express." + +Margaret Wilmot gave no utterance to either surprise or indignation. She +walked quietly away, and went once more to the house of Sir Arden +Westhorpe. She told him what had occurred; and her statement was written +down and signed, as upon the previous day. + +"Mr. Dunbar murdered my father!" she said, after this had been done; +"and he's afraid to see me!" + +The magistrate shook his head gravely. + +"No, no, my dear," he said; "you must not say that. I cannot allow you +to make such an assertion as that. Circumstantial evidence often points +to an innocent person. If Mr. Dunbar had been in any way concerned in +this matter, he would have made a point of seeing you, in order to set +your suspicions at rest. His declining to see you is only the act of a +selfish man, who has already suffered very great inconvenience from this +business, and who dreads the scandal of some tragical scene." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +IS IT LOVE OR FEAR? + + +Henry Dunbar and Arthur Lovell slept at the same hotel upon the night of +their journey from Winchester to London; for the banker refused to +disturb his daughter by presenting himself at the house in Portland +Place after midnight. + +In this, at least, he showed himself a considerate father. + +Arthur Lovell had made every effort in his power to dissuade the banker +from leaving Winchester upon that night, and thus breaking the promise +that he had made to Margaret Wilmot. Henry Dunbar was resolute; and the +young lawyer had no alternative. If his client chose to do a +dishonourable thing, in spite of all that the young man could say +against it, of course it was no business of his. For his own part, +Arthur Lovell was only too glad to get back to London; for Laura Dunbar +was there: and wherever she was, there was Paradise, in the opinion of +this foolish young man. + +Early upon the morning after their arrival in London, Henry Dunbar and +the young lawyer breakfasted together in their sitting-room at the +hotel. It was a bright morning, and even London looked pleasant in the +sunshine. Henry Dunbar stood in the window, looking out into the street +below, while the breakfast was being placed upon the table. The hotel +was situated in a new street at the West End. + +"You find London very much altered, I dare say, Mr. Dunbar?" said Arthur +Lovell, as he unfolded the morning paper. + +"How do you mean altered?" asked the banker, absently. + +"I mean, that after so long an absence you must find great improvements. +This street for instance--it has not been built six years." + +"Oh, yes, I remember. There were fields upon this spot when I went to +India." + +They sat down to breakfast. Henry Dunbar was absent-minded, and ate very +little. When he had drunk a cup of tea, he took out the locket +containing Laura's miniature, and sat silently contemplating it. + +By-and-by he unfastened the locket from the chain, and handed it across +the table to Arthur Lovell. + +"My daughter is very beautiful, if she is like that," said the banker; +"do you consider it a good likeness?" + +The young lawyer looked at the portrait with a tender smile. "Yes," he +said, thoughtfully, "it is very like her--only----" + +"Only what?" + +"The picture is not lovely enough." + +"Indeed! and yet it is very beautiful. Laura resembles her mother, who +was a lovely woman." + +"But I have heard your father say, that the lower part of Miss Dunbar's +face--the mouth and chin--reminded him of yours. I must own, Mr. +Dunbar, that I cannot see the likeness." + +"I dare say not," the banker answered, carelessly; "you must allow +something for the passage of time, my dear Lovell. and the wear and tear +of a life in Calcutta. I dare say my mouth and chin are rather harder +and sterner in their character than Laura's." + +There was nothing more said upon the subject of the likeness; by-and-by +Mr. Dunbar got up, took his hat, and went towards the door. + +"You will come with me, Lovell," he said. + +"Oh, no, Mr. Dunbar. I would not wish to intrude upon you at such a +time. The first interview between a father and daughter, after a +separation of so many years, is almost sacred in its character. I----" + +"Pshaw, Mr. Lovell! I did not think a solicitor's son would be weak +enough to indulge in any silly sentimentality. I shall be very glad to +see my daughter; and I understand from her letters that she will be +pleased to see me. That is all! At the same time, as you know Laura much +better than I do, you may as well come with me." + +Mr. Dunbar's looks belied the carelessness of his words. His face was +deadly pale, and there was a singularly rigid expression about his +mouth. + +Laura had received no notice of her father's coming. She was sitting at +the same window by which she had sat when Arthur Lovell asked her to be +his wife. She was sitting in the same low luxurious easy-chair, with the +hot-house flowers behind her, and a huge Newfoundland dog--a faithful +attendant that she had brought from Maudesley Abbey--lying at her feet. + +The door of Miss Dunbar's morning-room was open: and upon the broad +landing-place outside the apartment the banker stopped suddenly, and +laid his hand upon the gilded balustrade. For a moment it seemed almost +as if he would have fallen: but he leaned heavily upon the bronze +scroll-work of the banister, and bit his lower lip fiercely with his +strong white teeth. Arthur Lovell was not displeased to perceive this +agitation: for he had been wounded by the careless manner in which Henry +Dunbar had spoken of his beautiful daughter. Now it was evident that the +banker's indifference had only been assumed as a mask beneath which the +strong man had tried to conceal the intensity of his feelings. + +The two men lingered upon the landing-place for a few minutes; while Mr. +Dunbar looked about him, and endeavoured to control his agitation. +Everything here was new to him: for neither the house in Portland Place, +nor Maudesley Abbey, had been in the possession of the Dunbar family +more than twenty years. + +The millionaire contemplated his possessions. Even upon that +landing-place there was no lack of evidence of wealth. A Persian carpet +covered the centre of the floor, and beyond its fringed margin a +tessellated pavement of coloured marbles took new and brighter hues from +the slanting rays of sunlight that streamed in through a wide +stained-glass window upon the staircase. Great Dresden vases of exotics +stood on pedestals of malachite and gold: and a trailing curtain of +purple velvet hung half-way across the entrance to a long suite of +drawing-rooms--a glistening vista of light and splendour. + +Mr. Dunbar pushed open the door, and stood upon the threshold of his +daughter's chamber. Laura started to her feet. + +"Papa!--papa!" she cried; "I thought that you would come to-day!" + +She ran to him and fell upon his breast, half-weeping, half-laughing. +The Newfoundland dog crept up to Mr. Dunbar with his head down: he +sniffed at the heels of the millionaire, and then looked slowly upward +at the man's face with sombre sulky-looking eyes, and began to growl +ominously. + +"Take your dog away, Laura!" cried Mr. Dunbar, angrily. + +It happened thus that the very first words Henry Dunbar said to his +daughter were uttered in a tone of anger. The girl drew herself away +from him, and looked up almost piteously in her father's face. That face +was as pale as death: but cold, stern, and impassible. Laura Dunbar +shivered as she looked at it. She had been a spoiled child; a pampered, +idolized beauty; and had never heard anything but words of love and +tenderness. Her lips quivered, and the tears came into her eyes. + +"Come away, Pluto," she said to the dog; "papa does not want us." + +She took the great flapping ears of the animal in her two hands, and led +him out of the room. The dog went with his young mistress submissively +enough: but he looked back at the last moment to growl at Mr. Dunbar. + +Laura left the Newfoundland on the landing-place, and went back to her +father. She flung herself for the second time into the banker's arms. + +"Darling papa," she cried, impetuously; "my dog shall never growl at you +again. Dear papa, tell me you are glad to come home to your poor girl. +You _would_ tell me so, if you knew how dearly I love you." + +She lifted up her lips and kissed Henry Dunbar's impassible face. But +she recoiled from him for the second time with a shudder and a +long-drawn shivering sigh. The lips of the millionaire were as cold as +ice. + +"Papa," she cried, "how cold you are! I'm afraid that you are ill!" + +He was ill. Arthur Lovell, who stood quietly watching the meeting +between the father and daughter, saw a change come over his client's +face, and wheeled forward an arm-chair just in time for Henry Dunbar to +fall into it as heavily as a log of wood. + +The banker had fainted. For the second time since the murder in the +grove near St. Cross he had betrayed violent and sudden emotion. This +time the emotion was stronger than his will, and altogether overcame +him. + +Arthur Lovell laid the insensible man flat upon his back on the carpet. +Laura rushed to fetch water and aromatic vinegar from her dressing-room: +and in five minutes Mr. Dunbar opened his eyes, and looked about him +with a wild half-terrified expression in his face. For a moment he +glared fiercely at the anxious countenance of Laura, who knelt beside +him: then his whole frame was shaken by a convulsive trembling, and his +teeth chattered violently. But this lasted only for a few moments. He +overcame it: grinding his teeth, and clenching his strong hands: and +then staggered heavily to his feet. + +"I am subject to these fainting fits," he said, with a wan, sickly smile +upon his white face; "and I dreaded this interview on that account: I +knew that it would be too much for me." + +He seated himself upon the low sofa which Laura had pushed towards him, +resting his elbows on his knees, and hiding his face in his hands. Miss +Dunbar placed herself beside her father, and wound her arm about his +neck. + +"Poor papa," she murmured, softly; "I am so sorry our meeting has +agitated you like this: and to think that I should have fancied you cold +and unkind to me, at the very time when your silent emotion was an +evidence of your love!" + +Arthur Lovell had gone through the open window into the conservatory: +but he could hear the girl talking to her father. His face was very +grave: and the same shadow that had clouded it once during the course of +the coroner's inquest rested upon it now. + +"An evidence of his love! Heaven grant this may be love," he thought to +himself; "but to me it seems a great deal more like fear!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE BROKEN PICTURE. + + +Arthur Lovell stopped at Portland Place for the rest of the day, and +dined with the banker and his daughter in the evening. The dinner-party +was a very cheerful one, as far as Mr. Dunbar and his daughter were +concerned: for Laura was in very high spirits on account of her father's +return, and Dora Macmahon joined pleasantly in the conversation. The +banker had welcomed his dead wife's elder daughter with a speech which, +if a little studied in its tone, was at any rate very kind in its +meaning. + +"I shall always be glad to see you with my poor motherless girl," he +said; "and if you can make your home altogether with us, you shall never +have cause to remember that you are less nearly allied to me than Laura +herself." + +When he met Arthur and the two girls at the dinner-table, Henry Dunbar +had quite recovered from the agitation of the morning, and talked gaily +of the future. He alluded now and then to his Indian reminiscences, but +did not dwell long upon this subject. His mind seemed full of plans for +his future life. He would do this, that, and the other, at Maudesley +Abbey, in Yorkshire, and in Portland Place. He had the air of a man who +fully appreciates the power of wealth; and is prepared to enjoy all that +wealth can give him. He drank a good deal of wine during the course of +the dinner, and his spirits rose with every glass. + +But in spite of his host's gaiety, Arthur Lovell was ill at ease. Do +what he would, he could not shake off the memory of the meeting between +the father and daughter. Henry Dunbar's deadly pallor--that wild, scared +look in his eyes, as they slowly reopened and glared upon Laura's +anxious face--were ever present to the young lawyer's mind. + +Why was this man frightened of his beautiful child?--for that it was +fear, and not love, which had blanched Henry Dunbar's face, the lawyer +felt positive. Why was this father frightened of his own daughter, +unless----? + +Unless what? + +Only one horrible and ghastly suggestion presented itself to Arthur +Lovell's mind. Henry Dunbar was the murderer of his old valet: and the +consciousness of guilt had paralyzed him at the first touch of his +daughter's innocent lips. + +But, oh, how terrible if this were true--how terrible to think that +Laura Dunbar was henceforth to live in daily and hourly association with +a traitor and an assassin! + +"I have promised to love her for ever, though my love is hopeless, and +to serve her faithfully if ever she should need of my devotion," Arthur +Lovell thought, as he sat silent at the dinner-table, while Henry Dunbar +and his daughter talked together gaily. + +The lawyer watched his client now with intense anxiety; and it seemed to +him that there was something feverish and unnatural in the banker's +gaiety. Laura and her step-sister left the room soon after dinner: and +the two men remained alone at the long, ponderous-looking dinner-table, +on which the sparkling diamond-cut decanters and Sèvres dessert-dishes +looked like tiny vases of light and colour on a dreary waste of polished +mahogany. + +"I shall go to Maudesley Abbey to-morrow," Henry Dunbar said. "I want +rest and solitude after all this trouble and excitement: and Laura tells +me that she infinitely prefers Maudesley to London. Do you think of +returning to Warwickshire, Mr. Lovell?" + +"Oh, yes, immediately. My father expected my return a week ago. I only +came up to town to act as Miss Dunbar's escort." + +"Indeed, that was very kind of you. You have known my daughter for a +long time, I understand by her letters." + +"Yes. We were children together. I was a great deal at the Abbey in old +Mr. Dunbar's time." + +"And you will still be more often there in my time, I hope," Henry +Dunbar answered, courteously. "I fancy I could venture to make a pretty +correct guess at a certain secret of yours, my dear Lovell. Unless I am +very much mistaken, you have a more than ordinary regard for my +daughter." + +Arthur Lovell was silent, his heart beat violently, and he looked the +banker unflinchingly in the face; but he did not speak, he only bent his +head in answer to the rich man's questions. + +"I have guessed rightly, then," said Mr. Dunbar. + +"Yes, sir, I love Miss Dunbar as truly as ever a man loved the woman of +his choice! but----" + +"But what? She is the daughter of a millionaire, and you fear her +father's disapproval of your pretensions, eh?" + +"No, Mr. Dunbar. If your daughter loved me as truly as I love her, I +would marry her in spite of you--in spite of the world; and carve my own +way to fortune. But such a blessing as Laura Dunbar's love is not for +me. I have spoken to her, and----" + +"She has rejected you?" + +"She has." + +"Pshaw! girls of her age are as changeable as the winds of heaven. Do +not despair, Mr. Lovell; and as far as my consent goes, you may have it +to-morrow, if you like. You are young, good-looking, clever, agreeable: +what more, in the name of feminine frivolity, can a girl want? You will +find no stupid prejudices in me, Mr. Lovell. I should like to see you +married to my daughter: for I believe you love her very sincerely. You +have my good will, I assure you. There is my hand upon it." + +He held out his hand as he spoke, and Arthur Lovell took it, a little +reluctantly perhaps, but with as good a grace as he could. + +"I thank you, sir," he said, "for your good will, and----" + +He tried to say something more, but the words died away upon his lips. +The horrible fear which had taken possession of his breast after the +scene of the morning, weighed upon him like the burden that seems to lie +upon the sleeper's breast throughout the strange agony of nightmare. Do +what he would, he could not free himself from the weight of this +dreadful doubt. Mr. Dunbar's words _seemed_ to emanate from the kind and +generous breast of a good man: but, on the other hand, might it not be +possible that the banker wished to _get rid_ of his daughter? + +He had betrayed fear in her presence, that morning: and now he was eager +to give her hand to the first suitor who presented himself: ineligible +as that suitor was in a worldly point of view. Might it not be that the +girl's innocent society was oppressive to her father, and that he wished +therefore to shuffle her off upon a new protector? + +"I shall be very busy this evening, Mr. Lovell," said Henry Dunbar, +presently; "for I must look over some papers I have amongst the luggage +that was sent on here from Southampton. When you are tired of the +dining-room, you will be able to find the two girls, and amuse yourself +in their society, I have no doubt." + +Mr. Dunbar rang the bell. It was answered by an elderly man-servant out +of livery. + +"What have you done with the luggage that was sent from Southampton?" +asked the banker. + +"It has all been placed in old Mr. Dunbar's bed-room, sir," the man +answered. + +"Very well; let lights be carried there, and let the portmanteaus and +packing-cases be unstrapped and opened." + +He handed a bunch of keys to the servant, and followed the man out of +the room. In the hall he stopped suddenly, arrested by the sound of a +woman's voice. + +The entrance-hall of the house in Portland Place was divided into two +compartments, separated from each other by folding-doors, the upper +panels of which were of ground glass. There was a porter's chair in the +outer division of the hall, and a bronzed lamp hung from the domed +ceiling. + +The doors between the inner and outer hall were ajar, and the voice +which Henry Dunbar heard was that of a woman speaking to the porter. + +"I am Joseph Wilmot's daughter," the woman said. "Mr. Dunbar promised +that he would see me at Winchester: he broke his word, and left +Winchester without seeing me: but he _shall_ see me, sooner or later; +for I will follow him wherever he goes, until I look into his face, and +say that which I have to say to him." + +The girl did not speak loudly or violently. There was a quiet +earnestness in her voice; an earnestness and steadiness of tone which +expressed more determination than any noisy or passionate utterance +could have done. + +"Good gracious me, young woman!" exclaimed the porter, "do you think as +I'm goin' to send such a rampagin' kind of a message as that to Mr. +Dunbar? Why, it would be as much as my place is worth to do it. Go along +about your business, miss; and don't you preshume to come to such a +house as this durin' gentlefolks' dinner-hours another time. Why, I'd +sooner take a message to one of the tigers in the Joological-gardings at +feedin' time than I'd intrude upon such a gentleman as Mr. Dunbar when +he's sittin' over his claret." + +Mr. Dunbar stopped to listen to this conversation; then he went back +into the dining-room, and beckoned to the servant who was waiting to +precede him up-stairs. + +"Bring me pen, ink, and paper," he said. + +The man wheeled a writing-table towards the banker. Henry Dunbar sat +down and wrote the following lines; in the firm aristocratic handwriting +that was so familiar to the chief clerks in the banking-house. + +"_The young person who calls herself Joseph Wilmot's daughter is +informed that Mr. Dunbar declines to see her now, or at any future time. +He is perfectly inflexible upon this point; and the young person will do +well to abandon the system of annoyance which she is at present +pursuing. Should she fail to do so, a statement of her conduct will be +submitted to the police, and prompt measures taken to secure Mr. +Dunbar's freedom from persecution. Herewith Mr. Dunbar forwards the +young person a sum of money which will enable her to live for some time +with ease and independence. Further remittances will be sent to her at +short intervals; if she conducts herself with propriety, and refrains +from attempting any annoyance against Mr. Dunbar. + +"Portland Place, August 30, 1850_." + +The banker took out his cheque-book, wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, +and folded it in the note which he had just written then he rang the +bell, and gave the note to the elderly manservant who waited upon him. + +"Let that be taken to the young person in the hall," he said. + +Mr. Dunbar followed the servant to the dining-room door and stood upon +the threshold, listening. He heard the man speak to Margaret Wilmot as +he delivered the letter; and then he heard the crackling of the +envelope, as the girl tore it open. + +There was a pause, during which the listener waited, with an anxious +expression on his face. + +He had not to wait long. Margaret spoke presently, in a clear ringing +voice, that vibrated through the hall. + +"Tell your master," she said, "that I will die of starvation sooner than +I would accept bread from his hand. You can tell him what I did with his +generous gift." + +There was another brief pause; and then, in the hushed stillness of the +house, Henry Dunbar heard a light shower of torn paper flutter down upon +the polished marble floor. Then he heard the great door of the house +close upon Joseph Wilmot's daughter. + +The millionaire covered his face with his hands, and gave a long sigh: +but he lifted his head presently, shrugged his shoulders with an +impatient gesture, and went slowly up the lighted staircase. + +The suite of apartments that had been occupied by Percival Dunbar +comprised the greater part of the second floor of the house in Portland +Place. There was a spacious bed-chamber, a comfortable study, a +dressing-room, bath-room, and antechamber. The furniture was handsome, +but of a ponderous style: and, in spite of their splendour, the rooms +had a gloomy look. Everything about them was dark and heavy. The house +was an old one, and the five windows fronting the street were long and +narrow, with deep oaken seats in the recesses between the heavy +shutters. The walls were covered with a dark green paper that looked +like cloth. The footsteps of the occupant were muffled by the rich +thickness of the sombre Turkey carpet. The voluminous curtains that +sheltered the windows, and shrouded the carved rosewood four-post bed, +were of a dark green, which looked black in the dim light. + +The massive chairs and tables were of black oak, with cushions of green +velvet. A few valuable cabinet pictures, by the old masters, set in deep +frames of ebony and gold, hung at wide distances upon the wall. There +was the head of an ecclesiastic, cut from a large picture by +Spagnoletti; a Venetian senator by Tintoretto; the Adoration of the Magi +by Caravaggio. An ivory crucifix was the only object upon the high, +old-fashioned chimney-piece. + +A pair of wax-candles, in antique silver candlesticks, burned upon a +writing-table near the fireplace, and made a spot of light in the gloomy +bed-chamber. All Henry Dunbar's luggage had been placed in this room. +There were packing-cases and portmanteaus of almost every size and +shape, and they had all been opened by a man-servant, who was kneeling +by the last when the banker entered the room. + +"You will sleep here to-night, sir, I presume?" the servant said, +interrogatively, as he prepared to quit the apartment. "Mrs. Parkyn +thought it best to prepare these rooms for your occupation." + +Henry Dunbar looked thoughtfully round the spacious chamber. + +"Is there no other place in which I can sleep?" he asked. "These rooms +are horribly gloomy." + +"There is a spare room upon the floor above this, sir." + +"Very well; let the spare room be got ready for me. I have a good many +arrangements to make, and shall be late." "Will you require assistance, +sir?" + +"No. Let the room up-stairs be prepared. Is it immediately above this?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Good; I shall know how to find it, then. No one need sit up for me. Let +Miss Dunbar be told that I shall not see her again to-night, and that I +shall start for Maudesley in the course of to-morrow. She can make her +arrangements accordingly. You understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you can go. Remember, I do not wish to be disturbed again +to-night." + +"You will want nothing more, sir?" + +"Nothing." + +The man retired. Henry Dunbar followed him to the door, listened to his +receding footsteps in the corridor and upon the staircase, and then +turned the key in the lock. He went back to the centre of the room, and +kneeling down before one of the open portmanteaus, took out every +article which it contained, slowly: removing the things one by one, and +throwing most of them into a heap upon the floor. He went through this +operation with the contents of all the boxes, throwing the clothes upon +the floor, and carrying the papers to the writing-table, where he piled +them up in a great mass. This business occupied a very long time, and +the hands of an antique clock, upon a bracket in a corner of the room, +pointed to midnight when the banker seated himself at the table, and +began to arrange and sort his papers. + +This operation lasted for several hours. The candles were burnt down, +and the flames flickered slowly out in the silver sockets. Mr. Dunbar +went to one of the windows, drew back the green-cloth curtain, unbarred +the heavy shutters, and let the grey morning light into the room. But he +still went on with his work: reading faded documents, tying up old +papers, making notes upon the backs of letters, and other notes in his +own memorandum-book: very much as he had done at the Winchester Hotel. +The broad sunlight streamed in upon the sombre colours of the Turkey +carpet, the sound of wheels was in the street below, when the banker's +work was finished. By that time he had arranged all the papers with +unusual precision, and replaced them in one of the portmanteaus: but he +left the clothes in a careless heap upon the floor, just as they had +fallen when he first threw them out of the boxes. + +Mr. Dunbar did one thing more before he left the room. Amongst the +papers which he had arranged upon the writing-table, there was a small +square morocco case, containing a photograph done upon glass. He took +this picture out of the case, dropped it upon the polished oaken floor +beyond the margin of the carpet, and ground the glass into atoms with +the heavy heel of his boot. But even then he was not content with his +work of destruction, for he stamped upon the tiny fragments until there +was nothing left of the picture but a handful of sparkling dust. He +scattered this about with his foot, dropped the empty morocco case into +his pocket, and went up-stairs in the morning sunlight. + +It was past six o'clock, and Mr. Dunbar heard the voices of the +women-servants upon the back staircase as he went to his room. He threw +himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed, and fell into a heavy slumber. + +At three o'clock the same day Mr. Dunbar left London for Maudesley +Abbey, accompanied by his daughter, Dora Macmahon, and Arthur Lovell. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +THREE WHO SUSPECT. + + +No further discovery was made respecting the murder that had been +committed in the grove between Winchester and St. Cross. The police made +every effort to find the murderer, but without result. A large reward +was offered by the government for the apprehension of the guilty man; +and a still larger reward was offered by Mr. Dunbar, who declared that +his own honour and good name were in a manner involved in the discovery +of the real murderer. + +The one clue by which the police hoped to trace the footsteps of the +assassin was the booty which his crime had secured to him: the contents +of the pocket-book that had been rifled, and the clothes which had been +stripped from the corpse of the victim. By means of the clue which these +things might afford, the detective police hoped to reach the guilty man. +But they hoped in vain. Every pawnbroker's shop in Winchester, and in +every town within a certain radius of Winchester, was searched, but +without effect. No clothes at all resembling those that had been seen +upon the person of the dead man had been pledged within forty miles of +the cathedral city. The police grew hopeless at last. The reward was a +large one; but the darkness of the mystery seemed impenetrable, and +little by little people left off talking of the murder. By slow degrees +the gossips resigned themselves to the idea that the secret of Joseph +Wilmot's death was to remain a secret for ever. Two or three "sensation" +leaders appeared in some of the morning papers, urging the bloodhounds +of the law to do their work, and taunting the members of the detective +force with supineness and stupidity. I dare say the social +leader-writers were rather hard-up for subjects at this stagnant +autumnal period, and were scarcely sorry for the mysterious death of the +man in the grove. The public grumbled a little when there was no new +paragraph in the papers about "that dreadful Winchester murder;" but the +nine-days' period during which the English public cares to wonder +elapsed, and nothing had been done. Other murders were committed as +brutal in their nature as the murder in the grove; and the world, which +rarely stops long to lament for the dead, began to think of other +things. Joseph Wilmot was forgotten. + +A month passed very quietly at Maudesley Abbey. Henry Dunbar took his +place in the county as a person of importance; lights blazed in the +splendid rooms; carriages drove in and out of the great gates in the +park, and all the landed gentry within twenty miles of the abbey came to +pay their respects to the millionaire who had newly returned from India. +He did not particularly encourage people's visits, but he submitted +himself to such festivities as his daughter declared to be necessary, +and did the honours of his house with a certain haughty grandeur, which +was a little stiff and formal as compared to the easy friendly grace of +his high-bred visitors. People shrugged their shoulders, and hinted that +there was something of the "roturier" in Mr. Dunbar; but they freely +acknowledged that he was a fine handsome-looking fellow, and that his +daughter was an angel, rendered still more angelic by the earthly +advantage of half a million or so for her marriage-portion. + +Meanwhile Margaret Wilmot lived alone in her simple countrified lodging, +and thought sadly enough of the father whom she had lost. + +He had not been a good father, but she had loved him nevertheless. She +had pitied him for his sorrows, and the wrongs that had been done him. +She had loved him for those feeble traces of a better nature that had +been dimly visible in his character. + +"He had not been _always_ a cheat and reprobate," the girl thought as +she sat pondering upon her father's fate. "He never would have been +dishonest but for Henry Dunbar." + +She remembered with bitter feelings the aspect of the rich man's house +in Portland Place. She had caught a glimpse of its splendour upon the +night after her return from Winchester. Through the narrow opening +between the folding-doors she had seen the pictures and the statues +glimmering in the lamplight of the inner hall. She had seen in that +brief moment a bright confusion of hothouse flowers, and trailing satin +curtains, gilded mouldings, and frescoed panels, the first few shallow +steps of a marble staircase, the filigree-work of the bronze balustrade. + +Only for one moment had she peeped wonderingly into the splendid +interior of Henry Dunbar's mansion; but the objects seen in that one +brief glance had stamped themselves upon the girl's memory. + +"He is rich," she thought, "and they say that wealth can buy all the +best things upon this earth. But, after all, there are few _real_ things +that it can purchase. It can buy flattery, and simulated love, and sham +devotion, but it cannot buy one genuine heart-throb, one thrill of true +feeling. All the wealth of this world cannot buy _peace_ for Henry +Dunbar, or forgetfulness. So long as I live he shall be made to +remember. If his own guilty conscience can suffer him to forget, it +shall be my task to recall the past. I promised my dead father that I +would remember the name of Henry Dunbar; I have had good reason to +remember it." + +Margaret Wilmot was not quite alone in her sorrow. There was one person +who sympathized with her, with an earnest and pure desire to help her in +her sorrow. This person was Clement Austin, the cashier in St. +Gundolph's Lane; the man who had fallen head-over-heels in love with the +pretty music-mistress, but who felt half ashamed of his sudden and +unreasoning affection. + +"I have always ridiculed what people call 'love at sight,'" he thought; +"surely I am not so silly as to have been bewitched by hazel eyes and a +straight nose. Perhaps, after all, I only take an interest in this girl +because she is so beautiful and so lonely, and because of the kind of +mystery there seems to be about her life." + +Never for one moment had Clement Austin suspected that this mystery +involved anything discreditable to Margaret herself. The girl's sad face +seemed softly luminous with the tender light of pure and holy thoughts. +The veriest churl could scarcely have associated vice or falsehood with +such a lovely and harmonious image. + +Since her return from Winchester, since the failure of her second +attempt to see Henry Dunbar, her life had pursued its wonted course; and +she went so quietly about her daily duties, that it was only by the +settled sadness of her face, the subdued gravity of her manner, that +people became aware of some heavy grief that had newly fallen upon her. + +Clement Austin had watched her far too closely not to understand her +better than other people. He had noticed the change in her costume, when +she put on simple inexpensive mourning for her dead father; and he +ventured to express his regret for the loss which she had experienced. +She told him, with a gentle sorrowful accent in her voice, that she had +lately lost some one who was very dear to her; and that the loss had +been unexpected, and was very bitter to bear. But she told him no more; +and he was too well bred to intrude upon her grief by any further +question. + +But though he refrained from saying more upon this occasion, the cashier +brooded long and deeply upon the conduct of his niece's music-mistress: +and one chilly September evening, when Miss Wentworth was _not_ expected +at Clapham, he walked across Wandsworth Common, and went straight to the +lane in which Godolphin Cottages sheltered themselves under the shadow +of the sycamores. + +Margaret had very few intervals of idleness, and there was a kind of +melancholy relief to her in such an evening as this, on which she was +free to think of her dead father, and the strange story of his death. +She was standing at the low wooden gate opening into the little garden +below the window of her room, in the deepening twilight of this +September evening. It was late in the month: the leaves were falling +from the trees, and drifting with a rustling sound along the dusty +roadway. + +The girl stood with her elbow resting upon the top of the gate, and a +dark shawl covering her head and shoulders. She was tired and unhappy, +and she stood in a melancholy attitude, looking with sad eyes towards +the glimpse of the river at the bottom of the lane. So entirely was she +absorbed by her own gloomy thoughts, that she did not hear a footstep +approaching from the other end of the lane; she did not look up until a +man's voice said, in subdued tones,-- + +"Good evening, Miss Wentworth; are you not afraid of catching cold? I +hope your shawl is thick, for the dews are falling, and here, near the +river, there is a damp mist on these autumn nights." + +The speaker was Clement Austin. + +Margaret Wilmot looked up at him, and a pensive smile stole over her +face. Yes, it was something to be spoken to so kindly in that deep manly +voice. The world had seemed so blank since her father's death: such +utter desolation had descended upon her since her miserable journey to +Winchester, and her useless visit to Portland Place: for since that time +she had shrunk away from people, wrapped in her own sorrow, separated +from the commonplace world by the exceptional nature of her misery. It +was something to this poor girl to hear thoughtful and considerate +words; and the unbidden tears clouded her eyes. + +As yet she had spoken openly of her trouble to no living creature, since +that night upon which she had attempted to gain admission to Mr. +Dunbar's house. She was still known in the neighbourhood as Margaret +Wentworth. She had put on mourning: and she had told the few people +about the place where she lived, of her father's death: but she had told +no one the manner of that death. She had shared her gloomy secret with +neither friends nor counsellors, and had borne her dismal burden alone. +It was for this reason that Clement Austin's friendly voice raised an +unwonted emotion in her breast. The desolate girl remembered that night +upon which she had first heard of the murder, and she remembered the +sympathy that Mr. Austin had evinced on that occasion. + +"My mother has been quite anxious about you, Miss Wentworth," said +Clement Austin. "She has noticed such a change in your manner for the +last month or five weeks; though you are as kind as ever to my little +niece, who makes wonderful progress under your care. But my mother +cannot be indifferent to your own feelings, and she and I have both +perceived the change. I fear there is some great trouble on your mind; +and I would give much--ah, Miss Wentworth, you cannot guess how +much!--if I could be of help to you in any time of grief or trouble. You +seemed very much agitated by the news of that shocking murder at +Winchester. I have been thinking it all over since, and I cannot help +fancying that the change in your manner dated from the evening on which +my mother told you that dreadful story. It struck me, that you must, +therefore, in some way or other, be interested in the fate of the +murdered man. Even beyond this, it might be possible that, if you knew +this Joseph Wilmot, you might be able to throw some light upon his +antecedents, and thus give a clue to the assassin. Little by little this +idea has crept into my mind, and to-night I resolved to come to you, and +ask you the direct question, as to whether you were in any way related +to this unhappy man." + +At first Margaret Wilmot's only answer was a choking sob; but she grew +calmer presently, and said, in a low voice,-- + +"Yes, you have guessed rightly, Mr. Austin; I was related to that most +unhappy man. I will tell you everything, but not here," she added, +looking back at the cottage windows, in which lights were glimmering; +"the people about me are inquisitive, and I don't want to be overheard." + +She wrapped her shawl more closely round her, and went out of the little +garden. She walked by Clement's side down to the pathway by the river, +which was lonely enough at this time of the night. + +Here she told him her story. She carefully suppressed all vehement +emotion; and in few and simple words related the story of her life. + +"Joseph Wilmot was my father," she said. "Perhaps he may not have been +what the world calls a good father; but I know that he loved me, and he +was very dear to me. My mother was the daughter of a gentleman, a +post-captain in the Royal Navy, whose name was Talbot. She met my father +at the house of a lady from whom she used to receive music-lessons. She +did not know who he was, or what he was. She only knew that he called +himself James Wentworth; but he loved her, and she returned his +affection. She was very young--a mere child, who had not long emerged +from a boarding-school--and she married my poor father in defiance of +the advice of her friends. She ran away from her home one morning, was +married by stealth in an obscure little church in the City, and then +went home with my father to confess what she had done. Her father never +forgave her for that secret marriage. He swore that he would never look +upon her face after that day: and he never did, until he saw it in her +coffin. At my mother's death Captain Talbot's heart was touched: he came +for the first time to my father's house, and offered to take me away +with him, and to have me brought up amongst his younger children. But my +father refused to allow this. He grieved passionately for my poor +mother: though I have heard him say that he had much to regret in his +conduct towards her. But I can scarcely remember that sad time. From +that period our life became a wandering and wretched one. Sometimes, for +a little while, we seemed better off. My father got some employment; he +worked steadily; and we lived amongst respectable people. But soon--ah, +cruelly soon!--the new chance of an honest life was taken away from him. +His employers heard something: a breath, a whisper, perhaps: but it was +enough. He was not a man to be trusted. He promised well: so far he had +kept his promise: but there was a risk in employing him. My father never +met any good Christian who was willing to run that risk, in the hope of +saving a human soul. My father never met any one noble enough to stretch +out his hand to the outcast and say, 'I know that you have done wrong; I +know that you are without a character: but I will forget the blot upon +the past, and help you to achieve redemption in the future.' If my +father had met such a friend, such a benefactor, all might have been +different." + +Then Margaret Wilmot related the substance of the last conversation +between herself and her father. She told Clement Austin what her father +had said about Henry Dunbar; and she showed him the letter which was +directed to Norfolk Island--that letter in which the old clerk alluded +to the power that his brother possessed over his late master. She also +told Mr. Austin how Henry Dunbar had avoided her at Winchester and in +Portland Place, and of the letter which he had written to her,--a letter +in which he had tried to bribe her to silence. + +"Since that night," she added, "I have received two anonymous +enclosures--two envelopes containing notes to the amount of a hundred +pounds, with the words 'From a True Friend' written across the flap of +the envelope. I returned both the enclosures; for I knew whence they had +come. I returned them in two envelopes directed to Henry Dunbar, at the +office in St. Gundolph's Lane." + +Clement Austin listened with a grave face. All this certainly seemed to +hint at the guilt of Mr. Dunbar. No clue pointing to any other person +had been as yet discovered, though the police had been indefatigable in +their search. + +Mr. Austin was silent for some minutes; then he said, quietly,-- + +"I am very glad you have confided in me, Miss Wilmot, and, believe me, +you shall not find me slow to help you whenever my services can be of +any avail. If you will come and drink tea with my mother at eight +o'clock to-morrow evening, I will be at home; and we can talk this +matter over seriously. My mother is a clever woman, and I know that she +has a most sincere regard for you. You will trust her, will you not?" + +"Willingly, with my whole heart." + +"You will find her a true friend." + +They had returned to the little garden-gate by this time. Clement Austin +stretched out his hand. + +"Good night, Miss Wilmot." + +"Good night." + +Margaret opened the gate and went into the garden. Mr. Austin walked +slowly homewards, past pleasant cottages nestling in suburban gardens, +and pretentious villas with, campanello towers and gothic porches. The +lighted windows shone out upon the darkness. Here and there he heard the +sound of a piano, or a girlish voice stealing softly out upon the cool +night air. + +The sight of pleasant homes made the cashier think very mournfully of +the girl he had just left. + +"Poor, desolate girl," he thought, "poor, lonely, orphan girl!" But he +thought still more about that which he had heard of Henry Dunbar; and +the evidence against the rich man seemed to grow in importance as he +reflected upon it. It was not one thing, but many things, that hinted at +the guilt of the millionaire. + +The secret possessed, and no doubt traded upon, by Joseph Wilmot; Mr. +Dunbar's agitation in the cathedral; his determined refusal to see the +murdered man's daughter; his attempt to bribe her--these were strong +points: and by the time Clement Austin reached home, he--like Margaret +Wilmot, and like Arthur Lovell--suspected the millionaire. So now there +were three people who believed Mr. Dunbar to be the murderer of his old +servant. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT. + + +Arthur Lovell went often to Maudesley Abbey. Henry Dunbar welcomed him +freely, and the young man had not the power to resist temptation. He +went to his doom as the foolish moth flies to the candle. He went, he +saw Laura Dunbar, and spent hour after hour in her society: for his +presence was always agreeable to the impetuous girl. To her he seemed, +indeed, that which he had promised to be, a brother--kind, devoted, +affectionate: but no more. He was endeared to Laura by the memory of a +happy childhood. She was grateful to him, and she loved him: but only as +she would have loved him had he been indeed her brother. Whatever deeper +feeling lay beneath the playful gaiety of her manner had yet to be +awakened. + +So, day after day, the young man bowed down before the goddess of his +life, and was happy--ah, fatally happy!--in her society. He forgot +everything except the beautiful face that smiled on him. He forgot even +those dark doubts which he had felt as to the secret of the Winchester +murder. + +Perhaps he would scarcely have forgotten the suspicions that had entered +his mind after the first interview between the banker and his daughter, +had he seen much of Henry Dunbar. But he saw very little of the master +of Maudesley Abbey. The rich man took possession of the suite of +apartments that had been prepared for him, and rarely left his own +rooms: except to wander alone amongst the shady avenues of the park: or +to ride out upon the powerful horse he had chosen from the stud +purchased by Percival Dunbar. + +This horse was a magnificent creature; the colt of a thorough-bred sire, +but of a stronger and larger build than a purely thorough-bred animal. +He was a chestnut horse, with a coat that shone like satin, and not a +white hair about him. His nose was small, his eyes large, his ears and +neck long. He had all the points which an Arab prizes in his favourite +barb. + +To this horse Henry Dunbar became singularly attached. He had a loose +box built on purpose for the animal in a private garden adjoining his +own dressing-room, which, Like the rest of his apartments, was situated +upon the ground-floor of the abbey. Mr. Dunbar's groom slept in a part +of the house near this loose box: and horse and man were at the service +of the banker at any hour of the day or night. + +Henry Dunbar generally rode either early in the morning, or in the grey +twilight after his dinner-hour. He was a proud man, and he was not a +sociable man. When the county gentry came to welcome him to England, he +received them, and thanked them for their courtesy. But there was +something in his manner that repelled rather than invited friendship. He +gave one great dinner-party soon after his arrival at Maudesley, a ball, +at which Laura floated about in a cloud of white gauze, and with +diamonds in her hair; and a breakfast and morning concert on the lawn, +in compliance with the urgent entreaties of the same young lady. But +when invitations came flooding in upon Mr. Dunbar, he declined them one +after another, on the ground of his weak health. Laura might go where +she liked, always provided that she went under the care of a suitable +chaperone; but the banker declared that the state of his health +altogether unfitted him for society. His constitution had been much +impaired, he said, by his long residence in Calcutta. And yet he looked +a strong man. Tall, broad-chested, and powerful, it was very difficult +to perceive in Henry Dunbar's appearance any one of the usual evidences +of ill-health. He was very pale: but that unchanging pallor was the only +sign of the malady from which he suffered. + +He rose early, rode for a couple of hours upon his chestnut horse +Dragon, and then breakfasted. After breakfast he sat in his luxurious +sitting-room, sometimes reading, sometimes writing, sometimes sitting +for hours together brooding silently over the low embers in the roomy +fireplace. At six o'clock he dined, still keeping to his own room--for +he was not well enough to dine with his daughter, he said: and he sat +alone late into the night, drinking heavily, according to the report +current in the servants' hall. + +He was respected and he was feared in his household: but he was not +liked. His silent and reserved manner had a gloomy influence upon the +servants who came in contact with him: and they compared him very +disadvantageously with his predecessor, Percival Dunbar; the genial, +kind, old master, who had always had a cheerful, friendly word for every +one of his dependants: from the stately housekeeper in rustling silken +robes, to the smallest boy employed in the stables. + +No, the new master of the abbey was not liked. Day after day he lived +secluded and alone. At first, his daughter had broken in upon his +solitude, and, with bright, caressing ways, had tried to win him from +his loneliness: but she found that all her efforts to do this were worse +than useless: they were even disagreeable to her father: and, by +degrees, her light footstep was heard less and less often in that lonely +wing of the house where Henry Dunbar had taken up his abode. + +Maudesley Abbey was a large and rambling old mansion, which had been +built in half-a-dozen different reigns. The most ancient part of the +building was that very northern wing which Mr. Dunbar had chosen for +himself. Here the architecture belonged to the early Plantagenet era; +the stone walls were thick and massive, the lancet-headed windows were +long and narrow, and the arms of the early benefactors of the monastery +were emblazoned here and there upon the richly stained glass. The walls +were covered with faded tapestry, from which grim faces scowled upon the +lonely inhabitant of the chambers. The groined ceiling was of oak, that +had grown black with age. The windows of Mr. Dunbar's bedroom and +dressing-room opened into a cloistered court, beneath whose solemn +shadow the hooded monks had slowly paced, in days that were long gone. +The centre of this quadrangular court had been made into a garden, where +tall hollyhocks and prim dahlias flaunted in the autumn sunshine. And +within this cloistered courtway Mr. Dunbar had erected the loose box for +his favourite horse. + +The southern wing of Maudesley Abbey owed its origin to a much later +period. The windows and fireplaces at this end of the house were in the +Tudor style; the polished oak wainscoting was very beautiful; the rooms +were smaller and snugger than the tapestried chambers occupied by the +banker; Venetian glasses and old crystal chandeliers glimmered and +glittered against the sombre woodwork: and elegant modern furniture +contrasted pleasantly with the Elizabethan casements and carved oaken +chimney-pieces. Everything that unlimited wealth can do to make a house +beautiful had been done for this part of the mansion by Percival Dunbar; +and had been done with considerable success. The doting grandfather had +taken a delight in beautifying the apartments occupied by his girlish +companion: and Miss Dunbar had walked upon velvet pile, and slept +beneath the shadow of satin curtains, from a very early period of her +existence. + +She was used to luxury and elegance: she was accustomed to be surrounded +by all that is refined and beautiful: but she had that inexhaustible +power of enjoyment which is perhaps one of the brightest gifts of a +fresh young nature: and she did not grow tired of the pleasant home that +had been made for her. Laura Dunbar was a pampered child of fortune: but +there are some natures that it seems very difficult to spoil: and I +think hers must have been one of these. + +She knew no weariness of the "rolling hours." To her the world seemed a +paradise of beauty. Remember, she had never seen real misery: she had +never endured that sick feeling of despair, which creeps over the most +callous of us when we discover the amount of hopeless misery that is, +and has been, and is to be, for ever and ever upon this weary earth. She +had seen sick cottagers, and orphan children, and desolate widows, in +her pilgrimages amongst the dwellings of the poor: but she had always +been able to relieve these afflicted ones, and to comfort them more or +less. + +It is the sight of sorrows which we cannot alleviate that sends a +palpable stab home to our hearts, and for a time almost sickens us with +a universe which cannot go upon its course _without_ such miseries as +these. + +To Laura Dunbar the world was still entirely beautiful, for the darker +secrets of life had not been revealed to her. + +Only once had affliction come near her; and then it had come in a calm +and solemn shape, in the death of an old man, who ended a good and +prosperous life peacefully upon the breast of his beloved granddaughter. + +Perhaps her first real trouble came to her now in the bitter +disappointment which had succeeded her father's return to England. +Heaven only knows with what a tender yearning the girl had looked +forward to Henry Dunbar's return. They had been separated for the best +part of her brief lifetime; but what of that? He would love her all the +more tenderly because of those long years during which they had been +divided. She meant to be the same to her father that she had been to her +grandfather--a loving companion, a ministering angel. + +But it was never to be. Her father, by a hundred tacit signs, rejected +her affection. He had shunned her presence from the first: and she had +grown now to shun him. She told Arthur Lovell of this unlooked-for +sorrow. + +"Of all the things I ever thought of, Arthur, this never entered my +head," she said, in a low, pensive voice, as she stood one evening in +the deep embrasure of the Tudor window, looking thoughtfully out at the +wide-spreading lawn, where the shadows of the low cedar branches made +patches of darkness on the moonlit surface of the grass; "I thought that +papa might fall ill on the voyage home, and die, and that the ship for +whose safe course I prayed night and day, might bring me nothing but the +sacred remains of the dead. I have thought this, Arthur, and I have lain +awake at night, torturing myself with the thought: till my mind has +grown so full of the dark picture, that I have seen the little cabin in +the cruel, restless ship, and my father lying helpless on a narrow bed, +with only strangers to watch his death-hour. I cannot tell you how many +different things I have feared: but I never, never thought that he would +not love me. I have even thought that it was just possible he might be +unlike my grandfather, and a little unkind to me sometimes when I vexed +or troubled him: but I thought his heart would be true to me through +all, and that even in his harshest moments he would love me dearly, for +the sake of my dead mother." + +Her voice broke, and she sobbed aloud: but the man who stood by her side +had no word of comfort to say to her. Her complaint awoke that old +suspicion which had lately slumbered in his breast--the horrible fear +that Mr. Dunbar was guilty of the murder of his old servant. + +The young lawyer was bound to say something, however. It was too cruel +to stand by and utter no word of comfort to this sobbing girl. + +"Laura, dear Laura," he said, "this is foolish, believe me. You must +have patience, and still hope for the best. How _can_ your father do +otherwise than love you, when he grows to know you well? You may have +expected too much of him. Remember, that people who have lived long in +the East Indies are apt to become cold and languid in their manners. +When Mr. Dunbar has seen more of you, when he has become better +accustomed to your society----" + +"That he will never be," Laura answered, impetuously. "How can he ever +know me better when he scrupulously avoids me? Sometimes whole days pass +during which I do not see him. Then I summon up courage and go to his +dreary rooms. He receives me graciously enough, and treats me with +politeness. With politeness! when I am yearning for his affection: and I +linger a little, perhaps, asking him about his health, and trying to get +more at home in his presence. But there is always a nervous restlessness +in his manner: which tells me,--oh, too plainly!--that my presence is +unwelcome to him. So I go away at last, half heart-broken. I remember, +now, how cold and brief his letters from India always seemed: but then +he need to excuse himself to me on account of the hurry of business: and +he seldom finished his letter without saying that he looked joyfully +forward to our meeting. It was very cruel of him to deceive me!" + +Arthur Lovell was a sorry comforter. From the first he had tried in vain +to like Henry Dunbar. Since that strange scene in Portland Place, he had +suspected the banker of a foul and treacherous murder,--that worst and +darkest crime, which for ever separates a man from the sympathy of his +fellow-men, and brands him as an accursed and abhorred creature, beyond +the pale of human compassion. Ah, how blessed is that Divine and +illimitable compassion which can find pity for those whom sinful man +rejects! + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM. + + +Jocelyn's Rock was ten miles from Maudesley Abbey, and only one mile +from the town of Shorncliffe. It was a noble place, and had been in the +possession of the same family ever since the days of the Plantagenets. + +The house stood upon a rocky cliff, beneath which rushed a cascade that +leapt from crag to crag, and fell into the bosom of a deep stream, that +formed an arm of the river Avon. This cascade was forty feet below the +edge of the cliff upon which the mansion stood. + +It was not a very large house, for most of the older part of it had +fallen into ruin long ago, and the ruined towers and shattered walls had +been cleared away; but it was a noble mansion notwithstanding. + +One octagonal tower, with a battlemented roof, still stood almost as +firmly as it had stood in the days of the early Plantagenets, when rebel +soldiers had tried the strength of their battering-rams against the grim +stone walls. The house was built entirely of stone; the Gothic porch was +ponderous as the porch of a church. Within all was splendour; but +splendour that was very different from the modern elegance that was to +be seen in the rooms of Maudesley Abbey. + +At Jocelyn's Rock the stamp of age was upon every decoration, on every +ornament. Square-topped helmets that had been hacked by the scimitars of +Saracen kings, spiked chamfronts that had been worn by the fiery barbs +of haughty English crusaders, fluted armour from Milan, hung against the +blackened wainscoting in the shadowy hall; Scottish hackbuts, primitive +arquebuses that had done service on Bosworth field, Homeric bucklers and +brazen greaves, javelins, crossbows, steel-pointed lances, and +two-handed swords, were in symmetrical design upon the dark and polished +panels; while here and there hung the antlers of a giant red-deer, or +the skin of a fox, in testimony to the triumphs of long-departed +sportsmen of the house of Jocelyn. + +It was a noble old house. Princes of the blood royal had sat in the +ponderous carved oak-chairs. A queen had slept in the state-bed, in the +blue-satin chamber. Loyal Jocelyns, fighting for their king against +low-born Roundhead soldiers, had hidden themselves in the spacious +chimneys, or had fled for their lives along the secret passages behind +the tapestry. There were old pictures and jewelled drinking-cups that +dead-and-gone Jocelyns had collected in the sunny land of the Medicis. +There were costly toys of fragile Sèvres china that had been received by +one of the earls from the hand of the lovely Pompadour herself in the +days when the manufacturers of Sèvres only worked for their king, and +were liable to fall a sacrifice to their art and their loyalty by the +inhalation of arsenicated vapours. There was golden plate that a king +had given to his proud young favourite in those feudal days when +favourites were powerful in England. There was scarcely any object of +value in the mansion that had not a special history attached to it, +redounding to the honour and glory of the ancient house of Jocelyn. + +And this splendid dwelling-place, rendered almost sacred by legendary +associations and historical recollections, was now the property of a +certain Sir Philip Jocelyn--a dashing young baronet, who had been +endowed by nature with a handsome face, frank, fearless eyes that +generally had a smile in them, and the kind of manly figure which the +late Mr. G.P.R. James was wont to designate stalwart; and who was +moreover a crack shot, a reckless cross-country-going rider, and a very +tolerable amateur artist. + +Sir Philip Jocelyn was not what is usually called an intellectual man. +He was more warmly interested in a steeplechase on Shorncliffe Common +than in a pamphlet on political economy, even though Mr. Stuart Mill +should himself be the author of the _brochure_. He thought John Scott a +greater man than Maculloch; and Manton the gunmaker only second to Dr. +Jenner as a benefactor of his race. He found the works of the late Mr. +Apperly more entertaining than the last new Idyl from the pen of the +Laureate; and was rather at a loss for small-talk when he found his +feminine neighbour at a dinner-table was "deeply, darkly, beautifully +blue." But the young baronet was by no means a fool, notwithstanding +these sportsmanlike proclivities. The Jocelyns had been hard riders for +half-a-dozen centuries or so, and crack shots ever since the invention +of firearms. Sir Philip was a sportsman, but he did not "hunt in +dreams," and he was prepared to hold his wife a great deal "higher than +his horse," whenever he should win that pleasant addition to his +household. As yet he had thought very little of the future Lady Jocelyn. +He had a vague idea that he should marry, as the rest of the Jocelyns +had married; and that he should live happily with his wife, as his +ancestors had lived with their wives: with the exception of one dreadful +man, called Hildebrande Jocelyn, who, at some remote and mediaeval +period, had been supposed to throw his liege lady out of an oriel window +that overhung the waterfall, upon the strength of an unfounded +suspicion; and who afterwards, according to the legend, dug, or rather +scooped, for himself a cave out of the cliff-side with no better tools +than his own finger-nails, which he never cut after the unfortunate +lady's foul murder. The legend went on further to state that the white +wraith of the innocent victim might be seen, on a certain night in the +year, rising out of the misty spray of the waterfall: but as nobody +except one very weak-witted female Jocelyn had ever seen the vision, the +inhabitants of the house upon the crag had taken so little heed of the +legend that the date of the anniversary had come at last to be +forgotten. + +Sir Philip Jocelyn thought that he should marry "some of these days," +and in the meantime troubled himself very little about the pretty +daughters of country gentlemen whom he met now and again at races, and +archery-meetings, and flower-shows, and dinner-parties, and +hunting-balls, in the queer old town-hall at Shorncliffe. He was +heart-whole; and looking out at life from the oriel window of his +dressing-room, whence he saw nothing but his own land, neatly enclosed +in a ring-fence, he thought the world, about which some people made such +dismal howling, was, upon the whole, an extremely pleasant place, +containing very little that "a fellow" need complain of. He built +himself a painting-room at Jocelyn's Rock; and-whistled to himself for +the hour together, as he stood before the easel, painting scenes in the +hunting-field, or Arab horsemen whom he had met on the great flat sandy +plains beyond Cairo, or brown-faced boys, or bright Italian +peasant-girls; all sorts of pleasant objects, under cloudless skies of +ultra-marine, with streaks of orange and vermilion to represent the +sunset. He was not a great painter, nor indeed was there any element of +greatness in his nature; but he painted as recklessly as he rode; his +subjects were bright and cheerful; and his pictures were altogether of +the order which unsophisticated people admire and call "pretty." + +He was a very cheerful young man, and perhaps that cheerfulness was the +greatest charm he possessed. He was a man in whom no force of fashion or +companionship would ever engender the peevish _blasé_-ness so much +affected by modern youth. Did he dance? Of course he did, and he adored +dancing. Did he sing? Well, he did his best, and had a fine volume of +rich bass voice, that sounded remarkably well on the water, after a +dinner at the Star and Garter, in that dim dewy hour, when the willow +shadowed Thames is as a southern lake, and the slow dip of the oars is +in itself a kind of melody. Had he been much abroad? Yes, and he gloried +in the Continent; the dear old inconvenient inns, and the extortionate +landlords, and the insatiable commissionaires--he revelled in the +commissionaires; and the dear drowsy slow trains, with an absurd guard, +who talks an unintelligible _patois_, and the other man, who always +loses one's luggage! Delicious! And the dear little peasant-girls with +white caps, who are so divinely pretty when you see them in the distance +under a sunny meridian sky, and are so charming in coloured chalk upon +tinted paper, but such miracles of ugliness, comparatively speaking, +when you behold them at close quarters. And the dear jingling +diligences, with very little harness to speak of, but any quantity of +old rope; and the bad wines, and the dust, and the cathedrals, and the +beggars, and the trente-et-quarante tables, and in short everything. Sir +Philip Jocelyn spoke of the universe as a young husband talks of his +wife; and was never tired of her beauty or impatient of her faults. + +The poor about Jocelyn's Rock idolized the young lord of the soil. The +poor like happy people, if there is nothing insolent in their happiness. +Philip was rich, and he distributed his wealth right royally: he was +happy, and he shared his happiness as freely as he shared his wealth. He +would divide a case of choice Manillas with a bedridden pensioner in the +Union, or carry a bottle of the Jocelyn Madeira--the celebrated Madeira +with the brown seal--in the pocket of his shooting-coat, to deliver it +into the horny hands of some hard-working mother who was burdened with a +sick child. He would sit for an hour together telling an agricultural +labourer of the queer farming he had seen abroad; and he had stood +godfather--by proxy--to half the yellow-headed urchins within ten miles' +radius of Jocelyn's Bock. No taint of vice or dissipation had ever +sullied the brightness of his pleasant life. No wretched country girl +had ever cursed his name before she cast herself into the sullen waters +of a lonely mill-stream. People loved him; and he deserved their love, +and was worthy of their respect. He had taken no high honours at Oxford; +but the sternest officials smiled when they spoke of him, and recalled +the boyish follies that were associated with his name; a sickly bedmaker +had been pensioned for life by him; and the tradesmen who had served him +testified to his merits as a prompt and liberal paymaster. I do not +think that in all his life Philip Jocelyn had ever directly or +indirectly caused a pang of pain or sorrow to any human being, unless it +was, indeed, to a churlish heir-at-law, who may have looked with a +somewhat evil eye upon the young man's vigorous and healthful aspect, +which gave little hope to his possible successor. + +The heir-at-law would have gnashed his teeth in impotent rage had he +known the crisis which came to pass in the baronet's life a short time +after Mr. Dunbar's return from India; a crisis very common to youth, and +very lightly regarded by youth, but a solemn and a fearful crisis +notwithstanding. + +The master of Jocelyn's Rock fell in love. All the poetry of his nature, +all the best feelings, the purest attributes of an imperfect character, +concentrated themselves into one passion, Sir Philip Jocelyn fell in +love. The arch magician waved his wand, and all the universe was +transformed into fairyland: a lovely Paradise, a modern Eden, radiant +with the reflected light that it received from the face of a woman. I +almost hesitate to tell this old, old story over again--this perpetual +story of love at first sight. + +It is very beautiful, this sudden love, which is born of one glance at +the wonderful face that has been created to bewitch us; but I doubt if +it is not, after all, the baser form of the great passion. The love that +begins with esteem, that slowly grows out of our knowledge of the loved +one, is surely the purer and holier type of affection. + +This love, whose gradual birth we rarely watch or recognize--this love, +that steals on us like the calm dawning of the eastern light, strikes to +a deeper root and grows into a grander tree than that fair sudden +growth, that marvellous far-shooting butterfly-blossoming orchid, called +love at first sight. The glorious exotic flower may be wanting, but the +strong root lies deeply hidden in the heart. + +The man who loves at first sight generally falls in love with the violet +blue of a pair of tender eyes, the delicate outline of a Grecian nose. +The man who loves the woman he has known and watched, loves her because +he believes her to be the purest and truest of her sex. + +To this last, love is faith. He cannot doubt the woman he adores: for he +adores her because he believes and has proved her to be above all doubt. +We may fairly conjecture that Othello's passion for the simple Venetian +damsel was love at first sight. He loved Desdemona because she was +pretty, and looked at him with sweet maidenly glances of pity when he +told those prosy stories of his--with full traveller's license, no +doubt--over Brabantio's mahogany. + +The tawny-visaged general loved the old man's daughter because he +admired her, and not because he knew her; and so, by and bye, on the +strength of a few foul hints from a scoundrel, he is ready to believe +this gentle, pitiful girl the basest and most abandoned of women. + +Hamlet would not so have acted had it been his fate to marry the woman +he loved. Depend upon it, the Danish prince had watched Ophelia closely, +and knew all the ins and outs of that young lady's temper, and had laid +conversational traps for her occasionally, I dare say, trying to entice +her into some bit of toadyism that should betray any latent taint of +falsehood inherited from poor time-serving Polonius. The Prince of +Denmark would have been rather a fidgety husband, perhaps, but he would +never have had recourse to a murderous bolster at the instigation of a +low-born knave. + +Unhappily, some women are apt to prefer passionate, blustering Othello +to sentimental and metaphysical Hamlet. The foolish creatures are +carried away by noise and clamour, and most believe him who protests the +loudest. + +Philip Jocelyn and Laura Dunbar met at that dinner-party which the +millionaire gave to his friends in celebration of his return. They met +again at the ball, where Laura waltzed with Philip; the young man had +learned to waltz upon the other side of the Alps, and Miss Dunbar +preferred him to any other of her partners. At the _fête champêtre_ they +met again; and had their future lives revealed to them by a +theatrical-looking gipsy imported from London for the occasion, whose +arch prophecies brought lovely blushes into Laura's cheeks, and afforded +Philip an excellent opportunity for admiring the effect of dark-brown +eyelashes drooping over dark-blue eyes. They met again and again; now at +a steeple-chase, now at a dinner-party, where Laura appeared with some +friendly _chaperon_; and the baronet fell in love with the banker's +beautiful daughter. + +He loved her truly and devotedly, after his own mad-headed fashion. He +was a true Jocelyn--impetuous, mad-headed daring; and from the time of +those festivities at Maudesley Abbey he only dreamed and thought of +Laura Dunbar. From that hour he haunted the neighbourhood of Maudesley +Abbey. There was a bridle-path through the park to a little village +called Lisford; and if that primitive Warwickshire village had been the +most attractive place upon this earth, Sir Philip could scarcely have +visited it oftener than he did. + +Heaven knows what charm he found in the shady slumberous old street, the +low stone market-place, with rusty iron gates surmounted by the Jocelyn +escutcheon. The grass grew in the quiet quadrangle; the square +church-tower was half hidden by the sheltering ivy; the gabled +cottage-roofs were lop-sided with age. It was scarcely a place to offer +any very great attraction to the lord of Jocelyn Rock in all the glory +of his early man-hood; and yet Philip Jocelyn went there three times a +week upon an average, during the period that succeeded the ball and +morning concert at Maudesley Abbey. + +The shortest way from Jocelyn's Bock to Lisford was by the high road, +but Philip Jocelyn did not care to go by the shortest way. He preferred +to take that pleasant bridle-path through Maudesley Park, that delicious +grassy arcade where the overarching branches of the old elms made a +shadowy twilight, only broken now and then by sudden patches of yellow +sunshine; where the feathery ferns trembled with every low whisper of +the autumn breeze: where there was a faint perfume of pine wood; where +every here and there, between the lower branches of the trees, there was +a blue glimmer of still water-pools, half-hidden under flat green leaves +of wild aquatic plants, where there was a solemn stillness that reminded +one of the holy quiet of a church, and where Sir Philip Jocelyn had +every chance of meeting with Laura Dunbar. + +He met her there very often. Not alone, for Dora Macmahon was sometimes +with her, and the faithful Elizabeth Madden was always at hand to play +propriety, and to keep a sharp eye upon the interests of her young +mistress. But then it happened unfortunately that the faithful Elizabeth +was very stout, and rather asthmatic; and though Miss Dunbar could not +have had a more devoted duenna, she might certainly have had a more +active one. And it also happened that Miss Macmahon, having received +several practical illustrations of the old adage with regard to the +disadvantage of a party of three persons as compared to a party of two +persons, fell into the habit of carrying her books with her, and would +sit and read in some shady nook near the abbey, while Laura wandered +into the wilder regions of the park. + +Beneath the shelter of the overarching elms, amidst the rustling of the +trembling ferns, Laura Dunbar and Philip Jocelyn met very often during +that bright autumnal weather. Their meetings were purely accidental of +course, as such meetings always are, but they were not the less pleasant +because of their uncertainty. + +They were all the more pleasant, perhaps. There was that delicious fever +of suspense which kept both young eager hearts in a constant glow. There +were Laura's sudden blushes, which made her wonderful beauty doubly +wonderful. There was Philip Jocelyn's start of glad astonishment, and +the bright sparkle in his dark-brown eyes as he saw the slender, queenly +figure approaching him under the shadow of the trees. How beautiful she +looked, with the folds of her dress trailing over the dewy grass, and a +flickering halo of sunlight tremulous upon her diadem of golden hair! +Sometimes she wore a coquettish little hat, with a turned-up brim and a +peacock's plume; sometimes a broad-leaved hat of yellow straw, with +floating ribbon and a bunch of feathery grasses perched bewitchingly +upon the brim. She had the dog Pluto with her always, and generally a +volume of some new novel under her arm. I am ashamed to be obliged to +confess that this young heiress was very frivolous, and liked reading +novels better than improving her mind by the perusal of grave histories, +or by the study of the natural sciences. She spent day after day in +happy idleness--reading, sketching, playing, singing, talking, sometimes +gaily sometimes seriously, to her faithful old nurse, or to Dora, or to +Arthur Lovell, as the case might be. She had a thorough-bred horse that +had been given to her by her grandfather, but she very rarely rode him +beyond the grounds, for Dora Macmahon was no horsewoman, having been +brought up by a prim aunt of her dead mother's, who looked upon riding +as an unfeminine accomplishment; and Miss Dunbar had therefore no better +companion for her rides than a grey-haired old groom, who had ridden +behind Percival Dunbar for forty years or so. + +Philip Jocelyn generally went to Lisford upon horseback; but when, as so +often happened, he met Miss Dunbar and her companion strolling amongst +the old elms, it was his habit to get off his horse, and to walk by +Laura's side, leading the animal by the bridle. Sometimes he found the +two young ladies sitting on camp-stools at the foot of one of the trees, +sketching effects of light and shadow in the deep glades around them. On +such occasions the baronet used to tie his horse to the lower branch of +an old elm, and taking his stand behind Miss Dunbar, would amuse himself +by giving her a lesson in perspective, with occasional hints to Miss +Macmahon, who, as the young man remarked, drew so much better than her +sister, that she really required very little assistance. + +By-and-by this began to be an acknowledged thing. Special hours were +appointed for these artistic studies: and Philip Jocelyn ceased to go to +Lisford at all, contenting himself with passing almost every fine +morning under the elms at Maudesley. He found that he had a very +intelligent pupil in the banker's daughter: but I think, if Miss Dunbar +had been less intelligent, her instructor would have had patience with +her, and would have still found his best delight beneath the shadow of +those dear old elms. + +What words can paint the equal pleasure of giving and receiving those +lessons, in the art which was loved alike by pupil and master; but which +was so small an element in the happiness of those woodland meetings? +What words can describe Laura's pleading face when she found that the +shadow of a ruined castle wouldn't agree with the castle itself, or that +a row of poplars in the distance insisted on taking that direction which +our transatlantic brothers call "slantindicular?" And then the cutting +of pencils, and crumbling of bread, and searching for mislaid scraps of +India-rubber, and mixing of water-colours, and adjusting of palettes on +the prettiest thumb in Christendom, or the planting a sheaf of brushes +in the dearest little hand that ever trembled when it met the tenderly +timid touch of an amateur drawing-master's fingers;--all these little +offices, so commonplace and wearisome when a hard-worked and poorly-paid +professor performs them for thirty or forty clamorous girls, on a +burning summer afternoon, in a great dust-flavoured schoolroom with bare +curtainless windows, were in this case more delicious than any words of +mine can tell. + +But September and October are autumnal months; and their brightest +sunshine is, after all, only a deceptive radiance when compared to the +full glory of July. The weather grew too cold for the drawing-lessons +under the elms, and there could be no more appointments made between +Miss Dunbar and her enthusiastic instructor. + +"I can't have my young lady ketch cold, Sir Philip, for all the +perspectives in the world," said the faithful Elizabeth. "I spoke to her +par about it only the other day; but, lor'! you may just as well speak +to a post as to Mr. Dunbar. If Miss Laura comes out in the park now, she +must wrap herself up warm, and walk fast, and not go getting the cold +shivers for the sake of drawing a parcel of stumps of trees and +such-like tomfoolery." + +Mrs. Madden made this observation in rather an unpleasant tone of voice +one morning when the baronet pleaded for another drawing-lesson. The +truth of the matter was that Elizabeth Madden felt some slight pangs of +conscience with regard to her own part in this sudden friendship which +had arisen between Laura Dunbar and Philip Jocelyn. She felt that she +had been rather remiss in her duties as duenna, and was angry with +herself. But stronger than this feeling of self-reproach was her +indignation against Sir Philip. + +Why did he not immediately make an offer of his hand to Laura Dunbar? + +Mrs. Madden had expected the young man's proposal every day for the last +few weeks: every day she had been doomed to disappointment. And yet she +was perfectly convinced that Philip Jocelyn loved her young mistress. +The sharp eyes of the matron had fathomed the young man's sentiments +long before Laura Dunbar dared to whisper to herself that she was +beloved. Why, then, did he not propose? Who could be a more fitting +bride for the lord of Jocelyn's Rock than queenly Laura Dunbar, with her +splendid dower of wealth and beauty? + +Full of these ambitious hopes, Elizabeth Madden had played her part of +duenna with such discretion as to give the young people plenty of +opportunity for sweet, half-whispered converse, for murmured +confidences, soft and low as the cooing of turtle-doves. But in all +these conversations no word hinting at an offer of marriage had dropped +from the lips of Philip Jocelyn. + +He was so happy with Laura; so happy in those pleasant meetings under +the Maudesley elms, that no thought of anything so commonplace as a +stereotyped proposal of marriage had a place in his mind. + +Did he love her? Of course he did: more dearly than he had ever before +loved any human creature; except that tender and gentle being, whose +image, vaguely beautiful, was so intermingled with the dreams and +realities of his childhood in that dim period in which it is difficult +to distinguish the shadows of the night from the events of the +day,--that pale and lovely creature whom he had but just learned to call +"mother," when she faded out of his life for ever. + +It was only when the weather grew too cold for out-of-door drawing +lessons that Sir Philip began to think that it was time to contemplate +the very serious business of a proposal. He would have to speak to the +banker, and all that sort of thing, of course, the baronet thought, as +he sat by the fire in the oak-panelled breakfast-room at the Rock, +pulling his thick moustaches reflectively, and staring at the red embers +on the open hearth. The young man idolized Laura; but he did _not_ +particularly affect the society of Henry Dunbar. The millionaire was +very courteous, very conciliating: but there was something in his stiff +politeness, his studied smile, his deliberate speech, something entirely +vague and indefinable, which had the same chilly effect upon Sir +Philip's friendliness, as a cold cellar has on delicate-flavoured port. +The subtle aroma vanished under that dismal influence. + +"He's _her_ father, and I'd kneel down, like the little boys in the +streets, and clean his boots, if he wanted them cleaned, because he is +her father," thought the young man; "and yet, somehow or other, I can't +get on with him." + +No! between the Anglo-Indian banker and Sir Philip Jocelyn there was no +sympathy. They had no tastes in common: or let me rather say, Henry +Dunbar revealed no taste in common with those of the young man whose +highest hope in life was to be his son-in-law. The frank-hearted young +country gentleman tried in vain to conciliate him, or to advance from +the cold out-work of ceremonious acquaintanceship into the inner +stronghold of friendly intercourse. + +But when Sir Philip, after much hesitation and deliberation, presented +himself one morning in the banker's tapestried sitting-room, and +unburdened his heart to that gentleman--stopping every now and then to +stare at the maker's name imprinted upon the lining of his hat, as if +that name had been a magical symbol whence he drew certain auguries by +which he governed his speech--Mr. Dunbar was especially gracious. "Would +he honour Sir Philip by entrusting his daughter's happiness to his +keeping? would he bestow upon Sir Philip the inestimable blessing of +that dear hand? Why, of course he would, provided always that Laura +wished it. In such a matter as this Laura's decision should be supreme. +He never had contemplated interfering in his daughter's bestowal of her +affections: so long as they were not wasted upon an unworthy object. He +wished her to marry whom she pleased; provided that she married an +honest man." + +Mr. Dunbar gave a weary kind of sigh as he said this; but the sigh was +habitual to him, and he apologized for and explained it sometimes by +reference to his liver, which was disordered by five-and-thirty years in +an Indian climate. + +"I wish Laura to marry," he said; "I shall be glad when she has secured +the protection of a good husband." + +Sir Phillip Jocelyn sprang up with his face all a-glow with rapture, and +would fain have seized the banker's hand in token of his gratitude; but +Henry Dunbar waved him off with an authoritative gesture. + +"Good morning, Sir Philip," he said; "I am very poor company, and I +shall be glad to be alone with the _Times_. You young men don't +appreciate the _Times_. You want your newspapers filled with +prize-fighting and boat-racing, and the last gossip from 'the Corner.' +You'll find Miss Dunbar in the blue drawing-room. Speak to her as soon +as you please; and let me know the result of the interview." + +It is not often that the heiress of a million or thereabouts is quite so +readily disposed of. Sir Philip Jocelyn walked on air as he quitted the +banker's apartments. + +"Who ever would have thought that he was such a delicious old brick?" he +thought. "I expected any quantity of cold water; and instead of that, he +sends me straight to my darling with _carte blanche_ to go in and win, +if I can. If I can! Suppose Laura doesn't love me, after all. Suppose +she's only a beautiful coquette, who likes to see men go mad for love of +her. And yet I won't think that; I won't be down-hearted; I won't +believe she's anything but what she seems--an angel of purity and +truth." + +But, spite of his belief in Laura's truth, the young baronet's courage +was very low when he went into the blue drawing-room, and found Miss +Dunbar seated in a deep embayed window, with the sunshine lighting up +her hair and gleaming amongst the folds of her violet silk dress. She +had been drawing; but her sketching apparatus lay idle on the little +table by her side, and one listless hand hung down upon her dress, with +a pencil held loosely between the slender fingers. She was looking +straight before her, out upon the sunlit lawn, all gorgeous with +flaunting autumn flowers; and there was something dreamy, not to say +pensive, in the attitude of her drooping head. + +But she started presently at the sound of that manly footstep; the +pencil dropped from between her idle fingers, and she rose and turned +towards the intruder. The beautiful face was in shadow as she turned +away from the window; but no shadow could hide its sudden brightness, +the happy radiance which lit up that candid countenance, as Miss Dunbar +recognized her visitor. + +The lover thought that one look more precious than Jocelyn's Rock, and a +baronetcy that dated from the days of England's first Stuarts--that one +glorious smile, which melted away in a moment, and gave place to bright +maidenly blushes, fresh and beautiful as the dewy heart of an +old-fashioned cabbage-rose gathered at sunrise. + +That one smile was enough. Philip Jocelyn was no cox-comb, but he knew +all at once that he was beloved, and that very few words were needed. A +great many were said, nevertheless; and I do not think two happier +people ever sat side by side in the late autumn sunshine than those two, +who lingered in the deep embayed window till the sun was low in the rosy +western sky, and told Philip Jocelyn that his visit to Maudesley Abbey +had very much exceeded the limits of a morning call. + +So Philip Jocelyn was accepted. Early the next morning he called again +upon Mr. Dunbar, and begged that an early date might be chosen for the +wedding. The banker assented willingly enough to the proposition. + +"Let the marriage take place in the first week in November," he said. "I +am tired of living at Maudesley, and I want to get away to the +Continent. Of course I must remain here to be present at my daughter's +wedding." + +Philip Jocelyn was only too glad to receive this permission to hurry the +day of the ceremonial. He went at once to Laura, and told her what Mr. +Dunbar had said. Mrs. Madden was indignant at this unceremonious manner +of arranging matters. + +"Where's my young lady's _trussaw_ to be got at a moment's notice, I +should like to know? A deal you gentlemen know about such things. It's +no use talking, my lord, there ain't a dressmaker livin' as would +undertake the wedding-clothes for baronet's lady in little better than a +month." + +But Mrs. Madden's objections were speedily overruled. To tell the truth, +the honest-hearted creature was very much pleased to find that her young +lady was going to be a baronet's wife, after all. She forgot all about +her old favourite, Arthur Lovell, and set herself to work to expedite +that most important matter of the wedding-garments. A man came down +express from Howell and James's to Maudesley Abbey, with a bundle of +patterns; and silks and velvets, gauzes and laces, and almost every +costly fabric that was made, were ordered for Miss Dunbar's equipment. +West-end dressmakers were communicated with. A French milliner, who +looked like a lady of fashion, arrived one morning at Maudesley Abbey, +and for a couple of hours poor Laura had to endure the slow agony of +"trying on," while Mrs. Madden and Dora Macmahon discussed all the +colours in the rainbow, and a great many new shades and combinations of +colour, invented by aspiring French chemists. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +A NEW LIFE. + + +For the first time in her life, Margaret Wilmot knew what it was to have +friends, real and earnest friends, who interested themselves in her +welfare, and were bent upon securing her happiness; and I must admit +that in this particular case there was something more than +friendship--something holier and higher in its character--the pure and +unselfish love of an honourable man. + +Clement Austin, the cashier at Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby's +Anglo-Indian banking-house, had fallen in love with the modest +hazel-eyed music-mistress, and had set himself to work to watch her, and +to find out all about her, long before he was conscious of the real +nature of his feelings. + +He had begun by pitying her. He had pitied her because of her hard life, +her loneliness, her beauty, which doubtless exposed her to many dangers +that would have been spared to a plain woman. + +Now, when a man allows himself to pity a very pretty girl, he places +himself on a moral tight-rope; and he must be a moral Blondin if he +expects to walk with any safety upon the narrow line which alone divides +him from the great abyss called love. + +There are not many Blondins, either physical or intellectual; and the +consequence is, that nine out of ten of the gentlemen who place +themselves in this perilous position find the narrow line very slippery, +and, before they have gone twenty paces, plunge overboard plump to the +very bottom of the abyss, and are over head and ears in love before they +know where they are. + +Clement Austin fell in love with Margaret Wilmot; and his tender regard, +his respectful devotion, were very new and sweet to the lonely girl. It +would have been strange, then, under such circumstances, if his love had +been hopeless. + +He was in no very great hurry to declare himself; for he had a powerful +ally in his mother, who adored her son, and would have allowed him to +bring home a young negress, or a North American squaw, to the maternal +hearth, if such a bride had been necessary to his happiness. + +Mrs. Austin very speedily discovered her son's secret; for he had taken +little pains to conceal his feelings from the indulgent mother who had +been his confidante ever since his first boyish loves at a Clapham +seminary, within whose sacred walls he had been admitted on Tuesdays and +Fridays to learn dancing in the delightful society of five-and-thirty +young ladies. + +Mrs. Austin confessed that she would rather her son had chosen some +damsel who could lay claim to greater worldly advantages than those +possessed by the young music-mistress; but when Clement looked +disappointed, the good soul's heart melted all in a moment, and she +declared, that if Margaret was only as good as she was pretty, and truly +attached to her dear noble-hearted boy, she (Mrs. Austin) would ask no +more. + +It happened fortunately that she knew nothing of Joseph Wilmot's +antecedents, or of the letter addressed to Norfolk Island; or perhaps +she might have made very strong objections to a match between her son +and a young lady whose father had spent a considerable part of his life +in a penal settlement. + +"We will tell my mother nothing of the past, Miss Wilmot," Clement +Austin said, "except that which concerns yourself alone. Let the history +of your unhappy father's life remain a secret between you and me. My +mother is very fond of you; I should be sorry, therefore, if she heard +anything to shock her prejudices. I wish her to love you better every +day." + +Clement Austin had his wish; for the kind-hearted widow grew every day +more and more attached to Margaret Wilmot. She discovered that the girl +had more than an ordinary talent for music; and she proposed that +Margaret should take a prettily furnished first-floor in a +pleasant-looking detached house, half cottage, half villa, at Clapham, +and at once set to work as a teacher of the piano. + +"I can get you plenty of pupils, my dear," Mrs. Austin said; "for I have +lived here more than thirty years--ever since Clement's birth, in +fact--and I know almost everybody in the neighbourhood. You have only to +teach upon moderate terms, and the people will be glad to send their +children to you. I shall give a little evening party, on purpose that my +friend may hear you play." + +So Mrs. Austin gave her evening party, and Margaret appeared in a simple +black-silk dress that had been in her wardrobe for a long time, and +which would have seemed very shabby in the glaring light of day. The +wearer of it looked very pretty and elegant, however, by the light of +Mrs. Austin's wax-candles; and the aristocracy of Clapham remarked that +the "young person" whom Mrs. Austin and her son had "taken up" was +really rather nice-looking. + +But when Margaret played and sang, people were charmed in spite of +themselves. She had a superb contralto voice, rich, deep, and melodious; +and she played with brilliancy, and, what is much rarer, with +expression. + +Mrs. Austin, going backwards and forwards amongst her guests to +ascertain the current of opinions, found that her protégée's success was +an accomplished fact before the evening was over. + +Margaret took the new apartments in the course of the week; and before a +fortnight had passed, she had secured more than a dozen pupils, who gave +her ample employment for her time; and who enabled her to earn more than +enough for her simple wants. + +Every Sunday she dined with Mrs. Austin. Clement had persuaded his +mother to make this arrangement a settled thing; although as yet he had +said nothing of his growing love for Margaret. + +Those Sundays were pleasant days to Clement and the girl whom he hoped +to win for his wife. + +The comfortable elegance of Mrs. Austin's drawing-room, the peaceful +quiet of the Sabbath-evening, when the curtains were drawn before the +bay-window, and the shaded lamp brought into the room; the intellectual +conversation; the pleasant talk about new books and music: all were new +and delightful to Margaret. + +This was her first experience of a home, a real home, in which there was +nothing but union and content; no overshadowing fear, no horrible +unspoken dread, no half-guessed secrets always gnawing at the heart. But +in all this new comfort Margaret Wilmot had not forgotten Henry Dunbar. +She had not ceased to believe him guilty of her father's murder. Calm +and gentle in her outward demeanour, she kept her secret buried in her +breast, and asked for no sympathy. + +Clement Austin had given her his best attention, his best advice; but it +all amounted to nothing. The different scraps of evidence that hinted at +Henry Dunbar's guilt were not strong enough to condemn him. The cashier +communicated with the detective police, who had been watching the case; +but they only shook their heads gravely, and dismissed him with their +thanks for his information. There was nothing in what he had to tell +them that could implicate Mr. Dunbar. + +"A gentleman with a million of money doesn't put himself in the power of +the hangman unless he's very hard pushed," said the detective. "The +motive's what you must look to in these cases, sir. Now, where's Mr. +Dunbar's motive for murdering this man Wilmot?" + +"The secret that Joseph Wilmot possessed----" + +"Bah, my dear sir! Henry Dunbar could afford to buy all the secrets that +ever were kept. Secrets are like every other sort of article: they're +only kept to sell. Good morning." + +After this, Clement Austin told Margaret that he could be of no use to +her. The dead man must rest in his grave: there was little hope that the +mystery of his fate would ever be fathomed by human intelligence. + +But Margaret Wilmot did not cease to remember Mr. Dunbar She only +waited. + +One resolution was always uppermost in her mind, even when she was +happiest with her new friends. She would see Henry Dunbar. In spite of +his obstinate determination to avoid an interview with her, she would +see him: and then, when she had gained her purpose, and stood face to +face with him, she would boldly denounce him as her father's murderer. +If then he did not flinch or falter, if she saw innocence in his face, +she would cease to doubt him, she would be content to believe that +Joseph Wilmot had met his untimely death from a stranger's hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE STEEPLE-CHASE. + + +After considerable discussion, it was settled that Laura Dunbar's +wedding should take place upon the 7th of November. It was to be a very +quiet wedding. The banker had especially impressed that condition upon +his daughter. His health was entirely broken, and he would assist in no +splendid ceremonial to which half the county would be invited. If Laura +wanted bridesmaids, she might have Dora Macmahon and any particular +friend who lived in the neighbourhood. There was to be no fuss, no +publicity. Marriage was a very solemn business, Mr. Dunbar said, and it +would be as well for his daughter to be undisturbed by any pomp or +gaiety on her wedding-day. So the marriage was appointed to take place +on the 7th, and the arrangements were to be as simple as the +circumstances of the bride would admit. Sir Philip was quite willing +that it should be so. He was much too happy to take objection to any +such small matters. He only wanted the sacred words to be spoken which +made Laura Dunbar his own for ever and for ever. He wanted to take her +away to the southern regions, where he had travelled so gaily in his +careless bachelor days, where he would be so supremely happy now with +his bright young bride by his side. Fortune, who certainly spoils some +of her children, had been especially beneficent to this young man. She +had given him so many of her best gifts, and had bestowed upon him, over +and above, the power to enjoy her favours. + +It happened that the 6th of November was a day which, some time since, +Philip Jocelyn would have considered the most important, if not the +happiest, day of the year. It was the date of the Shorncliffe +steeple-chases, and the baronet had engaged himself early in the +preceding spring to ride his thorough-bred mare Guinevere, for a certain +silver cup, subscribed for by the officers stationed at the Shorncliffe +barracks. + +Philip Jocelyn looked forward to this race with a peculiar interest, for +it was to be the last he would ever ride--the very last: he had given +this solemn promise to Laura, who had in vain tried to persuade him +against even this race. She was brave enough upon ordinary occasions; +but she loved her betrothed husband too dearly to be brave on this. + +"I know it's very foolish of me, Philip," she said, "but I can't help +being frightened. I can't help thinking of all the accidents I've ever +heard of, or read of. I've dreamt of the race ever so many times, +Philip. Oh, if you would only give it up for my sake!" + +"My darling, my pet, is there anything I would not do for your sake that +I could do in honour? But I can't do this, Laura dearest. You see I'm +all right myself, and the mare's in splendid condition;--well, you saw +her take her trial gallop the other morning, and you must know she's a +flyer, so I won't talk about her. My name was entered for this race six +months ago, you know, dear; and there are lots of small farmers and +country people who have speculated their money on me; and they'd all +lose, poor fellows, if I hung back at the last. You don't know what +play-or-pay bets are, Laura dear. There's nothing in the world I +wouldn't do for your sake; but my backers are poor people, and I can't +put them in a hole. I must ride, Laura, and ride to win, too." + +Miss Dunbar knew what this last phrase meant, and she conjured up the +image of her lover flying across country on that fiery chestnut mare, +whose reputation was familiar to almost every man, woman, and child in +Warwickshire: but whatever her fears might be, she was obliged to be +satisfied with her lover's promise that this should be his last +steeple-chase. + +The day came at last, a pale November day, mild but not sunny. The sky +was all of one equal grey tint, and seemed to hang only a little way +above the earth. The caps and jackets of the gentleman riders made spots +of colour against that uniform grey sky; and the dresses of the ladies +in the humble wooden structure which did duty as a grand stand, +brightened the level landscape. + +The course formed a long oval, and extended over three or four meadows, +and crossed a country lane. It was a tolerably flat course; but the +leaps, though roughly constructed, were rather formidable. Laura had +been over all the ground with her lover on the previous day, and had +looked fearfully at the high ragged hedges, and the broad ditches of +muddy water. But Philip only made light of her fears, and told her the +leaps were nothing, scarcely worthy of the chestnut mare's powers. + +The course was not crowded, but there was a considerable sprinkling of +spectators on each side of the rope--soldiers from the Shorncliffe +barracks, country people, and loiterers of all kinds. There were a +couple of drags, crowded with the officers and their friends, who +clustered in all manner of perilous positions on the roof, and consumed +unlimited champagne, bitter beer, and lobster-salad, in the pauses +between the races. A single line of carriages extended for some little +distance opposite the grand stand. The scene was gay and pleasant, as a +race-ground always must be, even though it were in the wildest regions +of the New World; but it was very quiet as compared to Epsom Downs or +the open heath at Ascot. + +Conspicuous amongst the vehicles there was a close carriage drawn by a +pair of magnificent bays--an equipage which was only splendid in the +perfection of its appointments. It was a clarence, with dark +subdued-looking panels, only ornamented by a vermilion crest. The +liveries of the servants were almost the simplest upon the course; but +the powdered heads of the men, and an indescribable something in their +style, distinguished them from the country-bred coachmen and hobbledehoy +pages in attendance on the other carriages. + +Almost every one on the course knew that crest of an armed hand clasping +a battle-axe, and knew that it belonged to Henry Dunbar. The banker +appeared so very seldom in public that there was always a kind of +curiosity about him when he did show himself; and between the races, +people who were strolling upon the ground contrived to approach very +near the carriage in which the master of Maudesley Abbey sat, wrapped in +Cashmere shawls, and half-hidden under a great fur rug, in legitimate +Indian fashion. + +He had consented to appear upon the racecourse in compliance with his +daughter's most urgent entreaties. She wanted him to be near her. She +had some vague idea that he might be useful in the event of any accident +happening to Philip Jocelyn. He might help her. It would be some +consolation, some support to have him with her. He might be able to do +something. Her father had yielded to her entreaties with a very +tolerable grace, and he was here; but having conceded so much, he seemed +to have done all that his frigid nature was capable of doing. He took no +interest in the business of the day, but lounged far back in the +carriage, and complained very much of the cold. + +The vehicle had been drawn close up to the boundary of the course, and +Laura sat at the open window, pale and anxious, straining her eyes +towards the weighing-house and the paddock, the little bit of enclosed +ground where the horses were saddled. She could see the gentleman riders +going in and out, and the one rider on whose safety her happiness +depended, muffled in his greatcoat, and very busy and animated amongst +his grooms and helpers. Everybody knew who Miss Dunbar was, and that she +was going to be married to the young baronet; and people looked with +interest at that pale face, keeping such anxious watch at the +carriage-window. I am speaking now of the simple country people, for +whom a race meant a day's pleasure. There were people on the other side +of the course who cared very little for Miss Dunbar or her anxiety; who +would have cared as little if the handsome young baronet had rolled upon +the sward, crushed to death under the weight of his chestnut mare, so +long as they themselves were winners by the event. In the little +enclosure below the grand stand the betting men--that strange fraternity +which appears on every racecourse from Berwick-on-Tweed to the +Land's-End, from the banks of the Shannon to the smooth meads of +pleasant Normandy--were gathered thick, and the talk was loud about Sir +Philip and his competitors. + +Among the men who were ready to lay against anything, and were most +unpleasantly vociferous in the declaration of their readiness, there was +one man who was well known to the humbler class of bookmen with whom he +associated, who was known to speculate upon very small capital, but who +had never been known as a defaulter. The knowing ones declared this man +worthy to rank high amongst the best of them; but no one knew where he +lived, or what he was. He was rarely known to miss a race; and he was +conspicuous amongst the crowd in those mysterious purlieus where the +plebeian bookmen, who are unworthy to enter the sacred precincts of +Tattersall's, mostly do congregate, in utter defiance of the police. No +one had ever heard the name of this man; but in default of any more +particular cognomen, they had christened him the Major; because in his +curt manners, his closely buttoned-up coat, tightly-strapped trousers, +and heavy moustache, there was a certain military flavour, which had +given rise to the rumour that the unknown had in some remote period been +one of the defenders of his country. Whether he had enlisted as a +private, and had been bought-off by his friends; whether he had borne +the rank of an officer, and had sold his commission, or had been +cashiered, or had deserted, or had been drummed-out of his regiment,--no +one pretended to say. People called him the Major; and wherever he +appeared, the Major made himself conspicuous by means of a very tall +white hat, with a broad black crape band round it. + +He was tall himself, and the hat made him seem taller. His clothes were +very shabby, with that peculiar shiny shabbiness which makes a man look +as if he had been oiled all over, and then rubbed into a high state of +polish. He wore a greenish-brown greatcoat with a poodle collar, and was +supposed to have worn the same for the last ten years. Round his neck, +be the weather ever so sultry, he wore a comforter of rusty worsted that +had once been scarlet, and above this comforter appeared his nose, which +was a prominent aquiline. Nobody ever saw much more of the Major than +his nose and his moustache. His hat came low down over his forehead, +which was itself low, and a pair of beetle brows, of a dense +purple-black, were faintly visible in the shadow of the brim. He never +took off his hat in the presence of his fellow-men; and as he never +encountered the fair sex, except in the person of the barmaid at a +sporting public, he was not called upon to unbonnet himself in +ceremonious obeisance to lovely woman. He was eminently a mysterious +man, and seemed to enjoy himself in the midst of the cloud of mystery +which surrounded him. + +The Major had inspected the starters for the great event of the day, and +had sharply scrutinized the gentleman riders as they went in and out of +the paddock. He was so well satisfied with the look of Sir Philip +Jocelyn, and the chestnut mare Guinevere, that he contented himself with +laying the odds against all the other horses, and allowed the baronet +and the chestnut to run for him. He asked a few questions presently +about Sir Philip, who had taken off his greatcoat by this time, and +appeared in all the glory of a scarlet satin jacket and a black velvet +cap. A Warwickshire farmer, who had found his way in among the knowing +ones, informed the Major that Sir Philip Jocelyn was going to be married +to Miss Dunbar, only daughter and sole heiress of the great Mr. Dunbar. + +The great Mr. Dunbar! The Major, usually so imperturbable, gave a little +start at the mention of the banker's name. + +"What Mr. Dunbar?" he asked. + +"The banker. Him as come home from the Indies last August." + +The Major gave a long low whistle; but he asked no further question of +the farmer. He had a memorandum-book in his hand--a greasy and +grimy-looking little volume, whose pages he was wont to study profoundly +from time to time, and in which he jotted down all manner of queer +hieroglyphics with half an inch of fat lead-pencil. He relapsed into the +contemplation of this book now; but he muttered to himself ever and anon +in undertones, and his mutterings had relation to Henry Dunbar. + +"It's him," he muttered; "that's lucky. I read all about that Winchester +business in the Sunday papers. I've got it all at my fingers'-ends, and +I don't see why I shouldn't make a trifle out of it. I don't see why I +shouldn't win a little money upon Henry Dunbar. I'll have a look at my +gentleman presently, when the race is over." + +The bell rang, and the seven starters went off with a rush; four +abreast, and three behind. Sir Philip was among the four foremost +riders, keeping the chestnut well in hand, and biding his time very +quietly. This was his last race, and he had set his heart upon winning. +Laura leaned out of the carriage-window, pale and breathless, with a +powerful race-glass in her hand. She watched the riders as they swept +round the curve in the course. Then they disappeared, and the few +minutes during which they were out of sight seemed an age to that +anxious watcher. The people run away to see them take the double leap in +the lane, and then come trooping back again, panting and eager, as three +of the riders appear again round another bend of the course. + +The scarlet leads this time. The honest country people hurrah for the +master of Jocelyn's Rock. Have they not put their money upon him, and +are they not proud of him?--proud of his handsome face, which, amid all +its easy good-nature, has a certain dash of hauteur that befits one who +has a sprinkling of the blood of Saxon kings in his veins; proud of his +generous heart, which beats with a thousand kindly impulses towards his +fellow-men. They shout aloud as he flies past them, the long stride of +the chestnut skimming over the ground, and spattering fragments of torn +grass and ploughed-up earth about him as he goes. Laura sees the scarlet +jacket rise for a moment against the low grey sky, and then fly onward, +and that is about all she sees of the dreaded leap which she had looked +at in fear and trembling the day before. Her heart is still beating with +a strange vague terror, when her lover rides quietly past the stand, and +the people about her cry out that the race has been nobly won. The other +riders come in very slowly, and are oppressed by that indescribable air +of sheepishness which is peculiar to gentleman jockeys when they do not +win. + +The girl's eyes fill suddenly with tears, and she leans back in the +carriage, glad to hide her happy face from the crowd. + +Ten minutes afterwards Sir Philip Jocelyn came across the course with a +great silver-gilt cup in his arms, and surrounded by an admiring throng, +amongst whom he had just emptied his purse. + +"I've brought you the cup, Laura; and I want you to be pleased with my +victory. It's the last triumph of my bachelor days, you know, darling." + +"Three cheers for Miss Dunbar!" shouted some adventurous spirit among +the crowd about the baronet. + +In the next moment the cry was taken up, and two or three hundred voices +joined in a loud hurrah for the banker's daughter. The poor girl drew +back into the carriage, blushing and frightened. + +"Don't mind them, Laura dear," Sir Philip said; "they mean well, you +know, and they look upon me as public property. Hadn't you better give +them a bow, Mr. Dunbar?" he added, in an undertone to the banker. "It'll +please them, I know." + +Mr. Dunbar frowned, but he bent forward for a moment, and, leaning his +head a little way out of the window, made a stately acknowledgment of +the people's enthusiasm. As he did so, his eyes met those of the Major, +who had crossed the course with Sir Philip and his admirers, and who was +staring straight before him at the banker's carriage. Henry Dunbar drew +back immediately after making that very brief salute to the populace. +"Tell them to drive home, Sir Philip," he said. "The people mean well, I +dare say; but I hate these popular demonstrations. There's something to +be done about the settlements, by-the-bye; you'd better dine at the +Abbey this evening. John Lovell will be there to meet you." + +The carriage drove away; and though the Major pushed his way through the +crowd pretty rapidly, he was too late to witness its departure. He was +in a very good temper, however, for he had won what his companions +called a hatful of money on the steeple-chase, and he stood to win on +other races that were to come off that afternoon. During the interval +that elapsed before the next race, he talked to a sociable bystander +about Sir Philip Jocelyn, and the young lady he was going to marry. He +ascertained that the wedding was to take place the next morning, and at +Lisford church. + +"In that case," thought the Major, as he went back to the ring, "I +shall sleep at Lisford to-night; I shall make Lisford my quarters for +the present, and I shall follow up Henry Dunbar." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON. + + +There was no sunshine upon Laura Dunbar's wedding morning. The wintry +sky was low and dark, as if the heavens had been coming gradually down +to crush this wicked earth. The damp fog, the slow, drizzling rain shut +out the fair landscape upon which the banker's daughter had been wont to +look from the pleasant cushioned seat in the deep bay-window of her +dressing-room. + +The broad lawn was soddened by that perpetual rain. The incessant +rain-drops dripped from the low branches of the black spreading cedars +of Lebanon; the smooth beads of water ran off the shining laurel-leaves; +the rhododendrons, the feathery furze, the glistening +arbutus--everything was obscured by that cruel rain. + +The water gushed out of the quaint dragons' mouths, ranged along the +parapet of the Abbey roof; it dripped from every stone coping and +abutment; from window-ledge and porch, from gable-end and sheltering +ivy. The rain was everywhere, and the incessant pitter-patter of the +drops beating against the windows of the Abbey made a dismal sound, +scarcely less unpleasant to hear than the perpetual lamentation of the +winds, which to-day had the sound of human voices; now moaning drearily, +with a long, low, wailing murmur, now shrieking in the shrilly tones of +an angry vixen. + +Laura Dunbar gave a long discontented sigh as she seated herself at her +favourite bay-window, and looked out at the dripping trees upon the lawn +below. + +She was a petted heiress, remember, and the world had gone so smoothly +with her hitherto, that perhaps she scarcely endured calamity or +contradiction with so good a grace as she might have done had she been a +little nearer perfection. She was hardly better than a child as yet, +with all a child's ignorant hopefulness and blind trust in the unknown +future. She was a pampered child, and she expected to have life made +very smooth for her. + +"What a horribly dismal morning!" Miss Dunbar exclaimed. "Did you ever +see anything like it, Elizabeth?" + +Mrs. Madden was bustling about, arranging her young mistress's breakfast +upon a little table near the blazing fire. Laura had just emerged from +her bath room, and had put on a loose dressing-gown of wadded blue silk, +prior to the grand ceremonial of the wedding toilet, which was not to +take place until after breakfast. + +I think Miss Dunbar looked lovelier in this _déshabille_ than many a +bride in her lace and orange-blossoms. The girl's long golden hair, wet +from the bath, hung in rippling confusion about her fresh young face. +Two little feet, carelessly thrust into blue morocco slippers, peeped +out from amongst the folds of Miss Dunbar's dressing-gown, and one +coquettish scarlet heel tapped impatiently upon the floor as the young +lady watched that provoking rain. + +"What a wretched morning!" she said. + +"Well, Miss Laura, it is rather wet," replied Mrs. Madden, in a +conciliating tone. + +"Rather wet!" echoed Laura, with an air of vexation; "I should think it +was _rather_ wet, indeed. It's miserably wet; it's horribly wet. To +think that the frost should have lasted very nearly three weeks, and +then must needs break up on my wedding morning. Did ever anybody know +anything so provoking?" + +"Lor', Miss Laura," rejoined the sympathetic Madden, "there's all manner +of provoking things allus happenin' in this blessed, wicked, rampagious +world of ours; only such young ladies as you don't often come across +'em. Talk of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Miss Laura; I +do think as you must have come into this mortal spear with a whole +service of gold plate. And don't you fret your precious heart, my +blessed Miss Laura, if the rain _is_ contrairy. I dare say the clerk of +the weather is one of them rampagin' radicals that's allus a goin' on +about the bloated aristocracy, and he's done it a purpose to aggeravate +you. But what's a little rain more or less to you, Miss Laura, when +you've got more carriages to ride in than if you was a princess in a +fairy tale, which I think the Princess Baltroubadore, or whatever her +hard name was, in the story of Aladdin, must have had no carriage +whatever, or she wouldn't have gone walkin' to the baths. Never you mind +the rain, Miss Laura." + +"But it's a bad omen, isn't it, Elizabeth?" asked Laura Dunbar. "I seem +to remember some old rhyme about the bride that the sun shines on, and +the bride that the rain rains on." + +"Laws, Miss Laura, you don't mean to say as you'd bemean yourself by +taking any heed of such low rubbish as that?" exclaimed Mrs. Madden; +"why, such stupid rhymes as them are only made for vulgar people that +have the banns put up in the parish church. A deal it matters to such as +you, Miss Laura, if all the cats and dogs as ever was come down out of +the heavens this blessed day." + +But though honest-hearted Elizabeth Madden did her best to comfort her +young mistress after her own simple fashion, she was not herself +altogether satisfied. + +The low, brooding sky, the dark and murky atmosphere, and that +monotonous rain would have gone far to depress the spirits of the gayest +reveller in all the universe. + +In spite of ourselves, we are the slaves of atmospheric influences; and +we cannot feel very light-hearted or happy upon black wintry days, when +the lowering heavens seem to frown upon our hopes; when, in the +darkening of the earthly prospect, we fancy that we see a shadowy +curtain closing round an unknown future. + +Laura felt something of this; for she said, by-and-by, half impatiently, +half mournfully,-- + +"What is the matter with me, Elizabeth. Has all the world changed since +yesterday? When I drove home with papa, after the races yesterday, +everything upon earth seemed so bright and beautiful. Such an +overpowering sense of joy was in my heart, that I could scarcely believe +it was winter, and that it was only the fading November sunshine that +lit up the sky. All my future life seemed spread before me, like an +endless series of beautiful pictures--pictures in which I could see +Philip and myself, always together, always happy. To-day, to-day, oh! +_how_ different everything is!" exclaimed Laura, with a little shudder. +"The sky that shuts in the lawn yonder seems to shut in my life with it. +I can't look forward. If I was going to be parted from Philip to-day, +instead of married to him, I don't think I could feel more miserable +than I feel now. Why is it, Elizabeth, dear?" + +"My goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Madden, "how should I tell, my +precious pet? You talk just like a poetry-book, and how can I answer you +unless I was another poetry-book? Come and have your breakfast, do, +that's a dear sweet love, and try a new-laid egg. New-laid eggs is good +for the spirits, my poppet." + +Laura Dunbar seated herself in the comfortable arm-chair between the +fireplace and the little breakfast-table. She made a sort of pretence at +eating, just to please her old nurse, who fidgeted about the room; now +stopping by Laura's chair, and urging her to take this, that, or the +other; now running to the dressing-table to make some new arrangement +about the all-important wedding-toilet; now looking out of the window +and perjuring her simple soul by declaring that "it"--namely, the winter +sky--was going to clear up. + +"It's breaking up above the elms yonder, Miss Laura," Elizabeth said; +"there's a bit of blue peepin' through the clouds; leastways, if it +ain't quite blue, it's a much lighter black than the rest of the sky, +and that's something. Eat a bit of Perrigorge pie, or a thin wafer of a +slice off that Strasbog 'am, Miss Laura, do now. You'll be ready to drop +with feelin' faint when you get to the altar-rails, if you persist on +bein' married on a empty stummick, Miss Laura. It's a moriel impossible +as you can look your best, my precious love, if you enter the church in +a state of starvation, just like one of them respectable beggars wot +pins a piece of paper on their weskits with 'I AM HUNGRY' wrote upon it +in large hand, and stands at the foot of one of the bridges on the +Surrey side of the water. And I shouldn't think as you would wish to +look like _that_, Miss Laura, on your wedding-day? _I_ shouldn't if _I_ +was goin' to be own wife to a baronet!" + +Laura Dunbar took very little notice of her nurse's rambling discourse; +and I am fain to confess that, upon this occasion, Mrs. Madden talked +rather more for the sake of talking than from any overflow of animal +spirits. + +The good creature felt the influence of the cold, wet, cheerless morning +quite as keenly as her mistress. Mrs. Madden was superstitious, as most +ignorant and simple-minded people generally are, more or less. +Superstition is, after all, only a dim, unconscious poetry, which is +latent in most natures, except in such very hard practical minds as are +incapable of believing in anything--not even in Heaven itself. + +Dora Macmahon came in presently, looking very pretty in blue silk and +white lace. She looked very happy, in spite of the bad weather, and Miss +Dunbar suffered herself to be comforted by her half-sister. The two +girls sat at the table by the fire, and breakfasted, or pretended to +breakfast, together. Who could really attend to the common business of +eating and drinking on such a day as this? + +"I've just been to see Lizzie and Ellen," Dora said, presently; "they +wouldn't come in here till they were dressed, and they've had their hair +screwed up in hair-pins all night to make it wave, and now it's a wet +day their hair won't wave after all, and their maid's going to pinch it +with the fire-irons--the tongs, I suppose." + +Miss Macmahon had brown hair, with a natural ripple in it, and could +afford to laugh at beauty that was obliged to adorn itself by means of +hair-pins and tongs. + +Lizzie and Ellen were the daughters of a Major Melville, and the special +friends of Miss Dunbar. They had come to Maudesley to act as her +bridesmaids, according to that favourite promise which young ladies so +often make to each other, and so very often break. + +Laura did not appear to take much interest in the Miss Melvilles' hair. +She was very meditative about something; but her meditations must have +been of a pleasant nature, for there was a smile upon her face. + +"Dora," she said, by-and-by, "do you know I've been thinking about +something?" + +"About what, dear?" + +"Don't you know that old saying about one wedding making many?" + +Dora Macmahon blushed. + +"What of that, Laura dear?" she asked, very innocently. + +"I've been thinking that perhaps another wedding may follow mine. Oh, +Dora, I can't help saying it, I should be so happy if Arthur Lovell and +you were to marry." + +Miss Macmahon blushed a much deeper red than before. + +"Oh, Laura," she said, "that's quite impossible." + +But Miss Dunbar shook her head. + +"I shall live in the hope of it, notwithstanding," she said. "I love +Arthur almost as much--or perhaps quite as much, as if he were my +brother--so it isn't strange that I should wish to see him married to my +sister." + +The two girls might have sat talking for some time longer, but they were +interrupted by Miss Dunbar's old nurse, who never for a moment lost +sight of the serious business of the day. + +"It's all very well for you to sit there jabber, jabber, jabber, Miss +Dora," exclaimed the unceremonious Elizabeth; "you're dressed, all but +your bonnet. You've only just to pop that on, and there you are. But my +young lady isn't half dressed yet. And now, come along, Miss Laura, and +have your hair done, if you mean to have any back-hair at all to-day. +It's past nine o'clock, and you're to be at the church at eleven." + +"And papa is to give me away!" murmured Laura, in a low voice, as she +seated herself before the dressing-table. "I wish he loved me better." + +"Perhaps, if he loved you too well, he'd keep you, instead of giving you +away, Miss Laura," observed Mrs. Madden, with evident enjoyment of her +own wit; "and I don't suppose you'd care about that, would you, miss? +Hold your head still, that's a precious darling, and don't you trouble +yourself about anything except looking your very best this day." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING. + + +The wedding was to take place in Lisford church--that pretty, quaint, +old church of which I have already spoken. + +The wandering Avon flowed through this rustic churchyard, along a +winding channel fringed by tall, trembling rushes. There was a wooden +bridge across the river, and there were two opposite entrances to the +churchyard. Pedestrians who chose the shortest route between Lisford and +Shorncliffe went in at one gate and out at another, which opened on to +the high-road. + +The worthy inhabitants of Lisford were almost as much distressed by the +unpromising aspect of the sky as Laura Dunbar and her faithful nurse +themselves. New bonnets had been specially prepared for this festive +occasion. Chrysanthemums and dahlias, gay-looking China-asters, and all +the lingering flowers that light up the early winter landscape, had been +collected to strew the pathway beneath the bride's pretty feet. All the +brightest evergreens in the Lisford gardens had been gathered as a +fitting sacrifice for the "young lady from the Abbey." + +Laura Dunbar's frank good-nature and reckless generosity were well +remembered upon this occasion; and every creature in Lisford was bent +upon doing her honour. + +But this aggravating rain balked everybody. What was the use of throwing +wet dahlias and flabby chrysanthemums into the puddles through which the +bride must tread, heiress though she was? How miserable would be the +aspect of two rows of damp charity children, with red noses and no +pocket-handkerchiefs! The rector himself had a cold in his head, and +would be obliged to omit all the _n_'s and _m_'s in the marriage +service. + +In short, everybody felt that the Abbey wedding was destined to be more +or less a failure. It seemed very hard that the chief partner in the +firm of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby could not, with all his wealth, buy +a little glimmer of sunshine to light up his daughter's wedding. It grew +so dark and foggy towards eleven o'clock, that a dozen or so of +wax-candles were hastily stuck about the neighbourhood of the altar, in +order that the bride and bridegroom might be able, each of them, to see +the person that he or she was taking for better or worse. + +Yes, the dismal weather made everything dismal in unison with itself. A +wet wedding is like a wet pic-nic. The most heroic nature gives way +before its utter desolation; the wit of the party forgets his best +anecdote; the funny man breaks down in the climactic verse of his great +buffo song; there is no brightness in the eyes of the beauty; there is +neither sparkle nor flavour in the champagne, though the grapes thereof +have been grown in the vineyards of Widow Cliquot herself. + +There are some things that are more powerful than emperors, and the +atmosphere is one of them. Alexander might conquer nations in very +sport; but I question whether he could have resisted the influence of a +wet day. + +Of all the people who were to assist at Sir Philip Jocelyn's wedding, +perhaps the father of the bride was the person who seemed least affected +by that drizzling rain, that hopelessly-black sky. + +If Henry Dunbar was grave and silent to-day, why that was nothing new: +for he was always grave and silent. If the banker's manner was stern and +moody to-day, that stern moodiness was habitual to him: and there was no +need to blame the murky heavens for any change in his temper. He sat by +the broad fireplace watching the burning coals, and waiting until he +should be summoned to take his place by his daughter's side in the +carriage that was to convey them both to Lisford church; and he did not +utter one word of complaint about that aggravating weather. + +He looked very handsome, very aristocratic, with his grey moustache +carefully trimmed, and a white camellia in his button-hole. +Nevertheless, when he came out into the hall by-and-by, with a set smile +upon his face, like a man who is going to act a part in a play, Laura +Dunbar recoiled from him with an involuntary shiver, as she had done +upon the day of her first meeting with him in Portland Place. + +But he offered her his hand, and she laid the tips of her fingers in his +broad palm, and went with him to the carriage. "Ask God to bless me upon +this day, papa," the girl said, in a low, tender voice, as these two +people took their places side by side in the roomy chariot. + +Laura Dunbar laid her hand caressingly upon the banker's shoulder as she +spoke. It was not a time for reticence; it was not an occasion upon +which to be put off by any girlish fear of this stern, silent man. + +"Ask God to bless me, father dearest," the soft, tremulous voice +pleaded, "for the sake of my dead mother." + +She tried to see his face: but she could not. His head was turned away, +and he was busy making some alteration in the adjustment of the +carriage-window. The chariot had cost nearly three hundred pounds, and +was very well built: but there was something wrong about the window +nevertheless, if one might judge by the difficulty which Mr. Dunbar had, +in settling it to his satisfaction. + +He spoke presently, in a very earnest voice, but with his head still +turned away from Laura. + +"I hope God will bless you, my dear," he said; "and that He will have +pity upon your enemies." + +This last wish was more Christianlike than natural; since fathers do not +usually implore compassion for the enemies of their children. + +But Laura Dunbar did not trouble herself to think about this. She only +knew that her father had called down Heaven's blessing upon her; and +that his manner had betrayed such agitation as could, of course, only +spring from one cause, namely, his affection for his daughter. + +She threw herself into his arms with a radiant smile, and putting up her +hands, drew his face round, and pressed her lips to his. + +But, as on the day in Portland Place, a chill crept through her veins, +as she felt the deadly coldness of her father's hands lifted to push her +gently from him. + +It is a common thing for Anglo-Indians to be quiet and reserved in their +manners, and strongly adverse to all demonstrations of this kind. Laura +remembered this, and made excuses to herself for her father's coldness. + +The rain was still falling as the carriage stopped at the churchyard. +There were only three carriages in this brief bridal train, for Mr. +Dunbar had insisted that there should be no grandeur, no display. + +The two Miss Melvilles, Dora Macmahon, and Arthur Lovell rode in the +same carriage. Major Melville's daughters looked very pale and cold in +their white-and-blue dresses, and the north-easter had tweaked their +noses, which were rather sharp and pointed in style. They would have +looked pretty enough, poor girls, had the wedding taken place in +summer-time; but they had not that splendid exceptional beauty which can +defy all changes of temperature, and which is alike glorious, whether +clad in abject rags or robed in velvet and ermine. + +The carriages reached the little gate of Lisford churchyard; Philip +Jocelyn came out of the porch, and down the narrow pathway leading to +the gate. + +The drizzling rain descended on him, though he was a baronet, and though +he came bareheaded to receive his bride. + +I think the Lisford beadle, who was a sound Tory of the old school, +almost wondered that the heavens themselves should be audacious enough +to wet the uncovered head of the lord of Jocelyn's Rock. + +But it went on raining, nevertheless. + +"Times has changed, sir," said the beadle, to an idle-looking stranger +who was standing near him. "I have read in a history of Warwickshire, +that when Algernon Jocelyn was married to Dame Margery Milward, widow to +Sir Stephen Milward, knight, in Charles the First's time, there was a +cloth-of-gold canopy from the gate yonder to this porch here, and two +moving turrets of basket-work, each of 'em drawn by four horses, and +filled with forty poor children, crowned with roses, lookin' out of the +turret winders, and scatterin' scented waters on the crowd; and there +was a banquet, sir, served up at noon that day at Jocelyn's Rock, with +six peacocks brought to table with their tails spread; and a pie, served +in a gold dish, with live doves in it, every feather of 'em steeped in +the rarest perfume, which they was intended to sprinkle over the company +as they flew about here and there. But--would you believe in such a +radical spirit pervadin' the animal creation?--every one of them doves +flew straight out of the winder, and went and scattered their perfumes +on the poor folks outside. There's no such weddin's as that nowadays, +sir," said the old beadle, with a groan. "As I often say to my old +missus, I don't believe as ever England has held up its head since the +day when Charles the Martyr lost his'n." + +Laura Dunbar went up the narrow pathway by her father's side; but Philip +Jocelyn walked upon her left hand, and the crowd had enough to do to +stare at bride and bridegroom. + +The baronet's face, which was always a handsome one, looked splendid in +the light of his happiness. People disputed as to whether the bride or +bridegroom was handsomest; and Laura forgot all about the wet weather as +she laid her light hand on Philip Jocelyn's arm. + +The churchyard was densely crowded in the neighbourhood of the pathway +along which the bride and bridegroom walked. In spite of the miserable +weather, in defiance of Mr. Dunbar's desire that the wedding should be a +quiet one, people had come from a very long distance in order to see the +millionaire's beautiful daughter married to the master of Jocelyn's +Rock. + +Amongst the spectators who had come to witness Miss Dunbar's wedding was +the tall gentleman in the high white hat, who was known in sporting +circles as the Major, and who had exhibited so much interest when the +name of Henry Dunbar was mentioned on the Shorncliffe racecourse. The +Major had been very lucky in his speculations on the Shorncliffe races, +and had gone straight away from the course to the village of Lisford, +where he took up his abode at the Hose and Crown, a bright-looking +hostelry, where a traveller could have his steak or his chop done to a +turn in one of the cosiest kitchens in all Warwickshire. The Major was +very reserved upon the subject of his sporting operations when he found +himself among unprofessional people; and upon such occasions, though he +would now and then condescend to lay the odds against anything with some +unconscious agriculturalist or village tradesman, his innocence with +regard to all turf matters was positively refreshing. + +He was a traveller in Birmingham jewellery, he told the land lady of the +quiet little inn, and was on his way to that busy commercial centre to +procure a fresh supply of glass emeralds, and a score or so of gigantic +rubies with crinkled tinsel behind them. The Major, usually somewhat +silent and morose, contrived to make himself very agreeable to the +jovial frequenters of the comfortable little public parlour of the Rose +and Crown. + +He took his dinner and his supper in that cosy apartment; and he sat +there all the evening, listening to and joining in the conversation of +the Lisfordians, and drinking sixpenn'orths of gin-and-water, with the +air of a man who could consume a hogshead of the juice of the +juniper-berry without experiencing any evil consequences therefrom. He +ate and drank like a man of iron; and his glittering black eyes kept +perpetual watch upon the faces of the simple country people, and his +eager ears drank in every word that was spoken. Of course a great deal +was said about the event of the next morning. Everybody had something to +say about Miss Dunbar and her wealthy father, who lived so lonely and +secluded at the Abbey, and whose ways were altogether so different from +those of his father before him. + +The Major listened to every syllable, and only edged-in a word or two +now and then, when the conversation flagged, or when there was a chance +of the subject being changed. + +By this means he contrived to keep the Lisfordians constant to one topic +all the evening, and that topic was the manners and customs of Henry +Dunbar. + +Very early on the morning of the wedding the Major made his appearance +in the churchyard. As for the incessant rain, that was nothing to _him_; +he was used to it; and, moreover, the wet weather gave him a good excuse +for buttoning his coat to the chin, and turning the poodle collar over +his big red ears. + +He found the door of the church ajar, early though it was, and going in +softly, he came upon the Tory beadle and some damp charity children. + +The Major contrived to engage the Tory beadle in conversation, which was +not very difficult, seeing that the aforesaid beadle was always ready to +avail himself of any opportunity of hearing his own voice. Of course the +loquacious beadle talked chiefly of Sir Philip Jocelyn and the banker's +daughter; and again the sporting gentleman from London heard of Henry +Dunbar's riches. + +"I _have_ heerd as Mr. Dunbar is the richest man in Europe, exceptin' +the Hemperore of Roosia and Baron Rothschild," the beadle said; "but I +don't know anythink more than that he's got a deal more money than he +knows what to do with, seein' that he passes the best part of his days +sittin' over the fire in his own room, or ridin' out after dark on +horseback, if report speaks correct." + +"I tell you what I'll do," said the Major; "as I am in Lisford,--and, to +be candid with you, Lisford's about the dullest place it was ever my bad +luck to visit,--why, I'll stay and have a look at this wedding. I +suppose you can put me into a quiet pew, back yonder in the shadow, +where I can see all that's going on, without any of your fine folks +seeing me, eh?" + +As the Major emphasized this question by dropping half-a-crown into the +beadle's hand, that official answered it very promptly,-- + +"I'll put you into the comfortablest pew you ever sat in," answered the +official. + +"You might do that easily," muttered the sporting gentleman, below his +breath; "for there's not many pews, or churches either, that _I_'ve ever +sat in." + +The Major took his place in a corner of the church whence there was a +very good view of the altar, where the feeble flames of the wax-candles +made little splashes of yellow light in the fog. + +The fog got thicker and thicker in the church as the hour for the +marriage ceremony drew nearer and nearer, and the light of the +wax-candles grew brighter as the atmosphere became more murky. + +The Major sat patiently in his pew, with his arms folded upon the ledge, +where the prayer-books in the corner of the seats were wont to rest +during divine service. He planted his bristly chin upon his folded arms, +and closed his eyes in a kind of dog-sleep. + +But in this sleep he could hear everything going on. He heard the +hobnailed soles of the charity children pattering upon the floor of the +church; he heard the sharp rustling of the evergreens and wet flowers +under the children's figures; and he could hear the deep voice of Philip +Jocelyn, talking to the clergyman in the porch, as he waited the arrival +of the carriages from Maudesley Abbey. + +The carriages arrived at last; and presently the wedding-train came up +the narrow aisle, and took their places about the altar-rails. Henry +Dunbar stood behind his daughter, with his face in shadow. + +The marriage-service was commenced. The Major's eyes were wide open now. +Those sharp eager black eyes took notice of everything. They rested now +upon the bride, now upon the bridegroom, now upon the faces of the +rector and his curate. + +Sometimes those glittering eyes strove to pierce the gloom, and to see +the other faces, the faces that were farther away from the flickering +yellow light of the wax-candles; but the gloom was not to be pierced +even by the sharpest eyes. + +The Major could only see four faces;--the faces of the bride and +bridegroom, the rector, and his curate. But by-and-by, when one of the +clergymen asked the familiar question--"_Who giveth this woman to be +married, to this man?_" Henry Dunbar came forward into the light of the +wax-candles, and gave the appointed answer. + +The Major's folded arms dropped off the ledge, as if they had been +suddenly paralyzed. He sat, breathing hard and quick, and staring at Mr. +Dunbar. + +"Henry Dunbar?" he muttered to himself, presently--"Henry Dunbar!" + +Mr. Dunbar did not again retire into the shadow. He remained during the +rest of the ceremony standing where the light shone full upon his +handsome face. + +When all was over, and the bride and bridegroom had signed their names +in the vestry, before admiring witnesses, the sporting gentleman rose +and walked softly out of the pew, and along one of the obscure +side-aisles. + +The wedding-party passed out of the church-porch. The Major followed +slowly. + +Philip Jocelyn and his bride went straight to the carriage that was to +convey them back to the Abbey. + +Dora Macmahon and the two pale Bridesmaids, with areophane bonnets that +had become hopelessly limp from exposure to that cruel rain, took their +places in the second carriage. They were accompanied by Arthur Lovell, +whom they looked upon with no very great favour; for he had been silent +and melancholy throughout the drive from Maudesley Abbey to Lisford +Church, and had stared at them with vacant indifference, while handing +them out of the carriage with a mechanical kind of politeness that was +almost insulting. + +The two first carriages drove away from the churchyard-gate, and the mud +upon the high-road splashed the closed windows of the vehicles as the +wheels went round. + +The third carriage waited for Henry Dunbar, and the crowd in the +churchyard waited to see him get into it. + +He had his foot upon the lowest step, and his hand upon the door, when +the Major went up to him, and tapped him lightly upon the shoulder. + +The spectators recoiled, aghast with indignant astonishment. + +How dared this shabby-looking man, with clumsy boots that were queer +about the heels, and a mangy fur collar, like the skin of an invalid +French poodle, to his threadbare coat--how in the name of all that is +audacious, dared such a low person as this lay his dirty fingers upon +the sacred shoulder of Henry Dunbar of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby's +banking-house, St. Gundolph Lane, City? + +The millionaire turned, and grew as ashy pale at sight of the shabby +stranger as he could have done if the sheeted dead had risen from one of +the graves near at hand. But he uttered no exclamation of horror or +surprise. He only shrank haughtily away from the Major's touch, as if +there had been some infection to be dreaded from those dirty +finger-tips. + +"May I be permitted to know your motive for this intrusion, sir?" the +banker asked, in a cold, repellent voice, looking the shabby intruder +full in the eyes as he spoke. + +There was something so resolute, so defiant, in the rich man's gaze, +that it is a wonder the poor man did not shrink from encountering it. + +But he did not: he gave back look for look. + +"Don't say you've forgotten me, Mr. Dunbar," he said; "don't say you've +forgotten a very old acquaintance." + +This was spoken after a pause, in which the two men had looked at each +other as earnestly as if each had been trying to read the inmost secrets +of the other's soul. + +"Don't say you've forgotten me, Mr. Dunbar," repeated the Major. + +Henry Dunbar smiled. It was a forced smile, perhaps; but, at any rate, +it was a smile. + +"I have a great many acquaintances," he said; "and I fancy you must have +gone down in the world since I knew you, if I may judge from +appearances." + +The bystanders, who had listened to every word, began to murmur among +themselves. "Yes, indeed, they should rather think so:--if ever this +shabby stranger had known Mr. Dunbar, and if he was not altogether an +impostor, he must have been a very different sort of person at the time +of his acquaintance with the millionaire." + +"When and where did I know you?" asked Henry Dunbar, with his eyes still +looking straight into the eyes of the other man. + +"Oh, a long time ago--a very long way off!" + +"Perhaps it was--somewhere in India--up the country?' said the banker, +very slowly. + +"Yes, it was in India--up the country," answered the other. + +"Then you won't find me slow to befriend you," said Mr. Dunbar. "I am +always glad to be of service to any of my Indian acquaintances--even +when the world has treated them badly. Get into my carriage, and I'll +drive you home. I shall be able to talk to you by-and-by, when all this +wedding business is over." + +The two men seated themselves side by side upon the spring cushions of +the banker's luxurious carriage; and the vehicle drove rapidly away, +leaving the spectators in a rapture of admiration at Henry Dunbar's +condescension to his shabby Indian acquaintance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +AFTER THE WEDDING. + + +The banker and the man who was called the Major talked to each other +earnestly enough throughout the short drive between Lisford churchyard +and Maudesley Abbey; but they spoke in low confidential whispers, and +their conversation was interlarded by all manner of strange phrases; the +queer, outlandish words were Hindostanee, no doubt, and were by no means +easy to comprehend. + +As the carriage drove up to the grand entrance of the Abbey, the +stranger looked out through the mud-spattered window. + +"A fine place!" he exclaimed; "a splendid place!" + +"What am I to call you here?" muttered Mr. Dunbar, as he got out of the +carriage. + +"You may call me anything; as long as you do not call me when the soup +is cold. I've a two-pair back in the neighbourhood of St. Martin's Lane, +and I'm known _there_ as Mr. Vavasor. But I'm not particular to a shade. +Call me anything that begins with a V. It's as well to stick to one +initial, on account of one's linen." + +From the very small amount of linen exhibited in the Major's toilette, a +malicious person might have imagined that such a thing as a shirt was a +luxury not included in that gentleman's wardrobe. + +"Call me Vernon," he said: "Vernon is a good name. You may as well call +me Major Vernon. My friends at the Corner--not the Piccadilly corner, +but the corner of the waste ground at the back of Field Lane--have done +me the honour to give me the rank of Major, and I don't see why I +shouldn't retain the distinction. My proclivities are entirely +aristocratic: I have no power of assimilation with the _canaille_. This +is the sort of thing that suits me. Here I am in my element." + +Mr. Dunbar had led his shabby acquaintance into the low, tapestried room +in which he usually sat. The Major rubbed his hands with a gesture of +enjoyment as he looked at the evidences of wealth that were heedlessly +scattered about the apartment. He gave a long sigh of satisfaction as he +dropped with a sudden plump upon the spring cushion of an easy-chair on +one side of the fireplace. + +"Now, listen to me," said Mr. Dunbar. "I can't afford to talk to you +this morning; I have other duties to perform: When they're over, I'll +come and talk to you. In the meantime, you may sit here as long as you +like, and have what you please to eat or drink." + +"Well, I don't mind the wing of a fowl, and a bottle of Burgundy. It's a +long time since I've tasted Burgundy. Chambertin, or Clos de Vougeot, at +twelve bob a bottle--that's the sort of tipple, I rather flatter +myself--eh?" + +Henry Dunbar drew himself up with a slight shudder, as if repelled and +disgusted by the man's vulgarity. + +"What do you want of me?" he asked. "Remember that I am waited for. I am +quite ready to serve you--for the sake of 'auld lang syne!'" + +"Yes," answered the Major, with a sneer; "it's so pleasant to remember +'auld lang syne!'" + +"Well," asked Mr. Dunbar, impatiently, "what is it you want of me?" + +"A bottle of Burgundy--the best you have in your cellar--something to +eat, and--that which a poor man generally asks of his rich friends--his +fortunate friends--MONEY!" + +"You shall not find me illiberal towards you. I'll come back by-and-by, +and write you a cheque." + +"You'll make it a thumping one?" + +"I'll make it as much as you want." + +"That's the sort of thing. There always was something princely and +magnificent about you, Mr. Dunbar." + +"You shall not have any reason to complain," answered the banker, very +coldly. + +"You'll send me the lunch?" + +"Yes. You can hold your tongue, I suppose? You won't talk to the servant +who waits upon you?" + +"Has your friend the manners of a gentleman, or has he not? Hasn't he +had the eminent advantage of a collegiate education--I may say, a +prolongued course of collegiate study? But look here, since you're so +afraid of my putting my foot in it, suppose I go back to Lisford now, +and I can return to you to-night after dark. Our business will keep. I +want a long talk, and a quiet talk; but I must suit my convenience to +yours. It's the dee-yuty of the poor-r-r dependant to wait upon the +per-leasure of his patron," exclaimed Major Vernon, in the studied tones +of the villain in a melodrama. + +Henry Dunbar gave a sigh of relief. + +"Yes, that will be much better," he said. "I can talk to you comfortably +after dinner." + +"Ta-ta, then, old boy. 'Oh, reservoir!' as we say in the classics." + +Major Vernon extended a brawny hand of rather doubtful purity. The +millionaire touched the broad palm with the tips of his gloved fingers. + +"Good-bye," he said; "I shall expect you at nine o'clock. You know your +way out?" + +He opened the door as he spoke, and pointed through a vista of two or +three adjoining rooms to the hall. It was rather a broad hint. The Major +pulled the poodle collar still higher above his ears, and went out with +only his nose exposed to the influence of the atmosphere. + +Henry Dunbar shut the door, and walked to one of the windows. He leaned +his forehead against the glass, and looked out, watching the tall figure +of the Major, as he walked rapidly along the broad carriage-drive that +skirted the lawn. + +The banker watched his shabby acquaintance until Major Vernon was quite +out of sight. Then he went back to the fireplace, dropped heavily into +his chair, and gave a long groan. It was not a sigh, it was a groan--a +groan that seemed to come from a bosom that was rent by all the agony of +despair. + +"This decides it!" he muttered to himself. "Yes, this decides it! I've +seen it for a long time coming to a crisis. But _this_ settles +everything." + +He got up, passed his hand across his forehead and over his eyelids, +like a man who had just been awakened from a long sleep; and then went +to play his part in the grand business of the day. + +There is a very wide difference between the feelings of the poor +adventurer--who, by some lucky accident, is enabled to pounce upon a +rich friend--and the sentiments of the wealthy victim who is pounced +upon. Nothing could present a stronger contrast than the manner of Henry +Dunbar, the banker, and the gentleman who had elected to be called Major +Vernon. Whereas Mr. Dunbar seemed plunged into the uttermost depths of +despair by the sudden appearance of his old acquaintance, the worthy +Major exhibited a delight that was almost uproarious in its +manifestation. + +It was not until he found himself in a very lonely part of the park, +where there were no other witnesses than the timid deer, lurking here +and there under the poor shelter of a clump of leafless elms,--it was +not till Major Vernon felt himself quite alone, that he gave way to the +full exuberance of his spirits. + +"It's a gold-mine!" he cried, rubbing his hands; "it's a regular +California!" + +He executed a grim caper in his delight, and the scared deer fled away +from the neighbourhood of his path; perhaps they took him for some +modern gnome, dancing wild dances in the wet woodland. He laughed aloud, +with a hollow, fiendish-sounding laugh, and then clapped his hands +together till the noise of his brawny palms echoed in the rustic +silence. + +"Henry Dunbar," he said to himself; "Henry Dunbar! He'll be a milch +cow--nothing but a milch cow. If--" he stopped suddenly, and the +triumphant grin upon his face changed to a thoughtful expression. "If he +doesn't run away," he said, standing quite still, and rubbing his chin +slowly with the palm of his hand. "What if he should give me the slip? +He _might_ do that!" + +But, after a moment's pause, he laughed aloud again, and walked on +briskly. + +"No, he'll not do that," he said; "it won't serve his turn to run away." + +While Major Vernon went back to Lisford, Henry Dunbar took his seat at +the breakfast-table, with Laura Lady Jocelyn by his side. + +There was very little more gaiety at the wedding-breakfast than there +had been at the wedding. Everything was very elegant, very subdued, and +aristocratic. Silent footmen glided noiselessly backwards and forwards +behind the chairs of the guests; champagne, Moselle, hock, and Burgundy +sparkled in shallow glasses that were shaped like the broad leaf of a +water-lily. Dresden-china shepherdesses, in the centre of the oval +table, held up their chintz-patterned aprons filled with some forced +strawberries that had cost about half-a-crown apiece. Smirking shepherds +supported open-work baskets, laden with tiny Algerian apples, China +oranges, and big purple hothouse grapes. + +The bride and bridegroom were very happy; but theirs was a subdued and +quiet happiness that had little influence upon those around them. The +wedding-breakfast was a very silent meal, for the face of the giver of +the feast was as gloomy as the sky above Maudesley Abbey; and every now +and then, in awkward pauses of the conversation, the pattering of the +incessant raindrops sounded upon the windows. + +At last the breakfast was finished. A knife had been cunningly inserted +in the outer-wall of the splendid cake, and a few morsels of the rich +interior, which looked like a kind of portable Day-and-Martin, had been +eaten by one of the bridesmaids. Laura Jocelyn rose and left the table, +attended by the three young ladies. + +Elizabeth Madden was waiting in the bride's dressing-room with Lady +Jocelyn's travelling-dress laid in state upon a big sofa. She kissed her +young Miss, and cried over her a little, before she was equal to begin +the business of the toilette: and then the voices of the bridesmaids +broke loose, and there was a pleasant buzz of congratulation, which +beguiled the time while Laura was exchanging her bridal costume for a +long rustling dress of dove-coloured silk, a purple-velvet cloak trimmed +and lined with sable, and a miraculous fabric of pale-pink areophane, +and starry jasmine-blossoms, which the Parisian milliner facetiously +entitled "a bonnet." + +She went down stairs presently in this rich attire, looking like a +Russian empress, in all the glory of her youth and beauty. The +travelling-carriage was standing at the door; Arthur Lovell and Mr. +Dunbar were in the hall with the two clergymen. Laura went up to her +father to bid him good-bye. + +"It will be a long time before we see each other again, papa dear," she +said, in tones that were only loud enough for Mr. Dunbar to hear; "say +'God bless you!' once more before I go." + +Her head was on his breast, and her face lifted up towards his own as +she said this. + +The banker looked straight before him with a forced smile upon his face, +that was little more than a nervous contraction of the muscles about the +lips. + +"I will give you something better than my blessing, Laura," he said +aloud; "I have given you no wedding-present yet, but I have not +forgotten. The gift I mean to present to you will take some time to +prepare. I shall give you the handsomest diamond-necklace that was ever +made in England. I shall buy the diamonds myself, and have them set +according to my own design." + +The bridesmaids gave a little murmur of delight. + +Laura pressed the speaker's cold hand. + +"I don't want any diamonds, papa," she whispered; "I only want your +love." + +Mr. Dunbar did not make any response to that entreating whisper. There +was no time for any answer, perhaps, for the bride and bridegroom had to +catch an appointed train at Shorncliffe station, which was to take them +on the first stage of their Continental journey; and in the bustle and +confusion of their hurried departure, the banker had no opportunity of +saying anything more to his daughter. But he stood in the Gothic porch, +watching the departing carriage with a kind of mournful tenderness in +his face. + +"I hope that she will be happy," he muttered to himself as he went back +to the house. "Heaven knows I hope she may be happy." + +He did not stop to make any ceremonious adieu to his guests, but walked +straight to his own apartments. People were accustomed to his strange +manners, and were very indulgent towards his foibles. + +Arthur Lovell and the three bridesmaids lingered a little in the blue +drawing-room. The Melvilles were to drive home to their father's house +in the afternoon, and Dora Macmahon was going with them. She was to stay +at their father's house a few weeks, and was then to go back to her aunt +in Scotland. + +"But I am to pay my darling Laura an early visit at Jocelyn's Rock," she +said, when Arthur made some inquiry about her arrangements; "that has +been all settled." + +The ladies and the young lawyer took an afternoon tea together before +they left Maudesley, and were altogether very sociable, not to say +merry. It was upon this occasion that Arthur Lovell, for the first time +in his life, observed that Dora Macmahon had very beautiful brown eyes, +and rippling brown hair, and the sweetest smile he had ever seen--except +in one lovely face, which was like the splendour of the noonday sun, and +seemed to extinguish all lesser lights. + +The carriage was announced at last; and Mr. Lovell had enough to do in +attending to the three young ladies, and the stowing away of all those +bonnet-boxes, and shawls, and travelling-bags, and desks, and +dressing-cases, and odd volumes of books, and umbrellas, parasols, and +sketching-portfolios, which are the peculiar attributes of all female +travellers. And then, when all was finished, and he had bowed for the +last time in acknowledgment of those friendly becks and wreathed smiles +which greeted him from the carriage-window till it disappeared in the +curve of the avenue, Arthur Lovell walked slowly home, thinking of the +business of the day. + +Laura was lost to him for ever. The dreadful grief which had so long +brooded darkly over his life had come down upon him at last, and the +pang had not been so insupportable as he had expected it to be. + +"I never had any hope," he thought to himself, as he walked along the +soddened road between the gates of Maudesley and the old town that lay +before him. "I never really hoped that Laura Dunbar would be my wife." + +John Lovell's house was one of the best in the town of Shorncliffe. It +was a queer old house, with a sloping roof, and gable-ends of solid oak, +adorned here and there by grim devices, carved by a skilful hand. It was +a large house; but low and straggling; and unpretending in its exterior. +The red light of a fire was shining in a wainscoted chamber, half +sitting-room, half library. The crimson curtains were not yet drawn +across the diamond-paned window. Arthur Lovell looked into the room as +he passed, and saw his father sitting by the fire, with a newspaper at +his feet. + +There was no need to bolt doors against thieves and vagabonds in such a +quiet town as Shorncliffe. Arthur Lovell turned the handle of the street +door and went in. The door of his father's sitting-room was ajar, and +the lawyer heard his son's step in the hall. + +"Is that you, Arthur?" he asked. + +"Yes, father," the young man answered, going into the room. + +"I want to speak to you very particularly. I suppose this wedding at +Maudesley Abbey has put all serious business out of your head." + +"What serious business, father?" + +"Have you forgotten Lord Herriston's offer?" + +"The offer of the appointment in India? Oh, no, father, I have not +forgotten, only----" + +"Only what?" + +"I have not been able to decide." + +As he spoke, Arthur Lovell thought of Laura Dunbar. No; she was Laura +Jocelyn now. It was a hard thing for the young man to think of her by +that new name. Would it not be better for him to go away--to put +immeasurable distance between himself and the woman he had loved so +dearly? Would it not be better and wiser to go away? And yet what if by +so doing he turned his back upon another chance of happiness? What if a +lesser star than that which had gone down in the darkness might now be +rising dim and distant in the pale grey sky? + +"There is no reason that I should decide in a hurry," the young man +said, presently. "Lord Herriston told you that I might take twelve +months to think about his offer." + +"He did," answered John Lovell; "but half of the time is gone, and I've +had a letter from Lord Herriston by this afternoon's post. He wants your +decision immediately; for a connection of his own has applied to him for +the appointment. He still holds to his promise, and will give you the +preference; but you must make up your mind at once." + +"Do you wish me to go to India, father?" + +"Do I wish you to go to India! Of course not, my dear boy, unless your +own ambition takes you there. Remember, you are an only son. You have no +occasion to leave this place. You will inherit a very good practice and +a comfortable fortune. I thought you were ambitious, and that +Shorncliffe was too narrow a sphere for your ambition, or else I should +never have entertained any idea of this Indian appointment." + +"And you will not be sorry if I remain in England?" + +"Sorry! No, indeed; I shall be very glad. Do you suppose, when a man has +only one son, a handsome, clever, high-minded young fellow, whose +presence is like sunshine in his father's gloomy old house--do you think +the father wants to get rid of the lad? If you do think so, you must +have a very small idea of parental affection." + +"Then I'll refuse the appointment, father." + +"God bless you, my boy!" exclaimed the lawyer. + +The letter to Lord Herriston was written that night; and Arthur Lovell +resigned himself to a perpetual residence in that quiet town; within a +mile of which the towers of Jocelyn's Rock crowned the tall cliff above +the rushing waters of the Avon. + +Mr. Dunbar had given all necessary directions for the reception of his +shabby friend. + +The Major was ushered at once to the tapestried room, where the banker +was still sitting at the dinner-table. He had that meal laid upon a +round table near the fire, and the room looked a very picture of comfort +and luxury as Major Vernon went into it, fresh from the black foggy +night, and the leafless avenue, where the bare trunks of the elms looked +like gigantic shadows looming through the obscurity. + +The Major's eyes were almost dazzled by the brightness of that pleasant +chamber. This man was a reprobate; but he had begun life as a gentleman. +He remembered such a room as this long ago, across a dreary gulf of +forty ill-spent years. The sight of this room brought back the memory of +a pretty lamplit parlour, with an old man sitting in a high-backed +easy-chair: a genial matron bending over her work; two fair-faced girls; +a favourite mastiff stretched full length upon the hearth; and, last of +all, a young man at home from college, yawning over a sporting +newspaper, weary to death of all the simple innocent delights of home, +sick of the companionship of gentle sisters, the love of a fond mother, +and wishing to be back again at the old uproarious wine-parties, the +drunken orgies, the card-playing and prize-fighting, the extravagance +and debauchery of the bad set in which he was a chief. + +The Major gave a profound sigh as he looked round the room. But the +melancholy shadow on his face changed into a grim smile, as he glanced +from the tapestried walls and curtained window, with a great Indian jar +of hothouse flowers standing upon an inlaid table before it, and filling +the room with a faint perfume of jasmine and almond, to the figure of +Henry Dunbar. + +"It's comfortable," said Major Vernon; "to say the least of it, it's +very comfortable. And with a balance of half a million or so at one's +banker's, or in one's own bank--which is better still perhaps--one is +not so badly off, eh, Mr. Dunbar?" + +"Sit down and eat one of those birds," answered the banker. "I'll talk +to you by-and-by." + +The Major obeyed his friend; he unwound three or four yards of dingy +woollen stuff from his scraggy throat, turned down the poodle collar, +pulled his chair close to the table, squared his brows, and began +business. He made very light of a brace of partridges and a bottle of +sparkling Moselle. + +When the table had been cleared, and the two men left alone together, +Major Vernon stretched his long legs upon the hearth-rug, plunged his +hands deep down in his trousers' pockets, and gave a sigh of +satisfaction. + +"And now," said Mr. Dunbar, filling his glass from the starry crystal +claret-jug, "what is it that you want to say to me, Stephen Vallance, or +Major Vernon, or whatever ridiculous name you may call yourself--what is +it you've got to say?" + +"I'll tell you that in a very few words," answered the Major, quietly; +"I want to talk to you about the man who was murdered at Winchester some +months ago." + +The banker's hand lost its steadiness, the neck of the claret-jug +knocked against the thin lip of the glass, and shivered it into +half-a-dozen pieces. + +"You'll spill your wine," said Major Vernon. "I'm very sorry for you if +your nerves are no better than that." + + * * * * * + +When Major Vernon that night left his friend, he carried away with him +half-a-dozen cheques for different amounts, making in all two thousand +pounds, upon that private banking-account which Mr. Dunbar kept for +himself in the house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +It was after midnight when the banker opened the hall-door, and passed +out with the Major upon the broad stone flags under the Gothic porch. +There was no rain now; but it was very dark, and the north-easterly +winds were blowing amongst the leafless branches of giant oaks and elms. + +"Shall you present those cheques yourself?" Henry Dunbar asked, as the +two men were about to part. + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Dress yourself decently, then, before you do so," said the banker; +"they'd wonder what dealings you and I could have together, if you were +to show yourself in St. Gundolph Lane in your present costume." + +"My friend is proud," exclaimed the Major, with a mock tragic accent; +"he is proud, and he despises his humble dependant." + +"Good night," said Mr. Dunbar, rather abruptly; "it's past twelve +o'clock, and I'm tired." + +"To be sure. You're tired. Do you--do you--sleep well?" asked Major +Vernon, in a whisper. There was no mock solemnity in his tone now. + +The banker turned away from him with a muttered oath. The light of a +lamp suspended from the groined roof of the porch shone upon the two +men's faces. Henry Dunbar's countenance was overclouded by a black +frown, and was by no means agreeable to look upon; but the grinning face +of the Major, the thin lips wreathed into a malicious smile, the small +black eyes glittering with a sinister light, looked like the face of a +Mephistopheles. + +"Good night," repeated the banker, turning his back upon his friend, and +about to re-enter the house. + +Major Vernon laid his bony fingers upon Henry Dunbar's shoulder, and +stopped him before he could cross the threshold. + +"You've given me two thou'," he said; "that's liberal enough to start +with; but I'm an old man; I'm tired of the life of a vagabond, and I +want to live like a gentleman;--not as you do, of course; _that's_ out +of the question; it isn't everybody that has the good luck to be a +millionaire, like Henry Dunbar; but I want a bottle of claret with my +dinner, a good coat upon my back, and a five-pound note in my pocket +constantly. You must do as much as that for me; eh, dear boy?" + +"I don't refuse to do it, do I?" asked Henry Dunbar, impatiently; "I +should think what you've got in your pocket already is a pretty good +beginning." + +"My dear fellow, it's a stupendous beginning!" exclaimed Major Vernon; +"it's a princely beginning; it's a Napoleonic beginning. But that two +thou isn't meant for a blind, is it? It's not to be the beginning, +middle, and the end? You're not going to do the gentle bolt--eh?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"You're not going to run away? You're not going to renounce the pomps +and vanities of this wicked world, and make an early expedition across +the herring-pond--eh, friend of my soul?" + +"Why should I run away?" asked Henry Dunbar, sternly. + +"That's the very thing I say myself, dear boy. Why should you? A wise +man doesn't run away from landed estates, and fine houses, and half a +million of money. But when you broke that claret-glass after dinner, it +struck me somehow that you were--shall I venture the word?--_rather_ +nervous! Nervous people do all manner of things. Give me your word that +you're not going to bolt, and I'm satisfied." + +"I tell you, I have no such idea in my mind," Mr. Dunbar answered, with +increasing impatience. "Will that do?" + +"It will, dear boy. Your hand upon it! What a cold hand you've got! Take +care of yourself; and once more--good night!" + +"You're going to London?" + +"Yes--to cash the cheques, and make a few business arrangements." + +Mr. Dunbar bolted the great door as the footsteps of his friend the +Major died away upon the gravelled walk, which had been quickly dried by +the frosty wind. The banker had dismissed his servants at ten o'clock +that night; so there was nobody to wait upon him, or to watch him, when +he went back to the tapestried room. + +He sat by the low fire for a little time, thinking, with a settled gloom +upon his face, and drinking Burgundy out of a tumbler. Then he went to +bed; and the light of the night-lamp shining upon his face as he slept, +showed it distorted by strange shadows, that were not altogether the +shadows of the draperies above his head. + +Major Vernon walked briskly down the long avenue leading to the +lodge-gates. + +"Two thou' is comfortable," he muttered to himself; "very satisfactory +for a first go-in at the gold-diggin's! but I shall expect my California +to produce a little more than that before we close the shaft, and retire +upon the profits of the speculation. I _think_ my friend is safe--I +don't think he'll run away. But I shall keep my eye upon him, +nevertheless. The human eye is a great institution; and I shall watch my +friend." + +In spite of a natural eagerness to transform those oblong slips of +paper--the cheques signed with the well-known name of Henry Dunbar--into +the still more convenient and flimsy paper circulating medium dispensed +by the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street, or the yellow coinage of the +realm, Major Vernon did not seem in any very great hurry to leave +Lisford. + +A great many of the Lisfordians had seen the shabby stranger take his +seat in Henry Dunbar's carriage, side by side with the great banker. +This fact became universally known throughout the parish of Lisford and +two neighbouring parishes, before the shadows of night came down upon +the day of Laura Dunbar's wedding, and the Major was respected +accordingly. + +He was shabby, certainly; queer-about the heels of his boots; and very +mangy with regard to the poodle collar. His hat was more shiny than was +consistent with the hat-manufacturing interest. His bony hands were red +and bare, and only one miserable mockery of a glove dangled between his +thumb and finger as he swaggered along the village street. + +But he had been seen riding in Henry Dunbar's carriage, and from that +moment he had become invested with a romantic interest. He was a reduced +gentleman, who had seen better days; or he was a miser, perhaps--an +eccentric individual, who wore shabby boots and shiny hats for his own +love and pleasure. + +People paid respect, therefore, to the stranger at the Rose and Crown, +and touched their hats to him as he went in and out, and were glad to +answer any questions he chose to put to them as he loitered about the +village. He contrived to find out a good deal in this way about things +in general, and the habits of Henry Dunbar in particular. The banker had +given his shabby acquaintance a handful of sovereigns for present use, +as well as the cheques; and the Major was able to live upon the best the +Rose and Crown could afford, and pay liberally for all he consumed. + +"I find the Warwickshire air agree with me remarkably well," he said to +the landlord, as he sat at breakfast in the bar-parlour, upon the second +day after his interview with Henry Dunbar; "and if you know of any snug +little box in the neighbourhood that would suit a lonely old bachelor +with a comfortable income, and nobody to help him spend it, why, I +really should have a very great inclination to take it, and furnish it." + +The landlord scratched his head, and reflected for a few minutes. Then +he slapped his leg with a sounding and triumphant slap. + +"I know the very thing as would suit you, Major Vernon," he said--the +Major had assumed the name of Vernon, as agreed upon between himself and +Henry Dunbar--"the very thing," repeated the landlord; "you might say it +had been made to order like. There's a sale comes off next Thursday. Mr. +Grogson, the Shorncliffe auctioneer, will sell, at eleven o'clock +precisely, the furniture and lease of the snuggest little box in these +parts--Woodbine Cottage it's called--a sweet pretty little place, as was +the property of old Admiral Manders. The admiral died in the house, and +having been a bachelor, and his money having gone to distant relatives, +the lease and furniture of the cottage will be sold. But I should +think," added the landlord, gravely, looking rather doubtfully at his +guest as he spoke, "I should think the lease and furniture, pictures and +plate, will fetch a matter of eight hundred to a thousand pound; and +perhaps you mightn't care to go to that?" + +The landlord could not refrain from glancing furtively at the white and +shining aspect of the cloth that covered the sharp knees of his +customer, which were exactly under his eyes as the two men sat opposite +to each other beside the snug little round table. + +"You mightn't care to go to that price," he repeated, as he helped +himself to about three-quarters of a pound of cold ham. + +The Major lifted his bristly eyebrows with a contemptuous twitch. + +"If the cottage suits me," he said, "I don't mind a thousand for it. +To-day's Saturday;--I shall run up to town to-morrow, or Monday morning, +to settle a bit of business I've got on hand, and come back here in time +to attend the sale." + +"My wife and me was thinkin' of goin' sir," the landlord answered, with, +unwonted reverence in his voice; and, if it was agreeable, we could +drive you over in a four-wheel shay. Woodbine Cottage is about a mile +and a half from here, and little better than a mile from Maudesley +Abbey. There's a copper coal-scuttle of the old admiral's as my wife has +got rather a fancy for. But p'raps if you was to make a hoffer previous +to the sale, the property might be disposed of as it stands by private +contrack." + +"I'll see about that," answered Major Vernon. "I'll stroll over to +Shorncliffe, this, morning, and look in upon Mr. Grogson--Grogson, I +think you said was the auctioneer's name?" + +"Yes, sir; Peter Grogson, and very much looked up to be is, and a warm +man, folks do say. His offices is in Shorncliffe High Street, sir; next +door but two from Mr. Lovell's, the solicitor's, and not more than +half-a-dozen yards from St. Gwendoline's Church." + +Major Vernon, as he now chose to call himself, walked from Lisford to +Shorncliffe. He was a very good walker, and, indeed, had become pretty +well used to pedestrian exercise in the course of long weary trampings +from one racecourse to another, when he was so far down on his luck as +to be unable to pay his railway fare. The frost had set in for the first +time this year; so the roads were dry and hard once more, and the sound +of horses' hoofs and rolling wheels, the jingling of bells, the +occasional barking of a noisy sheep-dog, and sturdy labourers' voices +calling to each other on the high-road, travelled far in the thin frosty +air. + +The town of Shorncliffe was very quiet to-day, for it was only on +market-days that there was much life or bustle in the queer old streets, +and Major Vernon found no hindrance to the business that had brought him +from Lisford. + +He went straight to Mr. Grogson, the auctioneer, and from that gentleman +heard all particulars respecting the pending sale at Woodbine Cottage. +The Major offered to take the lease at a fair price, and the furniture, +as it stood, by valuation. + +"All I want is a comfortable little place that I can jump into without +any trouble to myself," Major Vernon said, with the air of a man of the +world. "I like to take life easily. If you can honestly recommend the +place as worth seven or eight hundred pounds, I'm willing to pay that +money for it down on the nail. I'll take it at your valuation, if the +present owners are agreeable to sell it on those terms, and I'll pay a +deposit of a couple of hundred or so on Tuesday afternoon, to show that +my proposition is a _bona fide_ one." + +A little more was said, and then Mr. Grogson pledged himself to act for +the best in the interests of Major Vernon, consistently with his +allegiance to the present owners of the property. + +The auctioneer had been at first a little doubtful of this tall, shabby +stranger in the napless dirty-white beaver and the mangy poodle collar; +but the offer of a deposit of two hundred pounds or so gave a different +aspect to the case. There are always eccentric people in the world, and +appearances are very apt to be deceptive. There was a confident air +about the Major which seemed like that of a man with a balance at his +banker's. + +The Major went back to the Rose and Crown, ate a comfortable little +dinner, which he had ordered before setting out for Shorncliffe, paid +his bill, and made all arrangements for starting by the first train for +London on the following morning. It was nearly ten o'clock by the time +he had done this: but late as it was, Major Vernon put on his hat, +turned his poodle collar up about his ears, and went out into Lisford +High Street. + +There was scarcely one glimmer of light in the street as the Major +walked along it. He took the road leading to Maudesley Abbey, and walked +at a brisk pace, heedless of the snow, which was still falling thick and +fast. + +He was covered from head to foot with snow when he stopped before the +stone porch, and rang a bell, that made a clanging noise in the +stillness of the night. He looked like some grim white statue that had +descended from its pedestal to stalk hither and thither in the darkness. + +The servant who opened the door yawned undisguisedly in the face of his +master's friend. + +"Tell Mr. Dunbar that I shall be glad to speak to him for a few +minutes," the Major said, making as if he would have passed into the +hall. + +"Mr. Dunbar left the habbey uppards of a hour ago," the footman +answered, with supreme hauteur; "but he left a message for you, in case +you was to come. The period of his habsence is huncertain, and if you +wants to kermoonicate with him, you was to please to wait till he come +back." + +Major Vernon pushed aside the servant, and strode into the hall. The +doors were open, and through two or three intermediate rooms the Major +saw the tapestried chamber, dark and empty. + +There was no doubt that Henry Dunbar had given him the slip--for the +time, at least; but did the banker mean mischief? was there any deep +design in this sudden departure?--that was the question. + +"I'll write to your master," the Major said, after a pause; "what's his +London address?" + +"Mr. Dunbar left no address." + +"Humph! That's no matter. I can write to him at the bank. Good night." + +Major Vernon stalked away through the snow. The footman made no response +to his parting civility, but stood watching him for a few moments, and +then closed the door with a bang. + +"Hif that's a spessermin of your Hinjun acquaintances, I don't think +much of Hinjur or Hinjun serciety. But what can you expect of a nation +as insults the gentleman who waits behind his employer's chair at table +by callin' him a kitten-muncher?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR OF THE BANKING-HOUSE. + + +Henry Dunbar arrived in London a couple of hours after Mr. Vernon left +the Abbey. He went straight to the Clarendon Hotel. He had no servant +with him, and his luggage consisted only of a portmanteau, a +dressing-case, and a despatch-box; the same despatch-box whose contents +he had so carefully studied at the Winchester hotel, upon the night of +the murder in the grove. + +The day after his arrival was Sunday, and all that day the banker +occupied himself in reading a morocco-bound manuscript volume, which he +took from the despatch-box. + +There was a black fog upon this November day, and the atmosphere out of +doors was cold and bleak. But the room in which Henry Dunbar sat looked +the very picture of comfort and elegance. + +He had drawn his chair close to the fire, and on a table near his elbow +were arranged the open despatch-box, a tall crystal jug of Burgundy, +with a goblet-shaped glass, on a salver, and a case of cigars. + +Until long after dark that evening, Henry Dunbar sat by the fire, +smoking and drinking, and reading the manuscript volume. He only paused +now and then to take pencil-notes of its contents in a little +memorandum-book, which he carried in the breast-pocket of his coat. + +It was not till seven o'clock, when the liveried servant who waited upon +him came to inform him that his dinner was served in an adjoining +chamber, that Mr. Dunbar rose from his seat and put away the book in the +despatch-box. He laid down the volume on the table while he replaced +other papers in the box, and it fell open at the first page. On that +first page was written, in Henry Dunbar's bold, legible hand-- + +"_Journal of my life in India, from my arrival in 1815 until my +departure in 1850._" + +This was the book the banker had been studying all that winter's day. + +At twelve o'clock the next day he ordered a brougham, and was driven to +the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. This was the first time that +Henry Dunbar had visited the house in St. Gundolph Lane since his return +from India. + +Those who knew the history of the present chief partner of the house of +Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, were in nowise astonished by this fact. +They knew that, as a young man, Henry Dunbar had contracted the tastes +and habits of an aristocrat, and that, if he had afterwards developed +into a clever and successful man of business, it was only by reason of +the force of circumstances, which had thrust him into a position that he +hated. + +It was by no means wonderful, then, that, after becoming possessor of +the united fortunes of his father and his uncle, Henry Dunbar should +keep aloof from a place that had always been obnoxious to him. The +business had gone on without him very well during his absence, and it +went on without him now, for his place in India had been assumed by a +very clever man, who for twenty years had acted as cashier in the +Calcutta house. + +It may be that the banker had an unpleasant recollection of his last +visit to St. Gundolph Lane, upon the day when the existence of the +forged bills was discovered by Percival and Hugh Dunbar. All the width +of thirty-five years between the present hour and that day might not be +wide enough to separate the memory of the past from the thoughts which +were busy this morning in the mind of Henry Dunbar. + +Be it as it might, Mr. Dunbar's reflections this day were evidently not +of a pleasant nature. He was very pale as he rode citywards, in the +comfortable brougham, from the Clarendon; and his face had a stern, +fixed look, like a man who has nerved himself to meet some crisis, which +he knows is near at hand. + +There was a stoppage upon Ludgate Hill. Great wooden barricades and +mountains of uprooted paving-stones, amidst which sturdy navigators +disported themselves with spades and pickaxes, and wheelbarrows full of +rubbish, blocked the way; so the brougham turned into Farringdon Street, +and went up Snow Hill, and under the grim black walls of dreadful +Newgate. + +The vehicle travelled very slowly, for the traffic was concentrated in +this quarter by reason of the stoppage on Ludgate Hill, and Mr. Dunbar +was able to contemplate at his leisure the black prison-walls, and the +men and women selling dogs'-collars under their dismal shadows. + +It may be that the banker's face grew a shade paler after that +contemplation. The corners of his mouth twitched nervously as he got out +of the carriage before the mahogany doors of the banking-house in St. +Gundolph Lane. But he drew a long breath, and held his head proudly +erect as he pushed open the doors and went in. + +Never since the day of the discovery of the forged bills had that man +entered the banking-house. Dark thoughts came back upon his mind, and +the shadows deepened on his face as he gave one rapid glance round the +familiar office. + +He walked straight towards the private parlour in which that +well-remembered scene had occurred five-and-thirty years ago. But before +he arrived at the door leading from the public offices to the back of +the house, he was stopped by a gentlemanly-looking man, who came forward +from a desk in some shadowy region, and intercepted the stranger. + +This man was Clement Austin, the cashier. + +"Do you wish to see Mr. Balderby, sir?" he asked. + +"Yes. I have an appointment with him at one o'clock. My name is Dunbar." + +The cashier bowed and opened the door. The banker passed across the +threshold, which he had not crossed for five-and-thirty years until +to-day. + +But as Mr. Dunbar went towards the familiar parlour at the back of the +banking-house, he stopped for a minute, and looked at the cashier. + +Clement Austin was scarcely less pale than Henry Dunbar himself. He had +heard of the banker's intended visit to St. Gundolph Lane, and had +looked forward with strange anxiety to a meeting with the man whom +Margaret Wilmot declared to be the murderer of her father. Now that the +meeting had come to pass, he looked at Henry Dunbar with an earnest, +scrutinizing gaze, as if he would fain have discovered the secret of the +man's guilt or innocence in his countenance. + +The banker's face was pale, and grave, and stern; but Clement Austin +knew that for Henry Dunbar there were very humiliating and unpleasant +circumstances connected with the offices in St. Gundolph Lane, and it +was scarcely to be expected that a man would come smiling into a place +out of which he had gone five-and-thirty years before a disgraced and +degraded creature. + +For a few moments the two men paused in the passage between the public +offices and the private parlour, looking at each other. + +The banker's gaze never flinched during that encounter. It is taken as a +strong proof of a man's innocence that he should look you full in the +face with a steadfast gaze when you look at him with suspicion plainly +visible in your eyes; but would he not be the poorest villain if he +shirked that encounter of glances when he knows full surely that he is +in that moment put to the test? It is rather innocence whose eyelids +drop when you peer too closely into its eyes, for innocence is appalled +by the stern, accusing glances which it is unprepared to meet. Guilt +stares you boldly in the face, for guilt is hardened and defiant, and +has this one grand superiority over innocence--that it is _prepared for +the worst_. + +Clement Austin opened the door of Mr. Balderby's parlour; Mr. Dunbar +went in unannounced. The cashier closed the parlour-door and returned to +his desk in the public office. + +The junior partner was sitting at an office table near the fire writing, +but he rose as the banker entered the room, and went forward to meet +him. + +"You are very punctual, Mr. Dunbar," he said. + +"Yes, I am generally punctual." + +The two men shook hands, and Mr. Balderby wheeled forward a +morocco-covered arm-chair for his senior partner, and then took his seat +opposite to him, with only the small office table between them. + +"It may seem late in the day to bid you welcome to the bank, Mr. +Dunbar," said the junior partner, "but I do so, nevertheless--most +heartily!" + +There was a flatness in the accent in which these two last words were +spoken, which was like the sound of a false coin when it falls dead upon +a counter and proclaims itself spurious. + +Henry Dunbar did not return his partner's greeting. He was looking round +the room, and remembering the day upon which he had last seen it. There +was very little alteration in the appearance of the dismal city chamber. +There was the same wire-blind before the window, the same solitary tree, +leafless, in the narrow courtyard without. The morocco-covered +arm-chairs had been re-covered, perhaps, during that five-and-thirty +years; but if so, the covering had grown shabby again. Even the Turkey +carpet was in the very stage of dusky dinginess that had distinguished +the carpet on which Henry Dunbar had stood five-and-thirty years before. + +"I received your letter announcing your journey to London, and your +desire for a private interview, on Saturday afternoon," Mr. Balderby +said, after a pause. "I have made arrangements to assure our being +undisturbed so long as you may remain here. If you wish to make any +investigation of the affairs of the house, I----" + +Mr. Dunbar waved his hand with a deprecatory air. + +"Nothing is farther from my thoughts than any such design," he said. +"No, Mr. Balderby, I have only been a man of business because all chance +of another career, which I infinitely preferred, was closed upon me +five-and-thirty years ago. I am quite content to be a sleeping-partner +in the house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. For ten years prior to my +father's death he took no active part in the business. The house got on +very well without his aid; it will get on equally well without mine. The +business that brings me to London is an entirely personal matter. I am a +rich man, but I don't exactly know how rich I am, and I want to realize +rather a large sum of money." + +Mr. Balderby bowed, but his eyebrows went up a little, as if he found it +impossible to control some slight evidence of his surprise. + +"Previous to my daughter's marriage I settled upon her the house in +Portland Place and the Yorkshire property. She will have all my money +when I die; and, as Sir Philip Jocelyn is a rich man, she will perhaps +be one of the wealthiest women in England. So far so good. Neither Laura +nor her husband will have any reason for dissatisfaction. But this is +not quite enough, Mr. Balderby. I am not a demonstrative man, and I have +never made any great fuss about my love for my daughter; but I do love +her, nevertheless." + +Mr. Dunbar spoke very slowly here, and stopped once or twice to pass his +handkerchief across his forehead, as he had done in the hotel at +Winchester. + +"We Anglo-Indians have rather a magnificent way of doing things, Mr. +Balderby" he continued, "when we take it into our heads to do them at +all. I want to give my daughter a diamond-necklace as a wedding present, +and I want it to be such as an Eastern prince or a Rothschild might +offer to his only child. You understand?" + +"Oh, perfectly," answered Mr. Balderby; "I shall be most happy to be of +any use to you in the matter." + +"All I want is a large sum of money at my command. I may go rather +recklessly to work and make a large investment in this necklace; it will +be something for Lady Jocelyn to bequeath to her children. You and John +Lovell, of Shorncliffe, were the executors to my father's will. You +signed an order for the transfer of my father's money to my account some +time in last September." + +"I did, in concurrence with Mr. Lovell." + +"Precisely; Lovell wrote me a letter to that effect. My father kept two +accounts here, I believe--a deposit and a drawing account?" + +"He did." + +"And those two accounts have gone on since my return in the same manner +as during his lifetime?" + +"Precisely. The income which Mr. Percival Dunbar set aside for his own +use was seven thousand a year. He rarely, spent as much as that; +sometimes he spent less than half. The balance of this income, and his +double share in the profits of the business, went to the credit of his +deposit account, and various sums have been withdrawn from time to time, +and duly invested under his order." + +"Perhaps you can let me see the ledgers containing those two accounts?" + +"Most certainly." + +Mr. Balderby touched the spring of a handbell upon his table. + +"Ask Mr. Austin to bring the daily balance and deposit accounts +ledgers," he said to the person who answered his summons. + +Clement Austin appeared five minutes afterwards, carrying two ponderous +morocco-bound volumes. + +Mr. Balderby opened both ledgers, and placed them before his senior +partner. Henry Dunbar looked at the deposit account. His eyes ran +eagerly down the long row of figures before him until they came to the +sum total. Then his chest heaved, and he drew a long breath, like a man +who feels almost stifled by some internal oppression. + +The last figures in the page were these: + + _137,926l. 17s. 2d._ + +One hundred and thirty-seven thousand nine hundred and twenty-six pounds +seventeen shillings and twopence. The twopence seemed a ridiculous +anti-climax; but business-men are necessarily as exact in figures as +calculating-machines. + +"How is this money invested?" asked Henry Dunbar, pointing to the page. +His fingers trembled a little as he did so, and he dropped his hand +suddenly upon the ledger. + +"There's fifty thousand in India stock," Mr. Balderby answered, as +indifferently as if fifty thousand pounds more or less was scarcely +worth speaking of; "and there's five-and-twenty in railway debentures, +Great Western. Most of the remainder is floating in Exchequer bills." + +"Then you can realize the Exchequer bills?" + +Mr. Balderby winced as if some one had trodden upon one of his corns. He +was a banker heart and soul, and he did not at all relish the idea of +any withdrawal of the bank's resources, however firm that establishment +might stand. + +"It's rather a large amount of capital to withdraw from the business," +he said, rubbing his chin, thoughtfully. + +"I suppose the bank can afford it!" Mr. Dunbar exclaimed, with a tone of +surprise. + +"Oh, yes; the bank can afford it well enough. Our calls are sometimes +heavy. Lord Yarsfield--a very old customer--talks of buying an estate in +Wales; he may come down upon us at any moment for a very stiff sum of +money. However, the capital is yours, Mr. Dunbar; and you've a right to +dispose of it as you please. The Exchequer bills shall be realized +immediately." + +"Good; and if you can dispose of the railway bonds to advantage, you may +do so." + +"You think of spending----" + +"I think of reinvesting the money. I have an offer of an estate north of +the metropolis, which I think will realize cent per cent a few years +hence: but that is an after consideration. At present we have only to do +with the diamond-necklace for my daughter. I shall buy the diamonds +myself, direct from the merchant-importers. You will hold yourself ready +after Wednesday, we'll say, to cash some very heavy cheques on my +account?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Dunbar." + +"Then I think that is really all I have to say. I shall be happy to see +you at the Clarendon, if you will dine with me any evening that you are +disengaged." + +There was very little heartiness in the tone of this invitation; and Mr. +Balderby perfectly understood that it was only a formula which Mr. +Dunbar felt himself called upon to go through. The junior partner +murmured his acknowledgment of Henry Dunbar's politeness; and then the +two men talked together for a few minutes on indifferent subjects. + +Five minutes afterwards Mr. Dunbar rose to leave the room. He went into +the passage between Mr. Balderby's parlour and the public offices of the +bank. This passage was very dark; but the offices were well lighted by +lofty plate-glass windows. Between the end of the passage and the outer +doors of the bank, Henry Dunbar saw the figure of a woman sitting near +one of the desks and talking to Clement Austin. + +The banker stopped suddenly, and went back to the parlour. + +He looked about him a little absently as he re-entered the room. + +"I thought I brought a cane," he said. + +"I think not," replied Mr. Balderby, rising from before his desk. "I +don't remember seeing one in your hand." + +"Ah, then, I suppose I was mistaken." + +He still lingered in the parlour, putting on his gloves very slowly, and +looking out of the window into the dismal backyard, where there was a +dingy little wooden door set deep in the stone wall. + +While the banker loitered near the window, Clement Austin came into the +room, to show some document to the junior partner. Henry Dunbar turned +round as the cashier was about to leave the parlour. + +"I saw a woman just now talking to you in the office. That's not very +business-like, is it, Mr. Austin? Who is the woman?" + +"She is a young lady, sir." + +"A young lady?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What brings her here?" + +The cashier hesitated for a moment before he replied, "She--wishes to +see you, Mr. Dunbar," he said, after that brief pause. + +"What is her name?--who--who is she?" + +"Her name is Wilmot--Margaret Wilmot." + +"I know no such person!" answered the banker, haughtily, but looking +nervously at the half-opened door as he spoke. + +"Shut that door, sir!" he said, impatiently, to the cashier; "the +draught from the passage is strong enough to cut a man in two. Who is +this Margaret Wilmot?" + +"The daughter of that unfortunate man, Joseph Wilmot, who was cruelly +murdered at Winchester!" answered the cashier, very gravely. + +He looked Henry Dunbar full in the face as he spoke. + +The banker returned his look as unflinchingly as he had done before, and +spoke in a hard, unfaltering voice as he answered: "Tell this person, +Margaret Wilmot, that I refuse to see her to-day, as I refused to see +her in Portland Place, and as I refused to see her at Winchester!" he +said, deliberately. "Tell her that I shall always refuse to see her, +whenever or wherever she makes an attack upon me. I have suffered enough +already on account of that hideous business at Winchester, and I shall +most resolutely defend myself from any further persecution. This young +person can have no possible motive for wishing to see me. If she is poor +and wants money of me, I am ready and willing to assist her. I have +already offered to do so--I can do no more. But if she is in +distress----" + +"She is not in distress, Mr. Dunbar," interrupted Clement Austin. "She +has friends who love her well enough to shield her from that." + +"Indeed; and you are one of those friends, I suppose, Mr. Austin?" + +"I am." + +"Prove your friendship, then, by teaching Margaret Wilmot that she has a +friend and not an enemy in me. If you are--as I suspect from your +manner--something more than a friend: if you love her, and she returns +your love, marry her, and she shall have a dowry that no gentleman's +wife need be ashamed to bring to her husband." + +There was no anger, no impatience in the banker's voice now, but a tone +of deep feeling. Clement Austin locked at him, astonished by the change +in his manner. + +Henry Dunbar saw the look, and it seemed as if he endeavoured to answer +it. + +"You have no need to be surprised that I shrink from seeing Margaret +Wilmot," he said. "Cannot you understand that my nerves may be none of +the strongest, and that I cannot endure the idea of an interview with +this girl, who, no doubt, by her persistent pursuit of me, suspects me +of her father's murder? I am an old man, and I have been thirty-five +years in India. My health is shattered, and I have a horror of all +tragic scenes. I have not yet recovered from the shock of that horrible +business at Winchester. Go and tell Margaret Wilmot this: tell her that +I will be her true friend if she will accept that friendship, but that I +will not see her until she has learned to think better of me." + +There was something very straightforward, very simple, in all this. For +a time, at least, Clement Austin's mind wavered. Margaret was, perhaps, +wrong, after all, and Henry Dunbar might be an innocent man. + +It was Clement who had informed Margaret of Mr. Dunbar's expected +presence here upon this day; and it was on the strength of that +information that the girl had come to St. Gundolph Lane, with the +determination of seeing the man whom she believed to be the murderer of +her father. + +Clement returned to the office, where he had left Margaret, in order to +repeat to her Mr. Dunbar's message. + +No sooner had the door of the parlour closed upon the cashier than Henry +Dunbar turned abruptly to his junior partner. + +"There is a door leading from the yard into a court that connects St. +Gundolph Lane with another lane at the back," he said, "is there not?" + +He pointed to the dark little yard outside the window as he spoke. + +"Yes, there is a door, I believe." + +"Is it locked?" + +"No; it is seldom locked till four o'clock; the clerks use it sometimes, +when they go in and out." + +"Then I shall go out that way," said Mr. Dunbar, who was almost +breathless in his haste. "You can send the carriage back to the +Clarendon by-and-by. I don't want to see that girl. Good morning." + +He hurried out of the parlour, and into a passage leading to the yard, +followed by Mr. Balderby, who wondered at his senior partner's +excitement. The door in the yard was not locked. Henry Dunbar opened it, +went out into the court, and closed the door behind him. + +So, for the third time, he escaped from an interview with Margaret +Wilmot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING. + + +For the third time Margaret Wilmot was disappointed in the hope of +seeing Henry Dunbar. Clement Austin had on the previous evening told her +of the banker's intended visit to the office in St. Gundolph Lane, and +the young music-mistress had made hasty arrangements for the +postponement of her usual duties, in order that she might go to the City +to see Henry Dunbar. + +"He will not dare to refuse you," Clement Austin said; "for he must know +that such a refusal would excite suspicion in the minds of the people +about him." + +"He must have known that at Winchester, and yet he avoided me there," +answered Margaret Wilmot; "he must have known it when he refused to see +me in Portland Place. He will refuse to see me to-day, if I ask for an +interview with him. My only chance will be the chance of an accidental +meeting with Him. Do you think that you can arrange this for me, Mr. +Austin?" + +Clement Austin readily promised to bring about an apparently accidental +meeting between Margaret and Mr. Dunbar, and this is how it was that +Joseph Wilmot's daughter had waited in the office in St. Gundolph Lane. +She had arrived only five minutes after Mr. Dunbar entered the +banking-house, and she waited very patiently, very resolutely, in the +hope that when Henry Dunbar returned to his carriage she might snatch +the opportunity of speaking to him, of seeing his face, and discovering +whether he was guilty or not. + +She clung to the idea that some indefinable expression of his +countenance would reveal the fact of his guilt or innocence. But she +could not dispossess herself of the belief that he was guilty. What +other reason could there be for his persistent avoidance of her? + +But, for the third time, she was baffled; and she went home very +despondently, haunted by the image of her dead father; while Henry +Dunbar went back to the Clarendon in a common hack cab, which he picked +up in Cornhill. + +Margaret Wilmot found one of her pupils waiting in the pretty little +parlour in the cottage at Clapham, and she was obliged to sit down to +the piano and listen to a fantasia, very badly played, keeping sharp +watch upon the pupil's fingers, for an hour or so, before she was free +to think her own thoughts. + +Margaret was very glad when the lesson was over. The pupil was a very +vivacious young lady, who called her music-mistress "dear," and would +have been glad to waste half an hour or so in an animated conversation +about the last new style in bonnets, or the shape of the fashionable +winter mantle, or the popular novel of the month. But Margaret's pale +face seemed a mute appeal for compassion; so Miss Lamberton drew on her +gloves, settled her bonnet before the glass over the mantel-piece, and +tripped away. + +Margaret sat by the little round table, with an open book before her. +But she could not read, though the volume was one that had been lent her +by Clement, and though she took a peculiar pleasure in reading any book +that was a favourite of his. She did not read; she only sat with her +eyes fixed, and her face very pale, in the dim light of two candles that +flickered in the draught from the window. + +She was aroused from her despondent reverie by a double knock at the +door below, and presently the neat little maid-servant ushered Mr. +Austin into the room. + +Margaret started up, a little confused at the advent of this unexpected +visitor. It was the first time that Clement had ever called upon her +alone. He had often been her guest; but, until to-night, he had always +come under his mother's wing to see the pretty music-mistress. + +"I am afraid I startled you, Miss Wilmot," he said. + +"Oh, no; not at all," answered Margaret; "I was sitting here, quite +idle, thinking----" + +"Thinking of your failure of to-day, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +There was a pause, during which Margaret seated herself once more by the +little table, while Clement Austin walked up and down the room thinking. + +Presently he stopped suddenly, with his elbow leaning upon the corner of +the mantel-piece, opposite Margaret, and looked down at the girl's +thoughtful face. She had blushed when the cashier first entered the +room; but she was very pale now. + +"Margaret," said Clement Austin,--it was the first time he had called +his mother's _protégée_ by her Christian name, and the girl looked up at +him with a surprised expression,--"Margaret, that which happened to-day +makes me think that your conviction is only the horrible truth, and that +Henry Dunbar, the sole surviving kinsman of those two men whom I learnt +to honour and revere long ago, when I was a mere boy, is indeed guilty +of your father's death. If so, the cause of justice demands that this +man's crime should be brought to light. I am something of Shakspeare's +opinion; I cannot but believe that 'murder will out,' somehow or other, +sooner or later. But I think that, in this business, the police have +been culpably supine. It seems as if they feared to handle the case to +closely, lest the clue they followed should lead them to Henry Dunbar." + +"You think they have been, bribed?" + +"No; I don't think that. There seems to be a popular belief, all over +the world, that a man with a million of money can do no wrong. I don't +believe the police have been culpable; they have only been +faint-hearted. They have suffered themselves to be discouraged by the +difficulties of the case. Other crimes have been committed, other work +has arisen for them to do, and they have been obliged to abandon an +investigation which seemed hopeless. This is how criminals escape--this +is how murderers are suffered to be at large; not because discovery is +impossible, but because it can only be effected by a slow and wearisome +process in which so few men have courage to persevere. While the country +is ringing with the record of a great crime--while the murderer is on +his guard night and day, waking and sleeping--the police watch and work: +but by-and-by, when the crime is half forgotten--when security has made +the criminal careless--when the chances of detection are ten-fold--the +police have grown tired, and there is no eye to watch the guilty man's +movements. I know nothing of the science of detection, Margaret; but I +believe that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of your father; and I will do +my uttermost, with God's help, to bring this crime home to him." + +The girl's eyes flashed with a proud light, as Clement Austin finished +speaking. + +"Will you do this?" she said; "will you bring to light the mystery of my +father's death? Will you bring punishment upon his murderer? It seems a +horrible thing, perhaps, for a woman to wish detection to overtake any +man, however base; but surely it would be more horrible if I were +content to let my father's murder remain unavenged. My poor father! If +he had been a good man, I do not think it would grieve me so much to +remember his cruel death: but he was not a good man--he was not a good +man." + +"Let him have been what he may, Margaret, his murderer shall not go +unpunished if I can aid the cause of justice," said Clement Austin. "But +it was not to say this alone that I came here to-night, Margaret. I have +something more to say to you." + +There was a tenderness in the cashier's voice as he said these last +words, that brought the blushes back to Margaret's pale cheeks. + +"You know that I love you, Margaret," Clement said, in a low, earnest +voice; "you must know that I love you: or if you do not, it is because +there is no sympathy between us, and in that case my love is indeed +hopeless. I have loved you from the first, dear--yes, from the very +first summer twilight in which I saw your pale, pensive face in the +dusky little garden at Wandsworth. The tender interest which I then felt +in you was the first mysterious dawn of love, though I, in my infinite +wisdom, put it down to an artistic admiration for your peculiar beauty. +It was love, Margaret; and it has grown and strengthened in my heart +ever since that summer evening, until it leads me here to-night to tell +you all, and to ask you if there is any hope. Ah, Margaret, you must +have known my love all along! You would have banished me had you felt +that my love was hopeless: you could not have been so cruel as to +deceive me." + +Margaret looked up at her lover with a frightened face. Had she done +wrong, then, to be happy in his society, if she did not love him--if she +did not love him! But surely this sudden thrill of triumph and delight +which filled her breast, as Clement spoke to her, must be in some degree +akin to love. + +Yes, she loved him; but the bright things of this world were not for +her. Love and Duty fought for the mastery of her pure Soul: and Duty was +the conqueror. + +"Oh, Clement!" she said, "do you forget who I am? Do you forget that +letter which I showed you long ago, a letter addressed to my father when +he was a transported felon, suffering the penalty of his crime? Do you +forget who I am, and the taint that is in my blood; the disgrace that +stains my name? I am proud to think that you have loved me, Clement +Austin; but I am no fitting wife for you!" + +"You are a noble, true-hearted woman, Margaret; and as such you are a +fitting wife for a king. Besides, I am not such a grandee that I need +look for high lineage in the wife of my choice. I am only a working man, +content to accept a salary for my services; and looking forward +by-and-by to a junior partnership in the house I serve. Margaret, my +mother loves you; and she knows that you are the woman I seek to win as +my wife. Forget the taint upon your dead father's name as freely as I +forget it, dearest; and only answer me one question; Is my love +hopeless?" + +"I will never consent to be your wife, Mr. Austin!" Margaret answered, +in a low voice. + +"Because you do not love me?" + +"Because I will never cause you to blush for the history of your wife's +girlhood." + +"That is no answer to my question, Margaret," said Clement Austin, +seating himself by her side, and taking both her hands in his. "I must +ask you to look me full in the face, Miss Wilmot," he added, laughingly, +drawing her towards him as he spoke; "for I begin to fancy you're +addicted to prevarication. Look me in the face, Madge darling, and tell +me that you love me." + +But the blushing face would not be turned towards his own. Margaret's +head was still averted. + +"Don't ask me," she pleaded; "don't ask me. The day would come when you +would regret your choice. I could not endure that. It would be too +bitter. You have been very kind to me; and it would be a poor return for +your kindness, if----" + +"If you were to make me unutterably happy, eh, Margaret? I think it +would be only a proper act of gratitude. Haven't I run all over Clapham, +Brixton, and Wandsworth--to say nothing of an occasional incursion upon +Putney--in order to procure you half-a-dozen pupils? And the very first +favour I demand of you, which is only the gift of this clever little +hand, you have the audacity to refuse me point-blank." + +He waited for a few moments, in the hope that Margaret would say +something; but her face was still averted, and the trembling hand which +Mr. Austin was holding struggled to release itself from his grasp. + +"Margaret," he said, very gravely, "perhaps I have been foolish and +presumptuous in this business. In that case I fully deserve to be +disappointed, however bitter the disappointment may be. If I have been +wrong, Margaret; if I have been deceived by your sweet smile, your +gentle words; for pity's sake tell me that it is so, and I will forgive +you for having involuntarily deceived me, and will try to cure myself of +my folly. But I will not leave this room, I will not abandon the dear +hope that has brought me here to-night, until you tell me plainly that +you do not love me. Speak, Margaret, and speak fearlessly." + +But Margaret was still silent, only in the silence Clement Austin heard +a low, sobbing sound. + +"Margaret darling, you are crying. Ah! I know now that you love me, and +I will not leave this room except as your plighted husband." + +"Heaven help me!" murmured Joseph Wilmot's daughter; "Heaven lead me +right! for I do love you, Clement, with all my heart" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +BUYING DIAMONDS. + + +Mr. Dunbar did not waste much time before he began the grand business +which had brought him to London--that is to say, the purchase of such a +collection of diamonds as compose a necklace second only to that which +brought poor hoodwinked Cardinal de Rohan and the unlucky daughter of +the Caesars into such a morass of trouble and slander. + +Early upon the morning after his visit to the bank, Mr. Dunbar went out +very plainly dressed, and hailed the first empty cab that he saw in +Piccadilly. + +He ordered the cabman to drive straight to a street leading out of +Holborn, a very quiet-looking street, where you could buy diamonds +enough to set up all the jewellers in the Palais Royale and the Rue de +la Paix, and where, if you were so whimsical as to wish to transform a +service of plate into "white soup" at a moment's notice, you might +indulge your fancy in establishments of unblemished respectability. + +The gold and silver refiners, the diamond-merchants and wholesale +jewellers, in this quiet street, were a very superior class of people, +and you might dispose of a handful of gold chains and bangles without +any fear that one or two of them would find their way into the +operator's sleeve during the process of weighing. The great Mr. +Krusible, who thrust the last inch of an Eastern potentate's sceptre +into the melting-pot with the sole of his foot, as the detectives +entered his establishment in search of the missing bauble, and walked +lame for six months afterwards, lived somewhere in the depths of the +city, and far away from this dull-looking Holborn street; and would have +despised the even tenor of life, and the moderate profits of a business +in this neighbourhood. + +Mr. Dunbar left his cab at the Holborn end of the street, and walked +slowly along the pavement till he came to a very dingy-looking +parlour-window, which might have belonged to A lawyer's office but for +some gilded letters on the wire blind, which, in a very pale and faded +inscription, gave notice that the parlour belonged to Mr. Isaac +Hartgold, diamond-merchant. A grimy brass plate on the door of the house +bore another inscription to the same effect; and it was at this door +that Mr. Dunbar stopped. + +He rang a bell, and was admitted immediately by a very sharp-looking +boy, who ushered him into the parlour, where ha saw a mahogany counter, +a pair of small brass scales, a horse-hair-cushioned office-stool +considerably the worse for wear, and a couple of very formidable-looking +iron safes deeply imbedded in the wall behind the counter. There was a +desk near the window, at which a gentleman, with very black hair and +whiskers was seated, busily engaged in some abstruse calculations +between a pair of open ledgers. + +He got off his high seat as Mr. Dunbar entered, and looked rather +suspiciously at the banker. I suppose the habit of selling diamonds had +made him rather suspicious of every one. Henry Dunbar wore a fashionable +greatcoat with loose open cuffs, and it was towards these loose cuffs +that Mr. Hartgold's eyes wandered with rapid and rather uneasy glances. +He was apt to look doubtfully at gentlemen with roomy coat-sleeves, or +ladies with long-haired muffs or fringed parasols. Unset diamonds are an +eminently portable species of property, and you might carry a tolerably +valuable collection of them in the folds of the smallest parasol that +ever faded under the summer sunshine in the Lady's Mile. + +"I want to buy a collection of diamonds for a necklace," Mr. Dunbar +said, as coolly as if he had been talking of a set of silver spoons; +"and I want the necklace to be something out of the common. I should +order it of Garrard or Emanuel; but I have a fancy for buying the +diamonds upon paper, and having them made up after a design of my own. +Can you supply me with what I want?" + +"How much do you want? You may have what some people would call a +necklace for a thousand pounds, or you may have one that'll cost you +twenty thousand. How far do you mean to go?" + +"I am prepared to spend something between fifty and eighty thousand +pounds." + +The diamond merchant pursed up his lips reflectively. "You are aware +that in these sort of transactions ready money is indispensable?" he +said. + +"Oh, yes, I am quite aware of that," Mr. Dunbar answered, coolly. + +He took out his card-case as he spoke, and handed one of his cards to +Mr. Isaac Hartgold. "Any cheques signed by that name," he said, "will be +duly honoured in St. Gundolph Lane." + +Mr. Hartgold bent his head reverentially to the representative of a +million of money. He, in common with every business man in London, was +thoroughly familiar with the names of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +"I don't know that I can supply you with fifty thousand pounds' worth of +such diamonds as you may require at a moment's notice," he said; "but I +can procure them for you in a day or two, if that will do?" + +"That will do very well. This is Tuesday; suppose I give you till +Thursday?" + +"The stones shall be ready for you by Thursday, sir." + +"Very good. I will call for them on Thursday morning. In the meantime, +in order that you may understand that the transaction is a _bonâ fide_ +one, I'll write a cheque for ten thousand, payable to your order, on +account of diamonds to be purchased by me. I have my cheque-book in my +pocket. Oblige me with pen and ink." + +Mr. Hartgold murmured something to the effect that such a proceeding was +altogether unnecessary; but he brought Mr. Dunbar his office inkstand, +and looked on with an approving twinkle of his eyes while the banker +wrote the cheque, in that slow, formal hand peculiar to him. It made +things very smooth and comfortable, Mr. Hartgold thought, to say the +least of it. + +"And now, sir, with regard to the design of the necklace," said the +merchant, when he had folded the cheque and put it into his +waistcoat-pocket. "I suppose you've some idea that you'd like to carry +out; and you'd wish, perhaps, to see a few specimens." + +He unlocked one of the iron safes as he spoke, and brought out a lot of +little paper packets, which were folded in a peculiar fashion, and which +he opened with very gingerly fingers. + +"I suppose you'd like some tallow-drops, sir?" he said. "Tallow-drops +work-in better than anything for a necklace." + +"What, in Heaven's name, are tallow-drops?" + +Mr. Hartgold took up a diamond with a pair of pincers, and exhibited it +to the banker. + +"That's a tallow-drop, sir," he said. "It's something of a heart-shaped +stone, you see; but we call it a tallow-drop, because it's very much the +shape of a drop of tallow. You'd like large stones, of course, though +they eat into a great deal of money? There are diamonds that are known +all over Europe; diamonds that have been in the possession of royalty, +and are as well known as the family they've belonged to. The Duke of +Brunswick has pretty well cleared the market of that sort of stuff; but +still they are to be had, if you've a fancy for anything of that kind?" + +Mr. Dunbar shook his head. + +"I don't want anything of that sort," he said; "the day may come when my +daughter, or my daughter's descendants, may be obliged to realize the +jewels. I'm a commercial man, and I want eighty thousand pounds' worth +of diamonds that shall be worth the money I give for them to break up +and sell again. I should wish you to choose diamonds of moderate size, +but not small; worth, on an average, forty or fifty pounds apiece, we'll +say." + +"I shall have to be very particular about matching them in colour," said +Mr. Hartgold, "as they're for a necklace." The banker shrugged his +shoulders. + +"Don't trouble yourself about the necklace," he said, rather +impatiently. "I tell you again I'm a commercial man, and what I want is +good value for my money." + +"And you shall have it, sir," answered the diamond-merchant, briskly. + +"Very well, then; in that case I think we understand each other, and +there's no occasion for me to stop here any longer. You'll have eighty +thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, at thereabouts, ready for me when I +call here on Thursday morning. You can cash that cheque in the meantime, +and ascertain with whom you have to deal. Good morning." + +He left the diamond-merchant wondering at his sang froid, and returned +to the cab, which had been waiting for him all this time. + +He was just going to step into it, when a hand touched him lightly on +the shoulder, and turning sharply and angrily round, he recognized the +gentleman who called himself Major Vernon. But the Major was by no means +the shabby stranger who had watched the marriage of Philip Jocelyn and +Laura Dunbar in Lisford Church. Major Vernon had risen, resplendent as +the phoenix, from the ashes of his old clothes. + +The poodle collar was gone: the dilapidated boots had been exchanged for +stout water-tight Wellingtons: the napless dirty white hat had given +place to a magnificent beaver, with a broad trim curled at the sides. +Major Vernon was positively splendid. He was as much wrapped up as ever; +but his wrappings now were of a gorgeous, not to say gaudy, description. +His thick greatcoat was of a dark olive-green, and the collar turned up +over his ears was of a shiny-looking brown fur, which, to the confiding +mind of the populace, is known as imitation sable. Inside this fur +collar the Major wore a shawl-patterned scarf of all the colours in the +prismatic scale, across which his nose lacked its usual brilliancy of +hue by force of contrast. Major Vernon had a very big cigar in his +mouth, and a very big cane in his hand, and the quiet City men turned to +look at him as he stood upon the pavement talking to Henry Dunbar. + +The banker writhed under the touch of his Indian acquaintance. + +"What do you want with me?" he asked, in low angry tones; "why do you +follow me about to play the spy upon me, and stop me in the public +street? Haven't I done enough for you? Ain't you satisfied with what I +have done?" + +"Yes, dear boy," answered the Major, "perfectly satisfied, more than +satisfied--for the present. But your future favours--as those low +fellows, the butchers and bakers, have it--are respectfully requested +for yours truly. Let me get into the cab with you, Mr. H.D., and take me +back to the _casa_, and give me a comfortable little bit of perrogg. I +haven't lost my aristocratic taste for seven courses, and an elegant +succession of still fine sparkling wines, though during the last few +years I've been rather frequently constrained to accept the shadowy +hospitality of his grace of Humphrey. '_Nante dinari, nante manjare_,' +as we say in the Classics, which I translate, 'No credit at the +butcher's or the baker's.'" + +"For Heaven's sake, stop that abominable slang!" said Henry Dunbar, +impatiently. + +"It annoys you, dear friend, eh? Well, I've known the time when----But +no matter, 'let what is broken, so remain,' as the poet observes; which +is only an elegant way of saying, 'Let bygones be bygones.' And so +you've been buying diamonds, dear boy?" + +"Who told you so?" + +"You did, when you came out of Mr. Isaac Hartgold's establishment. I +happened to be passing the door as you went in, and I happened to be +passing the door again as you came out." + +"And playing the spy upon me." + +"Not at all, dear boy. It was merely a coincidence, I assure you. I +called at the bank yesterday, cashed my cheques, ascertained your +address; called at the Clarendon this morning, was told you'd that +minute gone out; looked down Albemarle Street; there you were, sure +enough; saw you get into a cab; got into another--a Hansom, and faster +than yours--came behind you to the corner of this street." + +"You followed me," said Henry Dunbar, bitterly. + +"Don't call it _following_, dear friend, because that's low. Accident +brought me into this neighbourhood at the very hour you were coming into +this neighbourhood. If you want to quarrel with anything, quarrel with +the doctrine of chances, not with me." + +Henry Dunbar turned away with a sulky gesture. His friend watched him +with very much the same malicious grin that had distorted his face under +the lamp-lit porch at Maudesley. The Major looked like a vulgar-minded +Mephistopheles: there was not even the "divinity of hell" about him. + +"And so you've been buying diamonds?" he repeated presently, after a +considerable pause. + +"Yes, I have. I am buying them for a necklace for my daughter." + +"You are so dotingly fond of your daughter!" said the Major with a leer. + +"It is necessary that I should give her a present." + +"Precisely, and you won't even trust the business to a jeweller; you +insist on doing it all yourself." + +"I shall do it for less money than a jeweller." + +"Oh, of course," answered Major Vernon; "the motive's as clear as +daylight." + +He was silent for a few minutes, then he laid his hand heavily upon his +companion's shoulder, put his lips close to the banker's ear, and said, +in a loud voice, for it was not easy for him to make himself heard above +the jolting of the cab,-- + +"Henry Dunbar, you're a very clever fellow, and I dare say you think +yourself a great deal sharper than I am; but, by Heaven, if you try any +tricks with me, you'll find yourself mistaken! You must buy me an +annuity. Do you understand? Before you move right or left, or say your +soul's your own, you must buy me an annuity!" + +The banker shook off his companion's hand, and turned round upon him, +pale, stern, and defiant. + +"Take care, Stephen Vallance," he said; "take care how you threaten me. +I should have thought you knew me of old, and would be wise enough to +keep a civil tongue in your head, with _me_. As for what you ask, I +shall do it, or I shall let it alone--as I think fit. If I do it, I +shall take my own time about it, not yours." + +"You're not afraid of me, then?" asked the other, recoiling a little, +and much more subdued in his tone. + +"No!" + +"You are very bold." + +"Perhaps I am. Do you remember the old story of some people who had a +goose that laid golden eggs? They were greedy, and, in their besotted +avarice, they killed the goose. But they have not gone down to posterity +as examples of wisdom. No, Vallance, I'm not afraid of you." + +Mr. Vallance leaned back in the cab, biting his nails savagely, and +thinking. It seemed as if he was trying to find an answer for Mr. +Dunbar's speech: but, if so, he must have failed, for he was silent for +the rest of the drive: and when he got out of the vehicle, by-and-by, +before the door of the Clarendon, his manner bore an undignified +resemblance to that of a half-bred cur who carries his tail between his +legs. + +"Good afternoon, Major Vernon," the banker said, carelessly, as a +liveried servant opened the door of the hotel: "I shall be very much +engaged during the few days I am likely to remain in town, and shall be +unable to afford myself the pleasure of your society." + +The Major stared aghast at this cool dismissal. + +"Oh," he murmured, vaguely, "that's it, is it? Well, of course, you know +what's best for yourself--so, good afternoon!" + +The door closed upon Major Vernon, alias Mr. Stephen Vallance, while he +was still staring straight before him, in utter inability to realize his +position. But he drew his cashmere shawl still higher up about his ears, +took out a gaudy scarlet-morocco cigar-case, lighted another big cigar, +and then strolled slowly down the quiet West-end street, with his bushy +eyebrows contracted into a thoughtful frown. + +"Cool," he muttered between his closed lips; "very cool, to say the +least of it. Some people would call it audacious. But the story of the +goose with the golden eggs is one of childhood's simple lessons that +we're obliged to remember in after-life. And to think that the +Government of this country should have the audacity to offer a measly +hundred pounds or so for the discovery of a great crime! The shabbiness +of the legislature must answer for it, if criminals remain at large. My +friend's a deep one, a cursedly deep one; but I shall keep my eye upon +him 'My faith is strong in time,' as the poet observes. My friend +carries it with a high hand at present; but the day may come when he may +want me; and if ever he does want me, egad, he shall pay me my own +price, and it shall be rather a stiff one into the bargain." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +GOING AWAY. + + +At one o'clock on the appointed Thursday morning, Mr. Dunbar presented +himself in the diamond-merchant's office. Henry Dunbar was not alone. He +had called in St. Gundolph Lane, and asked Mr. Balderby to go with him +to inspect the diamonds he had bought for his daughter. + +The junior partner opened his eyes to the widest extent as the +brilliants were displayed before him, and declared that big senior's +generosity was something more than princely. + +But perhaps Mr. Balderby did not feel so entirely delighted two or three +hours afterwards, when Mr. Isaac Hartgold presented himself before the +counter in St. Gundolph Lane, whence he departed some time afterwards +carrying away with him seventy-five thousand eight hundred pounds in +Bank-of-England notes. + +Henry Dunbar walked away from the neighbourhood of Holborn with his coat +buttoned tightly across his broad chest, and nearly eighty thousand +pounds' worth of property hidden away in his breast-pockets. He did not +go straight back to the Clarendon, but pierced his way across +Smithfield, and into a busy smoky street, where he stopped by-and-by at +a dingy-looking currier's shop. + +He went in and selected a couple of chamois skins, very thick and +strong. At another shop he bought some large needles, half-a-dozen +skeins of stout waxed thread, a pair of large scissors, a couple of +strong steel buckles, and a tailor's thimble. When he had made these +purchases, he hailed the first empty cab that passed him, and went back +to his hotel. + +He dined, drank the best part of a bottle of Burgundy, and then ordered +a cup of strong tea to be taken to his dressing-room. He had fires in +his bedroom and dressing-room every night. To-night he retired very +early, dismissed the servant who attended upon him, and locked the door +of the outer room, the only door communicating with the corridor of the +hotel. + +He drank a cup of tea, bathed his head with cold water, and then sat +down at a writing-table near the fire. + +But he was not going to write; he pushed aside the writing-materials, +and took his purchases of the afternoon from his pocket. He spread the +chamois leather out upon the table, and cut the skins into two long +strips, about a foot broad. He measured these round his waist, and then +began to stitch them together, slowly and laboriously. + +The work was not easy, and it took the banker a very long time to +complete it to his own satisfaction. It was past twelve o'clock when he +had stitched both sides and one end of the double chamois-leather belt; +the other end he left open. + +When he had completed the two sides and the end that was closed, he took +four or five little canvas-bags from his pocket. Every one of these +canvas-bags was full of loose diamonds. + +A thrill of rapture ran through the banker's veins as he plunged his +fingers in amongst the glittering stones. He filled his hands with the +bright gems, and let them run from one hand to the other, like streams +of liquid light. Then, very slowly and carefully, he began to drop the +diamonds into the open end of the chamois-leather belt. + +When he had dropped a few into the belt, he stitched the leather across +and across, quilting-in the stones. This work took him so long, that it +was four o'clock in the morning when he had quilted the last diamond +into the belt. He gave a long sigh of relief as he threw the waste +scraps of leather upon the top of the low fire, and watched them slowly +smoulder away into black ashes. Then he put the chamois-leather belt +under his pillow, and went to bed. + +Henry Dunbar went back to Maudesley Abbey by the express on the morning +after the day on which he had completed his purchase of the diamonds. He +wore the chamois-leather belt buckled tightly round his waist next to +his inner shirt, and was able to defy the swell-mob, had those gentry +been aware of the treasures which he carried about with him. + +He wrote from Warwickshire to one of the best and most fashionable +jewellers at the West End, and requested that a person who was +thoroughly skilled in his business might be sent down to Maudesley +Abbey, duly furnished with drawings of the newest designs in diamond +necklaces, earrings, &c. + +But when the jeweller's agent came, two or three days afterwards, Mr. +Dunbar could find no design that suited him; and the man returned to +London without having received an order, and without having even seen +the brilliants which the banker had bought. + +"Tell your employer that I will retain two or three of these designs," +Mr. Dunbar said, selecting the drawings as he spoke; "and if, upon +consideration, I find that one of them will suit me, I will communicate +with your establishment. If not, I shall take the diamonds to Paris, and +get them made up there." + +The jeweller ventured to suggest the inferiority of Parisian workmanship +as compared with that of a first-rate English establishment; but Mr. +Dunbar did not condescend to pay any attention to the young man's +remonstrance. + +"I shall write to your employer in due course," he said, coldly. "Good +morning." + +Major Vernon had returned to the Rose and Crown at Lisford. The deed +which transferred to him the possession of Woodbine Cottage was speedily +executed, and he took up his abode there. His establishment was composed +of the old housekeeper, who had waited on the deceased admiral, and a +young man-of-all-work, who was nephew to the housekeeper, and who had +also been in the service of the late owner of the cottage. + +From his new abode Mr. Vernon was able to keep a tolerably sharp +look-out upon the two great houses in his neighbourhood--Maudesley Abbey +and Jocelyn's Rock. Country people know everything about their +neighbours; and Mrs. Manders, the housekeeper, had means of +communication with both "the Abbey" and "the Rock;" for she had a niece +who was under-housemaid in the service of Henry Dunbar, and a grandson +who was a helper in Sir Philip Jocelyn's stables. Nothing could have +better pleased the new inhabitant of Woodbine Cottage, who was speedily +on excellent terms with his housekeeper. + +From her he heard that a jeweller's assistant had been to Maudesley, and +had submitted a portfolio of designs to the millionaire. + +"Which they do say," Mrs. Manders continued, "that Mr. Dunbar had laid +out nigh upon half-a-million of money in diamonds; and that he is going +to give his daughter, Lady Jocelyn, a set of jewels such as the Queen +upon her throne never set eyes on. But Mr. Dunbar is rare and difficult +to please, it seems; for the young man from the jeweller's, he says to +Mrs. Grumbleton at the western lodge, he says, 'Your master is not easy +to satisfy, ma'am,' he says; from which Mrs. Grumbleton gathers that he +had not took a order from Mr. Dunbar." + +Major Vernon whistled softly to himself when Mrs. Manders retired, after +having imparted this piece of information. + +"You're a clever fellow, dear friend," he muttered, as he lighted his +cigar; "you're a stupendous fellow, dear boy; but your friend can see +through less transparent blinds than this diamond business. It's well +planned--it's neat, to say the least of it. And you've my best wishes, +dear boy; but--you must pay for them--you must pay for them, Henry +Dunbar." + +This little conversation between the new tenant of Woodbine Cottage and +his housekeeper occurred on the very evening on which Major Vernon took +possession of his new abode. The next day was Sunday--a cold wintry +Sunday; for the snow had been falling all through the last three days +and nights, and lay deep on the ground, hiding the low thatched roofs, +and making feathery festoons about the leafless branches, until Lisford +looked like a village upon the top of a twelfth-cake. While the +Sabbath-bells were ringing in the frosty atmosphere, Major Vernon opened +the low white gate of his pleasant little garden, and went out upon the +high-road. + +But not towards the church. Major Vernon was not going to church on this +bright winter's morning. He went the other way, tramping through the +snow, towards the eastern gate of Maudesley Park. He went in by the low +iron gate, for there was a bridle-path by this part of the park--that +very bridle-path by which Philip Jocelyn had ridden to Lisford so often +in the autumn weather. + +Major Vernon struck across this path, following the tracks of late +footsteps in the deep snow, and thus took the nearest way to the Abbey. +There he found all very quiet. The supercilious footman who admitted him +to the hall seemed doubtful whether he should admit him any farther. + +"Mr. Dunbar are hup," he said; "and have breakfasted, to the best of my +knowledge, which the breakfast ekewpage have not yet been removed." + +"So much the better," Major Vernon answered, coolly. "You may bring up +some fresh coffee, John; for I haven't made much of a breakfast myself; +and if you'll tell the cook to devil the thigh of a turkey, with plenty +of cayenne-pepper and a squeeze of lemon, I shall be obliged. You +need'nt trouble yourself; I know my way." + +The Major opened the door leading to Mr. Dunbar's apartments, and walked +without ceremony into the tapestried chamber, where he found the banker +sitting near a table, upon which a silver coffee service, a Dresden cup +and saucer, and two or three covered dishes gave evidence that Mr. +Dunbar had been breakfasting. Cold meats, raised pies, and other +comestibles were laid out upon the carved-oak sideboard. + +The Major paused upon the threshold of the chamber and gravely +contemplated his friend. + +"It's comfortable!" he exclaimed; "to say the least of it, it's very +comfortable, dear boy!" + +The dear boy did not look particularly pleased as he lifted his eyes to +his visitor's face. + +"I thought you were in London?" he said. + +"Which shows how very little you trouble yourself about the concerns of +your neighbours," answered Major Vernon, "for if you had condescended to +inquire about the movements of your humble friend, you would have been +told that he had bought a comfortable little property in the +neighbourhood, and settled down to do the respectable country gentleman +for the remainder of his natural life--always supposing that the +liberality of his honoured friend enables him to do the thing decently." + +"Do you mean to say that you have bought property in this +neighbourhood?" + +"Yes! I am leasehold proprietor of Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford and +Shorncliffe." + +"And you mean to settle in Warwickshire?" + +"I do." + +Henry Dunbar smiled to himself as his friend said this. + +"You're welcome to do so," he said, "as far as I am concerned." + +The Major looked at him sharply. + +"Your sentiments are liberality itself, my dear friend. But I must +respectfully remind you that the expenses attendant upon taking +possession of my humble abode have been very heavy. In plain English, +the two thou' which you so liberally advanced as the first instalment of +future bounties, has melted like snow in a rapid thaw. I want another +two thou', friend of my youth and patron of my later years. What's a +thousand or so, more or less, to the senior partner in the house of D., +D., and B.? Make it two five this time, and your petitioner will ever +pray, &c. &c. &c. Make it two five, Prince of Maudesley!" + +There is no need for me to record the interview between these two men. +It was rather a long one; for, in congenial companionship, Major Vernon +had plenty to say for himself: it was only when he felt himself out of +his element and unappreciated that the Major wrapped himself in the +dignity of silence, at in some mystic mantle, and retired for the time +being from the outer world. + +He did not leave Maudesley Abbey until he had succeeded in the object of +his visit, and he carried away in his pocket-book cheques to the amount +of two thousand five hundred pounds. + +"I flatter myself I was just in the nick of time," the Major thought, as +he walked back to Woodbine Cottage, "for as sure as my name's what it +is, my friend means a bolt. He means a bolt; and the money I've had +to-day is the last I shall ever receive from that quarter." + +Almost immediately after Major Vernon's departure, Henry Dunbar rang the +bell for the servant who acted as his valet whenever he required the +services of one, which was not often. + +"I shall start for Paris to-night, Jeffreys," he said to this man. "I +want to see what the French jewellers can do before I trust Lady +Jocelyn's necklace into the hands of English workmen. I'm not well, and +I want change of air and scene, so I shall start for Paris to-night. +Pack a small portmanteau with everything that's indispensable, but pack +nothing unnecessary." + +"Am I to go with you, sir?" the man asked. + +Henry Dunbar looked at his watch, and seemed to reflect upon this +question some moments before he answered. + +"How do the up-trains go on a Sunday?" he asked. + +"There's an express from the north stops at Rugby at six o'clock, sir. +You might meet that, if you left Shorncliffe by the 4:35 train." + +"I could do that," answered the banker; "it's only three o'clock. Pack +my portmanteau at once, Jeffreys, and order the carriage to be ready for +me at a quarter to four. No, I won't take you to Paris with me. You can +follow me in a day or two with some more things." + +"Yes, sir." + +There was no such thing as bustle and confusion in a household organized +like that of Mr. Dunbar. The valet packed his master's portmanteau and +dressing-case; the carriage came round to the gravel-drive before the +porch at the appointed moment; and five minutes afterwards Mr. Dunbar +came out into the hall, with his greatcoat closely buttoned over his +broad chest, and a leopard-skin travelling-rug flung across his +shoulder. + +Round his waist he wore the chamois-leather belt which he had made with +his own hands at the Clarendon Hotel. This belt had never quitted him +since the night upon which he made it. The carriage conveyed him to the +Shorncliffe station. He got out and went upon the platform. Although it +was not yet five o'clock, the wintry light was fading in the grey sky, +and in the railway station it was already dark. There were lamps here +and there, but they only made separate splotches of light in the dusky +atmosphere. + +Henry Dunbar walked slowly up and down the platform. He was so deeply +absorbed by his own thoughts that he was quite startled presently when a +young man came close behind him, and addressed him eagerly. + +"Mr. Dunbar," he said; "Mr. Dunbar!" + +The banker turned sharply round, and recognized Arthur Lovell. + +"Ah! my dear Lovell, is that you? You quite startled me." + +"Are you going by the next train? I was so anxious to see you." + +"Why so?" + +"Because there's some one here who very much wishes to see you; quite an +old friend of yours, he says. Who do you think it is?" + +"I don't know, I can't guess--I've so many old friends. I can't see any +one, Lovell. I'm very ill, I saw a physician while I was in London; and +he told me that my heart is diseased, and that if I wish to live I must +avoid any agitation, any sudden emotion, as I would avoid a deadly +poison. Who is it that wants to see me?" + +"Lord Herriston, the great Anglo-Indian statesman. He is a friend of my +father's, and he has been very kind to me--indeed, he offered me an +appointment, which I found it wisest to decline. He talked a great deal +about you, when my father told him that you'd settled at Maudesley, and +would have driven over to see you if he could have managed to spare the +time, without losing his train. You'll see him, wont you?" + +"Where is he?" + +"Here, in the station--in the waiting-room. He has been visiting in +Warwickshire, and he lunched with my father _en passant_; he is going to +Derby, and he's waiting for the down-train to take him on to the main +line. You'll come and see him?" + +"Yes, I shall be very glad; I----" + +Henry Dunbar stopped suddenly, with his hand upon his side. The bell had +been ringing while Lovell and the banker had stood upon the platform +talking. The train came into the station at this moment. + +"I shan't be able to see Lord Herriston to-night," Mr. Dunbar said, +hurriedly; "I must go by this train, or I shall lose a day. Good-bye, +Lovell. Make my best compliments to Herriston; tell him I have been very +ill. Good-bye." + +"Your portmanteau's in the carriage, sir," the servant said, pointing to +the open door of a first-class compartment. Henry Dunbar got into the +carriage. At the moment of his doing so, an elderly gentleman came out +of the waiting-room. + +"Is this my train, Lovell?" he asked. + +"No, my Lord. Mr. Dunbar is here; he goes by this train. You'll have +time to speak to him." + +The train was moving. Lord Herriston was an active old fellow. He ran +along the platform, looking into the carriages. But the old man's sight +was not as good as his legs were; he looked eagerly into the +carriage-windows, but he only saw a confusion of flickering lamplight, +and strange faces, and newspapers unfurled in the hands of wakeful +travellers, and the heads of sleepy passengers rolling and jolting +against the padded sides of the carriage. + +"My eyes are not what they used to be," he said, with a good-tempered +laugh, when he went back to Arthur Lovell. "I didn't succeed in getting +a glimpse of my old friend Henry Dunbar." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +STOPPED UPON THE WAY. + + +Mr. Dunbar leant back in the corner of his comfortable seat, with his +eyes closed. But he was not asleep, he was only thinking; and every now +and then he bent forward, and looked out of the window into the darkness +of the night. He could only distinguish the faint outline of the +landscape as the train swept on upon its way, past low meadows, where +the snow lay white and stainless, unsullied by a passing footfall; and +scanty patches of woodland, where the hardy firs looked black against +the glittering whiteness of the ground. + +The country was all so much alike under its thick shroud of snow, that +Mr. Dunbar tried in vain to distinguish any landmarks upon the way. + +The train by which he travelled stopped at every station; and, though +the journey between Shorncliffe and Rugby was only to last an hour, it +seemed almost interminable to this impatient traveller, who was eager to +stand upon the deck of Messrs. ----'s electric steamers, to feel the icy +spray dashing into his face, and to see the town of Dover, shining like +a flaming crescent against the darkness of the night, and the Calais +lights in the distance rising up behind the black edge of the sea. + +The banker looked at his watch, and made a calculation about the time. +It was now a quarter past five; the train was to reach Rugby at ten +minutes to six; at six the London express left Rugby; at a quarter to +eight it reached London; at half-past eight the Dover mail would leave +London Bridge station; and at half-past seven, or thereabouts, next +morning, Henry Dunbar would be rattling through the streets of Paris. + +And then? Was his journey to end in that brilliant city, or was he to go +farther? That was a question whose answer was hidden in the traveller's +own breast. He had not shown himself a communicative man at the best of +times, and to-night he looked like a man whose soul is weighed down by +the burden of a purpose which must he achieved at any cost of personal +sacrifice. + +He could not hear the names of the stations. He only heard those +guttural and inarticulate sounds which railway officials roar out upon +the darkness of the night, to the bewilderment of helpless travellers. +His inability to distinguish the names of the stations annoyed him. The +delay attendant upon every fresh stoppage worried him, as if the pause +had been the weary interval of an hour. He sat with his watch in his +hand; for every now and then he was seized with a sudden terror that the +train had fallen out of its regular pace, and was crawling slowly along +the rails. + +What if it should not reach Rugby until after the London express had +left the station? + +Mr. Dunbar asked one of his fellow-travellers if this train was always +punctual. + +"Yes," the gentleman answered, coolly; "I believe it is generally pretty +regular. But I don't know how the snow may affect the engine. There have +been accidents in some parts of the country." + +"In consequence of the depth of snow?" + +"Yes. I understand so." + +It was about ten minutes after this brief conversation, and within a +quarter of an hour of the time at which the train was due at Rugby, when +the carriage, which had rocked a good deal from the first, began to +oscillate very violently. One meagre little elderly traveller turned +rather pale, and looked nervously at his fellow-passengers; but the +young man who had spoken to Henry Dunbar, and a bald-headed +commercial-looking gentleman opposite to him, went on reading their +newspapers as coolly as if the rocking of the carriage had been no more +perilous than the lullaby motion of an infant's cradle, guided by a +mother's gentle foot. + +Mr. Dunbar never took his eyes from the dial of his watch. So the +nervous traveller found no response to his look of terror. + +He sat quietly for a minute or so, and then lowered the window near him, +and let in a rush of icy wind, whereat the bald-headed commercial +gentleman turned upon him rather fiercely, and asked him what he was +about, and if he wanted to give them all inflammation of the lungs, by +letting in an atmosphere that was two degrees below zero. But the little +elderly gentleman scarcely heard this remonstrance; his head was out of +the window, and he was looking eagerly Rugby-wards along the line. + +"I'm afraid there's something wrong," he said, drawing in his head for a +moment, and looking with a scared white face at his fellow-passengers; +"I'm really afraid there's something wrong. We're eight minutes behind +our time, and I see the danger-signal up yonder, and the line seems +blocked up with snow, and I really fear----" + +He looked out again, and then drew in his head very suddenly. + +"There's something coming!" he cried; "there's an engine coming----" + +He never finished his sentence. There was a horrible smashing, tearing, +grinding noise, that was louder than thunder, and more hideous than the +crashing of cannon against the wooden walls of a brave ship. + +That horrible sound was followed by a yell almost as horrible; and then +there was nothing but death, and terror, and darkness, and anguish, and +bewilderment; masses of shattered woodwork and iron heaped in direful +confusion upon the blood-stained snow; human groans, stifled under the +wrecks of shivered carriages: the cries of mothers whose children had +been flung out of their arms into the very jaws of death; the piteous +wail of children, who clung, warm and living, to the breasts of dead +mothers, martyred in that moment of destruction; husbands parted from +their wives; wives shrieking for their husbands; and, amidst all, brave +men, with white faces, hurrying here and there, with lamps in their +hands, half-maimed and wounded some of them, but forgetful of themselves +in their care for the helpless wretches round them. + +The express going northwards had run into the train from Shorncliffe, +which had come upon the main line just nine minutes too late. + +One by one the dead and wounded were earned away from the great heap of +ruins; one by one the prostrate forms were borne away by quiet bearers, +who did their duty calmly and fearlessly in that hideous scene of havoc +and confusion. The great object to be achieved was the immediate +clearance of the line; and the sound of pickaxes and shovels almost +drowned those other dreadful sounds, the piteous moans of sufferers who +were so little hurt as to be conscious of their sufferings. + +The train from Shorncliffe had been completely smashed. The northern +express had suffered much less; but the engine-driver had been killed, +and several of the passengers severely injured. + +Henry Dunbar was amongst those who were carried away helpless, and, to +all appearance, lifeless from the ruin of the Shorncliffe train. + +One of the banker's legs was broken, and he had received A blow upon the +head, which had rendered him immediately unconscious. + +But there were cases much worse than that of the banker; the surgeon who +examined the sufferers said that Mr. Dunbar might recover from his +injuries in two or three months, if he was carefully treated. The +fracture of the leg was very simple; and if the limb was skilfully set, +there would not be the least fear of contraction. + +Half-a-dozen surgeons were busy in one of the waiting-rooms at the Rugby +station, whither the sufferers had been conveyed, and one of them took +possession of the banker. + +Mr. Dunbar's card-case had been found in the breast-pocket of his +overcoat, and a great many people in the waiting-room knew that the +gentleman with the white lace and grey moustache, lying so quietly upon +one of the broad sofas, was no less a personage than Henry Dunbar, of +Maudesley Abbey and St. Gundolph Lane. The surgeon knew it, and thought +his good angel had sent this particular patient across his pathway. + +He made immediate arrangements for bearing off Mr. Dunbar to the nearest +hotel; he sent for his assistant; and in a quarter of an hour's time the +millionaire was restored to consciousness, and opened his eyes upon the +eager faces of two medical gentlemen, and upon a room that was strange +to him. + +The banker looked about him with an expression of perplexity, and then +asked where he was. He knew nothing of the accident itself, and he had +quite lost the recollection of all that had occurred immediately before +the accident, or, indeed, from the time of his leaving Maudesley Abbey. + +It was only little by little that the memory of the events of that day +returned to him. He had wanted to leave Maudesley; he had wanted to go +abroad--to go upon a journey--that was no new purpose in his mind. Had +he actually set out upon that journey? Yes, surely, he must have started +upon it; but what had happened, then? + +He asked the surgeon what had happened, and why it was that he found +himself in that strange place. + +Mr. Daphney, the Rugby surgeon, told his patient all about the accident, +in such a bland, pleasant way, that anybody might have thought the +collision of a couple of engines rather an agreeable little episode in a +man's life. + +"But we are doing admirably, sir," Mr. Daphney concluded; "nothing could +be more desirable than the way in which we are going on; and when our +leg has been set, and we've taken a cooling draught, we shall be, quite +comfortable for the night. I really never saw a cleaner fracture--never, +I can assure you." + +But Mr. Dunbar raised himself into a sitting position, in spite of the +remonstrances of his medical attendant, and looked anxiously about him. + +"You say this place is Rugby?" he asked, moodily. + +"Yes, this is Rugby," answered the surgeon, smiling, and rubbing his +hands, almost as if he would have said, "Now, isn't _that_ delightful?" +"Yes, this is the Queen's Hotel, Rugby; and I'm sure that every +attention which the proprietor, Mr.----" + +"I must get away from this place to-night," said Mr. Dunbar, +interrupting the surgeon rather unceremoniously. + +"To-night, my dear sir!" cried Mr. Daphney; "impossible--utterly +impossible--suicide on your part, my dear sir, if you attempted it, and +murder upon mine, if I allowed you to carry out such an idea. You will +be a prisoner here for a month or so, sir, I regret to say; but we shall +do all in our power to make your sojourn agreeable." + +The surgeon could not help looking cheerful as he made this +announcement; but seeing a very black and ominous expression upon the +face of his patient, he contrived to modify the radiance of his own +countenance. + +"Our first proceeding, sir, must be to straighten this poor leg," he +said, soothingly. "We shall place the leg in a cradle, from the thigh +downwards: but I won't trouble you with technical details. I doubt if we +shall be justified in setting the leg to-night; we must reduce the +swelling before we can venture upon any important step. A cooling +lotion, applied with linen cloths, must be kept on all night. I have +made arrangements for a nurse, and my assistant will also remain here +all night to supervise her movements." + +The banker groaned aloud. + +"I want to get to London," he said. "I must get to London!" + +The surgeon and his assistant removed Mr. Dunbar's clothes. His trousers +had to be cut away from his broken leg before anything could be done. +Mr. Daphney removed his patient's coat and waistcoat; but the linen +shirt was left, and the chamois-leather belt worn by the banker was +under this shirt, next to and over a waistcoat of scarlet flannel. + +"I wear a leather belt next my flannel waistcoat," Mr. Dunbar said, as +the two men were undressing him; "I don't wish it to be removed." + +He fainted away presently, for his leg was very painful; and on reviving +from his fainting fit, he looked very suspiciously at his attendants, +and put his hand to the buckle of his belt, in order to make himself +sure that it had not been tampered with. + +All through the long, feverish, restless night he lay pondering over +this miserable interruption of his journey, while the sick-nurse and the +surgeon's assistant alternately slopped cooling lotions about his +wretched broken leg. + +"To think that _this_ should happen," he muttered to himself every now +and then. "Amongst all the things I've ever dreaded, I never thought of +this." + +His leg was set in the course of the next day, and in the evening he had +a long conversation with the surgeon. + +This time Henry Dunbar did not speak so much of his anxiety to get away +upon the second stage of his continental journey. His servant Jeffreys +arrived at Rugby in the course of the day; for the news of the accident +had reached Maudesley Abbey, and it was known that Mr. Dunbar had been a +sufferer. + +To-night Henry Dunbar only spoke of the misery of being in a strange +house. + +"I want to get back to Maudesley," he said. "If you can manage to take +me there, Mr. Daphney, and look after me until I've got over the effects +of this accident, I shall be very happy to make you any compensation you +please for whatever loss your absence from Rugby might entail upon you." + +This was a very diplomatic speech: Mr. Dunbar knew that the surgeon +would not care to let so rich a patient out of his hands; but he fancied +that Mr. Daphney would have no objection to carrying his patient in +triumph to Maudesley Abbey, to the admiration of the unprofessional +public, and to the aggravation of rival medical men. + +He was not mistaken in his estimate of human nature. At the end of the +week he had succeeded in persuading the surgeon to agree to his removal; +and upon the second Monday after the railway accident, Henry Dunbar was +placed in a compartment which was specially prepared for him in the +Shorncliffe train, and was conveyed from Shorncliffe station to +Maudesley Abbey, without undergoing any change of position upon the +road, and very carefully tended throughout the journey by Mr. Daphney +and Jeffreys the valet. + +They wheeled Mr. Dunbar's bed into his favourite tapestried chamber, and +laid him there, to drag out long dreary days and nights, waiting till +his broken bones should unite, and he should be free to go whither he +pleased. He was not a very patient sufferer; he bore the pain well +enough, but he chafed perpetually against the delay; and every morning +he asked the surgeon the same question-- + +"When shall I be strong enough to walk about?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE. + + +Margaret Wilmot had promised to become the wife of the man she loved; +but she had given that promise very reluctantly, and only upon one +condition. The condition was, that, before her marriage with Clement +Austin took place, the mystery of her father's death should be cleared +up for ever. + +"I cannot be your wife so long as the secret of that cruel deed remains +unknown," she said to Clement. "It seems to me as if I have already +been, wickedly neglectful of a solemn duty. Who had my father to love +him and remember him in all the world but me? and who should avenge his +death if I do not? He was an outcast from society; and people think it a +very small thing that, after having led a reckless life, he should die a +cruel death. If Henry Dunbar, the rich banker, had been murdered, the +police would never have rested until the assassin had been discovered. +But who cares what became of Joseph Wilmot, except his daughter? His +death makes no blank in the world: except to me--except to me!" + +Clement Austin did not forget his promise to do his uttermost towards +the discovery of the banker's guilt. He believed that Henry Dunbar was +the murderer of his old servant; and he had believed it ever since that +day upon which the banker stole, like a detected thief, out of the house +in St. Gundolph Lane. + +It was just possible that Henry Dunbar might avoid Joseph Wilmot's +daughter from a natural horror of the events connected with his return +to England; but that the banker should resort to a cowardly stratagem to +escape from an interview with the girl could scarcely be accounted for, +except by the fact of his guilt. + +He had an insurmountable terror of seeing this girl, because he was the +murderer of her father. + +The longer Clement Austin deliberated upon this business the more +certainly he came to that one terrible conclusion: Henry Dunbar was +guilty. He would gladly have thought otherwise: and he would have been +very happy had he been able to tell Margaret Wilmot that the mystery of +her father's death was a mystery that would never be solved upon this +earth: but he could not do so; he could only bow his head before the +awful necessity that urged him on to take his part in this drama of +crime--the part of an avenger. + +But a cashier in a London bank has very little time to play any part in +life's history, except that quiet _rôle_ which seems chiefly to consist +in locking and unlocking iron safes, peering furtively into mysterious +ledgers, and shovelling about new sovereigns as coolly as if they were +Wallsend or Clay-Cross coals. + +Clement Austin's life was not an easy one, and he had no time to turn +amateur detective, even in the service of the woman ha loved. + +He had no time to turn amateur detective so long as he remained at the +banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. + +But could he remain there? That question arose in his mind, and took a +very serious form. Was it possible to remain in that house when he +believed the principal member of it to be one of the most infamous of +men? + +No; it was quite impossible for him to remain in his present situation. +So long as he took a salary from Dunbar, Dunbar and Balderby, he was in +a manner under obligation to Henry Dunbar. He could not remain in this +man's service, and yet at the same time play the spy upon his actions, +and work heart and soul to drag the dreadful secret of his life into the +light of day. + +Thus it was that towards the close of the week in which Henry Dunbar, +for the first time after his return from India, visited the +banking-offices, Clement Austin handed a formal notice of resignation to +Mr. Balderby. The cashier could not immediately resign his situation, +but was compelled to give his employers a month's notice of the +withdrawal of his services. + +A thunderbolt falling upon the morocco-covered writing-table in Mr. +Balderby's private parlour could scarcely have been more astonishing to +the junior partner than this letter which Clement Austin handed him very +quietly and very respectfully. + +There were many reasons why Clement Austin should remain in the +banking-house. His father had lived for thirty years, and had eventually +died, in the employment of Dunbar and Dunbar. He had been a great +favourite with the brothers; and Clement had been admitted into the +house as a boy, and had received much notice from Percival. More than +this, he had every chance of being admitted ere long to a junior +partnership upon very easy terms, which junior partnership would of +course be the high-road to a great fortune. + +Mr. Balderby sat with the letter open in his hands, staring at the lines +before him as if he was scarcely able to comprehend their purport. + +"Do you _mean_ this, Austin?" he said at last. + +"Yes, sir. Circumstances over which I have no control compel me to offer +you my resignation." + +"Have you quarrelled with anybody in the office? Has anything occurred +in the house that has made you uncomfortable?" + +"No, indeed, Mr. Balderby; I am very comfortable in my position." + +The junior partner leaned back in his chair, and stared at the cashier +as if he had been trying to detect the traces of incipient insanity in +the young man's countenance. + +"You are comfortable in your position, and yet you--Oh! I suppose the +real truth of the matter is, that you have heard of something better, +and you are ready to give us the go-by in order to improve your own +circumstances?" said Mr. Balderby, with a tone of pique; "though I +really don't see how you can very well be better off anywhere than you +are here," he added, thoughtfully. + +"You do me wrong, sir, when you think that I could willingly leave you +for my own advantage," Clement answered, quietly. "I have no better +engagement, nor have I even a prospect of any engagement." + +"You haven't!" exclaimed the junior partner; "and yet you throw away +such a chance as only falls to the lot of one man in a thousand! I don't +particularly care about guessing riddles, Mr. Austin; perhaps you'll be +kind enough to tell me frankly why you want to leave us?" + +"I regret to say that it is impossible for me to do so, sir," replied +the cashier; "my motive for leaving this house, which is a kind of +second home to me, is no frivolous one, believe me. I have weighed well +the step I am about to take, and I am quite aware that I sacrifice very +excellent prospects in throwing up my present situation. But the reason +of my resignation must remain a secret; for the present at least. If +ever the day comes when I am able to explain my conduct, I believe that +you will give me your hand, and say to me, 'Clement Austin, you only did +your duty.'" + +"Clement," said Mr. Balderby, "you are an excellent fellow; but you +certainly must have got some romantic crotchet in your head, or you +could never have thought of writing such a letter as this. Are you going +to be married? Is that your reason for leaving us? Have you fascinated +some wealthy heiress, and are you going to retire into splendid +slavery?" + +"No, sir. I am engaged to be married; but the lady whom I hope to call +my wife is poor, and I have every necessity to be a working man for the +rest of my life." + +"Well, then, my dear fellow, it's a riddle; and, as I said before, I'm +not good at guessing enigmas. There, my boy; go home and sleep upon +this; and come back to me to-morrow morning, and tell me to throw this +stupid letter in the fire--that's the wisest thing you can do. Good +night." + +But, in spite of all that Mr. Balderby could say, Clement Austin +steadily adhered to his resolution. He worked early and late during the +month in which he remained at his post, preparing the ledgers, balancing +accounts, and making things straight and easy for the new cashier. He +told Margaret Wilmot of what he had done, but he did not tell her the +extent of the sacrifice which he had made for her sake. She was the only +person who knew the real motive of his conduct, for to his mother he +said very little more than he had said to Mr. Balderby. + +"I shall be able to tell you my motives for leaving the banking-house at +some future time, dear mother," he said; "until that time I can only +entreat you to trust me, and to believe that I have acted for the best." + +"I do believe it, my dear," answered the widow, cheerfully; "when did +you ever do anything that wasn't wise and good?" + +Her only son, Clement, was the god of this simple woman's idolatry; and +if he had seen fit to turn her out of doors, and ask her to beg by his +side in the streets of the city, I doubt if she would not have imagined +some hidden wisdom lurking at the bottom of his apparently irrational +proceedings. So she made no objection to his abandoning his desk in the +house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +"We shall be poorer, I suppose, Clem," Mrs. Austin said; "but that's +very little consequence, for your dear father left me so comfortably off +that I can very well afford to keep house for my only son; and I shall +have you more at home, dear, and that will indeed be happiness." + +But Clement told his mother that he had some very important business on +hand just then, which would occupy him a good deal; and indeed the first +step necessary would be a journey to Shorncliffe, in Warwickshire. + +"Why, that's where you went to school, Clem!" + +"Yes, mother." + +"And it's near Mr. Percival Dunbar--or, at least, Mr. Dunbar's country +house." + +"Yes, mother," answered Clement. "Now the business in which I am engaged +is--is rather of a difficult nature, and I want legal help. My old +schoolfellow, Arthur Lovell, who is as good a fellow as ever breathed, +has been educated for the law, and is now a solicitor. He lives at +Shorncliffe with his father, John Lovell, who is also a solicitor, and a +man of some standing in the county. I shall run down to Shorncliffe, see +my old friend, and get has advice; and if you'll bring Margaret down for +a few days' change of air, we'll stop at the dear old Reindeer, where +you used to come, mother, when I was at school, and where you used to +give me such jolly dinners in the days when a good dinner was a treat to +a hungry schoolboy." + +Mrs. Austin smiled at her son; she smiled tenderly as she remembered his +bright boyhood. Mothers with only sons are not very strong-minded. Had +Clement proposed a trip to the moon, she would scarcely have known how +to refuse him her company on the expedition. + +She shivered a little, and looked rather doubtfully from the blazing; +fire which lit up the cozy drawing-room to the cold grey sky outside the +window. + +"The beginning of January isn't the pleasantest time in the year for a +trip into the country, Clem, dear," she said; "but I should certainly be +very lonely at home without you. And as to poor Madge, of course it +would be a great treat to her to get away from her pupils and have a +peep at the genuine country, even though there isn't a single leaf upon +the trees. So I suppose I must say yes. But do tell me all about this +business there's a dear good boy." + +Unfortunately the dear good boy was obliged to tell his mother that the +business in question was, like his motive for resigning his situation, a +profound secret, and that it must remain so for some time to come. + +"Wait, dear mother," he said; "you shall know all about it by-and-by. +Believe me, when I tell you that it's not a very pleasant business," he +added, with a sigh. + +"It's not unpleasant for you, I hope, Clement?" + +"It isn't pleasant for any one who is concerned in it, mother," answered +the young man, thoughtfully; "it's altogether a miserable business; but +I'm not concerned in it as a principal, you know, dear mother; and when +it's all over we shall only look back upon it as the passing of a black +cloud over our lives, and you will say that I have done my duty. Dearest +mother, don't look so puzzled," added Clement; "this matter _must_ +remain a secret for the present. Only wait, and trust me." + +"I will, my dear boy," Mrs. Austin said, presently. "I will trust you +with all my heart; for I know how good you are. But I don't like +secrets, Clem; secrets always make me uncomfortable." + +No more was said upon this subject, and it was arranged by-and-by that +Mrs. Austin and Margaret should prepare to start for Warwickshire at the +beginning of the following week, when Clement would be freed from all +engagements to Messrs. Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. + +Margaret had waited very patiently for this time, in which Clement would +be free to give her all his help in that awful task which lay before +her--the discovery of Henry Dunbar's guilt. + +"You will go to Shorncliffe with my mother," Clement Austin said, upon +the evening after his conversation with the widow; "you will go with +her, Madge, ostensibly upon a little pleasure trip. Once there, we shall +be able to contrive an interview with Mr. Dunbar. He is a prisoner at +Maudesley Abbey, laid up by the effect of his accident the other day, +but not too ill to see people, Balderby says; therefore I should think +we may be able to plan an interview between you and him. You still hold +to your original purpose? You wish to _see_ Henry Dunbar?" + +"Yes," answered Margaret, thoughtfully; "I want to see him. I want to +look straight into the face of the man whom I believe to be my father's +murderer. I don't know why it is, but this purpose has been uppermost in +my mind ever since I heard of that dreadful journey to Winchester; ever +since I first knew that my father had been murdered while travelling +with Henry Dunbar. It might, as you have said, be wiser to watch and +wait, and to avoid all chance of alarming this man. But I can't be wise. +I want to see him. I want to look in his face, and see if his eyes can +meet mine." + +"You shall see him then, dear girl. A woman's instinct is sometimes +worth more than a man's wisdom. You shall see Henry Dunbar. I know that +my old schoolfellow Arthur Lovell will help me, with all his heart and +soul. I have called again upon the Scotland-Yard people, and I gave them +a minute description of the scene in St. Gundolph Lane; but they only +shrugged their shoulders, and said the circumstances looked queer, but +were not strong enough to act upon. If any body can help us, Arthur +Lovell can; for he was present at the inquest and all further +examination of the witnesses at Winchester." + +If Margaret Wilmot and Clement Austin had been going upon any other +errand than that which took them to Warwickshire, the journey to +Shorncliffe might have been very pleasant to them. + +To Margaret, this comfortable journey in the cushioned corner of a +first-class carriage, respectfully waited upon by the man she loved, +possessed at least the charm of novelty. Her journeys hitherto had been +long wearisome pilgrimages in draughty third-class carriages, with noisy +company, and in an atmosphere pervaded by a powerful effluvium of +various kinds of alcohol. + +Her life had been a very hard one, darkened by the ever-brooding shadow +of disgrace. It was new to her to sit quietly looking out at the low +meadows and glimmering white-walled villas, the patches of sparse +woodland, the distant villages, the glimpses of rippling water, shining +in the wintry sun. It was new to her to be loved by people whose minds +were unembittered by the baneful memories of wrong and crime. It was new +to her to hear gentle voices, sweet Christian-like words: it was new to +her to breathe the bright atmosphere that surrounds those who lead a +virtuous, God-fearing life. + +But there is little sunshine without its attendant shadow. The shadow +upon Margaret's life now was the shadow of that coming task--that +horrible work which must be done--before she could be free to thank God +for His mercies, and to be happy. + +The London train reached Shorncliffe early in the afternoon. Clement +Austin hired a roomy old fly, and carried off his companions to the +Reindeer. + +The Reindeer was a comfortable old-fashioned hotel. It had been a very +grand place in the coaching-days, and you entered the hostelry by a +broad and ponderous archway, under which Highflyers and Electrics had +driven triumphantly in the days that were for ever gone. + +The house was a roomy old place, with long corridors and wide +staircases; noble staircases, with broad, slippery, oaken banisters and +shallow steps. The rooms were grand and big, with bow windows so +spotless in their cleanness that they had rather a cold effect on a +January day, and were apt to inspire in the vulgar mind the fancy that a +little dirt or smoke would look warmer and more comfortable. Certainly, +if the Reindeer had a fault, it was that it was too clean. Everything +was actually slippery with cleanness, from the newly-calendered chintz +that covered the sofa and the chair-cushions to the copper coal-scuttle +that glittered by the side of the dazzling brass fender. There were +faint odours of soft soap in the bed-chambers, which no amount of dried +lavender could overcome. There was an effluvium of vitriol about all the +brass-work, and there was a good deal of brass-work in the Reindeer: and +if one species of decoration is more conducive to shivering than +another, it certainly is brass-work in a state of high polish. + +There was no dish ever devised by mortal cook which the sojourner at the +Reindeer could not have, according to the preliminary statement of the +landlord; but with whatever ambitious design the sojourner began to talk +about dinner, it always ended, somehow or other, by his ordering a +chicken, a little bit of boiled bacon, a dish of cutlets, and a tart. +There were days upon which divers species of fish were to be had in +Shorncliffe, but the sojourner at the Reindeer rarely happened to hit +upon one of those days. + +Clement Austin installed Margaret and the widow in a sitting-room which +would have comfortably accommodated about forty people. There was a +bow-window quite large enough for the requirements of a small family, +and Mrs. Austin settled herself there, while the landlord was struggling +with a refractory fire, and pretending not to know that the grate was +damp. + +Clement went through the usual fiction of deliberation as to what he +should have for dinner, and of course ended with the perennial chicken +and cutlets. + +"I haven't the fine appetite I had fifteen years ago, Mr. Gilwood," he +said to the landlord, "when my mother yonder, who hasn't grown fifteen +days older in all those fifteen years,--bless her dear motherly +heart!--used to come down to see me at the academy in the Lisford Road, +and give me a dinner in this dear old room. I thought your cutlets the +most ethereal morsels ever dished by mortal cook, Mr. Gilwood, and this +room the best place in all the world. You know Mr. Lovell--Mr. Arthur +Lovell?" + +"Yes, sir; and a very nice young gentleman he is." + +"He's settled in Shorncliffe, I suppose?" + +"Well, I believe he is, sir. There was some talk of his going out to +India, in a Government appointment, sir, or something of that sort; but +I'm given to understand that it's all off now, and that Mr. Arthur is to +go into partnership with his father; and a very clever young lawyer he +is, I've been told." + +"So much the better," answered Clement, "for I want to consult him upon +a little matter of business. Good-bye, mother! Take care of Madge, and +make yourselves as comfortable as you can. I think the fire will burn +now, Mr. Gilwood. I shan't be away above an hour, I dare say; and then +I'll come and take you for a walk before dinner. God bless you, my poor +Madge!" Clement whispered, as Margaret followed him to the door of the +room, and looked wistfully after him as he went down the staircase. + +Mrs. Austin had once cherished ambitious views with regard to her son's +matrimonial prospects; but she had freely given them up when she found +that he had set his heart upon winning Margaret Wilmot for his wife. The +good mother had made this sacrifice willingly and without complaint, as +she would have made any other sacrifice for her dearly-beloved only son; +and she found the reward of her devotion; for Margaret, this penniless, +friendless girl, had become very dear to her--a real daughter, not in +law, but bound by the sweet ties of gratitude and affection. + +"And I was such a silly old creature, my dear," the widow said to +Margaret, as they sat in the bow-window looking out into the quiet +street; "I was so worldly-minded that I wanted Clement to marry a rich +woman, so that I might have some stuck-up daughter-in-law, who would +despise her husband's mother, and estrange my boy from me, and make my +old age miserable. That's what I wanted, Madge, and what I might have +had, perhaps, if Clem hadn't been wiser than his silly old mother. And, +thanks to him, I've got the sweetest, truest, brightest girl that ever +lived; though you are not as bright as usual to-day, Madge," Mrs. Austin +added, thoughtfully. "You haven't smiled once this morning, my dear, and +you seem as if you'd something on your mind." + +"I've been thinking of my poor father," Margaret answered, quietly. + +"To be sure, my dear; and I might have known as much, my poor +tender-hearted lamb. I know how unhappy those thoughts always make you." + +Clement Austin had not been at Shorncliffe for three years. He had +visited Maudesley Abbey several times during the lifetime of Percival +Dunbar, for he had been a favourite with the old man; and he had been +four years at a boarding-school kept by a clergyman of the Church of +England in a fine old brick mansion on the Lisford Road. + +The town of Shorncliffe was therefore familiar to Mr. Austin; and he +looked neither to the right nor to the left as he walked towards the +archway of St. Gwendoline's Church, near which Mr. Lovell's house was +situated. + +He found Arthur at home, and very delighted to see his old schoolfellow. +The two young men went into a little panelled room, looting into the +garden, a cosy little room which Arthur Lovell called his study; and +here they sat together for upwards of an hour, discussing the +circumstances of the murder at Winchester, and the conduct of Mr. Dunbar +since that event. + +In the course of that interview, Clement Austin plainly perceived that +Arthur Lovell had come to the same conclusion as himself, though the +young lawyer was slow to express his opinion. + +"I cannot bear to think it," he said; "I know Laura Dunbar--that is to +say, Lady Jocelyn--and it is too horrible to me to imagine that her +father is guilty of this crime. What would be that innocent girl's +feelings if it should be so, and if her father's guilt should be brought +home to him!" + +"Yes, it would be very terrible for Lady Jocelyn, no doubt," Clement +answered; "but that consideration must not hinder the course of justice. +I think this man's position has served him as a shield from the very +first. People have thought it next to impossible that Henry Dunbar could +be guilty of a crime, while they would have been ready enough to suspect +some penniless vagabond of any iniquity." + +Arthur Lovell told Clement that the banker was still at Maudesley, bound +a prisoner by his broken leg, which was going on favourably enough, but +very slowly. + +Mr. Dunbar had expressed a wish to go abroad, in spite of his broken +leg, and had only desisted from his design of being conveyed somehow or +other from place to place, when he was told that any such imprudence +might result in permanent lameness. + +"Keep yourself quiet, and submit to the necessities of your accident, +and you'll recover quickly," the surgeon told his patient. "Try to hurry +the work of nature, and you'll have cause to repent your impatience for +the remainder of your life." + +So Henry Dunbar had been obliged to submit himself to the decrees of +Fate, and to lie day after day, and night after night, upon his bed in +the tapestried chamber, staring at the fire, or the figure of his valet +and attendant; nodding in the easy-chair by the hearth; or listening to +the cinders falling from the grate, and the moaning of the winter wind +amongst the bare branches of the elms. + +The banker was getting better and stronger every day, Arthur Lovell +said. His attendants were able to remove him from one chamber to +another; a pair of crutches had been made for him, but he had not yet +been able to make his first feeble trial of them. He was fain to content +himself with being carried to an easy-chair, to sit for a few hours, +wrapped in blankets, with the leopard-skin rug about his legs. No man +could have been more completely a prisoner than this man had become by +the result of the fatal accident near Rugby. + +"Providence has thrown him into my power," Margaret said, when Clement +repeated to her the information which he had received from Arthur +Lovell,--"Providence has thrown this man into my power; for he can no +longer escape, and, surrounded by his own servants, he will scarcely +dare to refuse to see me; he will surely never be so unwise as to betray +his terror of me." + +"And if he does refuse----" + +"If he does, I'll invent some stratagem by which I may see him. But he +will not refuse. When he finds that I am so resolute as to follow him +here, he will not refuse to see me." + +This conversation took place during a brief walk which the lovers took +in the wintry dusk, while Mrs. Austin nodded by the fire in that +comfortable half-hour which precedes dinner. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY. + + +Early the next day Clement Austin walked to Maudesley Abbey, in order to +procure all the information likely to facilitate Margaret Wilmot's grand +purpose. He stopped at the gate of the principal lodge. The woman who +kept it was an old servant of the Dunbar family, and had known Clement +Austin in Percival Dunbar's lifetime. She gave him a hearty welcome, and +he had no difficulty whatever in setting her tongue in motion upon the +subject of Henry Dunbar. + +She told him a great deal; she told him that the present owner of the +Abbey never had been liked, and never would be liked: for his stern and +gloomy manner was so unlike his father's easy, affable good-nature, that +people were always drawing comparisons between the dead man and the +living. + +This, in a few words, is the substance of what the worthy woman said in +a good many words. Mrs. Grumbleton gave Clement all the information he +required as to the banker's daily movements at the present time. Henry +Dunbar was now in the habit of rising about two o'clock in the day, at +which time he was assisted from his bedroom to his sitting-room, where +he remained until seven or eight o'clock in the evening. He had no +visitors, except the surgeon, Mr. Daphney, who lived in the Abbey, and a +gentleman called Vernon, who had bought Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford, +and who now and then was admitted to Mr. Dunbar's sitting-room. + +This was all Clement Austin wanted to know. Surely it might be possible, +with a little clever management, to throw the banker completely off his +guard, and to bring about the long-delayed interview between him and +Margaret Wilmot. + +Clement returned to the Reindeer, had a brief conversation with +Margaret, and made all arrangements. + +At four o'clock that afternoon, Miss Wilmot and her lover left the +Reindeer in a fly; at a quarter to five the fly stopped at the +lodge-gates. + +"I will walk to the house," Margaret said; "my coming will attract less +notice. But I may be detained for some time, Clement. Pray, don't wait +for me. Your dear mother will be alarmed if you are very long absent. Go +back to her, and send the fly for me by-and-by." + +"Nonsense, Madge. I shall wait for you, however long you may be. Do you +think my heart is not as much engaged in anything that may influence +your fate as even your own can be? I won't go with you to the Abbey; for +it will be as well that Henry Dunbar should remain in ignorance of my +presence in the neighbourhood. I will walk up and down the road here, +and wait for you." + +"But you may have to wait so long, Clement." + +"No matter how long. I can wait patiently, but I could not endure to go +home and leave you, Madge." + +They were standing before the great iron gates as Clement said this. He +pressed Margaret's cold hand; he could feel how cold it was, even +through her glove; and then rang the bell. She looked at him as the gate +was opened; she turned and looked at him with a strangely earnest gaze +as she crossed the boundary of Henry Dunbar's domain, and then walked +slowly along the broad avenue. + +That last look had shown Clement Austin a pale resolute face, something +like the countenance of a fair young martyr going quietly to the stake. + +He walked away from the gates, and they shut behind him with a loud +clanging noise. Then he went back to them, and watched Margaret's figure +growing dim and distant in the gathering dusk as she approached the +Abbey. A faint glow of crimson firelight reddened the gravel-drive +before the windows of Mr. Dunbar's apartments, and there was a footman +airing himself under the shadow of the porch, with a glimmer of light +shining out of the hall behind him. + +"I do not suppose I shall have to wait very long for my poor girl," +Clement thought, as he left the gates, and walked briskly up and down +the road. "Henry Dunbar is a resolute man; he will refuse to see her +to-day, as he refused before." + +Margaret found the footman lolling against the clustered pillars of the +gothic porch, staring thoughtfully at the low evening light, yellow and +red behind the brown trunks of the elms, and picking his teeth with a +gold toothpick. + +The sight of the open hall-door, and this languid footman lolling in the +porch, suddenly inspired Margaret Wilmot with a new idea. Would it not +be possible to slip quietly past this man, and walk straight to the +apartments of Mr. Dunbar, unquestioned, uninterrupted? + +Clement had pointed out to her the windows of the rooms occupied by the +banker. They were on the left-hand side of the entrance-hall. It would +be impossible for her to mistake the door leading to them. It was dusk, +and she was very plainly dressed, with a black straw bonnet, and a veil +over her face. Surely she might deceive this languid footman by +affecting to be some hanger-on of the household, which of course was a +large one. + +In that case she had no right to present herself at the front door, +certainly; but then, before the languid footman could recover from the +first shock of indignation at her impertinence, she might slip past him +and reach the door leading to those apartments in which the banker hid +himself and his guilt. + +Margaret lingered a little in the avenue, watching for a favourable +opportunity in which she might hazard this attempt. She waited five +minutes or so. + +The curve of the avenue screened her, in some wise, from the man in the +porch, who never happened to roll his languid eyes towards the spot +where she was standing. + +A flight of rooks came scudding through the sky presently, very much +excited, and cawing and screeching as if they had been an ornithological +fire brigade hurrying to extinguish the flames of some distant rookery. + +The footman, who was suffering acutely from the complaint of not knowing +what to do with himself, came out of the porch and stood in the middle +of the gravelled drive, with his back towards Margaret, staring at the +birds as they flew westward. + +This was her opportunity. The girl hurried to the door with a light +step, so light upon the smooth solid gravel that the footman heard +nothing until she was on the broad stone step under the porch, when the +fluttering of her skirt, as it brushed against the pillars, roused him +from a species of trance or reverie. + +He turned sharply round, as upon a pivot, and stared aghast at the +retreating figure under the porch. + +"Hi, you there, young woman!" he exclaimed, without stirring from his +post; "where are you going to? What's the meaning of your coming to this +door? Are you aware that there's such a place as a servants' 'all and a +servants' hentrance?" + +But the languid retainer was too late. Margaret's hand was upon the +massive knob of the door upon the left side of the hall before the +footman had put this last indignant question. + +He listened for an apologetic murmur from the young woman; but hearing +none, concluded that she had found her way to the servants' hall, where +she had most likely some business or other with one of the female +members of the household. + +"A dressmaker, I dessay," the footman thought. "Those gals spend all +their earnings in finery and fallals, instead of behaving like +respectable young women, and saving up their money against they can go +into the public line with the man of their choice." + +He yawned, and went on staring at the rooks, without troubling himself +any further about the impertinent young person who had dared to present +herself at the grand entrance. + +Margaret opened the door, and went into the room next the hall. + +It was a handsome apartment, lined with books from the floor to the +ceiling; but it was quite empty, and there was no fire burning in the +grate. The girl put up her veil, and looked about her. She was very, +very pale now, and trembled violently; but she controlled her agitation +by a great effort, and went slowly on to the next room. + +The second room was empty like the first; but the door between it and +the next chamber was wide open, and Margaret saw the firelight shining +upon the faded tapestry, and reflected in the sombre depths of the +polished oak furniture. She heard the low sound of the light ashes +falling on the hearth, and the shorting breath of a dog. + +She knew that the man she sought, and had so long sought without avail, +was in that room. Alone; for there was no murmur of voices, no sound of +any one moving in the apartment. That hour, to which Margaret Wilmot had +looked as the great crisis of her life, had come; and her courage failed +her all at once, and her heart sank in her breast on the very threshold +of the chamber in which she was to stand face to face with Henry Dunbar. + +"The murderer of my father!" she thought; "the man whose influence +blighted my father's life, and made him what he was. The man through +whose reckless sin my father lived a life that left him, oh! how sadly +unprepared to die! The man who, knowing this, sent his victim before an +offended God, without so much warning as would have given him time to +think one prayer. I am going to meet _that_ man face to face!" + +Her breath came in faint gasps, and the firelit chamber swam before her +eyes as she crossed the threshold of that door, and went into the room +where Henry Dunbar was sitting alone before the low fire. + +He was wrapped in crimson draperies of thick woollen stuff, and the +leopard-skin railway rug was muffled about his knees A dog of the +bull-dog breed was lying asleep at the banker's feet, half-hidden in the +folds of the leopard-skin. Henry Dunbar's head was bent over the fire, +and his eyes were closed in a kind of dozing sleep, as Margaret Wilmot +went into the room. + +There was an empty chair opposite to that in which the banker sat; an +old-fashioned, carved oak-chair, with a high back and crimson-morocco +cushions. Margaret went softly up to this chair, and laid her hand upon +the oaken framework. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick Turkey +carpet; the banker never stirred from his doze, and even the dog at his +feet slept on. + +"Mr. Dunbar!" cried Margaret, in a clear, resolute voice; "awake! it is +I, Margaret Wilmot, the daughter of the man who was murdered in the +grove near Winchester!" + +The dog awoke, and snapped at her. The man lifted his head, and looked +at her. Even the fire seemed roused by the sound of her voice! for a +little jet of vivid light leaped up out of the smouldering log, and +lighted the scared face of the banker. + +Clement Austin had promised Margaret to wait for her, and to wait +patiently; and he meant to keep his promise. But there are some limits +even to the patience of a lover, though he were the veriest +knight-errant who was ever eager to shiver a lance or hack the edge of a +battle-axe for love of his liege lady. When you have nothing to do but +to walk up and down a few yards of hard dusty high-road, upon a bleak +evening in January, an hour more or less is of considerable importance. +Five o'clock struck about ten minutes after Margaret Wilmot had entered +the park, and Clement thought to himself that even if Margaret were +successful in obtaining an interview with the banker, that interview +would be over before six. But the faint strokes of Lisford-church clock +died away upon the cold evening wind, and Clement was still pacing up +and down, and the fly was still waiting; the horse comfortable enough, +with a rug upon his back and his nose in a bag of oats; the man walking +up and down by the side of the vehicle, slapping his gloved hands across +his shoulders every now and then to keep himself warm. In that long hour +between six and seven, Clement Austin's patience wore itself almost +threadbare. It is one thing to ride into the lists on a prancing steed, +caparisoned with embroidered trappings, worked by the fair hands of your +lady-love, and with the trumpets braying, and the populace shouting, and +the Queen of beauty smiling sweet approval of your prowess: but it is +quite another thing to walk up and down a dusty country road, with the +wind biting like some ravenous animal at the tip of your nose, and no +more consciousness of your legs and arms than if you were a Miss Biffin. + +By the time seven o'clock struck, Clement Austin's patience had given up +the ghost; and to impatience had succeeded a vague sense of alarm. +Margaret Wilmot had gone to force herself into this man's presence, in +spite of his reiterated refusal to see her. What if--what if, goaded by +her persistence, maddened by the consciousness of his own guilt, he +should attempt any violence. + +Oh, no, no; that was quite impossible. If this man was guilty, his crime +had been deliberately planned, and executed with such a diabolical +cunning, that he had been able so far to escape detection. In his own +house, surrounded by prying servants, he would never dare to assail this +girl by so much as a harsh word. + +But, notwithstanding this, Clement was determined to wait no longer. He +would go to the Abbey at once, and ascertain the cause of Margaret's +delay. He rang the bell, went into the park, and ran along the avenue to +the perch. Lights were shining in Mr. Dunbar's windows, but the great +hall-door was closely shut. + +The languid footman came in answer to Clement's summons. + +"There is a young lady here," Clement said, breathlessly; "a young +lady--with Mr. Dunbar." + +"Ho! is that hall?" asked the footman, satirically. "I thought +Shorncliffe town-'all was a-fire, at the very least, from the way you +rung. There _was_ a young pusson with Mr. Dunbar above a hour ago, if +_that's_ what you mean?" + +"Above an hour ago?" cried Clement Austin, heedless of the man's +impertinence in his own growing anxiety; "do you mean to say that the +young lady has left?" + +"She _have_ left, above a hour ago." + +"She went away from this house an hour ago?" + +"More than a hour ago." + +"Impossible!" Clement said; "impossible!" + +"It may be so," answered the footman, who was of an ironical turn of +mind; "but I let her out with my own hands, and I saw her go out with my +own eyes, notwithstanding." + +The man shut the door before Clement had recovered from his surprise, +and left him standing in the porch; bewildered, though he scarcely knew +why; frightened, though he scarcely knew what he feared. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +MARGARET'S RETURN. + + +For some minutes Clement Austin lingered in the porch at Maudesley +Abbey, utterly at a loss as to what he should do next. + +Margaret had left the Abbey an hour ago, according to the footman's +statement; but, in that case, where had she gone? Clement had been +walking up and down the road before the iron gates of the park, and they +had not been opened once during the hours in which he had waited outside +them. Margaret could not have left the park, therefore, by the principal +entrance. If she had gone away at all, she must have gone out by one of +the smaller gates--by the lodge-gate upon the Lisford Road, perhaps, and +thus back to Shorncliffe. + +"But then, why, in Heaven's name, had Margaret set out to walk home when +the fly was waiting for her at the gates; when her lover was also +waiting for her, full of anxiety to know the result of the step she had +taken? + +"She forgot that I was waiting for her, perhaps," Clement thought to +himself. "She may have forgotten all about me, in the fearful excitement +of this night's work." + +The young man was by no means pleased by this idea. + +"Margaret can love me very little, in that case," he said to himself. +"My first thought, in any great crisis of my life, would be to go to +her, and tell her all that had happened to me." + +There were no less than four different means of exit from the park. +Clement Austin knew this, and he knew that it would take him upwards of +two hours to go to all four of them. + +"I'll make inquiries at the gate upon the Lisford Road," he said to +himself; "and if I find Margaret has left by that way, I can get the fly +round there, and pick her up between this and Shorncliffe. Poor girl, in +her ignorance of this neighbourhood, she has no idea of the distance she +will have to walk!" + +Mr. Austin could not help feeling vexed by Margaret's conduct; but he +did all he could to save the girl from the fatigue she was likely to +entail upon herself through her own folly. He ran to the lodge upon the +Lisford Road, and asked the woman who kept it, if a lady had gone out +about an hour before. + +The woman told him that a young lady had gone out an hour and a half +before. + +This was enough. Clement ran across the park to the western entrance, +got into the fly, and told the man to drive back to Shorncliffe, by the +Lisford Road, as fast as he could go, and to look out on the way for the +young lady whom he had driven to Maudesley Abbey that afternoon. + +"You watch the left side of the road, I'll watch the right," Clement +said. + +The driver was cold and cross, but he was anxious to get back to +Shorncliffe, and he drove very fast. + +Clement sat with the window down, and the frosty wind blowing full upon +his face as he looted out for Margaret. + +But he reached Shorncliffe without having overtaken her, and the fly +crawled under the ponderous archway beneath which the dashing +mail-coaches had rolled in the days that were for ever gone. + +"She must have got home before me," the cashier thought; "I shall find +her up-stairs with my mother." + +He went up to the large room with the bow-window. The table in the +centre of the room was laid for dinner, and Mrs. Austin was nodding in a +great arm-chair near the fire, with the county newspaper in her lap. The +wax-candles were lighted, the crimson curtains were drawn before the +bow-window, and the room looked altogether very comfortable: but there +was no Margaret. + +The widow started up at the sound of the opening of the door and her +son's hurried footsteps. + +"Why, Clement," she cried, "how late you are! I seem to have been +sitting dozing here for full two hours; and the fire has been +replenished three times since the cloth was laid for dinner. What have +you been doing, my dear boy?" + +Clement looked about him before he answered. + +"Yes, I am very late, mother, I know," he said; "but where's Margaret?" + +Mrs. Austin stared aghast at her son's question. + +"Why, Margaret is with you, is she not?" she exclaimed. + +"No, mother; I expected to find her here." + +"Did you leave her, then?" + +"No, not exactly; that is to say, I----" + +Clement did not finish the sentence. He walked slowly up and down the +room thinking, whilst his mother watched him very anxiously. + +"My dear Clement," Mrs. Austin exclaimed at last, "you really quite +alarm me. You set out this afternoon upon some mysterious expedition +with Margaret; and though I ask you both where you are going, you both +refuse to satisfy my very natural curiosity, and look as solemn as if +you were about to attend a funeral. Then, after ordering dinner for +seven o'clock, you keep it waiting nearly two hours; and you come in +without Margaret, and seem alarmed at not seeing net here. What does it +all mean, Clement?" + +"I cannot tell you, mother." + +"What! is this business of to-day, then, a part of your secret?" + +"It is," answered the cashier. "I can only say again what I said before, +mother--trust me!" + +The widow sighed, and shrugged her shoulders with a deprecating gesture. + +"I suppose I _must_ be satisfied, Clem," she said. "But this is the +first time there's ever been anything like a mystery between you and +me." + +"It is, mother; and I hope it may be the last." + +The elderly waiter, who remembered the coaching days, and pretended to +believe that the Reindeer was not an institution of the past, came in +presently with the first course. + +It happened to be one of those days on which fish was to be had in +Shorncliffe; and the first course consisted of a pair of very small +soles and a large cruet-stand. The waiter removed the cover with as +lofty a flourish as if the small soles had been the noblest turbot that +ever made the glory of an aldermannic feast. + +Clement seated himself at the dinner-table, in deference to his mother, +and went through the ceremony of dinner; but he scarcely ate half a +dozen mouthfuls. His ears were strained to hear the sound of Margaret's +footstep in the corridor without; and he rejected the waiter's +fish-sauces in a manner that almost wounded the feelings of that +functionary. His mind was racked by anxiety about the missing girl. + +Had he passed her on the road? No, that was very improbable; for he had +kept so sharp a watch upon the lonely highway that it was more than +unlikely the familiar figure of her whom he looked for could have +escaped his eager eyes. Had Mr. Dunbar detained her at Maudesley Abbey +against her will? No, no, that was quite impossible; for the footman had +distinctly declared that he had seen his master's visitor leave the +house; and the footman's manner had been innocence itself. + +The dinner-table was cleared by-and-by, and Mrs. Austin produced some +coloured wools, and a pair of ivory knitting-needles, and set to work +very quietly by the light of the tall wax-candles; but even she was +beginning to be uneasy at the absence of hot son's betrothed wife. + +"My dear Clement," she said at last, "I'm really growing quite uneasy +about Madge. How is it that you left her?" + +Clement did not answer this question; but he got up and took his hat +from a side-table near the door. + +"I'm uneasy about her absence too, mother," he said, "I'll go and look +for her." + +He was leaving the room, but his mother called to him. + +"Clement!" she cried, "you surely won't go out without your +greatcoat--upon such a bitter night as this, too!" + +But Mr. Austin did not stop to listen to his mother's remonstrance; he +hurried out into the corridor, and shut the door of the room behind him. +He wanted to run away and look for Margaret, though he did not know how +or where to seek for her. Quiescence had become intolerable to him. It +was utterly impossible that he should sit calmly by the fire, waiting +for the coming of the girl he loved. + +He was hurrying along the corridor, but he stopped abruptly, for a +well-known figure appeared upon the broad landing at the top of the +stairs. There was an archway at the end of the corridor, and a lamp hung +under the archway. By the light of this lamp, Clement Austin saw +Margaret Wilmot coming towards him slowly: as if she dragged herself +along by a painful effort, and would have been well content to sink upon +the carpeted floor and lie there helpless and inert. + +Clement ran to meet her, with his face lighted up by that intense +delight which a man feels when some intolerable fear is suddenly lifted +off his mind. + +"Margaret!" he cried; "thank God you have returned! Oh, my dear, if you +only knew what misery your conduct has caused me!" + +He held out his arms, but, to his unutterable surprise, the girl +recoiled from him. She recoiled from him with a look of horror, and +shrank against the wall, as if her chief desire was to avoid the +slightest contact with her lover. + +Clement was startled by the blank whiteness of her face, the fixed stare +of her dilated eyes. The January wind had blown her hair about her +forehead in loose disordered tresses; her shawl and dress were wet with +melted snow; but the cashier scarcely looked at these. He only saw her +face; his gaze was fascinated by the girl's awful pallor, and the +strange expression of her eyes. + +"My darling," he said, "come into the parlour. My mother has been almost +as much alarmed as I have been. Come, Margaret; my poor girl, I can see +that this interview has been too much for you. Come, dear." + +Once more he approached her, and again she shrank away from him, +dragging herself along against the wall, and with her eyes still fixed +in the same deathlike stare. + +"Don't speak to me, Clement Austin," she cried; "don't approach me. +There is contamination in me. I am no fit associate for an honest man. +Don't come near me." + +He would have gone to her, to clasp her in his arms, and comfort her +with soothing, tender words; but there was something in her eyes that +held him at bay, as if he had been rooted to the spot on which he stood. + +"Margaret!" he cried. + +He followed her, but she still recoiled from him, and, as he held out +his hand to grasp her wrist, she slipped by him suddenly, and rushed +away towards the other end of the corridor. + +Clement followed her; but she opened a door at the end of the passage, +and went into Mrs. Austin's room. The cashier heard the key turned +hurriedly in the lock, and he knew that Margaret Wilmot had locked +herself in. The room in which she slept was inside that occupied by Mrs. +Austin. + +Clement stood for some moments almost paralyzed by what had happened. +Had he done wrong in seeking to bring about this interview between +Margaret Wilmot and Henry Dunbar? He began to think that he had been +most culpable. This impulsive and sensitive girl had seen her father's +assassin: and the horror of the meeting had been too much for her +impressionable nature, and had produced, for the time at least, a +fearful effect upon her over-wrought brain. + +"I must appeal to my mother," Clement thought; "she alone can give me +any help in this business." + +He hurried back to the sitting-room, and found his mother still watching +the rapid movements of her ivory knitting-needles. The Reindeer was a +well-built house, solid and old-fashioned, and listeners lurking in the +long passages had small chance of reaping much reward for their pains +unless they found a friendly keyhole. + +Mrs. Austin looked up with an expression of surprise as her son +re-entered the room. + +"I thought you had gone to look for Margaret," she said. + +"There was no occasion to do so, mother; she has returned." + +"Thank Heaven for that! I have been quite alarmed by her strange +absence." + +"So have I, mother; but I am still more alarmed by her manner, now that +she has returned. I asked you just now to trust me, mother," said +Clement, very gravely. "It is my turn now to confide in you. The +business in which Margaret has been engaged this evening was of a most +painful nature--so painful that I am scarcely surprised by the effect +that it has produced on her sensitive mind. I want you to go to her, +mother. I want you to comfort my poor girl. She has locked herself in +her own room; but she will admit you, no doubt. Go to her, dear mother, +and try and quiet her excitement, while I go for a medical man." + +"You think she is ill, then, Clement?" + +"I don't know that, mother; but such violent emotion as she has +evidently endured might produce brain-fever. I'll go and look for a +doctor." + +Clement hurried down to the hall of the hotel, while his mother went to +seek Margaret. He found the landlord, who directed him to the favourite +Shorncliffe medical man. + +Luckily, Mr. Vincent, the surgeon, was at home. He received Clement very +cordially, put on his hat without five minutes delay, and accompanied +Margaret's lover back to the Reindeer. + +"It is a case of mental excitement," Clement said. "There may be no +necessity for medical treatment; but I shall feel more comfortable when +you have seen this poor girl." + +Clement conducted Mr. Vincent to the sitting-room, which was empty. + +"I'll go and see how Miss Wilmot is now," the cashier said. The doctor +gave a scarcely perceptible start as he heard that name of Wilmot. The +murder of Joseph Wilmot had formed the subject of many a long discussion +amongst the towns-people at Shorncliffe, and the familiar name struck +the surgeon's ear. + +"But what of that?" thought Mr. Vincent. "The name is not such a very +uncommon one." + +Clement went to his mother's room and knocked softly at the door. The +widow came out to him presently. + +"How is she now?" Clement asked. + +"I can scarcely tell you. Her manner frightens me. She is lying on her +bed as motionless as if she were a corpse, and with her eyes fixed upon +the blank wall opposite to her. When I speak to her, she does not answer +me by so much as a look; but if I go near her she shivers, and gives a +long shuddering sigh. What does it all mean, Clement?" + +"Heaven knows, mother. I can only tell you that she has gone through a +meeting which was certainly calculated to have considerable effect upon +her mind. But I had no idea that the effect would be anything like this. +Can the doctor come?" + +"Yes; he had better come at once." + +Clement returned to the sitting-room, and remained there while Mr. +Vincent went to see Margaret. To Poor Clement it seemed as if the +surgeon was absent nearly an hour, so intolerable was the anguish of +that interval of suspense. + +At last, however, the creaking footstep of the medical man sounded in +the corridor. Clement hurried to the door to meet him. + +"Well!" he cried, eagerly. + +Mr. Vincent shook his head. + +"It is a case in which my services can be of very little avail," he +said; "the young lady is suffering from some mental uneasiness, which +she refuses to communicate to her friends. If you could get her to talk +to you, she would no doubt be very much benefited. If she were an +ordinary person, she would cry, and the relief of tears would have a +most advantageous effect upon her mind. Our patient is by no means an +ordinary person She has a very strong will." + +"Margaret has a strong will!" exclaimed Clement, with a look of +surprise; "why, she is gentleness itself." + +"Very likely; but she has a will of iron, nevertheless. I implored her +to speak to me just now; the tone of her voice would have helped to some +slight diagnosis of her state; but I might as well have implored a +statue. She only shook her head slowly, and she never once looked at me. +However, I will send her a sedative draught, which had better be taken +immediately, and I'll look round in the morning." + +Mr. Vincent left the Reindeer, and Clement went to his mother's room. +That loving mother was ready to sympathize with every trouble that +affected her only son. She came out of Margaret's room and went to meet +Clement. + +"Is she still the same, mother?" he asked. + +"Yes, quite the same. Would you like to see her?" + +"Very much." + +Mrs. Austin and her son went into the adjoining chamber. Margaret was +lying, dressed in the damp, draggled gown which she had worn that +afternoon, upon the outside of the bed. The dull stony look of her face +filled Clement's mind with an awful terror. He began to fear that she +was going mad. + +He sat down upon a chair close by the bed, and watched her for some +moments in silence, while his mother stood by, scarcely less anxious +than himself. + +Margaret's arm hung loosely by her side as lifeless in its attitude as +if it had belonged to the dead. Clement took the slender hand in his. +Lie had expected to find it dry and burning with feverish heat; but, to +his surprise, it was cold as ice. + +"Margaret," he said, in a low earnest voice, "you know how dearly I have +loved and do love you; you know how entirely my happiness depends upon +yours; surely, my dear one, you will not refuse--you cannot be so cruel +as to keep your sorrow a secret from him who has so good a right to +share it? Speak to me, my darling. Remember what suffering you are +inflicting upon me by this cruel silence." + +At last the hazel eyes lost their fixed look, and wandered for a moment +to Clement Austin's face. + +"Have pity upon me," the girl said, in a hoarse unnatural voice; "have +compassion upon me, for I need man's mercy as well as the mercy of God. +Have some pity upon me, Clement Austin, and leave me; I will talk to you +to-morrow." + +"You will tell me all that has happened?" + +"I will talk to you to-morrow," answered Margaret, looking at her lover +with a white, inflexible face; "but leave me now; leave me, or I will +run out of this room, and away from this house. I shall go mad if I am +not left alone!" + +Clement Austin rose from his seat near the bedside. + +"I am going, Margaret," he said, in a tone of wounded feeling; "but I +leave you with a heavy heart. I did not think there would ever come a +time in which you would reject my sympathy." + +"I will talk to you to-morrow," Margaret said, for the second time. + +She spoke in a strange mechanical way, as if this had been a set speech +which she had arranged for herself. + +Clement stood looking at her for some little time; but there was no +change either in her face or attitude, and the young man went slowly and +sorrowfully from the room. + +"I leave her in your hands, mother," he said. "I know how tender and +true a friend she has in you; I leave her in your care, under +Providence. May Heaven have pity upon her and me!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +FAREWELL. + + +Margaret submitted to take the sedative draught sent by the medical man. +She submitted, at Mrs. Austin's request; but it seemed as if she +scarcely understood why the medicine was offered to her. She was like a +sleep-walker, whose brain is peopled by the creatures of a dream, and +who has no consciousness of the substantial realities that surround him. + +The draught Mr. Vincent had spoken of as a sedative turned out to be a +very powerful opiate, and Margaret sank into a profound slumber about a +quarter of an hour after taking the medicine. + +Mrs. Austin went to Clement to carry him these good tidings. + +"I shall sit up two or three hours, and see how the poor girl goes on, +Clement," the widow said; "but I hope you'll go to bed; I know all this +excitement has worn you out." + +"No, mother; I feel no sense of fatigue." + +"But you will try to get some rest, to please me? See, dear boy, it's +already nearly twelve o'clock." + +"Yes, if you wish it, mother, I'll go to my room," Mr. Austin answered, +quickly. + +His room was near those occupied by his mother and Margaret, much nearer +than the sitting-room. He bade Mrs. Austin good night and left her; but +he had no thought of going to bed, or even trying to sleep. He went to +his own room, and walked up and down; going out into the corridor every +now and then, to listen at the door of his mother's chamber. + +He heard nothing. Some time between two and three o'clock Mrs. Austin +opened the door of her room, and found her son lingering in the +corridor. + +"Is she still asleep, mother?" he asked. + +"Yes, and she is sleeping very calmly. I am going to bed now; pray try +to get some sleep yourself, Clem." + +"I will, mother." + +Clement returned to his room. He was thankful, as he thought that sleep +would bring tranquillity and relief to Margaret's overwrought brain. He +went to bed and fell asleep, for he was exhausted by the fatigue of the +day and the anxiety of the night. Poor Clement fell asleep, and dreamt +that he met Margaret Wilmot by moonlight in the park around Maudesley +Abbey, walking with a DEAD MAN, whose face was strange to him. This was +the last of many dreams, all more or less grotesque or horrible, but +none so vivid or distinct as this. The end of the vision woke Clement +with a sudden shock, and he opened his eyes upon the cold morning light, +which seemed especially cold in this chamber at the Reindeer, where the +paper on the walls was of the palest grey, and every curtain or drapery +of a spotless white. + +Clement lost no time over his toilet. He looked at his watch while +dressing, and found that it was between seven and eight. It wanted a +quarter to eight when he left his room, and went to his mother's door to +inquire about Margaret. He knocked softly, but there was no answer; then +he tried the door, and finding it unlocked, opened it a few inches with +a cautious hand, and listened to his mother's regular breathing. + +"She is asleep, poor soul," he thought. "I won't disturb her, for she +must want rest after sitting up half last night." + +Clement closed the door as noiselessly as he had opened it, and then +went slowly to the sitting-room. There was a struggling fire in the +shining grate; and the indefatigable waiter, who refused to believe in +the extinction of mail-coaches, had laid the breakfast +apparatus--frosty-looking white-and-blue cups and saucers on a snowy +cloth, a cut-glass cream-jug that looked as if it had been made out of +ice, and a brazen urn in the last stage of polish. The breakfast service +was harmoniously adapted to the season, and eminently calculated to +produce a fit of shivering in the sojourner at the Reindeer. + +But Clement Austin did not bestow so much as one glance upon the +breakfast-table. He hurried to the bow-window, where Margaret Wilmot was +sitting, neatly dressed in her morning garments, with her shawl on, and +her bonnet lying on a chair near her. + +"Margaret!" exclaimed Clement, as he approached the place where Joseph +Wilmot's daughter was sitting; "my dear Margaret, why did you get up so +early this morning, when you so much need rest?" + +The girl rose and looked at her lover with a grave and quiet earnestness +of expression; but her face was quite as colourless as it had been upon +the previous night, and her lips trembled a little as she spoke to +Clement. + +"I have had sufficient rest," she said, in a low, tremulous voice; "I +got up early because--because--I am going away." + +Her two hands had been hanging loosely amongst the fringes of her shawl; +she lifted them now, and linked her fingers together with a convulsive +motion; but she never withdrew her eyes from Clement's face, and her +glance never faltered as she looked at him. + +"Going away, Margaret?" the cashier cried; "going away--to-day--this +morning?" + +"Yes, by the half-past nine o'clock train." + +"Margaret, you must be mad to talk of such a thing." + +"No," the girl answered, slowly; "that is the strangest thing of all--I +am not mad. I am going away, Clement--Mr. Austin. I wished to avoid +seeing you. I meant to have written to you to tell you----" + +"To tell me what, Margaret?" asked Clement. "Is it I who am going mad; +or am I dreaming all this?" + +"It is no dream, Mr. Austin. My letter would have only told you the +truth. I am going away from here because I can never be your wife." + +"You can never be my wife! Why not, Margaret?" + +"I cannot tell you the reason." + +"But you _shall_ tell me, Margaret!" cried Clement, passionately. "I +will accept no sentence such as this until I know the reason for +pronouncing it; I will suffer no imaginary barrier to stand between you +and me. There is some mystery, some mystification in all this, Margaret; +some woman's fancy, which a few words of explanation would set at rest. +Margaret, my pearl! do you think I will consent to lose you so lightly? +My own dear love! do you know me so little as to think that I will part +with you? My love is a stronger passion than you think, Madge; and the +bondage you accepted when you promised to be my wife is a bondage that +cannot so easily be shaken off!" + +Margaret watched her lover's face with melancholy, tearless eyes. + +"Fate is stronger than love, Clement," she said, mournfully, "I can +never be your wife!" + +"Why not?" + +"For a reason which you can never know." + +"Margaret, I will not submit----" + +"You must submit," the girl said, holding up her hand, as if to stop her +lover's passionate words. "You must submit, Clement. This world seems +very hard sometimes, so hard that in a dreadful interval of dull despair +the heavens are hidden from us, and we cannot recognize the Eternal +wisdom guiding the hand that afflicts us. My life seems very hard to me +to-day, Clement. Do not try to make it harder. I am a most unhappy +woman; and in all the world there is only one favour you can grant me. +Let me go away unquestioned; and blot my image from your heart for ever +when I am gone." + +"I will never consent to let you go," Clement Austin answered, +resolutely. "You are mine by right of your own most sacred promise, +Margaret. No womanish folly shall part us." + +"Heaven knows it is no woman's folly that parts us, Clement," the girl +answered, in a plaintive, tremulous voice. + +"What is it, then, Margaret?" + +"I can never tell you." + +"You will change your mind." + +"Never." + +She looked at him with an air of quiet resolution stamped upon her +colourless face. + +Clement remembered what the doctor had said of his patient's iron will. +Was it possible that Mr. Vincent had been right? Was this gentle girl's +resolution to overrule a strong man's passionate vehemence? + +"What is it that can part us, Margaret?" Mr. Austin cried. "What is it? +You saw Mr. Dunbar yesterday?" + +The girl shuddered, and over her colourless face there came a livid +shade, which was more deathlike than the marble whiteness that had +preceded it. + +"Yes," Margaret Wilmot said, after a pause. "I was--very fortunate. I +gained admission to--Mr. Dunbar's rooms." + +"And you spoke to him?" + +"Yes." + +"Did your interview with him confirm or dissipate your suspicions? Do +you still believe that Henry Dunbar murdered your unhappy father?" + +"No," answered Margaret, resolutely; "I do not." + +"You do not? The banker's manner convinced you of his innocence, then?" + +"I do not believe that Henry Dunbar murdered my--my unhappy father." + +It is impossible to describe the tone of anguish with which Margaret +spoke those last three words. + +"But something transpired in that interview at Maudesley Abbey, +Margaret? Henry Dunbar told you something--perhaps something about your +dead father--some disgraceful secret which you never heard before; and +you think that the shame of that secret is a burden which I would fear +to carry? You mistake my nature, Margaret, and you commit a cruel +treason against my love. Be my wife, dear one; and if malicious people +should point to you, and say, 'Clement Austin's wife is the daughter of +a thief and a forger,' I would give them back scorn for scorn, and tell +them that I honour my wife for virtues that have been sometimes missing +in the consort of an emperor." + +For the first time that morning Margaret's eyes grew dim, but she +brushed away the gathering tears with a rapid movement of her trembling +hand. + +"You are a good man, Clement Austin," she said; "and I--wish that I were +better worthy of you. You are a good man; but you are very cruel to me +to-day. Have pity upon me, and let me go." + +She drew a pretty little watch from her waist, and looked at the dial. +Then, suddenly remembering that the watch had been Clement's gift, she +took the slender chain from her neck, and handed them both to him. + +"You gave me these when I was your betrothed wife, Mr. Austin; I have no +right to keep them now." + +She spoke very mournfully; but poor Clement was only mortal. He was a +good man, as Margaret had just declared; but, unhappily, good men are +apt to fly into passions as well as their inferiors in the scale of +morality. + +Clement Austin threw the pretty little Genevese toy upon the floor, and +ground it to atoms under the heel of his boot. + +"You are cruel and unjust, Mr. Austin," Margaret said. + +"I am a man, Miss Wilmot," Clement answered, bitterly; "and I have the +feelings of a man. When the woman I have loved and believed in turns +upon me, and coolly tells me that she means to break my heart, without +so much as deigning to give me a reason for her conduct, I am not so +much a gentleman as to be able to smile politely, and request her to +please herself." + +The cashier turned away from Margaret, and walked two at three times up +and down the room. He was in a passion, but grief and indignation were +so intermingled in his breast that he scarcely knew which was uppermost. +But grief and love allied themselves presently, and together were much +too strong for indignation. + +Clement Austin went back to the window; Margaret was standing where he +had left her, but she had put on her bonnet and gloves, and was quite +ready to leave the house. + +"Margaret," said Mr. Austin, trying to take her hand; but she drew +herself away from him, almost as she had shrunk from him in the corridor +on the previous night; "Margaret, once for all, listen to me. I love +you, and I believe you love me. If this is true, no obstacle on earth +shall part us so long as we live. There is only one condition upon which +I will let you go this day." + +"What is that condition?" + +"Tell me that I have been fooled by my own egotism. I am twelve years +older than you, Margaret, and there is nothing very romantic or +interesting either in myself or my worldly position. Tell me that you do +not love me. I am a proud man, I will not sue _in formâ pauperis_. If +you do not love me, Margaret, you are free to go." + +Margaret bowed her head, and moved slowly towards the door. + +"You are going--Miss Wilmot!" + +"Yes, I am going. Farewell, Mr. Austin." + +Clement caught the retreating girl by her wrist. + +"You shall not go thus, Margaret Wilmot!" he cried, passionately--"not +thus! You shall speak to me! You shall speak plainly! You shall speak +the truth! You do not love me?" + +"No; I do not love you." + +"It was all a farce, then--a delusion--it was all falsehood and trickery +from first to last. When you smiled at me, your smile was a mockery; +when you blushed, your blushes were the simulated blushes of a professed +coquette. Every tender word you have ever spoken to me--every tremulous +cadence in your low voice--every tearful look in the eyes that have +seemed so truthful--all--it has altogether been false--altogether a +delusion--a----" + +The strong man covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud. +Margaret watched him with tearless eyes; her lips were convulsively +contracted, but there was no other evidence of emotion in her face. + +"Why did you do this, Margaret?" Clement asked at last, in a +heart-rending voice; "why did you do this cruel thing?" + +"I will tell you why," the girl answered, slowly and deliberately; "I +will tell you why, Mr. Austin; and then I shall seem utterly despicable +in your eyes, and it will be a very easy thing for you to blot my image +from your heart. I was a poor desolate girl; and I was worse than poor +and desolate, for the stain of my father's shameful history blackened my +name. It was a fine thing for such as me to win the love of an honest +man--a gentleman--who could shelter me from all the troubles of life, +and give me a stainless name and an honourable place in society. I was +the daughter of a returned convict, an outcast, and your love offered me +a splendid chance of redemption from the black depths of disgrace and +misery in which I lived. I was only mortal, Clement Austin; what was +there in my blood that should make me noble, or good, or strong to stand +against temptation? I seized upon the one chance of my miserable life; I +plotted to win your love. Step by step I lured you on until you offered +to make me your wife. That was my end and aim. I triumphed; and for a +time enjoyed my success, and the advantages that it brought me. But I +suppose the worst sinners have some kind of conscience. Mine was +awakened last night, and I resolved to spare you the misery of being +married to a woman who comes of such a race as that from which I +spring." + +Nothing could be more callous than the manner with which Margaret Wilmot +had made this speech. Her tones had never faltered. She had spoken +slowly, pausing before every fresh sentence; but she had spoken like a +wretched creature, whose withered heart was almost incapable of womanly +emotion. Clement Austin looked at her with a blank wondering stare. + +"Oh! great heavens!" he cried at last; "how could I think it possible +that any man could be as cruelly deceived as I have been by this woman!" + +"I may go now, Mr. Austin?" said Margaret. + +"Yes, you may go now--_you_, who once were the woman I loved; you, who +have thrown away the beautiful mask I believed in, and revealed to me +the face of a skeleton; you, who have lifted the silver veil of +imagination to show me the hideous ghastliness of reality. Go, Margaret +Wilmot; and may Heaven forgive you!" + +"Do you forgive me, Mr. Austin?" + +"Not yet. I will pray God to make me strong enough to forgive you!" + +"Farewell, Clement!" + +If my readers have seen _Manfred_ at Drury Lane, let them remember the +tone in which Miss Rose Leclercq breathed her last farewell to Mr. +Phelps, and they will know how Margaret Wilmot pronounced this mournful +word--love's funeral bell,-- + +"Farewell, Clement!" + +"One word, Miss Wilmot," cried Mr. Austin. "I have loved you too much in +the past ever to become indifferent to your fate. Where are you going?" + +"To London." + +"To your old apartments at Clapham?" + +"Oh, no, no!" + +"Have you money--money enough to last you for some time?" + +"Yes; I have saved money." + +"If you should be in want of help, will you let me help you?" + +"Willingly, Mr. Austin. I am not too proud to accept your help in the +hour of my need." + +"You will write to me, then, at my mother's, or you will write to my +mother herself, if ever you require assistance. I shall tell my mother +nothing of what has passed between us this day, except that we have +parted. You are going by the half-past nine o'clock train, you say, Miss +Wilmot?" + +Clement had only spoken the truth when he said that he was a proud man. +He asked this question in the same business-like tone in which he might +have addressed a lady who was quite indifferent to him. + +"Yes, Mr. Austin." + +"I will order a fly for you, then. You have five minutes to spare. And I +will send one of the waiters to the station, so that you may have no +trouble about your luggage." + +Clement rang the bell, and gave the necessary orders. Then he bowed +gravely to Margaret, and wished her good morning as she left the room. + +And this is how Margaret Wilmot parted from Clement Austin. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG. + + +While Henry Dunbar sat in his lonely room at Maudesley Abbey, held +prisoner by his broken leg, and waiting anxiously for the hour in which +he should be allowed the privilege of taking his first experimental +promenade upon crutches, Sir Philip Jocelyn and his beautiful young wife +drove together on the crowded boulevards of the French capital. + +They had been southward, and had returned to the gayest capital in all +the world at the time when that capital is at its best and brightest. +They had returned to Paris for the early new year: and, as this year +happened fortunately to be ushered into existence by a sharp frost and a +bright sunny sky, the boulevards were not the black rivers of mud and +slush that they are apt to be in the first days of the infantine year. +Prince Louis Napoleon Buonaparte was only First President as yet; and +Paris was by no means the wonderful city of endless boulevards and +palatial edifices that it has since grown to be under the master hand +which rules and beautifies it, as a lover adorns his mistress. But it +was not the less the most charming city in the universe; and Philip +Jocelyn and his wife were as happy as two children in this paradise of +brick and mortar. + +They suited each other so well; they were never tired of each other's +society, or at a stand-still for want of something to say to each other. +They were rather frivolous, perhaps; but a little frivolity may be +pardoned in two people who were so very young and so entirely happy. Sir +Philip may have been a little too much devoted to horses and dogs, and +Laura may have been a shade too enthusiastic upon the subject of new +bonnets, and the jewellery in the Rue de la Paix. But if they idled a +little just now, in this delicious honeymoon-time, when it was so sweet +to be together always, from morning till night, driving in a sleigh with +jingling bells upon the snowy roads in the Bois, sitting on the balcony +at Meurice's at night, looking down into the long lamp-lit street and +the misty gardens, where the trees were leafless and black against the +dark blue sky, they meant to do their duty, and be useful to their +fellow-creatures, when they were settled at Jocelyn's Rock. Sir Philip +had half-a-dozen schemes for free schools, and model cottages with ovens +that would bake everything in the world, and chimneys that would never +smoke. And Laura had her own pet plans. Was she not an heiress, and +therefore specially sent into the world to give happiness to people who +had been born without that pleasant appendage of a silver spoon in their +infantine mouths? She meant to be scrupulously conscientious in the +administration of her talents; and sometimes at church on a Sunday, when +the sermon was particularly awakening, she mentally debated the serious +question as to whether new bonnets, and a pair of Jouvin's gloves daily, +were not sinful; but I think she decided that the new bonnets and gloves +were, on the whole, a pardonable weakness, as being good for trade. + +The Warwickshire baronet knew a good many people in Paris, and he and +his bride received a very enthusiastic welcome from these old friends, +who pronounced that Miladi Jocelyn was _charmante_ and _la belle des +belles_; and that Sir Jocelyn was the most fortunate of men in having +discovered this gay, lighthearted girl amongst the prudish and +pragmatical _meess_ of the _brumeuse Angleterre_. + +Laura made herself very much at home with her Parisian acquaintance; and +in the grand house in the Rue Lepelletier many a glass was turned full +upon the beautiful English bride with the _chevelure doré_ and the +violet blue eyes. + +One morning Laura told her husband, with a gay laugh, that she was going +to victimize him; but he was to promise to be patient and bear with her +for once in a way. + +"What is it you want me to do, my darling?" + +"I want you to give me a long day in the Luxembourg. I want to see all +the pictures--the modern pictures especially. I remember all the +Rubenses at the Louvre, for I saw them three years ago, when I was +staying in Paris with grandpapa. I like the modern pictures best, +Philip: and I want you to tell me all about the artists, and what I +ought to admire, and all that sort of thing." + +Sir Philip never refused his wife anything; so he said, yes: and Laura +ran away to her dressing-room like a school-girl who has been pleading +for a holiday and has won her cause. She returned in a little more than +ten minutes, in the freshest toilette, all pale shimmering blue, like +the spring sky, with pearl-grey gloves and boots and parasol, and a +bonnet that seemed made of azure butterflies. + +It was drawing towards the close of this delightful honeymoon tour, and +it was a bright sunshiny morning early in February; but February in +Paris is sometimes better than April in London. + +Philip Jocelyn's work that morning was by no means light, for Laura was +fond of pictures, in a frivolous amateurish kind of way; and she ran +from one canvas to another, like a fickle-minded bee that is bewildered +by the myriad blossoms of a boundless parterre. But she fixed upon a +picture which she said she preferred to anything she had seen in the +gallery. + +Philip Jocelyn was examining some pictures on the other side of the room +when his wife made this discovery. She hurried to him immediately, and +led him off to look at the picture. It was a peasant-girl's head, very +exquisitely painted by a modern artist, and the baronet approved his +wife's taste. + +"How I wish you could get me a copy of that picture, Philip," Laura +said, entreatingly. "I should so like one to hang in my morning-room at +Jocelyn's Rock. I wonder who painted that lovely face?" + +There was a young artist hard at work at his easel, copying a large +devotional subject that hung near the picture Laura admired. Sir Philip +asked this gentleman if he knew the name of the artist who had painted +the peasant-girl. + +"Ah, but yes, monsieur!" the painter answered, with animated politeness; +"it is the work of one of my friends; a young Englishman, of a renown +almost universal in Paris." + +"And his name, monsieur?" + +"He calls himself Kerstall--Frederick Kerstall; he is the son of an old +monsieur, who calls himself also Kerstall, and who had much of celebrity +in England it is many years." + +"Kerstall!" exclaimed Laura, suddenly; "Mr. Kerstall! why, it was a Mr. +Kerstall who painted papa's portrait; I have heard grandpapa say so +again and again; and he took it away to Italy with him, promising to +bring it back to London when he returned, after a year or two of study. +And, oh, Philip, I should so like to see this old Mr. Kerstall; because, +you know, he may have kept papa's portrait until this very day, and I +should so like to have a picture of my father as he was when he was +young, and before the troubles of a long life altered him," Laura said, +rather mournfully. + +She turned to the French artist presently, and asked him where the elder +Mr. Kerstall lived, and if there was any possibility of seeing him. + +The painter shrugged up his shoulders, and pursed up his mouth, +thoughtfully. + +"But, madame," he said, "this Monsieur Kerstall's father is very old, +and he has ceased to paint it is a long time. They have said that he is +even a little imbecile, that he does not remember himself of the most +common events of his life. But there are some others who say that his +memory has not altogether failed, and that he is still enough harshly +critical towards the works of others." + +The Frenchman might have run on much longer upon this subject, but Laura +was too impatient to be polite. She interrupted him by asking for Mr. +Kerstall's address. + +The artist took out one of his own cards, and wrote the required address +in pencil. + +"It is in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, madame, in the Rue Cailoux, +over the office of a Parisian journal," he said, as he handed the card +to Laura. "I don't think you will have any difficulty in finding the +house." + +Laura thanked the French artist and then took her husband's arm and +walked away with him. + +"I don't care about looking at any more pictures to-day, Philip," she +said; "but, oh, I do wish you would take me to this Mr. Kerstall's +studio at once! You will be doing me such a favour, Philip, if you'll +say yes." + +"When did I ever say no to anything you asked me, Laura? We'll go to Mr. +Kerstall immediately, if you like. But why are you so anxious to see +this old portrait of your father, my dear?" + +"Because I want to see what he was before he went to India. I want to +see what he was when he was bright and young before the world had +hardened him. Ah, Philip, since we have known and loved each other, it +seems to me as if I had no thought or care for any one in all this wide +world except yourself. But before that time I was very unhappy about my +father. I had expected that he would be so fond of me. I had so built +upon his return to England, thinking that we should be nearer and dearer +to each other than any father and daughter ever were before. I had +thought all this, Philip; night after night I had dreamt the same +dream,--the bright happy dream in which my father came home to me, the +fond foolish dream in which I felt his strong arms folded round me, and +his true heart beating against my own. But when he did come at last, it +seemed to me as if this father was a man of stone; his white fixed face +repelled me; his cold hard voice turned my blood to ice. I was +frightened of him, Philip; I was frightened of my own father; and little +by little we grew to shun each other, till at last we met like +strangers, or something worse than strangers; for I have seen my father +look at me with an expression of absolute horror in his stern cruel +eyes. Can you wonder, then, that I want to see what he was in his youth? +I shall learn to love him, perhaps, if I can see the smiling image of +his lost youth." + +Laura said all this in a very low voice as she walked with her husband +through the garden of the Luxembourg. She walked very fast; for she was +as eager as a child who is intent upon some scheme of pleasure. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT. + + +The Rue Cailoux was a very quiet little street--a narrow, winding +street, with tall shabby-looking houses, and untidy-little greengrocers' +shops peeping out here and there. + +The pavement suggested the idea that there had just been an outbreak of +the populace, and that the stones had been ruthlessly torn up to serve +in the construction of barricades, and only very carelessly put down +again. It was a street which seemed to have been built with a view to +achieving the largest amount of inconvenience out of a minimum of +materials; and looked at in this light the Rue Cailoux was a triumph: it +was a street in which Parisian drivers clacked their whips to a running +accompaniment of imprecations: it was a street in which you met dirty +porters carrying six feet of highly-baked bread, and shrill old women +with wonderful bandanas bound about their grisly heads: but above all, +it was a street in which you were so shaken and jostled, and bumped and +startled, by the ups and downs of the pavement, that you had very little +leisure to notice the distinctive features of the neighbourhood. + +The house in which Mr. Kerstall, the English artist, lived was a +gloomy-looking building with a dingy archway, beneath which Sir Philip +Jocelyn and his wife alighted. + +There was a door under this archway, and there was a yard beyond it, +with the door of another house opening upon it, and ranges of black +curtainless windows looking down upon it, and an air of dried herbs, +green-stuff, chickens in the moulting stage, and old women, generally +pervading it. The door which belonged to Mr. Kerstall's house, or rather +the house in which Mr. Kerstall lived in common with a colony of unknown +number and various avocations, was open, and Sir Philip and his wife +went into the hall. + +There was no such thing as a porter or portress; but a stray old woman, +hovering under the archway, informed Philip Jocelyn that Mr. Kerstall +was to be found on the second story. So Laura and her husband ascended +the stairs, which were bare of any covering except dirt, and went on +mounting through comparative darkness, past the office of the Parisian +journal, till they came to a very dingy black door. + +Philip knocked, and, after a considerable interval, the door was opened +by another old woman, tidier and cleaner than the old women who pervaded +the yard, but looking very like a near relation to those ladies. + +Philip inquired in French for the senior Mr. Kerstall; and the old woman +told him, very much through her nose, that Mr. Kerstall father saw no +one; but that Mr. Kerstall son was at his service. + +Philip Jocelyn said that in that case he would be glad to see Mr. +Kerstall junior; upon which the old woman ushered the baronet and his +wife into a saloon, distinguished by an air of faded splendour, and in +which the French clocks and ormolu candelabras were in the proportion of +two to one to the chairs and tables. + +Sir Philip gave his card to the old woman, and she carried it into the +adjoining chamber, whence there issued a gush of tobacco-smoke, as the +door between the two rooms was opened and then shut again. + +In less than three minutes by the minute-hand of the only one of the +ormolu clocks which made any pretence of going, the door was opened +again, and a burly-looking, middle-aged gentleman, with a very black +beard, and a dirty holland blouse all smeared with smudges of +oil-colour, appeared upon the threshold of the adjoining chamber, +surrounded by a cloud of tobacco-smoke--like a heathen deity, or a +good-tempered-looking African genie newly escaped from his bottle. + +This was Mr. Kerstall junior. He introduced himself to Sir Philip, and +waited to hear what that gentleman required of him. + +Philip Jocelyn explained his business, and told the painter how, more +than five-and-thirty years before, the portrait of Henry Dunbar, only +son of Percival Dunbar the great banker, had been painted by Mr. Michael +Kerstall, at that time a fashionable artist. + +"Five-and-thirty years ago!" said the painter, pulling thoughtfully at +his beard; "five-and-thirty years ago! that's a very long time, my lord, +and I'm afraid it's not likely my father will remember the circumstance; +for I regret to say that he is slow to remember the events of a few days +past. His memory has been failing a long time. You wish to know the fate +of this portrait of Mr. Dunbar, I think you said?" + +Laura answered this question, although it had been addressed to her +husband. + +"Yes, we want to see the picture, if possible," she said; "Mr. Dunbar is +my father, and there is no other portrait of him in existence. I do so +want to see this one, and to obtain possession of it, if it is possible +for me to do so." + +"And you are of opinion that my father took the picture to Italy with +him when he left England more than five-and-thirty years ago?" + +"Yes; I've heard my grandfather say so. He lost sight of Mr. Kerstall, +and could never obtain any tidings of the picture. But I hope that, late +as it is, we may be more fortunate now. You do not think the picture has +been destroyed, do you?" Laura asked eagerly. + +"Well," the artist answered, doubtfully, "I should be inclined to fear +that the portrait may have been painted out: and yet, by the bye, as the +picture belonged by right to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and not to my father, +that circumstance may have preserved it uninjured through all these +years. My father has a heap of unframed canvases, inches thick in dust, +and littering every corner of his room. Mr. Dunbar's portrait may be +amongst them. + +"Oh, I should be so very much obliged if you would allow me to examine +those pictures," said Laura. + +"You think you would recognize the portrait?" + +"Yes, surely; I could not fail to do so. I know my father's face so well +as it is, that I must certainly have some knowledge of it as it was +five-and-thirty years ago, however much he may have altered in the +interval. Pray, Mr. Kerstall, oblige me by letting me see the pictures." + +"I should be very churlish were I to refuse to do so," the painter +answered, good-naturedly. "I will just go and see if my father is able +to receive visitors. He has been a voluntary exile from England for the +last five-and-thirty years, so I fear he will have forgotten the name of +Dunbar; but he may by chance be able to give us some slight assistance." + +Mr. Kerstall left his visitors for about ten minutes, and at the end of +that time he returned to say that his father was quite ready to receive +Sir Philip and Lady Jocelyn. + +"I mentioned the name of Dunbar to him," the painter said; "but he +remembers nothing. He has been painting a little this morning, and is in +very high spirits about his work. It pleases him to handle the brushes, +though his hand is terribly shaky, and he can scarcely hold the +palette." + +The artist led the way to a large room, comfortably but plainly +furnished, and heated to a pitch of suffocation by a stove. There was a +bed in a curtained alcove at the end of the apartment; an easel stood +near the large window; and the proprietor of the chamber sat in a +cushioned arm-chair close to the suffocating stove. + +Michael Kerstall was an old man, who looked even older than he was. He +was a picturesque-looking old man, with long white hair dropping down +over his coat-collar, and a black-velvet skull-cap upon his head. He was +a cheerful old man, and life seemed very pleasant to him; for Frenchmen +have a habit of honouring their fathers and mothers, and Mr. Frederick +Kerstall was a naturalized citizen of the French republic. + +The old man nodded and smiled and chuckled as Sir Philip and Laura were +presented to him, and pointed with a courtly grace to the chairs which +his son set for his guests. + +"You want to see my pictures, sir? Ah, yes; to be sure, to be sure! The +modern school of painting, sir, is something marvellous to an old man, +sir; an old man who remembers Sir Thomas Lawrence--ay, sir, I had the +honour to know him intimately. No pre-Raphaelite theories in those days, +sir; no figures cut of coloured pasteboard and glued on to the canvas; +no green trees and vermilion draperies, and chocolate-coloured streaks +across an ultramarine background, sir; and I'm told the young people +call that a sky. No pointed chins, and angular knees and elbows, and +frizzy red hair--red, sir, and as frizzy as a blackamoor's--and I'm told +the young people call that female beauty. No, sir; nothing of that sort +in my day. There was a French painter in my day, sir, called David, and +there was an English painter in my day called Lawrence; and they painted +ladies and gentlemen, sir; and they instituted a gentlemanly school, +sir. And you put a crimson curtain behind your subject, and you put a +bran-new hat, or a roll of paper, in his right hand, and you thrust his +left hand in his waistcoat--the best black satin, sir, with strong light +in the texture--and you made your subject look like a gentleman. Yes, +sir, if he was a chimney-sweep when he went into your studio, he went +out of it a gentleman." + +The old man would have gone on talking for any length of time, for +pre-Raphaelitism was his favourite antipathy; and the black-bearded +gentleman standing behind his chair was an enthusiastic member of the +pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. + +Mr. Kerstall senior seemed so thoroughly in possession of all his +faculties while he held forth upon modern art, that Laura began to hope +his memory could scarcely be so much impaired as his son had represented +it to be. + +"When you painted portraits in England, Mr. Kerstall," she said, "before +you went to Italy, you painted a likeness of my father, Henry Dunbar, +who was then a young man. Do you remember that circumstance?" + +Laura asked this question very hopefully; but to her surprise, Mr. +Kerstall took no notice whatever of her inquiry, but went rambling on +about the degeneracy of modern art. + +"I am told there is a young man called Millais, sir, and another young +man called Holman Hunt, sir,--positive boys, sir; actually very little +more than boys, sir; and I'm given to understand, sir, that when these +young men's works are exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, sir, +people crowd round them, and go raving mad about them; while a +gentlemanly portrait of a county member, with a Corinthian pillar and a +crimson curtain, gets no more attention than if it was a bishop's +half-length of black canvas. I am told so, sir, and I am obliged to +believe it, sir." + +Poor Laura listened very impatiently to all this talk about painters and +their pictures. But Mr. Kerstall the younger perceived her anxiety, and +came to her relief. + +"Lady Jocelyn would very much like to see the pictures you have +scattered about in this room, my dear father," he said, "if you have no +objection to our turning them over?" + +The old man chuckled and nodded. + +"You'll find 'em gentlemanly," he said; "you'll find 'em all more or +less gentlemanly." + +"You're sure you don't remember painting the portrait of a Mr. Dunbar?" +Mr. Kerstall the younger said, bending over his father's chair as he +spoke. "Try again, father--try to remember--Henry Dunbar, the son of +Percival Dunbar, the great banker." + +Mr. Kerstall senior, who never left off smiling, nodded and chuckled, +and scratched his head, and seemed to plunge into a depth of profound +thought. + +Laura began to hope again. + +"I remember painting Sir Jasper Rivington, who was Lord Mayor in the +year--bless my heart how the dates do slip out of my mind, to be +sure!--I remember painting _him_, in his robes too; yes, sir--by gad, +sir, his official robes. He'd liked me to have painted him looking out +of the window of his state-coach, sir, bowing to the populace on Ludgate +Hill, with the dome of St. Paul's in the background; but I told him the +notion wasn't practicable, sir; I told him it couldn't be done, sir; +I----" + +Laura looked despairingly at Mr. Kerstall the younger. + +"May we see the pictures?" she asked. "I am sure that I shall recognize +my father's portrait, if by any chance it should be amongst them." + +"We will set to work at once, then," the artist said, briskly. "We're +going to look at your pictures, father." + +Unframed canvases, and unfinished sketches on millboard, were lying +about the room in every direction, piled against the wall, heaped on +side-tables, and stowed out of the way upon shelves, and everywhere the +dust lay thick upon them. + +"It was quite a chamber of horrors," Mr. Kerstall the younger said, +gaily: for it was here that he banished his own failures; his sketches +for his pictures that were to be painted upon some future occasion; +carelessly-drawn groups that he meant some day to improve upon; finished +pictures that he had been unable to sell; and all the other useless +litter of an artist's studio. + +There were a great many dingy performances of Mr. Kerstall senior; very +classical, and extremely uninteresting; studies from the life, grey and +chalky and muscular, with here and there a knotty-looking foot or a +lumpy arm, in the most unpleasant phases of foreshortening. There were a +good many portraits, gentlemanly to the last degree; but poor Laura +looked in vain for the face she wanted to see--the hard cold face, as +she fancied it must have been in youth. + +There were portraits of elderly ladies with stately head-gear, and +simpering young ladies with innocent short-waisted bodices and flowers +held gracefully, in their white-muslin draperies; there were portraits +of stern clerical grandees, and parliamentary non-celebrities, with +popular bills rolled up in their hands, ready to be laid upon the +speaker's table, and with a tight look about the lips, that seemed to +say the member was prepared to carry his motion, or perish on the floor +of the House. + +There were only a few portraits of young men of military aspect, looking +fiercely over regulation stocks, and with forked lightning and little +pyramids of cannon-balls in the background. + +Laura sighed heavily at last, for amongst all these portraits there was +not one which in the least possible degree recalled the hard handsome +face with which she was familiar. + +"I'm afraid my father's picture has been lost or destroyed," she said, +mournfully. + +But Mr. Kerstall would not allow this. + +I have said that it was Laura's peculiar privilege to bewitch everybody +with whom she came in contact, and to transform them, for the nonce, +into her willing slaves, eager to go through fire and water in the +service of this beautiful creature, whose eyes and hair were like blue +skies and golden sunshine, and carried light and summer wherever they +went. + +The black-bearded artist in the paint-smeared holland blouse was in no +manner proof against Lady Jocelyn's fascinations. + +He had well-nigh suffocated himself with dust half-a-dozen times already +in her service, and was ready to inhale as much more dust if she desired +him so to do. + +"We won't give it up just yet, Lady Jocelyn," he said, cheerfully; +"there's a couple of shelves still to examine. Suppose we try shelf +number one, and see if we can find Mr. Henry Dunbar up there." + +Mr. Kerstall junior mounted upon a chair, and brought down another heap +of canvases, dirtier than any previous collection. He brought these to a +table by the side of his father's easel, and one by one he wiped them +clean with a large ragged silk handkerchief, and then placed them on the +easel. + +The easel stood in the full light of the broad window. The day was +bright and clear, and there was no lack of light, therefore, upon the +portraits. + +Mr. Kerstall senior began to be quite interested in his son's +proceedings, and contemplated the younger man's operations with a +perpetual chuckling and nodding of the head, that were expressive of +unmitigated satisfaction. + +"Yes, they're gentlemanly," the old man mumbled; "nobody can deny that +they're gentlemanly. They may make a cabal against me in Trafalgar +Square, and decline to hang 'em: but they can't say my pictures are +ungentlemanly. No, no. Take a basin of water and a sponge, Fred, and +wash the dust off. It pleases me to see 'em again--yes, by gad, sir, it +pleases me to see 'em again!" + +Mr. Frederick Kerstall obeyed his father, and the pictures brightened +wonderfully under the influence of a damp sponge. It was rather a slow +operation; but Laura was bent upon seeing every picture, and Philip +Jocelyn waited patiently enough until the inspection should be +concluded. + +The old man brightened up as much as his paintings, and began presently +to call out the names of the subjects. + +"The member for Slopton-on-the-Tees," he said, as his son placed a +portrait on the easel; "that was a presentation picture, but the +subscriptions were never paid up, and the committee left the portrait +upon my hands. I don't remember the name of the member, because my +memory isn't quite so good as it used to be; but the borough was +Slopton-on-the-Tees--Slopton--yes, yes, I remember that." + +The younger Kerstall took away the member for Slopton, and put another +picture on the easel. But this was like the rest; the pictured face bore +no trace of resemblance to that face for which Laura was looking. + +"I remember him too," the old man cried, with a triumphant chuckle. "He +was an officer in the East-India Company's service. I remember him; a +dashing young fellow he was too. He had the picture painted for his +mother: paid me a third of the money at the first sitting; never paid me +a sixpence afterwards; and went off to India, promising to send me a +bill of exchange for the balance by the next mail; but I never heard any +more of him." + +Mr. Kerstall removed the Indian officer, and substituted another +portrait. + +Sir Philip, who was sitting near the window, looking on rather +listlessly, cried-- + +"What a handsome face!" + +It _was_ a handsome face--a bright young face, which smiled haughty +defiance at the world--a splendid face, with perhaps a shade of +insolence in the curve of the upper lip, sharply denned under a thick +auburn moustache, with pointed ends that curled fiercely upwards. It was +such a face as might have belonged to the favourite of a powerful king; +the face of the Cinq Mars, on the very summit of his giddy eminence, +with a hundred pairs of boots in his dressing-room, and quiet Cardinal +Richelieu watching silently for the day of his doom. English Buckingham +may have worn the same insolent smile upon his lips, the same bright +triumph in his glance, when he walked up to the throne of Louis the +Just, with the pearls and diamonds dropping from his garments as he went +along, and with forbidden love beaming on him out of Austrian Anne's +blue eyes. It was such a face as could only belong to some high +favourite of fortune, defiant of all mankind in the consciousness of his +own supreme advantages. + +But Laura Jocelyn shook her head as she looked at the picture. + +"I begin to despair of finding my father's portrait," she said; "I have +seen nothing at all like it yet." + +The old man lifted up his bony hand, and pointed to the picture on the +easel. + +"That's the best thing I ever did," he said, "the very best thing I ever +did. It was exhibited in the Academy six-and-thirty years ago--yes, by +gad, sir, six-and-thirty years ago! and the papers mentioned it very +favourably, sir; but the man who commissioned it, sent it back to me for +alteration. The expression of the face didn't please him; but he paid me +two hundred guineas for the picture, so I had no reason to complain; and +if I'd remained in England, the connection might have been advantageous +to me; for they were rich city people, sir--enormously +wealthy--something in the banking-line, and the name, the name--let me +see--let me see!" + +The old man tapped his forehead thoughtfully. + +"I remember," he added presently: "it was a great name in the City--it +was a well-known name--Dun--Dunbar--Dunbar." + +"Why, father, that was the very name I was asking you about, half an +hour ago!" + +"I don't remember your asking me any such thing," the old man answered, +rather snappishly; "but I do know that the picture on that easel is the +portrait of Mr. Dunbar's only son." + +Mr. Kerstall the younger looked at Laura Jocelyn, full; expecting to see +her face beaming with satisfaction; but, to his own surprise, she looked +more disappointed than ever. + +"Your poor father's memory deceives him," she said, in a low voice; +"that is not my father's portrait." + +"No," said Philip Jocelyn, "that was never the likeness of Henry +Dunbar." + +Mr. Frederick Kerstall shrugged his shoulders. + +"I told you as much," he murmured, confidentially. "I told you my poor +father's memory was gone. Would you like to see the rest of the +pictures?" + +"Oh, yes, if you do not mind all this trouble." + +Mr. Kerstall brought down another heap of unframed canvases from shelf +number two. Some of these were fancy heads, and some sketches for grand +historical pictures. There were only about four portraits, and not one +of them bore the faintest likeness to the face that Laura wanted to see. + +The old man chuckled as his son exhibited the pictures, and every now +and then volunteered some scrap of information about these various works +of art, to which his son listened patiently and respectfully. + +So at last the inspection was ended. The baronet and his wife thanked +the artist very warmly for his politeness, and Philip gave him a +commission for a replica of the picture which Laura had admired in the +Luxembourg. Mr. Frederick Kerstall conducted his guests down the dingy +staircase, and saw them to the hired carriage that was waiting under the +archway. + +And this was all that came of Laura Jocelyn's search for her father's +portrait. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +MARGARET'S LETTER. + + +Life seemed very blank to Clement Austin when he returned to London a +day or two after Margaret Wilmot's departure from the Reindeer. He told +his mother that he and his betrothed had parted; but he would tell no +more. + +"I have been cruelly disappointed, mother, and the subject is very +bitter to me," he said; and Mrs. Austin had not the courage to ask any +further questions. + +"I suppose I _must_ be satisfied, Clement," she said. "It seems to me as +if we had been living lately in an atmosphere of enigmas. But I can +afford to be contented, Clement, so long as I have you with me." + +Clement went back to London. His life seemed to have altogether slipped +away from him, and he felt like an old man who has lost all the bright +chances of existence; the hope of domestic happiness and a pleasant +home; the opportunity of a useful career and an honoured name; and who +has nothing more to do but to wait patiently till the slow current of +his empty life drops into the sea of death. + +"I feel so old, mother," he said, sometimes; "I feel so old." + +To a man who has been accustomed to be busy there is no affliction so +intolerable as idleness. + +Clement Austin felt this, and yet he had no heart to begin life again, +though tempting offers came to him from great commercial houses, whose +chiefs were eager to secure the well-known cashier of Messrs. Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby's establishment. + +Poor Clement could not go into the world yet. His disappointment had +been too bitter, and he had no heart to go out amongst hard men of +business, and begin life again. He wasted hour after hour, and day after +day, in gloomy thoughts about the past. What a dupe he had been! what a +shallow, miserable fool! for he had believed as firmly in Margaret +Wilmot's truth, as he had believed in the blue sky above his head. + +One day a new idea flashed into Clement Austin's mind; an idea which +placed Margaret Wilmot's character even in a worse light than that in +which she had revealed herself in her own confession. + +There could be only one reason for the sudden change in her sentiments +about Henry Dunbar: the millionaire had bribed her to silence! This +girl, who seemed the very incarnation of purity and candour, had her +price, perhaps, as well as other people, and Henry Dunbar had bought the +silence of his victim's daughter. + +"It was the knowledge of this business that made her shrink away from me +that night when she told me that she was a contaminated creature, unfit +to be the associate of an honest man Oh, Margaret, Margaret! poverty +must indeed be a bitter school if it has prepared you for such +degradation as this!" + +The longer Clement thought of the subject, the more certainly he arrived +at the conclusion that Margaret Wilmot had been, either bribed or +frightened into silence by Henry Dunbar. It might be that the banker had +terrified this unhappy girl by some awful threat that had preyed upon +her mind, and driven her from the man who loved her, whom she loved +perhaps, in spite of those heartless words which she had spoken in the +bitter hour of their parting. + +Clement could not thoroughly believe in the baseness of the woman he had +trusted. Again and again he went over the same ground, trying to find +some lurking circumstance, no matter how unlikely in its nature, which +should explain and justify Margaret's conduct. + +Sometimes in his dreams he saw the familiar face looking at him with +pensive, half-reproachful glances; and then a dark figure that was +strange to him came between him and that gentle shadow, and thrust the +vision away with a ruthless hand. At last, by dint of going over the +ground again and again, always pleading Margaret's cause against the +stern witness of cruel facts, Clement came to look upon the girl's +innocence as a settled thing. + +There was falsehood and treachery in the business, but Margaret Wilmot +was neither false nor treacherous. There was a mystery, and Henry Dunbar +was at the bottom of it. + +"It seems as if the spirit of the murdered man troubled our lives, and +cried to us for vengeance," Clement thought. "There will be no peace for +us until the secret of the deed done in the grove near Winchester has +been brought to light." + +This thought, working night and day in Clement Austin's brain, gave rise +to a fixed resolve. Before he went back to the quiet routine of life, he +set himself a task to accomplish, and that task was the solution of the +Winchester mystery. + +On the very day after this resolution took a definite form, Clement +received a letter from Margaret Wilmot. The sight of the well-known +writing gave him a shock of mingled surprise and hope, and his fingers +were faintly tremulous as they tore open the envelope. The letter was +carefully worded, and very brief. + +"_You are a good man, Mr. Austin_," Margaret wrote; "_and though you +have reason to despise me, I do not think you will refuse to receive my +testimony in favour of another who has been falsely suspected of a +terrible crime, and who has need of justification. Henry Dunbar was not +the murderer of my father. As Heaven is my witness, this is the truth, +and I know it to be the truth. Let this knowledge content you, and allow +the secret of the murder to remain for ever a mystery upon earth, God +knows the truth, and has doubtless punished the wretched sinner who was +guilty of that crime, as He punishes every other sinner, sooner or +later, in the course of His ineffable wisdom. Leave the sinner, wherever +he may be hidden, to the judgment of God, which penetrates every +hiding-place; and forget that you have ever known me, or my miserable +story._ + +"MARGARET WILMOT." + +Even this letter did not shake Clement Austin's resolution. + +"No, Margaret," he thought; "even your pleading shall not turn me from +my purpose. Besides, how can I tell in what manner this letter may have +been written? It may have been written at Henry Dunbar's dictation, and +under coercion. Be it as it may, the mystery of the Winchester murder +shall be set at rest, if patience or intelligence can solve the enigma. +No mystery shall separate me from the woman I love." + +Clement put Margaret's letter in his pocket, and went straight to +Scotland Yard, where he obtained an introduction to a +businesslike-looking man, short and stoutly built, with close-cropped +hair, very little shirt-collar, a shabby black satin stock, and a coat +buttoned tightly across the chest. He was a man whose appearance was +something between the aspect of a shabby-genteel half-pay captain and an +unlucky stockbroker: but Clement liked the steady light of his small +grey eyes, and the decided expression of his thin lips and prominent +chin. + +The detective business happened to be rather dull just now. There was +nothing stirring but a Bank-of-England forgery case; and Mr. Carter +informed Clement that there were more cats in Scotland Yard than could +find mice to kill. Under these circumstances, Mr. Carter was able to +enter into Clement's views, and sequestrate himself for a short period +for the more deliberate investigation of the Winchester business. + +"I'll look up a file of newspapers, and run my eye over the details of +the case," said the detective. "I was away in Glasgow, hunting up the +particulars of the great Scotch-plaid robberies, all last summer, and I +can't say I remember much of what was done in the Wilmot business. Mr. +Dunbar himself offered a reward for the apprehension of the guilty +party, didn't he?" + +"Yes; but that might be a blind." + +"Oh, of course it might; but then, on the other hand, it mightn't. You +must always look at these sort of things from every point of view. Start +with a conviction of the man's guilt, and you'll go hunting up evidence +to bolster that conviction. My plan is to begin at the beginning; learn +the alphabet of the case, and work up into the syntax and prosody." + +"I should like to help you in this business," Clement Austin said, "for +I have a vital interest in the issue of the case." + +"You're rather more likely to hinder than help, sir," Mr. Carter +answered, with a smile; "but you're welcome to have a finger in the pie +if you like, as long as you'll engage to hold your tongue when I tell +you." + +Clement promised to be the very spirit of discretion. The detective +called upon him two days after the interview at Scotland Yard. + +"I've read-up the Wilmot case, sir," Mr. Carter said; "and I think the +next best thing I can do is to see the scene of the murder. I shall +start for Winchester to-morrow morning." + +"Then I'll go with you," Clement said, promptly. + +"So be it, Mr. Austin. You may as well bring your cheque-book while +you're about it, for this sort of thing is apt to come rather +expensive." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS JOURNEY TO +WINCHESTER. + + +"If I had been a happy man, with no great trouble weighing upon my mind, +and giving its own dull colour to every event of my life, I think I +might have been considerably entertained by the society of Mr. Carter, +the detective. The man had an enthusiastic love of his profession; and +if there is anything degrading in the office, that degradation had in no +way affected him. It may be that Mr. Carter's knowledge of his own +usefulness was sufficient to preserve his self-respect. If, in the +course of his duty, he had unpleasant things to do; if he had to affect +friendly acquaintanceship with the man whom he was hunting to the +gallows; if he was called upon to worm-out chance clues to guilty +secrets in the careless confidence that grows out of a friendly glass; +if at times he had to stoop to acts which, in other men, would be +branded as shameful and treacherous, he knew that he did his duty, and +that society could not hold together unless some such men as +himself--clear-headed, brave, resolute, and unscrupulous in the +performance of unpleasant work--were willing to act as watch-dogs for +the protection of the general fold, and to the terror of savage and +marauding beasts. + +"Mr. Carter told me a great deal of his experience during our journey +down to Winchester. I listened to him, and understood what he said to +me; but I could not take any interest in his conversation. I could not +remember anything, or think of anything, except the mystery which +separates me from the woman I love. + +"The more I think of this, the stronger becomes my conviction that I +have not been the dupe of a heartless or mercenary woman. Margaret has +not acted as a free agent. She has paid the penalty of her determination +to force herself into the presence of Henry Dunbar. By some inexplicable +means, by some masterpiece of villany and cunning, this man has induced +his victim's daughter to become the champion of his innocence, instead +of the denouncer of his guilt. + +"There must be some hopeless entanglement, some cruel involvement, by +reason of which Margaret is compelled to falsify her nature, and +sacrifice her own happiness as well as mine. When she left me that day +at Shorncliffe, she suffered as cruelly as I could suffer: I know now +that it was so. But I was blinded then by pride and anger: I was +conscious of nothing but my own wrongs. + +"Three times in the course of my journey from London to Winchester I +have taken Margaret's strange letter from my pocket-book, and have read +the familiar lines, with the idea of putting entire confidence in my +companion, and placing the letter in his hands. But in order to do this +I must tell him the story of my love and my disappointment; and I cannot +bring myself to do that. It may be that this man could discover hidden +meanings in Margaret's words--meanings that are utterly dark to me. I +suppose the science of detection includes the power to guess at thoughts +that lurk behind expressions which are simple enough in themselves. + + * * * * * + +"We got into Winchester at twelve o'clock in the day; and Mr. Carter +proposed that we should come straight to the George Hotel, at which +house Henry Dunbar stayed after the murder in the grove. + +"'We can't do better than put up at the hotel where the suspected party +was stopping at the time of the event we're looking up,' Mr. Carter said +to me, as we strolled away from the station, after giving our small +amount of luggage into the care of a porter; 'we shall pick up all +manner of information in a promiscuous way, if we're staying in the +house; little bits that will seem nothing at all till you put them all +together, and begin at the beginning, and read them off the right way. +Now, Mr. Austin, there's a few words I must say before we begin +business; for you're an amateur at this kind of work, and it's just +possible that, with the best intentions, you may go and spoil my game. +Now, I've undertaken this affair, and I want to go through with it +conscientiously; under which circumstances I'm obliged to be candid. Are +you willing to act under orders?' + +"I told Mr. Carter that I was perfectly willing to obey his orders in +everything, so long as what I did helped the purposes of our journey. + +"'That's all square and pleasant,' he answered; 'so now for it. First +and foremost, you and me are two gentlemen that have got more time than +we know what to do with, and more money than we know how to spend. We've +heard a great deal about the fishing round Winchester; and we've come +down to spend an idle week or so, and have a look about the place +against next summer; and if we like the looks of the place, why, we +shall come and spend the summer months at the George, where we find the +accommodation in general, and say the fried soles, or the mock-turtle, +in particular, better than at any hotel in the three kingdoms. That's +number one; and that places us at once on the footing of good customers, +who are likely to be better customers. This will square the landlord and +the waiters, and there's nothing they can tell us that they won't tell +us willingly. So much for the first place. Now point number two is, that +we know nothing whatever of the man that was murdered. We know Mr. +Dunbar because he's a great man, a public character, and all that sort +of thing. We did see something about the murder in the papers, but +didn't take any interest in it. This will draw out the landlord or the +waiters, as the case may be, and we shall get the history of the murder, +with all that was said, and done, and thought, and suspected and hinted, +and whispered about it. When the landlord and the waiters have talked +about it a good deal, we begin to warm up, and take a kind of morbid +interest in the business; and then, little by little, I put in my +questions, and keep on putting 'em till every bit of information upon +this particular subject is picked away as clean as the meat that's torn +off a bone by a hungry dog. Now you'd like to help me in this business, +I dare say, Mr. Austin; and if you would, I think I can hit upon a plan +by which you might make yourself uncommonly useful.' + +"I told my companion that I was very anxious to give him any help I +could afford, however insignificant that help might be. + +"'Then, I'll tell you what you can do. I shan't go at the subject we +want to talk about at once; because, if I did, I should betray my +interest in the business and spoil my game; not that anybody would try +to thwart me, you understand, if they knew that I was detective officer +Henry Carter, of Scotland Yard. They'd be all on the _qui vive_ directly +they found out who I was, and what I was after, and they'd try to help +me. That's what they'd do; and Tom would tell me this, and Dick would +explain that, and Harry would remember the other; and among them they'd +contrive to muddle the clearest head that ever worked a difficult +problem in criminal Euclid. My game is to keep myself dark, and get all +the light I can from other people. I shan't ask any leading question, +but I shall wait quietly till the murder of Joseph Wilmot crops up in +the conversation; and I don't suppose I shall have to wait long. Your +business will be easy enough. You'll have letters to write, you will; +and as soon as ever you hear me and the landlord, or me and the waiter, +as the case may be, working round to the murder, you'll take out your +desk and begin to write.' + +"'You want me to take notes of the conversation,' I said. + +"'You've hit it. You won't appear to take any interest in the talk about +Henry Dunbar and the murder of his valet. You'll be altogether wrapped +up in those letters of yours, which must be written before the London +post goes out; but you'll contrive to write down every word that's said +by the people at the George bearing upon the business we're hunting up. +Never mind my questions; don't write them down, for they're of no +account. Write down the answers as plain as you can. They'll come all of +a heap, or anyhow; but that's no matter. It'll be my business to sort +'em, and put 'em ship-shape afterwards. You just keep your mouth shut, +and take notes, Mr. Austin; that's all you've got to do.' + +"I promised to do this to the best of my ability. We were close to the +George by this time, and I could not help thinking of that bright +summer's day upon which Henry Dunbar and his victim had driven into +Winchester on the first stage of a journey which one of them was never +to finish. The conviction of the banker's guilt had so grown upon me +since that scene in St. Gundolph Lane, that I thought of the man now +almost as if he had been fairly tried and deliberately found guilty. It +surprised me when the detective talked of his guilt as open to question, +and yet to be proved. In my mind Henry Dunbar stood self-condemned, by +the evidence of his own conduct, as the murderer of his old servant +Joseph Wilmot. + +"The weather was bleak and windy, and there were very few wanderers in +the hilly High Street of Winchester. We were received with very +courteous welcome at the George, and were conducted to a comfortable +sitting-room upon the first-floor, with windows looking out upon the +street. Two bedrooms in the vicinity of the sitting-room were assigned +to us. I ordered dinner for six o'clock, having ascertained that hour to +be agreeable to Mr. Carter, who was slowly removing his wrappings, and +looking deliberately at every separate article in the room; as if he +fancied there might be some scrap of information to be picked up from a +window-blind, or a coal-scuttle, or lurking mysteries hidden in a +sideboard-drawer. I have no doubt the habit of observation was so strong +upon this man that he observed the most insignificant things +involuntarily. + +"It was a very dull unpleasant day, and I was glad to draw my chair to +the fire and make myself comfortable, while the waiter went to fetch a +bottle of soda-water and sixpenn'orth of 'best French' for my companion, +who was walking about the room with his hands in his pockets, and his +grizzled eyebrows knotted together. + +"The reward which Government had offered for the arrest of Joseph +Wilmot's murderer was the legitimate price usually bidden for the head +of an assassin. The Government had offered to pay one hundred pounds to +any person or persons who should give such information as would lead to +the apprehension of the guilty party or parties. I had promised Mr. +Carter that I would give him another hundred pounds on my own account if +he succeeded in solving the mystery of Joseph Wilmot's death. The reward +at stake was therefore two hundred pounds; and this was a pretty high +stake, Mr. Carter told me, as the detective business went. I had given +him my written engagement to pay the hundred pounds upon the day of the +murderer's arrest, and I was very well able to do so without fear of +being compelled to ask help of my mother; for I had saved upwards of a +thousand pounds during my twelve years' service in the house of Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby. + +"I saw from Mr. Carter's countenance that he was thinking, and thinking +very earnestly. He drank the soda-water and brandy; but he said nothing +to the waiter who brought him that popular beverage. When the man was +gone, he came and planted himself opposite to me upon the hearth-rug. + +"'I'm going to talk to you very seriously, sir,' he said. + +"I assured him that I was quite ready to listen to anything he might +have to say. + +"'When you employ a detective officer, sir,' he began, 'don't employ a +man you can't put entire confidence in. If you can't trust him don't +have anything to do with him; for if he isn't to be trusted with the +dearest family secret that ever was kept sacred by an honest man, why +he's a scoundrel, and you're much better off without his help. But when +you've got a man that has been recommended to you by those who know him, +trust him, and don't be afraid to trust him, don't confide in him by +halves; don't tell him one part of your story, and keep the other half +hidden from him; because, you see, working in the twilight isn't much +more profitable than working in the dark. Now, why do I say this to you, +Mr. Austin? You know as well as I do. I say it because I know you +haven't trusted me.' + +"'I have told you all that was absolutely necessary for you to know,' I +said. + +"'Not a bit of it, sir. It's absolutely necessary for me to know +everything: that is, if you want me to succeed in the business I'm +engaged upon. You're afraid to give me your confidence out and out, +without reserve. Lor' bless your innocence, sir; in my profession a man +learns the use of his eyes; and when once he's learnt how to use them, +it ain't easy for him to keep them shut. I know as well as you do that +you're hiding something from me: you're keeping something back, though +you've half a mind to trust me. You took out a letter three times while +we wore sitting opposite to each other in the railway carriage; and you +read the letter; and every now and then, while you were reading it, you +looked up at me with a hesitating you-would-and-you-wouldn't sort of +look. You thought I was looking out of the window all the time; and so I +was, being uncommonly interested in the corn-fields we were passing just +then, so flat and stumpy and picturesque they looked; but, lor', Mr. +Austin, if I couldn't look out of the window and watch you at the same +time, I shouldn't be worth my salt to you or any one else. I saw plain +enough that you had half a mind to show me that letter; and it wasn't +very difficult to guess that the letter had some bearing upon the +business that has brought us to Winchester.' + +"Mr. Carter paused, and settled himself comfortably against the corner +of the chimney-piece. I was not surprised that he should have read my +thoughts in the railway carriage. I pondered the matter seriously. He +was right in the main, no doubt; but how could I tell a detective +officer my dearest secret--the sad story of my only love? + +"'Trust me, Mr. Austin,' my companion said; 'if you want me to be of use +to you, trust me thoroughly. The very thing you are hiding from me may +be the clue I most want to get hold of.' + +"'I don't think that,' I said. 'However, I have every reason to believe +you to be an honest, conscientious fellow, and I will trust you. I dare +say you wonder why I am so much interested in this business?' + +"'Well, to tell the honest truth, sir, it does seem rather out of the +common to see an independent gentleman like you taking all this trouble +to find out the rights and wrongs of a murder committed going on for a +twelvemonth ago: unless you're any relation of the murdered man: and +even if you're that, you're very unlike the common run of relations, for +they generally take such things quieter than anybody else,' answered Mr. +Carter. + +"I told the detective that I had never seen the murdered man in the +course of my life, and had never heard his name until after the murder. + +"'Well, sir, then all I can say is, I don't understand your motive,' +returned, Mr. Carter. + +"'Well, Carter, I think you're a good fellow, and I'll trust you,' I +said; 'but, in order to do that, I must tell you a long story, and +what's worse still, a love-story.' + +"I felt that I blushed a little as I said this, and was ashamed of the +false shame that brought that missish glow into my cheeks. Mr. Carter +perceived my embarrassment, and was kind enough to encourage me. + +"'Don't you be afraid of telling the story, because it's a sentimental +one,' he said: 'Lor' bless you, I've heard plenty of love-stories. There +ain't many bits of business come our way but what, if you sift 'em to +the bottom, you find a petticoat. You remember the Oriental bloke that +always asked, 'Who is she?' when he heard of a fight, or a fire, or a +mad bull broke loose, or any trifling calamity of that sort; because, +according to his views, a female was at the bottom of everything bad +that ever happened upon this earth. Well, sir, if that Oriental +potentate had lived in our times, and been brought up to the detective +line, I'm blest if he need have changed his opinions. So don't you be +ashamed of telling a love-story, sir. I was in love myself once, though +I do seem such a dry old chip; and I married the woman I loved too; and +she was a pretty little country girl, as fresh and innocent as the +daisies in her father's paddocks; and to this day she don't know what my +business really is. She thinks I'm something in the City, bless her dear +little heart!' + +"This touch of sentiment in Mr. Carter's conversation was quite +unaffected, and I felt all the more inclined to trust him after this +little revelation of his domestic life. I told him the story of my +acquaintance with Margaret, very briefly giving him only the necessary +details. I told him of the girl's several efforts to see Henry Dunbar, +and the banker's persistent avoidance of her. I told him then of our +journey to Shorncliffe, and Margaret's strange conduct after her +interview with the man she had been so eager to see. + +"The telling of this, though I told it briefly, occupied nearly an hour. +Mr. Carter sat opposite me all the time, listening intently; staring at +me with one fixed unvarying stare, and fingering musical passages upon +his knees, with slow cautious motions of his fingers and thumbs. But I +could see that he was not listening only: he was pondering and reasoning +upon what I told him. When I had finished my story, he remained silent +for some minutes: but he still stared at me with the same relentless and +stony gaze, and he still fingered his knees, following up his right hand +with his left, as slowly and deliberately as if he had been composing a +fugue after the manner of Mendelssohn. + +"'And up to the time of that interview at Maudesley Abbey, Miss Wilmot +had stuck to the idea that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of her father?' +he said, at last. + +"'Most resolutely.' + +"'And after that interview the young lady changed her opinion all of a +sudden, and would have it that the banker was innocent?' asked Mr. +Carter. + +"'Yes; when Margaret returned from Maudesley Abbey she declared her +conviction of Henry Dunbar's innocence.' + +"'And she refused to fulfil her engagement with you?' + +"'She did.' + +"The detective left off fingering fugues upon his knees, and began to +scratch his head, slowly pushing his hand up and down amongst his +iron-grey hair, and staring at me. I saw now that this stony glare was +only the fixed expression of Mr. Carter's face when he was thinking +profoundly, and that the relentlessness of his gaze had very little +relation to the object at which he gazed. + +"I watched his face as he pondered, in the hope of seeing some sudden +mental illumination light up his stolid countenance: but I watched in +vain. I saw that he was at fault: I saw that Margaret Wilmot's conduct +was quite as inexplicable to him as it had been to me. + +"'Mr. Dunbar's a very rich man,' he said, at last; 'and money generally +goes a good way in these cases. There was a political party, Sir Robert +somebody--but not Sir Robert Peel--who said, 'Every man has his price.' +Now, do you think it possible that Miss Wilmot would take a bribe, and +hold her tongue?' + +"'Do I think that she would take money from the man she suspected as the +murderer of her father--the man she knew to have been the enemy of her +father? No,' I answered, resolutely; 'I am certain that she is incapable +of any such baseness. The idea that she had been bribed flashed across +me in the first bitterness of my anger: but even then I dismissed it as +incredible. Now that I can think coolly of the business, I know that +such an alternative is impossible. If Margaret Wilmot has been +influenced by Henry Dunbar, it is upon her terror that he has acted. +Heaven knows how he may have threatened her! The man who could lure his +old servant into a lonely wood and there murder him--the man who, +neither early nor late, had one touch of pity for the tool and +accomplice of his youthful crime--not one lingering spark of compassion +for the humble friend who sacrificed an honest name in order to serve +his master--would have little compunction in torturing a friendless girl +who dared to come before him in the character of an accuser.' + +"'But you say that Miss Wilmot was resolute and high-spirited. Is she a +likely person to be governed by her terror of Mr. Dunbar? What threat +could he use to terrify her?' + +"I shook my head hopelessly. + +"'I am as ignorant as you are,' I said; 'but I have strong reason to +believe that Margaret Wilmot was under the influence of some great +terror when she returned from Maudesley Abbey.' + +"'What reason?' asked Mr. Carter. + +"'Her manner was sufficient evidence that she had been frightened. Her +face was as white as a sheet of paper when I met her, and she trembled +and shrank away from me, as if even my presence was horrible to her.' + +"'Could you manage to repeat what she said that night and the next +morning?' + +"It was not very pleasant to me to re-open my wounds for the benefit of +Mr. Carter the detective; but it would have been absurd to thwart the +man when he was working in my interests. I loved Margaret too well to +forget anything she ever said to me, even in our happiest and most +careless hours: and I had special reason to remember that cruel farewell +interview, and the strange scene in the corridor at the Reindeer, on the +night of her return from Maudesley Abbey. I went over all this ground +again, therefore, for Mr. Carter's edification, and told him, word for +word, all that Margaret had said to me. When I had finished, he relapsed +once more into a reverie, during which I sat listening to the ticking of +an eight-day clock in the passage outside our sitting-room, and the +occasional tramp of a passing footstep on the pavement below our +windows. + +"'There's only one thing strikes me very particular in all you've told +me,' the detective said, by-and-by, when I had grown tired of watching +him, and had suffered my thoughts to wander back to the happy time in +which Margaret and I had loved and trusted each other; 'there's only one +thing strikes me in all the young lady said to you, and that is these +words--'There is contamination in my touch,' Miss Wilmot says to you. 'I +am unfit to be the associate of an honest man,' Miss Wilmot says to you. +Now, that looks as if she had been bought over somehow or other by Mr. +Dunbar. I've turned it over in my mind every way; and however I reckon +it up, that's about what it comes to. The young woman was bought over, +and she was ashamed of herself for being bought over.' + +"I told Mr. Carter that I could never bring myself to believe this. + +"'Perhaps not, sir, but it may be gospel truth for all that. There's no +other way I can account for the young woman's carryings on. If Mr. +Dunbar was innocent, and had contrived, somehow or other, to convince +the young woman of his innocence, why, she'd have come to you free and +open, and would have said, 'My dear, I've made a mistake about Mr. +Dunbar, and I'm very sorry for it; but we must look somewhere else for +my poor pa's murderer.' But what does the young woman do? She goes and +scrapes herself along the passage-wall, and shudders and shivers, and +says, 'I'm a wretch; don't touch me--don't come near me.' It's just like +a woman, to take the bribe, and then be sorry for having taken it.' + +"I said nothing in answer to this. It was inexpressibly obnoxious to me +to hear my poor Margaret spoken of as 'a young woman' by my +business-like companion. But there was no possibility of keeping any +veil over the sacred mysteries of my heart. I wanted Mr. Carter's help. +For the present Margaret was lost to me; and my only hope of penetrating +the hidden cause of her conduct lay in Mr. Carter's power to solve the +dark enigma of Joseph Wilmot's death. + +"'Oh, by the bye,' exclaimed the detective, 'there was a letter, wasn't +there?' + +"He held out his hand as I searched for the letter in my pocket-book. +What a greedy, inquisitive-looking palm it seemed! and how I hated Mr. +Henry Carter, detective officer, at that particular moment! + +"I gave him the letter; and I did not groan aloud as I handed it to him. +He read it slowly, once, twice, three times--half-a-dozen times, I +think, in all--pushing the fingers of his left hand through his hair as +he read, and frowning at the paper before him. It was while he was +reading the letter for the last time that I saw a sudden glimmer of +light in his hard eyes, and a half-smile playing round his thin lips. + +"'Well?' I said, interrogatively, as he gave me back the letter. + +"'Well, sir, the young lady,'--Mr. Carter called Margaret a young lady +this time, and I could not help thinking that her letter had revealed +her to him as something different from the ordinary class of female +popularly described as a young woman,--'the young lady was in earnest +when she wrote that letter, sir,' he said; 'it wasn't written under +dictation, and she wasn't bribed to write it. There's heart in it, sir, +if I may be allowed the expression: there's a woman's heart in that +letter: and when a woman's heart is once allowed scope, a woman's brains +shrivel up like so much tinder. I put this letter to that speech in the +corridor at the Reindeer, Mr. Austin; and out of those two twos I verily +believe I can make the queerest four that was ever reckoned up by a +first-class detective.' + +"A faint flush, which looked like a glow of pleasure, kindled all over +Mr. Carter's sallow face as he spoke, and he got up and walked about the +room; not slowly or thoughtfully, but with a brisk eager tread that was +new to me. I could see that his spirits had risen a great many degrees +since the reading of the letter. + +"'You have got some clue,' I said; 'you see your way----' + +"He turned round and checked my eager curiosity by a warning gesture of +his uplifted hand. + +"'Don't be in a hurry, sir,' he said, gravely; 'when you lose your way +of a dark night, in a swampy country, and see a light ahead, don't begin +to clap your hands and cry hooray till you know what kind of light it +is. It may be a Jack-o'-lantern; or it may be the identical lamp over +the door of the house you're bound for. You leave this business to me, +Mr. Austin, and don't you go jumping at conclusions. I'll work it out +quietly: and when I've worked it out I'll tell you what I think of it. +And now suppose we take a stroll through the cathedral-yard, and have a +look at the place where the body was found.' + +"'How shall we find out the exact spot?' I asked, while I was putting on +my hat and overcoat. + +"'Any passer-by will point it out,' Mr. Carter answered; 'they don't +have a popular murder in the neighbourhood of Winchester every day; and +when they do, I make not the least doubt they know how to appreciate the +advantage. You may depend upon it, the place is pretty well known.' + +"It was nearly five o'clock by this time. We went down the slippery +oak-staircase, and out into the quiet street. A bleak wind was blowing +down from the hills, and the rooks' nests high up in the branches of the +old trees about the cathedral were rocking like that legendary cradle in +the tree-top. I had never been in Winchester before, and I was pleased +with the quaint old houses, the towering cathedral, the flat meadows, +and winding streams of water rippled by the wind. I was soothed, somehow +or other, by the peculiar quiet of the scene; and I could not help +thinking that, if a man's life was destined to be miserable, Winchester +would be a nice place for him to be miserable in. A dreamy, drowsy, +forgotten city, where the only changes of the slow day would be the +varying chimes of the cathedral clock, the different tones of the +cathedral bells. + +"Mr. Carter had studied every scrap of evidence connected with the +murder of Joseph Wilmot. He pointed out the door at which Henry Dunbar +had gone into the cathedral, the pathway which the two men had taken as +they went towards the grove. We followed this pathway, and walked to the +very place in which the murdered man had been found. + +"A lad who was fishing in one of the meadows near the grove went with us +to show us the exact spot. It was between an elm and a beech. + +"'There's not many beeches in the grove,' the lad said, 'and this is the +biggest of them. So that it's easy enough for any one to pick out the +spot. It was very dry weather last August at the time of the murder, and +the water wasn't above half as deep as it is now.' + +"'Is it the same depth every where?' Mr. Carter asked. + +"'Oh, dear no,' the boy said; 'that's what makes these streams so +dangerous for bathing: they're shallow enough in some places; but +there's all manner of holes about; and unless you're a good swimmer, +you'd better not try it on.' + +"Mr. Carter gave the boy sixpence and dismissed him. We strolled a +little farther on, and then turned and went back towards the cathedral. +My companion was very silent, and I could see that he was still +thinking. The change that had taken place in his manner after he had +read Margaret's letter had inspired me with new confidence in him, and I +was better able to await the working out of events. Little by little the +solemn nature of the business in which I was engaged grew and gathered +force in my mind, and I felt that I had something more to do than to +solve the mystery of Margaret's conduct to myself: I had to perform a +duty to society, by giving my uttermost help towards the discovery of +Joseph Wilmot's murderer. + +"If the heartless assassin of this wretched man was suffered to live and +prosper, to hold up his head as the master of Maudesley Abbey, the chief +partner in a great City firm that had borne an honourable name for a +century and a half, a kind of premium was offered to crime in high +places. If Henry Dunbar had been some miserable starving creature, who, +in a fit of mad fury against the inequalities of life, had lifted his +gaunt arm to slay his prosperous brother for the sake of +bread--detectives would have dogged his sneaking steps, and watched his +guilty face, and hovered round and about him till they tracked him to +his doom. But because in this case the man to whom suspicion pointed had +the supreme virtues comprised in a million of money, Justice wore her +thickest bandage, and the officials, who are so clever in tracking a +low-born wretch to the gallows, held aloof, and said respectfully, +'Henry Dunbar is too great a man to be guilty of a diabolical crime.' + +"These thoughts filled my mind as I walked back to the George Hotel with +Mr. Carter. + +"It was half-past six when we entered the house, and we had kept dinner +waiting half an hour, much to the regret of the most courteous of +waiters, who expressed intense anxiety about the condition of the fish. + +"As the man hovered about us at dinner, I expected every moment that Mr. +Carter would lead up to the only topic which had any interest either for +himself or me. But he was slow to do this; he talked of the town, the +last assizes, the state of the country, the weather, the prosperity of +the trout-fishing season--everything except the murder of Joseph Wilmot. +It was only after dinner, when some petrified specimens of dessert, in +the shape of almonds and raisins, figs and biscuits, had been arranged +on the table, that any serious business began. The preliminary +skirmishing had not been without its purpose, however; for the waiter +had been warmed into a communicative and confidential mood, and was now +ready to tell us anything he knew. + +"I delegated all our arrangements to my companion; and it was something +wonderful to see Mr. Carter lolling in his arm-chair with what he called +the 'wine-cart' in his hand, deliberating between a forty-two port, +'light and elegant,' and a forty-five port, 'tawny and rich bouquet.' + +"'I think we may as well try number fifteen,' he said, handing the list +of wines to the waiter after due consideration; 'and decant it +carefully, whatever you do. I hope your cellar isn't cold.' + +"'Oh, no, sir; master's very careful of his cellar, sir.' + +"The waiter went away impressed with the idea that he had to deal with a +couple of connoisseurs. + +"'You've got those letters to write before ten o'clock, eh, Mr. Austin?' +said the detective, as the waiter re-entered the room with a decanter on +a silver salver. + +"I understood the hint, and accordingly took my travelling-desk to a +side-table near the fireplace. Mr. Carter handed me one of the +wax-candles, and I sat down before the little table, unlocked my desk, +and began to write a few lines to my mother; while the detective smacked +his lips and knowingly deliberated over his first glass of port. + +"'Very decent quality of wine,' he said, 'very decent. Do you know where +your master got it, eh? No, you don't. Ah! bottled it himself, I +suppose. I thought he might have got it at the Warren-Court sale the +other day, at the other end of the county. Fill a glass for yourself, +waiter, and put the decanter down by the fender; the wine's rather cold. +By the bye, I heard your wines very well spoken of the other day, by a +person of some importance, too--of considerable importance, I may say.' + +"'Indeed, sir,' murmured the waiter, who was standing at a respectful +distance from the table, and was sipping his wine with deferential +slowness. + +"'Yes; I heard your house spoken of by no less a person than Mr. Dunbar, +the great banker.' + +"The waiter pricked up his ears. I pushed aside the letter to my mother, +and waited with a blank sheet of paper before me. + +"'That was a strange affair, by the bye,' said Mr. Carter. 'Fill +yourself another glass of wine, waiter; my friend here doesn't drink +port; and if you don't help me to put away that bottle, I shall take too +much. Were you examined at the inquest on Joseph Wilmot?' + +"No, sir,' answered the waiter, eagerly. 'I were not, sir; and they do +say as we ought every one of us to have been examined; for you see +there's little facks as one person will notice and as another won't +notice, and it isn't a man's place to come forward with every little +trivial thing, you see, sir; but if little trivial things was drawn out +of one and another, they might help, you see, sir.' + +"There could be no end gained by taking notes of this reply, so I amused +myself by making a good nib to my pen while I waited for something +better worth jotting down. + +"'Some of your people were examined, I suppose?' said Mr. Carter. + +"'Oh, yes, sir,' answered the waiter; 'master, he were examined, to +begin with; and then Brigmawl, the head-waiter, he give his evidence; +but, lor', sir, without unfriendliness to William Brigmawl, which me and +Brigmawl have been fellow-servants these eleven year, our head-waiter is +that wrapped up in hisself, and his own cravats, and shirt-fronts, and +gold studs, and Albert chain, that he'd scarcely take notice of an +earthquake swallering up half the world before his eyes, unless the muck +and dirt of that earthquake was to spoil his clothes. William Brigmawl +has been head-waiter in this house nigh upon thirty year; and beyond a +stately way of banging-to a carriage-door, or showing visitors to their +rooms, or poking a fire, and a kind of knack of leading on timid people +to order expensive wines, I really don't see Brigmawl's great merit. But +as to Brigmawl at an inquest, he's about as much good as the Pope of +Rome.' + +"'But why was Brigmawl examined in preference to any one else?' + +"'Because he was supposed to know more of the business than any of us, +being as it was him that took the order for the dinner. But me and Eliza +Jane, the under-chambermaid, was in the hall at the very moment when the +two gentlemen came in.' + +"'You saw them both, then?' + +"'Yes, sir, as plain as I now see you. And you might have knocked me +down with a feather when I was told afterwards that the one who was +murdered was nothing more than a valet.' + +"'You're not getting on very fast with your letters,' said Mr. Carter, +looking over his shoulder at me. + +"'I had written nothing yet, and I understood this as a hint to begin. I +wrote down the waiter's last remark. + +"'Why were you so surprised to find he was a valet?' Mr. Carter asked of +the waiter. + +"'Because, you see, sir, he had the look of a gentleman,' the man +answered; 'an out-and-out gentleman. It wasn't that he held his head +higher than Mr. Dunbar, or that he was better dressed--for Mr. Dunbar's +clothes looked the newest and best; but he had a kind of languid +don't-careish way that seems to be peculiar to first-class gentlemen.' + +"'What sort of a looking man was he?' + +"'Paler than Mr. Dunbar, and thinner built, and fairer.' + +"I jotted down the waiter's remarks; but I could not help thinking that +this talk about the murdered man's manner and appearance was about as +useless as anything could be. + +"'Paler and thinner than Mr. Dunbar,' repeated the detective; 'paler and +thinner, eh? This was one thing you noticed; but what was it, now, that +you could have said at the inquest if you had been called as a witness?' + +"'Well, sir, I'll tell you. It's a small matter, and I've mentioned it +many a time, both to William Brigmawl and to others; but they talk me +down, and say I was mistaken; and Eliza Jane being a silly giggling +hussey, can't bear me out in what I say. But I do most solemnly declare +that I speak the truth, and am not deceived. When the two +gentlemen--which gentlemen they both was to look at--came into our hall, +the one that was murdered had his coat buttoned tight across his chest, +except one button; and through the space left by that one button I saw +the glitter of a gold chain.' + +"'Well, what then?' + +"'The other gentleman, Mr. Dunbar, had his coat open as he got out of +the carriage, and I saw as plain as ever I saw anything, that he had no +gold-chain. But two minutes after he had come into the hall, and while +he was ordering dinner, he took and bottoned his coat. Well, sir, when +he came in, after visiting the cathedral, his coat was partially +unbuttoned and I saw that he wore a gold-chain, and, unless I am very +much mistaken, the same gold-chain that I had seen peeping out of the +breast of the murdered man. I could almost have sworn to that chain +because of the colour of the gold, which was a particular deep yaller. +It was only afterwards that these things came back to my mind, and I +certainly thought them very strange.' + +"'Was there anything else?' + +"'Nothing; except what Brigmawl dropped out one night at supper, some +weeks after the inquest, about his having noticed Mr. Dunbar opening his +desk while he was waiting for Joseph Wilmot to come home to dinner; and +Brigmawl do say, now that it ain't a bit of use, that Mr. Dunbar, do +what he would, couldn't find the key of his own desk for ever so long.' + +"'He was confused, I suppose; and his hands trembled, eh?' asked the +detective. + +"'No, sir; according to what Brigmawl said, Mr. Dunbar seemed as cool +and collected as if he was made of iron. But he kept trying first one +key and then another, for ever so long, before he could find the right +one.' + +"'Did he now? that was queer.' + +"'But I hope you won't think anything of what I've let drop, sir,' said +the waiter, hastily. 'I'm sure I wouldn't say any thing disrespectful +against Mr. Dunbar; but you asked me what I saw, sir, and I have told +you candid, and----' + +"'My good fellow, you're perfectly safe in talking to me,' the detective +answered, heartily. 'Suppose you bring us a little strong tea, and clear +away this dessert; and if you've anything more to tell us, you can say +it while you're pouring out the tea. There's so much connected with +these sort of things that never gets into the papers, that really it's +quite interesting to hear of 'em from an eye-witness.' + +"The waiter went away, pleased and re-assured, after clearing the table +very slowly. I was impatient to hear what Mr. Carter had gathered from +the man's talk. + +"'Well,' he said, 'unless I'm very much mistaken, I think I've got my +friend the master of Maudesley Abbey.' + +"'You do: but how so?' I asked. 'That talk about the gold-chain having +changed hands must be utterly absurd. What should Henry Dunbar want with +Joseph Wilmot's watch and chain?' + +"'Ah, you're right there,' answered Mr. Carter. 'What should Henry +Dunbar want with Joseph Wilmot's gold chain? That's one question. Why +should Joseph Wilmot's daughter be so anxious to screen Henry Dunbar now +that she has seen him for the first time since the murder? There's +another question for you. Find the answer for it, if you can. + +"I told the detective that he seemed bent upon mystifying me, and that +he certainly succeeded to his heart's content. + +"Mr. Carter laughed a triumphant little laugh. + +"'Never you mind, sir,' he said; you leave it to me, and you watch it +well, sir. It'll work out very neatly, unless I'm altogether wrong. Wait +for the end, Mr. Austin, and wait patiently. Do you know what I shall do +to-morrow?' + +"'I haven't the faintest idea.' + +"'I shall waste no more time in asking questions. I shall have the water +near the scene of the murder dragged. I shall try and find the clothes +that were stripped off the man who was murdered last August!'" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL CONTINUED. + + +"The rest of the evening passed quietly enough. Mr. Carter drank his +strong tea, and then asked my permission to go out and smoke a couple of +cigars in the High Street. He went, and I finished my letter to my +mother. There was a full moon, but it was obscured every now and then by +the black clouds that drifted across it. I went out myself to post the +letter, and I was glad to feel the cool breeze blowing the hair away +from my forehead, for the excitement of the day had given me a nervous +headache. + +"I posted my letter in a narrow street near the hotel. As I turned away +from the post-office to go back to the High Street, I was startled by +the apparition of a girlish figure upon the other side of the street--a +figure so like Margaret's that its presence in that street filled me +with a vague sense of fear, as if the slender figure, with garments +fluttering in the wind, had been a phantom. + +"Of course I attributed this feeling to its right cause, which was +doubtless neither more nor less than the over-excited state of my own +brain. But I was determined to set the matter quite at rest, so I +hurried across the way and went close up to the young lady, whose face +was completely hidden by a thick veil. + +"'Miss Wilmot--Margaret,' I said. + +"I had thought it impossible that Margaret should be in Winchester, and +I was only right, it seemed, for the young lady drew herself away from +me abruptly and walked across the road, as if she mistook my error in +addressing her for an intentional insult. I watched her as she walked +rapidly along the narrow street, until she turned sharply away at a +corner and disappeared. When I first saw her, as I stood by the +post-office, the moonlight had shone full upon her. As she went away the +moon was hidden by a fleecy grey cloud, and the street was wrapped in +shadow. Thus it was only for a few moments that I distinctly saw the +outline of her figure. Her face I did not see at all. + +"I went back to the hotel and sat by the fire trying to read a +newspaper, but unable to chain my thoughts to the page. Mr. Carter came +in a little before eleven o'clock. He was in very high spirits, and +drank a tumbler of steaming brandy-and-water with great gusto. But +question him how I might, I could get nothing from him except that he +meant to have a search made for the dead man's clothes. + +"I asked him why he wanted them, and what advantage would be gained by +the finding of them, but he only nodded his head significantly, and told +me to wait. + + * * * * * + +"To-day has been most wretched--a day of miserable discoveries; and yet +not altogether miserable, for the one grand discovery of the day has +justified my faith in the woman I love. + +"The morning was cold and wet. There was not a ray of sunshine in the +dense grey sky, and the flat landscape beyond the cathedral seemed +almost blotted out by the drizzling rain; only the hills, grand and +changeless, towered above the mists, and made the landmarks of the +soddened country. + +"We took an early and hasty breakfast. Quiet and business-like as the +detective's manner was even to-day, I could see that he was excited. He +took nothing but a cup of strong tea and a few mouthfuls of dry toast, +and then put on his coat and hat. + +"'I'm going down to the chief quarters of the county constabulary, he +said. 'I shall be obliged to tell the truth about my business down +there, because I want every facility for what I'm going to do. If you'd +like to see the water dragged, you can meet me at twelve o'clock in the +grove. You'll find me superintending the work.' + +"It was about half-past eight when Mr. Carter left me. The time hung +very heavily on my hands between that time and eleven o'clock. At eleven +I put on my hat and overcoat and went out into the rain. + +"I found my friend the detective standing in one of the smaller +entrances of the cathedral, in very earnest conversation with an old +man. As Mr. Carter gave me no token of recognition, I understood that he +did not want me to interrupt his companion's talk, so I walked slowly on +by the same pathway along which we had gone on the previous afternoon; +the same pathway by which the murdered man had gone to his death. + +"I had not walked half a mile before I was joined by the detective. + +"'I gave you the office just now,' he said, 'because I thought if you +spoke to me, that old chap would leave off talking, and I might miss +something that was on the tip of his tongue.' + +"'Did he tell you much?' + +"'No; he's the man who gave his evidence at the inquest. He gave me a +minute description of Henry Dunbar's watch and chain. The watch didn't +open quite in the usual manner, and the gentleman was rather awkward in +opening it, my friend the verger tells me. He was awkward with the key +of his desk. He seems to have had a fit of awkwardness that day.' + +"'You think that he was guilty, and that he was confused and agitated by +the hideous business he had been concerned in?' + +"Mr. Carter looked at me with a very queer smile on his face. + +"'You're improving, Mr. Austin,' he said; 'you'd make a first-class +detective in next to no time.' + +"I felt rather doubtful as to the meaning of this compliment, for there +was something very like irony in Mr. Carter's tone. + +"'I'll tell you what I think,' he said, stopping presently, and taking +me by the button-hole. 'I think that I know why the murdered man's coat, +waistcoat, and shirt were stripped off him.' + +"I begged the detective to tell me what he thought upon this subject; +but he refused to do so. + +"'Wait and see,' he said; 'if I'm right, you'll soon find out what I +mean; if I'm wrong, I'll keep my thoughts to myself. I'm an old hand, +and I don't want to be found out in a mistake.' + +"I said no more after this. The disappearance of the murdered man's +clothes had always appeared to me the only circumstance that was +irreconcilable with the idea of Henry Dunbar's guilt. That some brutal +wretch, who stained his soul with blood for the sake of his victim's +poor possessions, should strip off the clothes of the dead, and make a +market even out of them, was probable enough. But that Henry Dunbar, the +wealthy, hyper-refined Anglo-Indian, should linger over the body of his +valet and offer needless profanation to the dead, was something +incredible, and not to be accounted for by any theory whatever. + +"This was the one point which, from first to last, had completely +baffled me. + +"We found the man with the drags waiting for us under the dripping +trees. Mr. Carter had revealed himself to the constabulary as one of the +chief luminaries of Scotland Yard; and if he had wanted to dig up the +foundations of the cathedral, they would scarcely have ventured to +interfere with his design. One of the constables was lounging by the +water's edge, watching the men as they prepared for business. + +"I have no need to write a minute record of that miserable day. I know +that I walked up and down, up and down, backwards and forwards, upon the +soddened grass, from noon till sundown, always thinking that I would go +away presently, always lingering a little longer; hindered by the fancy +that Mr. Carter's search was on the point of being successful. I know +that for hour after hour the grating sound of the iron drags grinding on +the gravelly bed of the stream sounded in my tired ears, and yet there +was no result. I know that rusty scraps of worn-out hardware, dead +bodies of cats and dogs, old shoes laden with pebbles, rank +entanglements of vegetable corruption, and all manner of likely and +unlikely rubbish, were dragged out of the stream, and thrown aside upon +the bank. + +"The detective grew dirtier and slimier and wetter as the day wore on; +but still he did not lose heart. + +"'I'll have every inch of the bed of the stream, and every hidden hole +in the bottom, dragged ten times over, before I'll give it up,' he said +to me, when he came to me at dusk with some brandy that had been brought +by a boy who had been fetching beer, more or less, all the afternoon. + +"When it grew dark, the men lighted a couple of flaring resinous +torches, which Mr. Carter had sent for towards dusk, and worked, by the +patches of fitful light which these torches threw upon the water. I +still walked up and down under the dripping trees, in the darkness, as I +had walked in the light; and once when I was farthest from the red glare +of the torches, a strange fancy took possession of me. In amongst the +dim branches of the trees I thought I saw something moving, something +that reminded me of the figure I had seen opposite the post-office on +the previous night. + +"I ran in amongst the trees; and as I did so, the figure seemed to me to +recede, and disappear; a faint rustling of a woman's dress sounded in my +ears, or seemed so to sound, as the figure melted from my sight. But +again I had good reason to attribute these fancies to the state of my +own brain, after that long day of anxiety and suspense. + +"At last, when I was completely worn out by my weary day, Mr. Carter +came to me. + +"'They're found!' he cried. 'We've found 'em! We've found the murdered +man's clothes! They've been drifted away into one of the deepest holes +there is, and the rats have been gnawing at 'em. But, please Providence, +we shall find what we want. I'm not much of a church-goer, but I do +believe there's a Providence that lies in wait for wicked men, and +catches the very cleverest of them when they least expect it.' + +"I had never seen Mr. Carter so much excited as he seemed now. His face +was flushed, and his nostrils quivered nervously. + +"I followed him to the spot where the constable and two men, who had +been dragging the stream, were gathered round a bundle of wet rubbish +lying on the ground. + +"Mr. Carter knelt down before this bundle, which was covered with +trailing weeds and moss and slime, and the constable stooped over him +with a flaming torch in his hand. + +"'These are somebody's clothes, sure enough,' the detective said; 'and, +unless I'm very much mistaken, they're what I want. Has anybody got a +basket?' + +"Yes. The boy who had fetched beer had a basket. Mr. Carter stuffed the +slimy bundle into this basket, and put his arm through the handle. + +"'You're not going to look 'em over here, then?' said the local +constable, with an air of disappointment. + +"'No, I'll take them straight to my hotel; I shall have plenty of light +there. You can come with me, if you like,' Mr. Carter answered. + +"He paid the men, who had been at work all day, and paid them liberally, +I suppose, for they seemed very well satisfied. I had given him money +for any expenses such as these; for I knew that, in a case of this kind, +every insignificant step entailed the expenditure of money. + +"We walked homewards as rapidly as the miserable state of the path, the +increasing darkness, and the falling rain would allow us to walk. The +constable walked with us. Mr. Carter whistled softly to himself as he +went along, with the basket on his arm. The slimy green stuff and muddy +water dripped from the bottom of the basket as he carried it. + +"I was still at a loss to understand the reason of his high spirits; I +was still at a loss to comprehend why he attached so much importance to +the finding of the dead man's clothes. + +"It was past eight o'clock when we three men--the detecting the +Winchester constable, and myself--entered our sitting-room at the George +Hotel. The principal table was laid for dinner; and the waiter, our +friend of the previous evening, was hovering about, eager to receive us. +But Mr. Carter sent the waiter about his business. + +"'I've got a little matter to settle with this gentleman,' he said, +indicating the Winchester constable with a backward jerk of his thumb; +'I'll ring when I want dinner.' + +"I saw the waiter's eyes open to an abnormal extent, as he looked at the +constable, and I saw a sudden blank apprehension creep over his face, as +he retired very slowly from the room. + +"'Now,' said Mr. Carter, 'we'll examine the bundle.' + +"He pushed away the dinner-table, and drew forward a smaller table. Then +he ran out of the room, and returned in about two minutes, carrying with +him all the towels he had been able to find in my room and his own, +which were close at hand. He spread the towels on the table, and then +took the slimy bundle from the basket. + +"'Bring me the candles--both the candles,' he said to the constable. + +"The man held the two wax-candles on the right hand of the detective, as +he sat before the table. I stood on his left hand, watching him +intently. + +"He touched the ragged and mud-stained bundle as carefully as if it had +been some living thing. Foul river-insects crept out of the weeds, which +were so intermingled with the tattered fabrics that it was difficult to +distinguish one substance from the other. + +"Mr. Carter was right: the rats had been at work. The outer part of the +bundle was a coat--a cloth coat, knawed into tatters by the sharp teeth +of water-rats. + +"Inside the coat there was a waistcoat, a satin scarf that was little +better than a pulp, and a shirt that had once been white. Inside the +white shirt there was a flannel shirt, out of which there rolled +half-a-dozen heavy stones. These had been used to sink the bundle, but +were not so heavy as to prevent its drifting into the hole where it had +been found. + +"The bundle had been rolled up very tightly, and the outer garment was +the only one which had been destroyed by the rats. The inner +garment--the flannel shirt--was in a very tolerable state of +preservation. + +"The detective swept the coat and waistcoat and the pebbles back into +the basket, and then rolled both of the shirts in a towel, and did his +best to dry them. The constable watched him with open eyes, but with no +ray of intelligence in his stolid face. + +"'Well,' said Mr. Carter,' there isn't much here, is there? I don't +think I need detain you any longer. You'll be wanting your tea, I dare +say.' + +"'I did'nt think there would be much in them,' the constable said, +pointing contemptuously to the wet rags; his reverential awe of Scotland +Yard had been considerably lessened during that long tiresome day. 'I +didn't see your game from the first, and I don't see it now. But you +wanted the things found, and you've had 'em found.' + +"Yes; and I've paid for the work being done,' Mr. Carter answered +briskly; 'not but what I'm thankful to you for giving me your help, and +I shall esteem it a favour if you'll accept a trifle, to make up for +your lost day. I've made a mistake, that's all; the wisest of us are +liable to be mistaken once in a way.' + +"The constable grinned as he took the sovereign which Mr. Carter offered +him. There was something like triumph in the grin of that Winchester +constable--the triumph of a country official who was pleased to see a +Londoner at fault. + +"I confess that I groaned aloud when the door closed upon the man, and I +found myself alone with the detective, who had seated himself at the +little table, and was poring over one of the shirts outspread before +him. + +"'All this day's labour and weariness has been so much wasted trouble,' +I said; 'for it seems to have brought us no step nearer to the point we +wanted to reach." + +"'Hasn't it, Mr. Austin?" cried the detective, eagerly. 'Do you think I +am such a fool as to speak out before the man who has just left this +room? Do you think I'm going to tell him my secret, or let him share my +gains? The business of to-day has brought us to the very end we want to +reach. It has brought about the discovery to which Margaret Wilmot's +letter was the first indication--the discovery pointed to by every word +that man told us last night. Why did I want to find the clothes worn by +the murdered man? Because I knew that those garments must contain a +secret, or they never would have been stripped from the corpse. It ain't +often that a murderer cares to stop longer than he's obliged by the side +of his victim; and I knew all along that whoever stripped off those +clothes must have had a very strong reason for doing it. I have worked +this business out by my own lights, and I've been right. Look there, Mr. +Austin.' + +"He handed me the wet discoloured shirt, and pointed with his finger to +one particular spot. + +"There, amidst the stains of mud and moss, I saw something which was +distinct and different from them. A name, neatly worked in dark crimson +thread--a Christian and surname, in full. + +"'How do you make that out?' Mr. Carter asked, looking We full in the +face. + +"Neither I nor any rational creature upon this earth able to read +English characters could have well made out that name otherwise than I +made it out. + +"It was the name of Henry Dunbar. + +"'You see it all now, don't you?' said Mr. Carter; 'that's why the +clothes were stripped off the body, and hidden at the bottom of the +stream, where the water seemed deepest; that's why the watch and chain +changed hands; that's why the man who came back to this house after the +murder was slow to select the key of the desk. You understand now why it +was so difficult for Margaret Wilmot to obtain access to the man at +Maudesley Abbey; and why, when she had once seen that man, she tried to +shield him from inquiry and pursuit. When she told you that Henry Dunbar +was innocent of her father's murder, she only told you the truth. The +man who was murdered was Henry Dunbar; the man who murdered him was----' + +"I could hear no more. The blood surged up to my head, and I staggered +back and dropped into a chair. + +"When I came to myself, I found the detective splashing cold water in my +face. When I came to myself, and was able to think steadily of what had +happened, I had but one feeling in my mind; and that was pity, +unutterable pity, for the woman I loved. + + * * * * * + +"Mr. Carter carried the bundle of clothes to his own room, and returned +by-and-by, bringing his portmanteau with him. He put the portmanteau in +a corner near the fireplace. + +"'I've locked the clothes safely in that,' he said; 'and I don't mean to +let it out of my sight till it's lodged in very safe hands. That mark +upon Henry Dunbar's shirt will hang his murderer.' + +"'There may have been some mistake,' I said; 'the clothes marked with +the name of Henry Dunbar may not have really belonged to Henry Dunbar. +He may have given those clothes to his old valet.' + +"'That's not likely, sir; for the old valet only met him at Southampton +two or three hours before the murder was committed. No; I can see it all +now. It's the strangest case that ever came to my knowledge, but it's +simple enough when you've got the right clue to it. There was no +probable motive which could induce Henry Dunbar, the very pink of +respectability, and sole owner of a million of money, to run the risk of +the gallows; there were very strong reasons why Joseph Wilmot, a +vagabond and a returned criminal, should murder his late master, if by +so doing he could take the dead man's place, and slip from the position +of an outcast and a penniless reprobate into that of chief partner in +the house of Dunbar and Company. It was a bold game to hazard, and it +must have been a fearfully perilous and difficult game to play, and the +man has played it well, to have escaped suspicion so long. His +daughter's conscientious scruples have betrayed him." + +"Yes, Mr. Carter spoke the truth. Margaret's refusal to fulfil her +engagement had set in motion the machinery by means of which the secret +of this foul murder had been discovered. + +"I thought of the strange revelation, still so new to me, until my brain +grew dazed. How had it been done? How had it been managed? The man whom +I had seen and spoken with was not Henry Dunbar, then, but Joseph +Wilmot, the murderer of his master--the treacherous and deliberate +assassin of the man he had gone to meet and welcome after his +five-and-thirty years' absence from England! + +"'But surely such a conspiracy must be impossible,' I said, by-and-by; +'I have seen letters in St. Gundolph Lane, letters in Henry Dunbar's +hand, since last August.' + +"'That's very likely, sir,' the detective answered, coolly. 'I turned up +Joseph Wilmot's own history while I was making myself acquainted with +the details of this murder. He was transported thirty years ago for +forgery: he made a bold attempt at escape, but he was caught in the act, +and removed to Norfolk Island. He was one of the cleverest chaps at +counterfeiting any man's handwriting that was ever tried at the Old +Bailey. He was known as one of the most daring scoundrels that ever +stepped on board a convict-ship; a clever villain, and a bold one, but +not without some touches of good in him, I'm told. At Norfolk Island he +worked so hard and behaved so well that he got set free before he had +served half his time. He came back to England, and was seen about +London, and was suspected of being concerned in all manner of criminal +offences, from card-sharping to coining, but nothing was ever brought +home to him. I believe he tried to make an honest living, but couldn't: +the brand of the gaol-bird was upon him; and if he ever did get a +chance, it was taken away from him before the sincerity of any apparent +reformation had been tested. This is his history, and the history of +many other men like him.' + +"And Margaret was the daughter of this man. An inexpressible feeling of +melancholy took possession of me as I thought of this. I understood +everything now. This noble girl had heroically put away from her the one +chance of bright and happy life, rather than bring upon her husband the +foul taint of her father's crime. I could understand all now. I looked +back at the white face, rigid in its speechless agony; the fixed, +dilated eyes; and I pictured to myself the horror of that scene at +Maudesley Abbey, when the father and daughter stood opposite to each +other, and Margaret Wilmot discovered _why_ the murderer had +persistently hidden himself from her. + +"The mystery of my betrothed wife's renunciation of my love had been +solved; but the discovery was so hideous that I looked back now and +regretted the time of my ignorance and uncertainty. Would it not have +been better for me if I had let Margaret Wilmot go her own way, and +carry out her sublime scheme of self-sacrifice? Would it not have been +better to leave the dark secret of the murder for ever hidden from all +but that one dread Avenger whose judgments reach the sinner in his +remotest hiding-place, and follow him to the grave? Would it not have +been better to do this? + +"No! my own heart told me the argument was false and cowardly. So long +as man deals with his fellow-man, so long as laws endure for the +protection of the helpless and the punishment of the wicked, the course +of justice must know no hindrance from any personal consideration. + +"If Margaret Wilmot's father had done this hateful deed, he must pay the +penalty of his crime, though the broken heart of his innocent daughter +was a sacrifice to his iniquity. If, by a strange fatality, I, who so +dearly loved this girl, had urged on the coming of this fatal day, I had +only been a blind instrument in the mighty hand of Providence, and I had +no cause to regret the revelation of the truth. + +"There was only one thing left me. The world would shrink away, perhaps, +from the murderer's daughter; but I, who had seen her nature proved in +the fiery furnace of affliction, knew what a priceless pearl Heaven had +given me in this woman, whose name must henceforward sound vile in the +ears of honest men, and I did not recoil from the horror of my poor +girl's history. + +"'If it has been my destiny to bring this great sorrow upon her,' I +thought, 'it shall be my duty to make her future safe and happy." + +"But would Margaret ever consent to be my wife, if she discovered that I +had been the means of bringing about the discovery of her father's +crime? + +"This was not a pleasant thought, and it was uppermost in my mind while +I sat opposite to the detective, who ate a very hearty dinner, and whose +air of suppressed high spirits was intolerable to me. + +"Success is the very wine of life, and it was scarcely strange that Mr. +Carter should feel pleased at having succeeded in finding a clue to the +mystery that had so completely baffled his colleagues. So long as I had +believed in Henry Dunbar's guilt, I had felt no compunction as to the +task I was engaged in. I had even caught something of the detective's +excitement in the chase. But now, now that I knew the shame and anguish +which our discovery must inevitably entail upon the woman I loved, my +heart sank within me, and I hated Mr. Carter for his ardent enjoyment of +his triumph. + +"'You don't mind travelling by the mail-train, do you, Mr. Austin?' the +detective said, presently. + +"'Not particularly; but why do you ask me?' + +"'Because I shall leave Winchester by the mail to-night.' + +"'What for?' + +"'To get as fast as I can to Maudesley Abbey, where I shall have the +honour of arresting Mr. Joseph Wilmot.' + +"So soon! I shuddered at the rapid course of justice when once a +criminal mystery is revealed. + +"'But what if you should be mistaken! What if Joseph Wilmot was the +victim and not the murderer?" + +"'In that case I shall soon discover my mistake. If the man at Maudesley +Abbey is Henry Dunbar, there must be plenty of people able to identify +him.' + +"'But Henry Dunbar has been away five-and-thirty years.' + +"'He has; but people don't think much of the distance between England +and Calcutta nowadays. There must be people in England now who knew the +banker in India. I'm going down to the resident magistrate, Mr. Austin; +the man who had Henry Dunbar, or the supposed Henry Dunbar, arrested +last August. I shall leave the clothes in his care, for Joseph Wilmot +will be tried at the Winchester assizes. The mail leaves Winchester at a +quarter before eleven,' added Mr. Carter, looking at his watch as he +spoke; 'so I haven't much time to lose.' + +"He took the bundle from the portmanteau, wrapped it in a sheet of brown +paper which the waiter had brought him a few minutes before, and hurried +away. I sat alone brooding over the fire, and trying to reason upon the +events of the day. + +"The waiter was moving softly about the room; but though I saw him look +at me wistfully once or twice, he did not speak to me until he was about +to leave the room, when he told me that there was a letter on the +mantelpiece; a letter which had come by the evening post. + +"The letter had been staring me in the face all the evening, but in my +abstraction I had never noticed it. + +"It was from my mother. I opened it when the waiter had left me, and +read the following lines: + +"'MY DEAREST CLEM,--_I was very glad to get your letter this morning, +announcing your safe arrival at Winchester. I dare say I am a foolish +old woman, but I always begin to think of railway collisions, and all +manner of possible and impossible calamities, directly you leave me on +ever so short a journey. + +"'I was very much surprised yesterday morning by a visit from Margaret +Wilmot. I was very cool to her at first; for though you never told me +why your engagement to her was so abruptly broken off, I could not but +think she was in some manner to blame, since I knew you too well, my +darling boy, to believe you capable of inconstancy or unkindness. I +thought, therefore, that her visit was very ill-timed, and I let her see +that my feelings towards her were entirely changed. + +"'But, oh, Clement, when I saw the alteration in that unhappy girl, my +heart melted all at once, and I could not speak to her coldly or +unkindly. I never saw such a change in any one before. She is altered +from a pretty girl into a pale haggard woman. Her manners are as much +changed as her personal appearance. She had a feverish restlessness that +fidgeted me out of my life; and her limbs trembled every now and then +while she was speaking, and her words seemed to die away as she tried to +utter them. She wanted to see you, she said; and when I told her that +you were out of town, she seemed terribly distressed. But afterwards, +when she had questioned me a good deal, and I told her that you had gone +to Winchester, she started suddenly to her feet, and began to tremble +from head to foot. + +"'I rang for wine, and made her take some. She did not refuse to take +it; on the contrary, she drank the wine quite eagerly, and said, 'I hope +it will give me strength. I am so feeble, so miserably weak and feeble, +and I want to be strong. I persuaded her to stop and rest; but she +wouldn't listen to me. She wanted to go back to London, she said; she +wanted to be in London by a particular time. Do what I would, I could +not detain her. She took my hands, and pressed them to her poor pale +lips, and then hurried away, so changed from the bright Margaret of the +past, that a dreadful thought took possession of my mind, and I began to +fear that she was mad.'_ + +"The letter went on to speak of other things; but I could not think of +anything but my mother's description of Margaret's visit. I understood +her agitation at hearing of my journey to Winchester. She knew that only +one motive could lead me to that place. I knew now that the familiar +figure I had seen in the moonlit street and in the dusky grove was no +phantasm of my over-excited brain. I knew now that it was the figure of +the noble-hearted woman I loved--the figure of the heroic daughter, who +had followed me to Winchester, and dogged my footsteps, in the vain +effort to stand between her father and the penalty of his crime. + +"As I had been watched in the street on the previous night, I had been +watched to-night in the grove. The rustling dress, the shadowy figure +melting in the obscurity of the rain-blotted landscape had belonged to +Margaret Wilmot! + +"Mr. Carter came in while I was still pondering over my mother's letter. + +"'I'm off,' he said, briskly. 'Will you settle the bill, Mr. Austin? I +suppose you'd like to be with me to the end of this business. You'll go +down to Maudesley Abbey with me, won't you?' + +"'No,' I said; 'I will have no farther hand in this matter. Do your +duty, Mr. Carter; and the reward I promised shall be faithfully paid to +you. If Joseph Wilmot was the treacherous murderer of his old master, he +must pay the penalty of his crime; I have neither the power nor the wish +to shield him. But he is the father of the woman I love. It is not for +me to help in hunting him to the gallows.' + +"Mr. Carter looked very grave. + +"'To be sure, sir,' he said; 'I recollect now. I've been so wrapt up in +this business that I forgot the difference it would make to you; but +many a good girl has had a bad father, you know, sir, and----' + +"I put up my hand to stop him. + +"'Nothing that can possibly happen will lessen my esteem for Miss +Wilmot,' I said. 'That point admits of no discussion.' + +"I took out my pocket-book, gave the detective money for his expenses, +and wished him good night. + +"When he had left me, I went out into the High Street. The rain was +over, and the moon was shining in a cloudless sky. Heaven knows how I +should have met Margaret Wilmot had chance thrown her in my way +to-night. But my mind was filled with her image; and I walked about the +quiet town, expecting at every turn in the street, at every approaching +footstep sounding on the pavement, to see the figure I had seen last +night. But go where I would I saw no sign of her; so I came back to the +hotel at last, to sit alone by the dull fire, and write this record of +my day's work." + + * * * * * + +While Clement Austin sat in the lonely sitting-room at the George Inn, +with his rapid pen scratching along the paper before him, a woman walked +up and down the lamp-lit platform at Rugby, waiting for the branch train +which was to take her on to Shorncliffe. + +This woman was Margaret Wilmot--the haggard, trembling girl whose +altered manner had so terrified simple-hearted Mrs. Austin. + +But she did not tremble now. She had pushed her thick black veil away +from her face, and though no vestige of healthy colour had come back to +her cheeks or lips, her features had a set look of steadfast resolution, +and her eyes looked straight before her, like the eyes of a person who +has one special purpose in view, and will not swerve or falter until +that purpose has been carried out. + +There was only one elderly gentleman in the first-class carriage in +which Margaret Wilmot took her seat when the branch train for +Shorncliffe was ready; and as this one fellow-passenger slept throughout +the journey, with his face covered by an expansive silk handkerchief, +Margaret was left free to think her own thoughts. + +The girl was scarcely less quiet than her slumbering companion; she sat +in one changeless attitude, with her hands clasped together in her lap, +and her eyes always looking straight forward, as they had looked when +she walked upon the platform. Once she put her hand mechanically to the +belt of her dress, and then shook her head with a sigh as she drew it +away. + +"How long the time seems!" she said; "how long! and I have no watch now, +and I can't tell how late it is. If they should be there before me. If +they should be travelling by this train. No, that's impossible. I know +that neither Clement, nor the man that was with him, left Winchester by +the train that took me to London. But if they should telegraph to London +or Shorncliffe?" + +She began to tremble at the thought of this possibility. If that grand +wonder of science, the electric telegraph, should be made use of by the +men she dreaded, she would be too late upon the errand she was going on. + +The mail train stopped at Shorncliffe while she was thinking of this +fatal possibility. She got out and asked one of the porters to get her a +fly; but the man shook his head. + +"There's no flies to be had at this time of night, miss," he said, +civilly enough. "Where do you want to go?" + +She dared not tell him her destination; secresy was essential to the +fulfilment of her purpose. + +"I can walk," she said; "I am not going very far." She left the station +before the man could ask her any further questions, and went out into +the moonlit country road on which the station abutted. She went through +the town of Shorncliffe, where the diamond casements were all darkened +for the night, and under the gloomy archway, past the dark shadows which +the ponderous castle-towers flung across the rippling water. She left +the town, and went out upon the lonely country road, through patches of +moonlight and shadow, fearless in her self-abnegation, with only one +thought in her mind: "Would she be in time?" + +She was very tired when she came at last to the iron gates at the +principal entrance of Maudesley Park. She had heard Clement Austin speak +of a bridle-path through the park to Lisford, and he had told her that +this bridle-path was approached by a gate in the park-fence upwards of a +mile from the principal lodge. + +She walked along by this fence, looking for the gate. + +She found it at last; a little low wooden gate, painted white, and only +fastened by a latch. Beyond the gate there was a pathway winding in and +out among the trunks of the great elms, across the dry grass. + +Margaret Wilmot followed this winding path, slowly and doubtfully, till +she came to the margin of a vast open lawn. Upon the other side of this +lawn she saw the dark frontage of Maudesley Abbey, and three tall +lighted windows gleaming through the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +FLIGHT. + + +The man who called himself Henry Dunbar was lying on the tapestried +cushions of a carved oaken couch that stood before the fire in his +spacious sitting-room. He lay there, listening to the March wind roaring +in the broad chimney, and watching the blazing coals and the crackling +logs of wood. + +It was three o'clock in the morning now, and the servants had left the +room at midnight; but the sick man had ordered a huge fire to be made +up--a fire that promised to last for some hours. + +The master of Maudesley Abbey was in no way improved by his long +imprisonment. His complexion had faded to a dull leaden hue; his cheeks +were sunken; his eyes looked unnaturally large and unnaturally bright. +Long hours of loneliness, long sleepless nights, and thoughts that from +every diverging point for ever narrowed inwards to one hideous centre, +had done their work of him. The man lying opposite the fire to-night +looked ten years older than the man who gave his evidence so boldly and +clearly before the coroner's jury at Winchester. + +The crutches--they were made of some light, polished wood, and were +triumphs of art in their way--leaned against a table close to the couch, +and within reach to the man's hand. He had learned to walk about the +rooms and on the gravel-drive before the Abbey with these crutches, and +had even learned to do without them, for he was now able to set the +lamed foot upon the ground, and to walk a few paces pretty steadily, +with no better support than that of his cane; but as yet he walked +slowly and doubtfully, in spite of his impatience to be about once more. + +Heaven knows how many different thoughts were busy in his restless brain +that night. Strange memories came back to him, as he lay staring at the +red chasms and craggy steeps in the fire--memories of a time so long +gone by, that all the personages of that period seemed to him like the +characters in a book, or the figures in a picture. He saw their faces, +and he remembered how they had looked at him; and among these other +faces he saw the many semblances which his own had worn. + +O God, how that face had changed! The bright, frank, boyish countenance, +looking eagerly out upon a world that seemed so pleasant; the young +man's hopeful smile; and then--and then, the hard face that grew harder +with the lapse of years; the smile that took no radiance from a light +within; the frown that blackened as the soul grew darker. He saw all +these, and still for ever, amid a thousand distracting ideas, his +thoughts, which were beyond his own volition, concentrated in the one +plague-spot of his life, and held him there, fixed as a wretch bound +hand and foot upon the rack. + +"If I could only get away from this place," he said to himself; "if I +could get away, it would all be different. Change of scene, activity, +hurrying from place to place in new countries and amongst strange +people, would have the usual influence upon me. That memory would pass +away then, as other memories have passed; only to be recalled, now and +then, in a dream; or conjured up by some chance allusion dropped from +the lips of strangers, some coincidence of resemblance in a scene, or +face, or tone, or look. _That_ memory cannot be so much worse than the +rest that it should be ineffaceable, where they have been effaced. But +while I stay here, here in this dismal room, where the dropping of the +ashes on the hearth, the ticking of the clock upon the chimney-piece, +are like that torture I have read of somewhere--the drop of water +falling at intervals upon the victim's forehead until the anguish of its +monotony drives him raving mad--while I stay here there is no hope of +forgetfulness, no possibility of peace. I saw him last night, and the +night before last, and the night before that. I see him always when I go +to sleep, smiling at me, as he smiled when we went into the grove. I can +hear his voice, and the words he said, every syllable of those +insignificant words, selfish murmurs about the probability of his being +fatigued in that long walk, the possibility that it would have been +better to hire a fly, and to have driven by the road--bah! What was he +that I should be sorry for him? Am I sorry for him? No! I am sorry for +myself, and for the torture which I have created for myself. O God! I +can see him now as he looked up at me out of the water. The motion of +the stream gave a look of life to his face, and I almost thought he was +still alive, and I had never done that deed." + +These were the pleasant fireside thoughts with which the master of +Maudesley Abbey beguiled the hours of his convalescence. Heaven keep our +memories green! exclaims the poet novelist; and Heaven preserve us from +such deeds as make our memories hideous to us! + +From such a reverie as this the master of Maudesley Abbey was suddenly +aroused by the sound of a light knocking against one of the windows of +his room--the window nearest him as he lay on the couch. + +He started, and lifted himself into a sitting posture. + +"Who is there?" he cried, impatiently. + +He was frightened, and clasped his two hands upon, his forehead, trying +to think who the late visitant could be. Why should any one come to him +at such an hour, unless--unless _it_ was discovered? There could be no +other justification for such an intrusion. + +His breath came short and thick as he thought of this. Had it come at +last, then, that awful moment which he had dreamed of so many +times--that hideous crisis which he had imagined under so many different +aspects? Had it come at last, like this?--quietly, in the dead of the +night, without one moment's warning?--before he had prepared himself to +escape it, or hardened himself to meet it? Had it come now? The man +thought all this while he listened, with his chest heaving, his breath +coming in hoarse gasps, waiting for the reply to his question. + +There was no reply except the knocking, which grew louder and more +hurried. + +If there can be expression in the tapping of a hand against a pane of +glass, there was expression in that hand--the expression of entreaty +rather than of demand, as it seemed to that white and terror-stricken +listener. + +His heart gave a great throb, like a prisoner who leaps away from the +fetters that have been newly loosened. + +"What a fool I have been!" he thought. "If it was that, there would be +knocking and ringing at the hall-door, instead of that cautious summons. +I suppose that fellow Vallance has got into some kind of trouble, and +has come in the dead of the night to hound me for money. It would be +only like him to do it. He knows he must be admitted, let him come when +he may." + +The invalid gave a groan as he thought this. He got up and walked to the +window, leaning upon his cane as he went. + +The knocking still sounded. He was close to the window, and he heard +something besides the knocking--a woman's voice, not loud, but +peculiarly audible by reason of its earnestness. + +"Let me in; for pity's sake let me in!" + +The man standing at the window knew that voice: only too well, only too +well. It was the voice of the girl who had so persistently followed him, +who had only lately succeeded in seeing him. He drew back the bolts that +fastened the long French window, opened it, and admitted Margaret +Wilmot. + +"Margaret!" he cried; "what, in Heaven's name, brings you here at such +an hour as this?" + +"Danger!" answered the girl, breathlessly. "Danger to you! I have been +running, and the words seem to choke me as I speak. There's not a moment +to be lost, not one moment. They will be here directly; they cannot fail +to be here directly. I felt as if they had been close behind me all the +way--they may have been so. There is not a moment--not one moment!" + +She stopped, with her hands clasped upon her breast. She was incoherent +in her excitement, and knew that she was so, and struggled to express +herself clearly. + +"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, lifting her hands to her head, and pushing +the loose tangled hair away from her face; "I have tried to save you--I +have tried to save you! But sometimes I think that is not to be. It may +be God's mercy that you should be taken, and your wretched daughter can +die with you!" + +She fell upon her knees, suddenly, in a kind of delirium, and lifted up +her clasped hands. + +"O God, have mercy upon him!" she cried. "As I prayed in this room +before--as I have prayed every hour since that dreadful time--I pray +again to-night. Have mercy upon him, and give him a penitent heart, and +wash away his sin. What is the penalty he may suffer here, compared to +that Thou canst inflict hereafter? Let the chastisement of man fall upon +him, so as Thou wilt accept his repentance!" + +"Margaret," said Joseph Wilmot, grasping the girl's arm, "are you +praying that I may be hung? Have you come here to do that? Get up, and +tell me what is the matter!" + +Margaret Wilmot rose from her knees shuddering, and looking straight +before her, trying to be calm--trying to collect her thoughts. + +"Father," she said, "I have never known one hour's peaceful sleep since +the night I left this room. For the last three nights I have not slept +at all. I have been travelling, walking from place to place, until I +could drop on the floor at your feet. I want to tell you--but the +words--the words--won't come--somehow----" + +She pointed to her dry lips, which moved, but made no sound. There was a +bottle of brandy and a glass on the table near the couch. Joseph Wilmot +was seldom without that companion. He snatched up the bottle and glass, +poured out some of the brandy, and placed it between his daughter's +lips. She drank the spirit eagerly. She would have drunk living fire, +if, by so doing, she could have gained strength to complete her task. + +"You must leave this house directly!" she gasped. "You must go abroad, +anywhere, so long as you are safe out of the way. They will be here to +look for you--Heaven only knows how soon!" + +"They! Who? + +"Clement Austin, and a man--a detective----" + +"Clement Austin--your lover--your confederate? You have betrayed me, +Margaret!" + +"I!" cried the girl, looking at her father. + +There was something sublime in the tone of that one word--something +superb in the girl's face, as her eyes met the haggard gaze of the +murderer. + +"Forgive me, my girl! No, no, you wouldn't do that, even to a loathsome +wretch like me!" + +"But you will go away--you will escape from them?" + +"Why should I be afraid of them? Let them come when they please, they +have no proof against me." + +"No proof? Oh, father, you don't know--you don't know. They have been to +Winchester. I heard from Clement's mother that he had gone there; and I +went after him, and found out where he was--at the inn where you stayed, +where you refused to see me--and that there was a man with him. I waited +about the streets; and at night I saw them both, the man and Clement. +Oh! father, I knew they could have only one purpose in coming to that +place. I saw them at night; and the next day I watched again--waiting +about the street, and hiding myself under porches or in shops, when +there was any chance of my being seen. I saw Clement leave the George, +and take the way towards the cathedral. I went to the cathedral-yard +afterwards, and saw the strange man talking in a doorway with an old +man. I loitered about the cathedral-yard, and saw the man that was with +Clement go away, down by the meadows, towards the grove, to the place +where----" + +She stopped, and trembled so violently that she was unable to speak. + +Joseph Wilmot filled the glass with brandy for the second time, and put +it to his daughter's lips. + +She drank about a teaspoonful, and then went on, speaking very rapidly, +and in broken sentences-- + +"I followed the man, keeping a good way behind, so that he might not see +that he was followed. He went straight down to the very place where--the +murder was done. Clement was there, and three men. They were there under +the trees, and they were dragging the water." + +"Dragging the water! Oh, my God, why were they doing that?" cried the +man, dropping suddenly on the chair nearest to him, and with his face +livid. + +For the first time since Margaret had entered the room terror took +possession of him. Until now he had listened attentively, anxiously; but +the ghastly look of fear and horror was new upon his face. He had defied +discovery. There was only one thing that could be used against him--the +bundle of clothes, the marked garments of the murdered man--those fatal +garments which he had been unable to destroy, which he had only been +able to hide. These things alone could give evidence against him; but +who should think of searching for these things? Again and again he had +thought of the bundle at the bottom of the stream, only to laugh at the +wondrous science of discovery which had slunk back baffled by so slight +a mystery, only to fancy the water-rats gnawing the dead man's garments, +and all the oose and slime creeping in and out amongst the folds until +the rotting rags became a very part of the rank river-weeds that crawled +and tangled round them. + +He had thought this, and the knowledge that strangers had been busy on +that spot, dragging the water--the dreadful water that had so often +flowed through his dreams--with, not one, but a thousand dead faces +looking up and grinning at him through the stream--the tidings that a +search had been made there, came upon him like a thunderbolt. + +"Why did they drag the water?" he cried again. + +His daughter was standing at a little distance from him. She had never +gone close up to him, and she had receded a little--involuntarily, as a +woman shrinks away from some animal she is frightened of--whenever he +had approached her. He knew this--yes, amidst every other conflicting +thought, this man was conscious that his daughter avoided him. + +"They dragged the water," Margaret said; "I walked about--that +place--under the elms--all the day--only one day--but it seemed to last +for ever and ever. I was obliged to hide myself--and to keep at a +distance, for Clement was there all day; but as it grew dusk I ventured +nearer, and found out what they were doing, and that they had not found +what they were searching for; but I did not know yet what it was they +wanted to find." + +"But they found it!" gasped the girl's father; "did they find it? Come +to that." + +"Yes, they found it by-and-by. A bundle of rags, a boy told me--a boy +who had been about with the men all day--'a bundle of rags, it looked +like,' he said; but he heard the constable say that those rags were the +clothes that had belonged to the murdered man." + +"What then? What next?" + +"I waited to hear no more, father; I ran all the way to Winchester to +the station--I was in time for a train, which brought me to London--I +came on by the mail to Rugby--and----" + +"Yes, yes; I know--and you are a brave girl, a noble girl. Ah! my poor +Margaret, I don't think I should have hated that man so much if it +hadn't been for the thought of you--your lonely girlhood--your hopeless, +joyless existence--and all through him--all through the man who ruined +me at the outset of my life. But I won't talk--I daren't talk: they have +found the clothes; they know that the man who was murdered was Henry +Dunbar--they will be here--let me think--let me think how I can get +away!" + +He clasped both his hands upon his head, as if by force of their iron +grip he could steady his mind, and clear away the confusion of his +brain. + +From the first day on which he had taken possession of the dead man's +property until this moment he had lived in perpetual terror of the +crisis which had now arrived. There was no possible form or manner in +which he had not imagined the situation. There was no preparation in his +power to make that he had left unmade. But he had hoped to anticipate +the dreaded hour. He had planned his flight, and meant to have left +Maudesley Abbey for ever, in the first hour that found him capable of +travelling. He had planned his flight, and had started on that wintry +afternoon, when the Sabbath bells had a muffled sound, as their solemn +peals floated across the snow--he had started on his journey with the +intention of never again returning to Maudesley Abbey. He had meant to +leave England, and wander far away, through all manner of unfrequented +districts, choosing places that were most difficult of approach, and +least affected by English travellers. + +He had meant to do this, and had calculated that his conduct would be, +at the worst, considered eccentric; or perhaps it would be thought +scarcely unnatural in a lonely man, whose only child had married into a +higher sphere than his own. He had meant to do this, and by-and-by, when +he had been lost sight of by the world, to hide himself under a new name +and a new nationality, so that if ever, by some strange fatality, by +some awful interposition of Providence, the secret of Henry Dunbar's +death should come to light, the murderer would be as entirely removed +from human knowledge as if the grave had closed over him and hidden him +for ever. + +This is the course that Joseph Wilmot had planned for himself. There had +been plenty of time for him to think and plot in the long nights that he +had spent in those splendid rooms--those noble chambers, whose grandeur +had been more hideous to him than the blank walls of a condemned cell; +whose atmosphere had seemed more suffocating than the foetid vapours of +a fever-tainted den in St. Giles's. The passionate, revengeful yearning +of a man who has been cruelly injured and betrayed, the common greed of +wealth engendered out of poverty's slow torture, had arisen rampant in +this man's breast at the sight of Henry Dunbar. By one hideous deed both +passions were gratified; and Joseph Wilmot, the bank-messenger, the +confidential valet, the forger, the convict, the ticket-of-leave man, +the penniless reprobate, became master of a million of money. + +Yes, he had done this. He had entered Winchester upon that August +afternoon, with a few sovereigns and a handful of silver in his pocket, +and with a life of poverty and degradation, before him. He had left the +same town chief partner in the firm of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, and +sole owner of Maudesley Abbey, the Yorkshire estates, and the house in +Portland Place. + +Surely this was the very triumph of crime, a master-stroke of villany. +But had the villain ever known one moment's happiness since the +commission of that deed--one moment's peace--one moment's freedom from a +slow, torturing anguish that was like the gnawing of a ravenous beast +for ever preying on his entrails? The author of the _Opium-Eater_ +suffered so cruelly from some internal agony that he grew at last to +fancy there was indeed some living creature inside him, for ever +torturing and tormenting him. This doubtless was only the fancy of an +invalid: but what of that undying serpent called Remorse, which coils +itself about the heart of the murderer and holds it for ever in a deadly +grip--never to beat freely again, never to know a painless throb, or +feel a sweet emotion? + +In a few minutes--while the rooks were cawing in the elms, and the green +leaves fluttering in the drowsy summer air, and the blue waters rippling +in the sunshine and flecked by the shadows--Joseph Wilmot had done a +deed which had given him the richest reward that a murderer ever hoped +to win; and had so transformed his life, so changed the very current of +his being, that he went away out of that wood, not alone, but dogged +step by step by a gaunt, stalking creature, a hideous monster that +echoed his every breath, and followed at his shoulder, and clung about +him, and grappled his throat, and weighed him down; a horrid thing, +which had neither shape nor name, and yet wore every shape, and took +every name, and was the ghost of the deed that he had done. + +Joseph Wilmot stood for a few moments with his hands clasped upon his +head, and then the shadows faded from his face, which suddenly became +fixed and resolute-looking. The first thrill of terror, the first shock +of surprise, were over. This man never had been and never could be a +coward. He was ready now for the worst. It may be that he was glad the +worst had come. He had suffered such unutterable anguish, such +indescribable tortures, during the time in which his guilt had been +unsuspected, that it may have been a kind of relief to know that his +secret was discovered, and that he was free to drop the mask. + +While he paused, thinking what he was to do, some lucky thought came to +him, for his face brightened suddenly with a triumphant smile. + +"The horse!" he said. "I may ride, though I can't walk." + +He took up his cane, and went to the next room, where there was a door +that opened into the quadrangle, in which the master of the Abbey had +caused a loose box to be built for his favourite horse. Margaret +followed her father, not closely, but at a little distance, watching him +with anxious, wondering eyes. + +He unfastened the half-glass door, opened it, and went out into the +quadrangular garden, the quaint old-fashioned garden, where the +flower-beds were primly dotted on the smooth grass-plot, in the centre +of which there was a marble basin, and the machinery of a little +fountain that had never played within the memory of living man. + +"Go back for the lamp, Margaret," Joseph Wilmot whispered. "I must have +light." + +The girl obeyed. She had left off trembling now, and carried the shaded +lamp as steadily as if she had been bent on some simple womanly errand. +She followed her father into the garden, and went with him to the loose +box where the horse was to be found. + +The animal knew his master, even in that uncertain light. There was gas +laid on in the millionaire's stables, and a low jet had been left +burning by the groom. + +The horse plunged his head about his master's shoulders, and shook his +mane, and reared, and disported himself in his delight at seeing his old +friend once more, and it was only Joseph Wilmot's soothing hand and +voice that subdued the animal's exuberant spirits. + +"Steady, boy, steady! quiet, old fellow!" Joseph said, in a whisper. + +Three or four saddles and bridles hung upon a rack in one corner of the +small stable. Joseph Wilmot selected the things he wanted, and began to +saddle the horse, supporting himself on his cane as he did so. + +The groom slept in the house now, by his master's orders, and there was +no one within hearing. + +The horse was saddled and bridled in five minutes, and Joseph Wilmot led +him out of the stable, followed by Margaret, who still carried the lamp. +There was a low iron gate leading out of the quadrangle into the +grounds. Joseph led the horse to this gate. + +"Go back and get me my coat," he said to Margaret; "you'll go faster +than I can. You'll find a coat lined with fur on a chair in the +bedroom." + +His daughter obeyed, silently and quietly, as she had done before. The +rooms all opened one into the other. She saw the bedroom with the tall, +gloomy bedstead, the light of the fire flickering here and there. She +set the lamp down upon a table in this room, and found the fur-lined +coat her father had sent her to fetch. There was a purse lying on a +dressing-table, with sovereigns glittering through the silken network, +and the girl snatched it up as she hurried away, thinking, in her +innocent simplicity, that her father might have nothing but those few +sovereigns to help him in his flight. She went back to him, carrying the +bulky overcoat, and helped him to put it on in place of the +dressing-grown he had been wearing. He had taken his hat before going to +the stable. + +"Here is your purse, father," she said, thrusting it into his hand; +"there is something in it, but I'm afraid there's not very much. How +will you manage for money where you art going?" + +"Oh, I shall manage very well." + +He had got into the saddle by this time, not without considerable +difficulty; but though the fresh air made him feel faint and dizzy, he +felt himself a new man now that the horse was under him--the brave +horse, the creature that loved him, whose powerful stride could carry +him almost to the other end of the world; as it seemed to Joseph Wilmot +in the first triumph of being astride the animal once more. He put his +hand involuntarily to the belt that was strapped round him, as Margaret +asked that question about the money. + +"Oh, yes," he said, "I've money enough--I am all right." + +"But where are you going?" she asked, eagerly. + +The horse was tearing up the wet gravel, and making furious champing +noises in his impatience of all this delay. + +"I don't know," Joseph Wilmot answered; "that will depend upon--I don't +know. Good night, Margaret. God bless you! I don't suppose He listens to +the prayers of such as me. If He did, it might have been all different +long ago--when I tried to be honest!" + +Yes, this was true; the murderer of Henry Dunbar had once tried to be +honest, and had prayed God to prosper his honesty; but then he only +tried to do right in a spasmodic, fitful kind of way, and expected his +prayers to be granted as soon as they were asked, and was indignant with +a Providence that seemed to be deaf to his entreaties. He had always +lacked that sublime quality of patience, which endures the evil day, and +calmly breasts the storm. + +"Let me go with you, father," Margaret said, in an entreating voice, +"let me go with you. There is nothing in all the world for me, except +the hope of God's forgiveness for you. I want to be with you. I don't +want you to be amongst bad men, who will harden your heart. I want to be +with you--far away--where----" + +"_You_ with me?" said Joseph Wilmot, slowly; "you wish it?" + +"With all my heart!" + +"And you're true," he cried, bending down to grasp his daughter's +shoulder and look her in the face, "you're true, Margaret, eh?--true as +steel; ready for anything, no flinching, no quailing or trembling when +the danger comes. You've stood a good deal, and stood it nobly. Can you +stand still more, eh?" + +"For your sake, father, for your sake! yes, yes, I will brave anything +in the world, do anything to save you from----" + +She shuddered as she remembered what the danger was that assailed him, +the horror from which flight alone could save him. No, no, no! _that_ +could never be endured at any cost; at any sacrifice he must be saved +from _that_. No strength of womanly fortitude, no trust in the mercy of +God, could even make her resigned as to _that_. + +"I'll trust you, Margaret," said Joseph Wilmot, loosening his grasp upon +the girl's shoulder; "I'll trust you. Haven't I reason to trust you? +Didn't I see your mother, on the day when she found out what my history +was; didn't I see the colour fade out of her face till she was whiter +than the linen collar round her neck, and in the next moment her arms +were about me, and her honest eyes looking up in my face, as she cried, +'I shall never love you less, dear; there's nothing in this world can +make me love you less!'" + +He paused for a moment. His voice had grown thick and husky; but he +broke out violently in the next instant. + +"Great Heaven! why do I stop talking like this? Listen to me, Margaret; +if you want to see the last of me, you must find your way, somehow or +other, to Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford--on the Lisford Road, I think. +Find your way there--I'm going there now, and shall be there long before +you--you understand?" + +"Yes; Woodbine Cottage, Lisford--I shan't forget! God speed you, +father!--God help you!" + +"He is the God of sinners," thought the wretched girl. "He gave Cain a +long lifetime in which to repent of his sins." + +Margaret thought this as she stood at the gate, listening to the horse's +hoofs upon the gravel road that wound through the grounds away into the +park. + +She was very, very tired, but had little sense of her fatigue, and her +journey was by no means finished yet. She did not once look back at +Maudesley Abbey--that stately and splendid mansion, in which a miserable +wretch had acted his part, and endured the penalty of his guilt, for +many wearisome months She went away--hurrying along the lonely pathways, +with the night breezes blowing her loose hair across her eyes, and +half-blinding her as she went--to find the gate by which she had entered +the park. + +She went out at this gateway because it was the only point of egress by +which she could leave the park without being seen by the keeper of a +lodge. The dim morning light was grey in the sky before she met any one +whom she could ask to direct her to Woodbine Cottage; but at last a man +came out of a farmyard with a couple of milk-pails, and directed her to +the Lisford Road. + +It was broad daylight when she reached the little garden-gate before +Major Vernon's abode. It was broad daylight, and the door leading into +the prim little hall was ajar. The girl pushed it open, and fell into +the arms of a man, who caught her as she fainted. + +"Poor girl, poor child!" said Joseph Wilmot; "to think what she has +suffered. And I thought that she would profit by that crime; I thought +that she would take the money, and be content to leave the mystery +unravelled. My poor child! my poor, unhappy child!" + +The man who had murdered Henry Dunbar wept aloud over the white face of +his unconscious daughter. + +"Don't let's have any of that fooling," cried a harsh voice from the +little parlour; "we've no time to waste on snivelling!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY. + + +Mr. Carter the detective lost no time about his work; but he did not +employ the telegraph, by which means he might perhaps have expedited the +arrest of Henry Dunbar's murderer. He did not avail himself of the +facilities offered by that wonderful electric telegraph, which was once +facetiously called the rope that hung Tawell the Quaker, because in so +doing he must have taken the local police into his confidence, and he +wished to do his work quietly, only aided by a companion and humble +follower, whom he was in the habit of employing. + +He went up to London by the mail-train after parting from Clement +Austin; took a cab at the Waterloo station, and drove straight off to +the habitation of his humble assistant, whom he most unceremoniously +roused from his bed. But there was no train for Warwickshire before the +six-o'clock parliamentary, and there was a seven-o'clock express, which +would reach Rugby ten minutes after that miserably slow conveyance; so +Mr. Carter naturally elected to sacrifice the ten minutes, and travel by +the express. Meanwhile he took a hearty breakfast, which had been +hastily prepared by the wife of his friend and follower, and explained +the nature of the business before them. + +It must be confessed that, in making these explanations to his humble +friend, Mr. Carter employed a tone that implied no little superiority, +and that the friendliness of his manner was tempered by condescension. + +The friend was a middle-aged and most respectable-looking individual, +with a turnip-hued skin relieved by freckles, dark-red eyes, and +pale-red hair. He was not a very prepossessing person, and had a habit +of working about his lips and jaws when he was neither eating nor +talking, which was far from pleasant to behold. He was very much +esteemed by Mr. Carter, nevertheless; not so much because he was clever, +as because he looked so eminently stupid. This last characteristic had +won for him the _sobriquet_ of Sawney Tom, and he was considered worth +his weight in sovereigns on certain occasions, when a simple country lad +or a verdant-looking linen-draper's apprentice was required to enact +some little part in the detective drama. + +"You'll bring some of your traps with you, Sawney," said Mr. +Carter.--"I'll take another, ma'am, if you please. Three minutes and a +half this time, and let the white set tolerably firm." This last remark +was addressed to Mrs. Sawney Tom, or rather Mrs. Thomas Tibbles--Sawney +Tom's name was Tibbles--who was standing by the fire, boiling eggs and +toasting bread for her husband's patron. "You'll bring your traps, +Sawney," continued the detective, with his mouth full of buttered toast; +"there's no knowing how much trouble this chap may give us; because you +see a chap that can play the bold game he has played, and keep it up for +nigh upon a twelvemonth, could play any game. There's nothing out that +he need look upon as beyond him. So, though I've every reason to think +we shall take my friend at Maudesley as quietly as ever a child in arms +was took out of its cradle, still we may as well be prepared for the +worst." + +Mr. Tibbles, who was of a taciturn disposition, and who had been busily +chewing nothing while listening to his superior, merely gave a jerk of +acquiescence in answer to the detective's speech. + +"We start as solicitor and clerk," said Mr. Carter. "You'll carry a blue +bag. You'd better go and dress: the time's getting on. Respectable black +and a clean shave, you know, Sawney. We're going to an old gentleman in +the neighbourhood of Shorncliffe, that wants his will altered all of a +hurry, having quarrelled with his three daughters; that's what _we're_ +goin' to do, if anybody's curious about our business." + +Mr. Tibbles nodded, and retired to an inner apartment, whence he emerged +by-and-by dressed in a shabby-genteel costume of somewhat funereal +aspect, and with the lower part of his face rasped like a French roll, +and somewhat resembling that edible in colour. + +He brought a small portmanteau with him, and then departed to fetch a +cab, in which vehicle the two gentlemen drove away to the Euston-Square +station. + +It was one o'clock in the day when they reached the great iron gates of +Maudesley Abbey in a fly which they had chartered at Shorncliffe. It was +one o'clock on a bright sunshiny day, and the heart of Mr. Carter the +detective beat high with expectation of a great triumph. + +He descended from the fly himself, in order to question the woman at the +lodge. + +"You'd better get out, Sawney," he said, putting his head in at the +window, in order to speak to his companion; "I shan't take the vehicle +into the park. It'll be quieter and safer for us to walk up to the +house." + +Mr. Tibbles, with his blue-bag on his arm, got out of the fly, prepared +to attend his superior whithersoever that luminary chose to lead him. + +The woman at the lodge was not alone; a little group of gossips were +gathered in the primly-furnished parlour, and the talk was loud and +animated. + +"Which I was that took aback like, you might have knocked me down with a +feather," said the proprietress of the little parlour, as she went out +of the rustic porch to open the gate for Mr. Carter and his companion. + +"I want to see Mr. Dunbar," he said, "on particular business. You can +tell him I come from the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. I've got a +letter from the junior partner there, and I'm to deliver it to Mr. +Dunbar himself!" + +The keeper of the lodge threw up her hands and eyes in token of utter +bewilderment. + +"Begging your pardon, sir," she said, "but I've been that upset, I don't +know scarcely what I'm a-doing of. Mr. Dunbar have gone, sir, and nobody +in that house don't know why he went, or when he went, or where he's +gone. The man-servant as waited on him found the rooms all empty the +first thing this morning; and the groom as had charge of Mr. Dunbar's +horse, and slep' at the back of the house, not far from the stables, +fancied as how he heard a trampling last night where the horse was kep', +but put it down to the animal bein' restless on account of the change in +the weather; and this morning the horse was gone, and the gravel all +trampled up, and Mr. Dunbar's gold-headed cane (which the poor gentleman +was still so lame it was as much as he could do to walk from one room to +another) was lying by the garden-gate; and how he ever managed to get +out and about and saddle his horse and ride away like that without bein' +ever heard by a creetur, nobody hasn't the slightest notion; and +everybody this morning was distracted like, searchin' 'igh and low; but +not a sign of Mr. Dunbar were found nowhere." + +Mr. Carter turned pale, and stamped his foot upon the gravel-drive. Two +hundred pounds is a large stake to a poor man; and Mr. Carter's +reputation was also trembling in the balance. The very man he wanted +gone--gone away in the dead of the night, while all the household was +sleeping! + +"But he was lame," he cried. "How about that?--the railway accident--the +broken leg----" + +"Yes, sir," the woman answered, eagerly, "that's the very thing, sir; +which they're all talkin' about it at the house, sir, and how a poor +invalid gentleman, what could scarce stir hand or foot, should get up in +the middle of the night and saddle his own horse, and ride away at a +rampageous rate; which the groom says he _have_ rode rampageous, or the +gravel wouldn't be tore up as it is. And they do say, sir, as Mr. Dunbar +must have been took mad all of a sudden, and the doctor was in an awful +way when he heard it; and there's been people riding right and left +lookin' for him, sir. And Miss Dunbar--leastways Lady Jocelyn--was sent +for early this morning, and she's at the house now, sir, with her +husband Sir Philip; and if your business is so very important, perhaps +you'd like to see her----" + +"I should," answered the detective, briskly. "You stop here, Sawney," he +added, aside to his attendant; "you stop here, and pick up what you can. +I'll go up to the house and see the lady." + +Mr. Carter found the door open, and a group of servants clustered in the +gothic porch. Lady Jocelyn was in Mr. Dunbar's rooms, a footman told +him. The detective sent this man to ask if Mr. Dunbar's daughter would +receive a stranger from London, on most important business. + +The man came back in five minutes to say yes, Lady Jocelyn would see the +strange gentleman. + +The detective was ushered through the two outer rooms leading to that +tapestried apartment in which the missing man had spent so many +miserable days, so many dismal nights. He found Laura standing in one of +the windows looking out across the smooth lawn, looking anxiously out +towards the winding gravel-drive that led from the principal lodge to +the house. + +She turned away from the window as Mr. Carter approached her, and passed +her hand across her forehead. Her eyelids trembled, and she had the look +of a person whose senses had been dazed by excitement and confusion. + +"Have you come to bring me any news of my father?" she said. "I am +distracted by this serious calamity." + +Laura looked imploringly at the detective. Something in his grave face +frightened her. + +"You have come to tell me of some new trouble," she cried. + +"No, Miss Dunbar--no, Lady Jocelyn, I have no new trouble to announce to +you. I have come to this house in search of--of the gentleman who went +away last night. I must find him at any cost. All I want is a little +help from you. You may trust to me that he shall be found, and speedily, +if he lives." + +"If he lives!" cried Laura, with a sudden terror in her face. + +"Surely you do not imagine--you do not fear that----" + +"I imagine nothing, Lady Jocelyn. My duty is very simple, and lies +straight before me. I must find the missing man." + +"You will find my father," said Laura, with a puzzled expression. "Yes, +I am most anxious that he should be found; and if--if you will accept +any reward for your efforts, I shall be only too glad to give all you +can ask. But how is it that you happen to come here, and to take this +interest in my father? You come from the banking-house, I suppose?" + +"Yes," the detective answered, after a pause, "yes, Lady Jocelyn, I come +from the office in St. Gundolph Lane." + +Mr. Carter was silent for some few moments, during which his eyes +wandered about the apartment in that professional survey which took in +every detail, from the colour of the curtains and the pattern of the +carpets, to the tiniest porcelain toy in an antique cabinet on one side +of the fireplace. The only thing upon which the detective's glance +lingered was the lamp, which Margaret had extinguished. + +"I'm going to ask your ladyship a question," said Mr. Carter, presently, +looking gravely, and almost compassionately, at the beautiful face +before him; "you'll think me impertinent, perhaps, but I hope you'll +believe that I'm only a straightforward business man, anxious to do my +duty in my own line of life, and to do it with consideration for all +parties. You seem very anxious about this missing gentleman; may I ask +if you are very fond of him? It's a strange question, I know, my +lady--or it seems a strange question--but there's more in the answer +than you can guess, and I shall be very grateful to you if you'll answer +it candidly." + +A faint flush crept over Laura's face, and the tears started suddenly to +her eyes. She turned away from the detective, and brushed her +handkerchief hastily across those tearful eyes. She walked to the +window, and stood there for a minute or so, looking out. + +"Why do you ask me this question?" she asked, rather haughtily. + +"I cannot tell you that, my lady, at present," the detective answered; +"but I give you my word of honour that I have a very good reason for +what I do." + +"Very well then, I will answer you frankly," said Laura, turning and +looking Mr. Carter full in the face. "I will answer you, for I believe +that you are an honest man. There is very little love between my father +and me. It is our misfortune, perhaps: and it may be only natural that +it should be so, for we were separated from each other for so many +years, that, when at last the day of our meeting came, we met like +strangers, and there was a barrier between us that could never be broken +down. Heaven knows how anxiously I used to look forward to my father's +return from India, and how bitterly I felt the disappointment when I +discovered, little by little, that we should never be to one another +what other fathers and daughters, who have never known the long +bitterness of separation, are to each other. But pray remember that I do +not complain; my father has been very good to me, very indulgent, very +generous. His last act, before the accident which laid him up so long, +was to take a journey to London on purpose to buy diamonds for a +necklace, which was to be his wedding present to me. I do not speak of +this because I care for the jewels; but I am pleased to think that, in +spite of the coldness of his manner, my father had some affection for +his only child." + +Mr. Carter was not looking at Laura, he was staring out of the window, +and his eyes had that stolid glare with which they had gazed at Clement +Austin while the cashier told his story. + +"A diamond necklace!" he said; "humph--ha, ha--yes!" All this was in an +undertone, that hummed faintly through the detective's closed teeth. "A +diamond-necklace! You've got the necklace, I suppose, eh, my lady?" + +"No; the diamonds were bought, but they were never made up." + +"The unset diamonds were bought by Mr. Dunbar?" + +"Yes, to an enormous amount, I believe. While I was in Paris, my father +wrote to tell me that he meant to delay the making of the necklace until +he was well enough to go on the Continent. He could see no design in +England that at all satisfied him." + +"No, I dare say not," answered the detective, "I dare say he'd find it +rather difficult to please himself in that matter." + +Laura looked inquiringly at Mr. Carter. There was something +disrespectful, not to say ironical, in his tone. + +"I thank you heartily for having been so candid with me, Lady Jocelyn," +he said; "and believe me I shall have your interests at heart throughout +this matter. I shall go to work immediately; and you may rely upon it, I +shall succeed in finding the missing man." + +"You do not think that--that under some terrible hallucination, the +result of his long illness--you don't think that he has committed +suicide?" + +"No," Lady Jocelyn, answered the detective, decisively, "there is +nothing further from my thoughts now." + +"Thank Heaven for that!" + +"And now, my lady, may I ask if you'll be kind enough to let me see Mr. +Dunbar's valet, and to leave me alone with him in these rooms? I may +pick up something that will help me to find your father. By the bye, you +haven't a picture of him--a miniature, a photograph, or anything of that +sort, eh?" + +"No, unhappily I have no portrait whatever of my father." + +"Ah, that is unlucky; but never mind, we must contrive to get on without +it." + +Laura rang the bell. One of the superb footmen, the birds of paradise +who consented to glorify the halls and passages of Maudesley Abbey, +appeared in answer to the summons, and went in search of Mr. Dunbar's +own man--the man who had waited on the invalid ever since the accident. + +Having sent for this person, Laura bade the detective good morning, and +went away through the vista of rooms to the other side of the hall, to +that bright modernized wing of the house which Percival Dunbar had +improved and beautified for the granddaughter he idolized. + +Mr. Dunbar's own man was only too glad to be questioned, and to have a +good opportunity of discoursing upon the event which had caused such +excitement and consternation. But the detective was not a pleasant +person to talk to, as he had a knack of cutting people short with a +fresh question at the first symptom of rambling; and, indeed, so closely +did he keep his companion to the point, that a conversation with him was +a kind of intellectual hornpipe between a set of fire-irons. + +Under this pressure the valet told all he knew about his master's +departure, with very little loss of time by reason of discursiveness. + +"Humph!--ha!--ah, yes!" muttered the detective between his teeth; "only +one friend that was at all intimate with your master, and that was a +gentleman called Vernon, lately come to live at Woodbine Cottage, +Lisford Road; used to come at all hours to see your master; was odd in +his ways, and dressed queer; first came on Miss Laura's wedding-day; was +awful shabby then; came out quite a swell afterwards, and was very free +with his money at Lisford. Ah!--humph! You've heard your master and this +gentleman at high words--at least you've fancied so; but, the doors +being very thick, you ain't certain. It might have been only telling +anecdotes. Some gentlemen do swear and row like in telling anecdotes. +Yes, to be sure! You've felt a belt round your master's waist when +you've been lifting him in and out of bed. He wore it under his shirt, +and was always fidgety in changing his shirt, and didn't seem to want +you to see the belt. You thought it was a galvanic belt, or something of +that sort. You felt it once, when you were changing your master's shirt, +and it was all over little knobs as hard as iron, but very small. That's +all you've got to say, except that you've always fancied your master +wasn't quite easy in his mind, and you thought that was because of his +having been suspected in the first place about the Winchester murder." + +Mr. Carter jotted down some pencil-notes in his pocket-book while making +this little summary of his conversation with the valet. + +Having done this and shut his book, he prowled slowly through the +sitting-room, bed-room, and dressing-room, looking about him, with the +servant close at his heels. + +"What clothes did Mr. Dunbar wear when he went away?" + +"Grey trousers and waistcoat, small shepherd's plaid, and he must have +taken a greatcoat lined with Russian sable." + +"A black coat?" + +"No; the coat was dark blue cloth outside." + +Mr. Carter opened his pocket-book in order to add another memorandum-- + +Trousers and waistcoat, shepherd's plaid; coat, dark blue cloth lined +with sable. "How about Mr. Dunbar's personal appearance, eh?" + +The valet gave an elaborate description of his master's looks. + +"Ha!--humph!" muttered Mr. Carter; "tall, broad-shouldered, hook-nose, +brown eyes, brown hair mixed with grey." + +The detective put on his hat after making this last memorandum: but he +paused before the table, on which the lamp was still standing. + +"Was this lamp filled last night?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir; it was always fresh filled every day." + +"How long does it burn?" + +"Ten hours." + +"When was it lighted?" + +"A little before seven o'clock." + +Mr. Carter removed the glass shade, and carried the lamp to the +fireplace. He held it up over the grate, and drained the oil. + +"It must have been burning till past four this morning," he said. + +The valet stared at Mr. Carter with something of that reverential horror +with which he might have regarded a wizard of the middle ages. But Mr. +Carter was in too much haste to be aware of the man's admiration. He had +found out all he wanted to know, and now there was no time to be lost. + +He left the Abbey, ran back to the lodge, found his assistant, Mr. +Tibbles, and despatched that gentleman to the Shorncliffe railway +station, where he was to keep a sharp look out for a lame traveller in a +blue cloth coat lined with brown fur. If such a traveller appeared, +Sawney Tom was to stick to him wherever he went; but was to leave a note +with the station-master for his chief's guidance, containing information +as to what he had done. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE. + + +In less than a quarter of an hour after leaving the gate of Maudesley +Park, the fly came to a stand-still before Woodbine Cottage. Mr. Carter +paid the man and dismissed the vehicle, and went alone into the little +garden. + +He rang a bell on one side of the half-glass door, and had ample leisure +to contemplate the stuffed birds and marine curiosities that adorned the +little hall of the cottage before any one came to answer his summons. He +rang a second time before anyone came, but after a delay of about five +minutes a young woman appeared, with her face tied up in a coloured +handkerchief. The detective asked to see Major Vernon, and the young +woman ushered him into a little parlour at the back of the cottage, +without either delay or hesitation. + +The occupant of the cottage was sitting in an arm-chair by the fire. +There was very little light in the room, for the only window looked into +a miniature conservatory, where there were all manner of prickly and +spiky plants of the cactus kind, which had been the delight of the late +owner of Woodbine Cottage. + +Mr. Carter looked very sharply at the gentleman sitting in the +easy-chair; but the closest inspection showed him nothing but a +good-looking man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with a +determined-looking mouth, half shaded by a grey moustache. + +"I've come to make a few inquiries about a friend of yours, Major +Vernon," the detective said; "Mr. Dunbar, of Maudesley Abbey, who has +been missing since four o'clock this morning." + +The gentleman in the easy-chair was smoking a meerschaum. As Mr. Carter +said those two words, "four o'clock," his teeth made a little clicking +noise upon the amber mouthpiece of the pipe. + +The detective heard the sound, slight as it was, and drew his inference +from it. Major Vernon had seen Joseph Wilmot, and knew that he had left +the Abbey at four o'clock, and thus gave a little start of surprise when +he found that the exact hour was known to others. + +"You know where Mr. Dunbar has gone?" said Mr. Carter, looking still +more sharply at the gentleman in the easy-chair. + +"On the contrary, I was thinking of looking in upon him at the Abbey +this evening." + +"Humph!" murmured the detective, "then it's no use my asking you any +questions on the subject?" + +"None whatever. Henry Dunbar is gone away from the Abbey, you say? Why, +I thought he was still under medical supervision--couldn't move off his +sofa, except to take a turn upon a pair of crutches." + +"I believe it was so, but he has disappeared notwithstanding." + +"What do you mean by disappeared? He has gone away, I suppose, and he +was free to go away, wasn't he?" + +"Oh! of course; perfectly free." + +"Then I don't so much wonder that he went," exclaimed the occupant of +the cottage, stooping over the fire, and knocking the ashes out of his +meerschaum. "He'd been tied by the leg long enough, poor devil! But how +is it you're running about after him, as if he was a little boy that had +bolted from his precious mother? You're not the surgeon who was +attending him?" + +"No, I'm employed by Lady Jocelyn; in fact, to tell you the honest +truth," said the detective, with a simplicity of manner that was really +charming: "to tell you the honest truth, I'm neither more nor less than +a private detective, and I have come down from London direct to look +after the missing gentleman. You see, Lady Jocelyn is afraid the long +illness and fever, and all that sort of thing, may have had a very bad +effect upon her poor father, and that he's a little bit touched in the +upper story, perhaps;--and, upon my word," added the detective, frankly, +"I think this sudden bolt looks very like it. In which case I fancy we +may look for an attempt at suicide. What do you think, now, Major +Vernon, as a friend of the missing gentleman, eh?" + +The Major smiled. + +"Upon my word," he said, "I don't think you're so very far away from the +mark. Henry Dunbar has been rather queer in his ways since that railway +smash." + +"Just so. I suppose you wouldn't have any objection to my looking about +your house, and round the garden and outbuildings? Your friend _might_ +hide himself somewhere about your place. When once they take an +eccentric turn, there's no knowing where to have 'em." + +Major Vernon shrugged his shoulders. + +"I don't think Dunbar's likely to have got into my house without my +knowledge," he said; "but you are welcome to examine the place from +garret to cellar if that's any satisfaction to you." + +He rang a bell as he spoke. It was answered by the girl whose face was +tied up. + +"Ah, Betty, you've got the toothache again, have you? A nice excuse for +slinking your work, eh, my girl? That's about the size of your +toothache, I expect! Look here now, this gentleman wants to see the +house, and you're to show him over it, and over the garden too, if he +likes--and be quick about it, for I want my dinner." + +The girl curtseyed in an awkward countrified manner, and ushered Mr. +Carter into the hall. + +"Betty!" roared the master of the house, as the girl reached the foot of +the stair with the detective; "Betty, come here!" + +She went back to her master, and Mr. Carter heard a whispered +conversation, very brief, of which the last sentence only was audible. + +That last sentence ran thus: + +"And if you don't hold your tongue, I'll make you pay for it." + +"Ho, ho!" thought the detective; "Miss Betsy is to hold her tongue, is +she? We'll see about that." + +The girl came back to the hall, and led Mr. Carter into the two +sitting-rooms in the front of the house. They were small rooms, with +small furniture. They were old-fashioned rooms, with low ceilings, and +queer cupboards nestling in out-of-the-way holes and corners: and Mr. +Carter had enough work to do in squeezing himself into the interior of +these receptacles, which all smelt, more or less, of chandlery and +rum,--that truly seaman-like spirit having been a favourite beverage +with the late inhabitant of the cottage. + +After examining half-a-dozen cupboards in the lower regions, Mr. Carter +and his guide ascended to the upper story. + +The girl called Betsy ushered the detective into a bedroom, which she +said was her master's, and where the occupation of the Major was made +manifest by divers articles of apparel lying on the chairs and hanging +on the pegs, and, furthermore, by a powerful effluvium of stale tobacco, +and a collection of pipes and cigar-boxes on the chimney-piece. + +The girl opened the door of an impossible-looking little cupboard in a +corner behind a four-post bed; but instead of inspecting the cupboard, +Mr. Carter made a sudden rush at the door, locked it, and then put the +key in his pocket. + +"No, thank you, Miss Innocence," he said; "I don't crick my neck, or +break my back, by looking into any more of your cupboards. Just you come +here." + +"Here," was the window, before which Mr. Carter planted himself. + +The girl obeyed very quietly. She would have been a pretty-looking girl +but for her toothache, or rather, but for the coloured handkerchief +which muffled the lower part of her face, and was tied in a knot at the +top of her head. As it was, Mr. Carter could only see that she had +pretty brown eyes, which shifted left and right as he looked at her. + +"Oh, yes, you're an artful young hussy, and no mistake," he said; "and +that toothache's only a judgment upon you. What was that your master +said to you in the parlour just now, eh? What was that he told you to +hold your tongue about, eh?" + +Betty shook her head, and began to twist the corner of her apron in her +hands. + +"Master didn't say nothing, sir," she said. + +"Master didn't say nothing! Your morals and your grammar are about a +match, Miss Betsy; but you'll find yourself rather in the wrong box +by-and-by, my young lady, when you find yourself committed to prison for +perjury; which crime, in a young female, is transportation for life," +added Mr. Carter, in an awful tone. + +"Oh, sir!" cried Betty, "it isn't me; it's master: and he do swear so +when he's in his tantrums. If the 'taters isn't done to his likin', sir, +he'll grumble about them quite civil at first, and then he'll work +hisself up like, and take and throw them at me one by one, and his +language gets worse with every 'tater. Oh, what am I to do, sir! I +daren't go against him. I'd a'most sooner be transported, if it don't +hurt much." + +"Don't hurt much!" exclaimed Mr. Carter; "why, there's a ship-load of +cat-o'-nine-tails goes out to Van Diemen's Land every quarter, and +reserved specially for young females!" + +"Oh! I'll tell you all about it, sir," cried Mr. Vernon's housemaid; +"sooner than be took up for perjuring, I'll tell you everything." + +"I thought so," said Mr. Carter; "but it isn't much you've got to tell +me. Mr. Dunbar came here this morning on horseback, between five and +six?" + +"It was ten minutes past six, sir, and I was opening the shutters." + +"Precisely." + +"And the gentleman came on horseback, sir, and was nigh upon fainting +with the pain of his leg; and he sent me to call up master, and master +helped him off the horse, and took the horse to the stable; and then the +gentleman sat and rested in master's little parlour at the back of the +house; and then they sent me for a fly, and I went to the Rose and Crown +at Lisford, and fetched a fly; and before eight o'clock the gentleman +went away." + +Before eight, and it was now past three. Mr. Carter looked at his watch +while the girl made her confession. + +"And, oh, please don't tell master as I told you," she said; "oh, please +don't, sir." + +There was no time to be lost, and yet the detective paused for a minute, +thinking of what he had just heard. + +Had the girl told him the truth; or was this a story got up to throw him +off the scent? The girl's terror of her master seemed genuine. She was +crying now, real tears, that streamed down her pale cheeks, and wetted +the handkerchief that covered the lower part of her face. + +"I can find out at the Rose and Crown whether anybody did go away in a +fly," the detective thought. + +"Tell your master I've searched the place, and haven't found his +friend," he said to the girl; "and that I haven't got time to wish him +good morning." + +The detective said this as he went down stairs. The girl went into the +little rustic porch with him, and directed him to the Rose and Crown at +Lisford. + +He ran almost all the way to the little inn; for he was growing +desperate now, with the idea that his man had escaped him. + +"Why, he can do anything with such a start," he thought to himself. "And +yet there's his lameness--that'll go against him." + +At the Rose and Crown Mr. Carter was informed that a fly had been +ordered at seven o'clock that morning by a young person from Woodbine +Cottage; that the vehicle had not long come in, and that the driver was +somewhere about the stables. The driver was summoned at Mr. Carter's +request, and from him the detective ascertained that a gentleman, +wrapped up to the very nose, and wearing a coat lined with fur, and +walking very lame, had been taken up by him at Woodbine Cottage. This +gentleman had ordered the driver to go as fast as he could to +Shorncliffe station; but on reaching the station, it appeared the +gentleman was too late for the train he wanted to go by, for he came +back to the fly, limping awful, and told the man to drive to Maningsly. +The driver explained to Mr. Carter that Maningsly was a little village +three miles from Shorncliffe, on a by-road. Here the gentleman in the +fur coat had alighted at an ale-house, where he dined, and stopped, +reading the paper and drinking hot brandy-and-water till after one +o'clock. He acted altogether quite the gentleman, and paid for the +driver's dinner and brandy-and-water, as well as his own. At half-after +one he got into the fly, and ordered the man to go back to Shorncliffe +station. At five minutes after two he alighted at the station, where he +paid and dismissed the driver. + +This was all Mr. Carter wanted to know. + +"You get a fresh horse harnessed in double-quick time," he said, "and +drive me to Shorncliffe station." + +While the horse and fly were being got ready, the detective went into +the bar, and ordered a glass of steaming brandy-and-water. He was +accustomed to take liquids in a boiling state, as the greater part of +his existence was spent in hurrying from place to place, as he was +hurrying now. + +"Sawney's got the chance this time," he thought. "Suppose he was to sell +me, and go in for the reward?" + +The supposition was not a pleasant one, and Mr. Carter looked grave for +a minute or so; but he quickly relapsed into a grim smile. + +"I think Sawney knows me too well for that," he said; "I think Sawney is +too well acquainted with me to try _that_ on." + +The fly came round to the inn-door while Mr. Carter reflected upon this. +He sprang into the vehicle, and was driven off to the station. + +At the Shorncliffe station he found everything very quiet. There was no +train due for some time yet; there was no sign of human life in the +ticket-office or the waiting-rooms. + +There was a porter asleep upon his truck on the platform, and there was +one solitary young female sitting upon a bench against the wall, with +her boxes and bundles gathered round her, and an umbrella and a pair of +clogs on her lap. + +Upon all the length of the platform there was no sign of Mr. Tibbles, +otherwise Sawney Tom. + +Mr. Carter awoke the porter, and sent him to the station-master to ask +if any letter addressed to Mr. Henry Carter had been left in that +functionary's care. The porter went yawning to make this inquiry, and +came back by-and-by, still yawning, to say that there was such a letter, +and would the gentleman please step into the station-master's office to +claim and receive it. + +The note was not a long one, nor was it encumbered by any ceremonious +phraseology. + +_"Gent in furred coat turned up 2.10, took a ticket for Derby, 1 class, +took ticket for same place self, 2 class.--Yrs to commd, T.T."_ + +Mr. Carter crumpled up the note and dropped it into his pocket. The +station-master gave him all the information about the trains. There was +a train for Derby at seven o'clock that evening; and for the three and a +half weary hours that must intervene, Mr. Carter was left to amuse +himself as best he might. + +"Derby," he muttered to himself, "Derby. Why, he must be going north; +and what, in the name of all that's miraculous, takes him that way?" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +ON THE TRACK. + + +The railway journey between Shorncliffe and Derby was by no means the +most pleasant expedition for a cold spring night, with the darkness +lying like a black shroud on the flat fields, and a melancholy wind +howling over those desolate regions, across which all night-trains seem +to wend their way. I think that flat and darksome land which we look +upon out of the window of a railway carriage in the dead of the night +must be a weird district, conjured into existence by the potent magic of +an enchanter's wand,--a dreary desert transported out of Central Africa, +to make the night-season hideous, and to vanish at cock-crow. + +Mr. Carter never travelled without a railway rug and a pocket +brandy-flask; and sustained by these inward and outward fortifications +against the chilling airs of the long night, he established himself in a +corner of the second-class carriage, and made the best of his situation. + +Fortunately there was no position of hardship to which the detective was +unaccustomed; indeed, to be rolled up in a railway rug in the corner of +a second-class carriage, was to be on a bed of down as compared with +some of his experiences. He was used to take his night's rest in brief +instalments, and was snoring comfortably three minutes after the guard +had banged-to the door of his carriage. + +But he was not permitted to enjoy any prolonged rest. The door was +banged open, and a stentorian voice bawled into his ear that hideous +announcement which is so fatal to the repose of travellers, "Change +here!" &c., &c. The journey from Shorncliffe to Derby seemed almost +entirely to consist of "changing here;" and poor Mr. Carter felt as if +he had passed a long night in being hustled out of one carriage into +another, and off one line of railway on to another, with all those +pauses on draughty platforms which are so refreshing to the worn-out +traveller who works his weary way across country in the dead of the +night. + +At last, however, after a journey that seemed interminable by reason of +those short naps, which always confuse the sleeper a estimate of time, +the detective found himself at Derby still in the dead of the night; for +to the railway traveller it is all of night after dark. Here he applied +immediately to the station-master, from whom he got another little note +directed to him by Mr. Tibbles, and very much resembling that which he +had received at Shorncliffe. + +"_All right up to Derby_," wrote Sawney Tom. "_Gent in furred coat took +a ticket through to Hull. Have took the same, and go on with him +direct.--Yours to command, T.T._" + +Mr. Carter lost no time after perusing this communication. He set to +work at once to find out all about the means of following his assistant +and the lame traveller. + +Here he was told that he had a couple of hours to wait for the train +that was to take him on to Normanton, and at Normanton he would have +another hour to wait for the train that was to carry him to Hull. + +"Ah, go it, do, while you're about it!" he exclaimed, bitterly, when the +railway official had given him this pleasing intelligence. "Couldn't you +make it a little longer? When your end and aim lies in driving a man +mad, the quicker you drive the better, I should think!" + +All this was muttered in an undertone, not intended for the ear of the +railway official. It was only a kind of safety-valve by which the +detective let off his superfluous steam. + +"Sawney's got the chance," he thought, as he paced up and down the +platform; "Sawney's got the trump cards this time; and if he's knave +enough to play them against me----But I don't think he'll do that; our +profession's a conservative one, and a traitor would have an uncommon +good chance of being kicked out of it. We should drop him a hint that, +considering the state of his health, we should take it kindly of him if +he would hook it; or send him some polite message of that kind; as the +military swells do when they want to get rid of a pal." + +There were plenty of refreshments to be had at Derby, and Mr. Carter +took a steaming cup of coffee and a formidable-looking pile of +sandwiches before retiring to the waiting-room to take what he called "a +stretch." He then engaged the services of a porter, who was to call him +five minutes before the starting of the Normanton train, and was to +receive an illegal douceur for that civility. + +In the waiting-room there was a coke fire, very red and hollow, and a +dim lamp. A lady, half buried in shawls, and surrounded by a little +colony of small packages, was sitting close to the fire, and started out +of her sleep to make nervous clutches at her parcels as the detective +entered, being in that semi-conscious state in which the unprotected +female is apt to mistake every traveller for a thief. + +Mr. Carter made himself very comfortable on one of the sofas, and snored +on peacefully until the porter came to rouse him, when he sprang up +refreshed to continue his journey. + +"Hull, Hull!" he muttered to himself. "His game will be to get off to +Rotterdam, or Hamburgh, or St. Petersburg, perhaps; any place that +there's a vessel ready to take him. He'll get on board the first that +sails. It's a good dodge, a very neat dodge, and if Sawney hadn't been +at the station, Mr. Joseph Wilmot would have given us the slip as neatly +as ever a man did yet. But if Mr. Thomas Tibbles is true, we shall nab +him, and bring him home as quiet as ever any little boy was took to +school by his mar and par. If Mr. Tibbles is true,--and as he don't know +too much about the business, and don't know anything about the extra +reward, or the evidence that's turned up at Winchester,--I dare say +Thomas Tibbles will be true. Human nature is a very noble thing," mused +the detective; "but I've always remarked that the tighter you tie human +nature down, the brighter it comes out." + +It was morning, and the sun was shining, when the train that carried Mr. +Carter steamed slowly into the great station at Hull--it was morning, +and the sun was shining, and the birds singing, and in the fields about +the smoky town there were herds of sweet-breathing cattle sniffing the +fresh spring air, and labourers plodding to their work, and loaded wains +of odorous hay and dewy garden-stuff were lumbering along the quiet +country roads, and the new-born day had altogether the innocent look +appropriate to its tender youth,--when the detective stepped out on the +platform, calm, self-contained, and resolute, as brisk and business-like +in his manner as any traveller in that train, and with no distinctive +stamp upon him, however slight, that marked him as the hunter of a +murderer. + +He looked sharply up and down the platform. No, Mr. Tibbles had not +betrayed him. That gentleman was standing on the platform, watching the +passengers step out of the carriages, and looking more turnip-faced than +usual in the early sunlight. He was chewing nothing with more than +ordinary energy; and Mr. Carter, who was very familiar with the +idiosyncrasies of his assistant, knew from that sign that things had +gone amiss. + +"Well," he said, tapping Sawney Tom on the shoulder, "he's given you the +slip? Out with it; I can see by your face that he has." + +"Well, he have, then," answered Mr. Tibbles, in an injured tone; "but if +he have, you needn't glare at me like that, for it ain't no fault of +mine. If you ever follered a lame eel--and a lame eel as makes no more +of its lameness than if lameness was a advantage--you'd know what it is +to foller that chap in the furred coat." + +The detective hooked his arm through that of his assistant, and led Mr. +Tibbles out of the station by a door which opened on a desolate region +at the back of that building. + +"Now then," said Mr. Carter, "tell me all about it, and look sharp." + +"Well, I was waitin' in the Shorncliffe ticket-offis, and about five +minutes after two in comes the gent as large as life, and I sees him +take his ticket, and I hears him say Derby, on which I waits till he's +out of the offis, and I takes my own ticket, same place. Down we comes +here with more changes and botheration than ever was; and every time we +changes carriages, which we don't seem to do much else the whole time, I +spots my gentleman, limpin' awful, and lookin' about him +suspicious-like, to see if he was watched. And, of course, he weren't +watched--oh, no; nothin' like it. Of all the innercent young men as ever +was exposed to the temptations of this wicked world, there never was +sech a young innercent as that lawyer's clerk, a carryin' a blue bag, +and a tellin' a promiskruous acquaintance, loud enough for the gent in +the fur coat to hear, that he'd been telegraphed for by his master, +which was down beyond Hull, on electioneerin' business; and a cussin' of +his master promiskruous to the same acquaintance for tele-graphin' for +him to go by sech a train. Well, we come to Derby, and the furry gent, +he takes a ticket on to Hull; and we come to Normanton, and the furry +gent limps about Normanton station, and I sees him comfortable in his +carriage; and we comes to Hull, and I sees him get out on the platform, +and I sees him into a fly, and I hears him give the order, 'Victorier +Hotel,' which by this time it's nigh upon ten o'clock, and dark and +windy. Well, I got up behind the fly, and rides a bit, and walks a bit, +keepin' the fly in sight until we comes to the Victorier; and there +stoops down behind, and watches my gent hobble into the hotel, in awful +pain with that lame leg of his, judgin' the faces he makes; and he walks +into the coffee-room, and I makes bold to foller him; but there never +was sech a young innercent as me, and I sees my party sittin' warmin' +his poor lame leg, and with a carpet-bag, and railway-rug, and sechlike +on the table beside him; and presently he gets up, hobblin' worse than +ever, and goes outside, and I hears him makin' inquiries about the best +way of gettin' on to Edinborough by train; and I sat quiet, not more +than three minutes at most, becos', you see, I didn't want to _look +like_ follerin' him; and in three minutes time, out I goes, makin' as +sure to find him in the bar as I make sure of your bein' close beside me +at this moment; but when I went outside into the hall, and bar and +sechlike, there wasn't a mortal vestige of that man to be seen; but the +waiter, he tells me, as dignified and cool as yer please, that the lame +gentleman has gone out by the door looking towards the water, and has +only gone to have a look at the place, and get a few cigars, and will be +back in ten minutes to a chop which is bein' cooked for him. Well, I +cuts out by the same door, thinkin' my lame friend can't be very far; +but when I gets out on to the quay-side, there ain't a vestige of him; +and though I cut about here, there, and everywhere, lookin' for him, +until I'd nearly walked my legs off in less than half an hour's time, I +didn't see a sign of him, and all I could do was to go back to the +Victorier, and see if he'd gone back before me. + +"Well, there was his carpet-bag and his railway-rug, just as he'd left +'em, and there was a little table near the fire all laid out snug and +comfortable ready for him; but there was no more vestige of hisself than +there was in the streets where I'd been lookin' for him; and so I went +out again, with the prespiration streamin' down my face, and I walked +that blessed town till over one o'clock this mornin,' lookin' right and +left, and inquirin' at every place where such a gent was likely to try +and hide hisself, and playing up Mag's divarsions, which if it was +divarsions to Mag, was oncommon hard work to me; and then I went back to +the Victorier, and got a night's lodgin'; and the first thing this +mornin' I was on my blessed legs again, and down at the quay inquirin' +about vessels, and there's nothin' likely to sail afore to-night, and +the vessel as is expected to sail to-night is bound for Copenhagen, and +don't carry passengers; but from the looks of her captain, I should say +she'd carry anythink, even to a churchyard full of corpuses, if she was +paid to do it." + +"Humph! a sailing-vessel bound for Copenhagen; and the captain's a +villanous-looking fellow, you say?" said the detective, in a thoughtful +tone. + +"He's about the villanousest I ever set eyes on," answered Mr. Tibbles. + +"Well, Sawney, it's a bad job, certainly; but I've no doubt you've done +your best." + +"Yes, I have done my best," the assistant answered, rather indignantly: +"and considerin' the deal of confidence you honoured me with about this +here cove, I don't see as I could have done hanythink more." + +"Then the best thing you can do is to keep watch here for the starting +of the up-trains, while I go and keep my eye upon the station at the +other side of the water," said Mr. Carter, "This journey to Hull may +have been just a dodge to throw us off the scent, and our man may try +and double upon us by going back to London. You'll keep all safe here, +Sawney, while I go to the other side of the compass." + +Mr. Carter engaged a fly, and made his way to a pier at the end of the +town, whence a boat took him across the Humber to a station on the +Lincolnshire side of the river. + +Here he ascertained all particulars about the starting of the trains for +London, and here he kept watch while two or three trains started. Then, +as there was an interval of some hours before the starting of another, +he re-crossed the water, and set to work to look for his man. + +First he loitered about the quays a little, taking stock of the idle +vessels, the big steamers that went to London, Antwerp, Rotterdam, and +Hamburg--the little steamers that went short voyages up or down the +river, and carried troops of Sunday idlers to breezy little villages +beside the sea. He found out all about these boats, their destination, +and the hours and days on which they were to start, and made himself +more familiar with the water-traffic of the place in half an hour than +another man could have done in a day. He also made acquaintance with the +vessel that was to sail for Copenhagen--a black sulky-looking boat, +christened very appropriately the _Crow_, with a black sulky-looking +captain, who was lying on a heap of tarpaulin on the deck, smoking a +pipe in his sleep. Mr. Carter stood looking over the quay and +contemplating this man for some moments with a thoughtful stare. + +"He looks a bad 'un," the detective muttered, as he walked away; "Sawney +was right enough there." + +He went into the town, and walked about, looking at the jewellers' shops +with his accustomed rapid glance--a glance so furtive that it escaped +observation--so full of sharp scrutiny that it took in every detail of +the object looked at. Mr. Carter looked at the jewellers till he came to +one whose proprietor blended the trade of money-lending with his more +aristocratic commerce. Here Mr. Carter stopped, and entered by the +little alley, within whose sombre shadows the citizens of Hull were wont +to skulk, ashamed of the errand that betrayed their impecuniosity. Mr. +Carter visited three pawnbrokers, and wasted a good deal of time before +he made any discovery likely to be of use to him; but at the third +pawnbroker's he found himself on the right track. His manner with these +gentlemen was very simple. + +"I'm a detective officer," he said, "from Scotland Yard, and I have a +warrant for the apprehension of a man who's supposed to be hiding in +Hull. He's known to have a quantity of unset diamonds in his +possession--they're not stolen, mind you, so you needn't be frightened +on that score. I want to know if such a person has been to you to-day?" + +"The diamonds are all right?" asked the pawnbroker, rather nervously. + +"Quite right. I see the man has been here. I don't want to know anything +about the jewels: they're his own, and it's not them we're after. I want +to know about _him_. He's been here, I see--the question is, what time?" + +"Not above half an hour ago. A man in a dark blue coat with a fur +collar----" + +"Yes; a man that walks lame." + +The pawnbroker shook his head. + +"I didn't see that he was lame," he said. + +"Ah, you didn't notice; or he might hide it just while he was in here. +He sat down, I suppose?" + +"Yes; he was sitting all the time." + +"Of course. Thank you; that'll do." + +With this Mr. Carter departed, much to the relief of the money-lender. + +The detective looked at his watch, and found that it was half-past one. +At half-past three there was a London train to start from the station on +the Lincolnshire side of the water. The other station was safe so long +as Mr. Tibbles remained on the watch there; so for two hours Mr. Carter +was free to look about him. He went down to the quay, and ascertained +that no boat had crossed to the Lincolnshire side of the river within +the last hour. Joseph Wilmot was therefore safe on the Yorkshire side; +but if so, where was he? A man wearing a dark blue coat lined with +sable, and walking very lame, must be a conspicuous object wherever he +went; and yet Mr. Carter, with all the aid of his experience in the +detective line, could find no clue to the whereabouts of the man he +wanted. He spent an hour and a half in walking about the streets, prying +into all manner of dingy little bars and tap-rooms, in narrow back +streets and down by the water-side; and then was fain to go across to +Lincolnshire once more, and watch the departure of the train. + +Before crossing the river to do this, he had taken stock of the _Crow_ +and her master, and had seen the captain lying in exactly the same +attitude as before, smoking a dirty black pipe in hie sleep. + +Mr. Carter made a furtive inspection of every creature who went by the +up-train, and saw that conveyance safely off before he turned to leave +the station. After doing this he lost no time in re-crossing the water +again, and landed on the Yorkshire side of the Humber as the clocks of +Hull were striking four. + +He was getting tired by this time, but he was not tired of his work. He +was accustomed to spending his days very much in this manner; he was +used to taking his sleep in railway carriages, and his meals at unusual +hours, whenever and wherever he could get time to take his food. He was +getting what ha called "peckish" now, and was just going to the +coffee-room of the Victoria Hotel with the intention of ordering a steak +and a glass of brandy-and-water--Mr. Carter never took beer, which is a +sleepy beverage, inimical to that perpetual clearness of intellect +necessary to a detective--when he changed his mind, and walked back to +the edge of the quay, to prowl along once more with his hands in his +pockets, looking at the vessels, and to take another inspection of the +deck and captain of the _Crow_. + +"I shouldn't wonder if my gentleman's gone and hidden himself down below +the hatchway of that boat," he thought, as he walked slowly along the +quay-side. "I've half a mind to go on board and overhaul her." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +CHASING THE "CROW." + + +Mr. Carter was so familiar with the spot alongside which the _Crow_ lay +at anchor, that he made straight for that part of the quay and looked +down over the side, fully expecting to see the dirty captain still lying +on the tarpaulin, smoking his dirty pipe. + +But, to his amazement, he saw a strange vessel where he expected to see +the _Crow_, and in answer to his eager inquiries amongst the idlers on +the quay, and the other idlers on the boats, he was told that the _Crow_ +had weighed anchor half an hour ago, and was over yonder. + +The men pointed to a dingy speck out seaward as they gave Mr. Carter +this information--a speck which they assured him was neither more nor +less than the _Crow_, bound for Copenhagen. + +Mr. Carter asked whether she had been expected to sail so soon. + +No, the men told him; she was not expected to have sailed till daybreak +next morning, and there wasn't above two-thirds of her cargo aboard her +yet. + +The detective asked if this wasn't rather a queer proceeding. + +Yes, the men said, it was queer; but the master of the _Crow_ was a +queer chap altogether, and more than one absconding bankrupt had sailed +for furrin parts in the _Crow_. One of the men opined that the master +had got a swell cove on board to-day, inasmuch as he had seen such a one +hanging about the quay-side ten minutes or so before the _Crow_ sailed. + +"Who'll catch her?" cried Mr. Carter; "which of you will catch her for a +couple of sovereigns?" + +The men shook their heads. The _Crow_ had got too much of a start, they +said, considering that the wind was in her favour. + +"But there's a chance that the wind may change after dark," returned the +detective. "Come, my men, don't hang back. Who'll catch the _Crow_ +yonder for a fiver, come? Who'll catch her for a fi'-pound note?" + +"I will," cried a burly young fellow in a scarlet guernsey, and shiny +boots that came nearly to his waist; "me and my mate will do it, won't +us, Jim?" + +Jim was another burly young fellow in a blue guernsey, a fisherman, part +owner of a little bit of a smack with a brown mainsail. The two stalwart +young fishermen ran along the quay, and one of them dropped down into a +boat that was chained to an angle in the quay-side, where there was a +flight of slimy stone steps leading down to the water. The other young +man ran off to get some of the boat's tackle and a couple of shaggy +overcoats. + +"We'd best take something to eat and drink, sir," the young man said, as +he came running back with these things; "we may be out all night, if we +try to catch yon vessel." + +Mr. Carter gave the man a sovereign, and told him to get what he thought +proper. + +"You'd best have something to cover you besides what you've got on, +sir," the fisherman said; "you'll find it rare and cold on 't water +after dark." + +Mr. Carter assented to this proposition, and hurried off to buy himself +a railway rug; he had left his own at the railway station in Sawney +Tom's custody. He bought one at a shop near the quay, and was back to +the steps in ten minutes. + +The fisherman in the blue guernsey was in the boat, which was a +stout-built craft in her way. The fisherman in the scarlet guernsey made +his appearance in less than five minutes, carrying a great stone bottle, +with a tin drinking-cup tied to the neck of it, and a rush basket filled +with some kind of provision. The stone bottle and the basket were +speedily stowed away in the bottom of the boat, and Mr. Carter was +invited to descend and take the seat pointed out to him. + +"Can you steer, sir?" one of the men asked. + +Yes, Mr. Carter was able to steer. There was very little that he had not +learned more or less in twenty years' knocking about the world. + +He took the rudder when they had pushed out into the open water, the two +young men dipped their oars, and away the boat shot out towards that +seaward horizon on which only the keenest eyes could discover the black +speck that represented the _Crow_. + +"If it should be a sell, after all," thought Mr. Carter; "and yet that's +not likely. If he wanted to double on me and get back to London, he'd +have gone by one of the trains we've watched; if he wanted to lie-by and +hide himself in the town, he wouldn't have disposed of any of his +diamonds yet awhile--and then, on the other hand, why should the _Crow_ +have sailed before she'd got the whole of her cargo on board? Anyhow, I +think I have been wise to risk it, and follow the _Crow_. If this is a +wild-goose chase, I've been in wilder than this before to-day, and have +caught my man." + +The little fishing smack behaved bravely when she got out to sea; but +even with the help of the oars, stoutly plied by the two young men, they +gained no way upon the _Crow_, for the black speck grew fainter and +fainter upon the horizon-line, and at last dropped down behind it +altogether. + +"We shall never catch her," one of the men said, helping himself to a +cupful of spirit out of the stone-bottle, in a sudden access of +despondency. "We shall no more catch t' _Crow_ than we shall catch t' +day before yesterday, unless t' wind changes." + +"I doubt t' wind will change after dark," answered the other young man, +who had applied himself oftener than his companion to the stone-bottle, +and took a more hopeful view of things. "I doubt but we shall have a +change come dark." + +He was looking out to windward as he spoke. He took the rudder out of +Mr. Carter's hands presently, and that gentleman rolled himself in his +new railway rug, and lay down in the bottom of the boat, with one of the +men's overcoats for a blanket and the other for a pillow, and, hushed by +the monotonous plashing of the water against the keel of the boat, fell +into a pleasant slumber, whose blissfulness was only marred by the +gridiron-like sensation of the hard boards upon which he was lying. + +He awoke from this slumber to hear that the wind had changed, and that +the _Pretty Polly_--the boat belonging to the two fishermen was called +the _Pretty Polly_--was gaining on the _Crow_. + +"We shall be alongside of her in an hour," one of the men said. + +Mr. Carter shook off the drowsy influence of his long sleep, and +scrambled to his feet. It was bright moonlight, and the little boat left +a trail of tremulous silver in her wake as she cut through the water. +Far away upon the horizon there was a faint speck of shimmering white, +to which one of the young men pointed with his brawny finger It was the +dirty mainsail of the _Crow_ bleached into silver whiteness under the +light of the moon. + +"There's scarcely enough wind to puff out a farthing candle," one of the +young men said. "I think we're safe to catch her." + +Mr. Carter took a cupful of rum at the instigation of one of his +companions, and prepared himself for the business that lay before him. + +Of all the hazardous ventures in which the detective had been engaged, +this was certainly not the least hazardous. He was about to venture on +board a strange vessel, with a captain who bore no good name, and with +men who most likely closely resembled their master; he was about to +trust himself among such fellows as these, in the hope of capturing a +criminal whose chances, if once caught, were so desperate that he would +not be likely to hesitate at any measures by which he might avoid a +capture. But the detective was not unused to encounters where the odds +were against him, and he contemplated the chances of being hurled +overboard in a hand-to-hand struggle with Joseph Wilmot as calmly as if +death by drowning were the legitimate end of a man's existence. + +Once, while standing in the prow of the boat, with his face turned +steadily towards that speck in the horizon, Mr. Carter thrust his hand +into the breast-pocket of his coat, where there lurked the newest and +neatest thing in revolvers; but beyond this action, which was almost +involuntary, he made no sign that he was thinking of the danger before +him. + +The moon grew brighter and brighter in a cloudless sky, as the +fishing-smack shot through the water, while the steady dip of the oars +seemed to keep time to a wordless tune. In that bright moonlight the +sails of the _Crow_ grew whiter and larger with every dip of the oars +that were carrying the _Pretty Polly_ so lightly over the blue water. + +As the boat gained upon the vessel she was following, Mr. Carter told +the two young men his errand, and his authority to capture the runaway. + +"I think I may count on your standing by me--eh, my lads?" he asked. + +Yes, the young men answered; they would stand by him to the death. Their +spirits seemed to rise with the thought of danger, especially as Mr. +Carter hinted at a possible reward for each of them if they should +assist in the capture of the runaway. They rowed close under the side of +the black and wicked-looking vessel, and then Mr. Carter, standing up in +the boat gave a "Yo-ho! aboard there!" that resounded over the great +expanse of plashing water. + +A man with a pipe in his mouth looked over the side. + +"Hilloa! what's the row there?" he demanded fiercely. + +"I want to see the captain." + +"What do you want with him?" + +"That's my business." + +Another man, with a dingy face, and another pipe in his mouth, looked +over the side, and took his pipe from between his lips, to address the +detective. + +"What the ---- do you mean by coming alongside us?" he cried. "Get out +of the way, or we shall run you down." + +"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Spelsand," answered one of the young men from +the boat; "you'll think twice before you turn rusty with us. Don't you +remember the time you tried to get off John Bowman, the clerk that +robbed the Yorkshire Union Assurance Office--don't you remember trying +to get him off clear, and gettin' into trouble yourself about it?" + +Mr. Spelsand bawled some order to the man at the helm, and the vessel +veered round suddenly; so suddenly, that had the two young men in the +boat been anything but first-rate watermen, they and Mr. Carter would +have become very intimately acquainted with the briny element around and +about them. But the young men were very good watermen, and they were +also familiar with the manners and customs of Captain Spelsand, of the +_Crow_; so, as the black-looking schooner veered round, the little boat +shot out into the open water, and the two young oarsmen greeted the +captain's manoeuvre with a ringing peal of laughter. + +"I'll trouble you to lay-to while I come on board," said the detective, +while the boat bobbed up and down on the water, close alongside of the +schooner. "You've got a gentleman on board--a gentleman whom I've got a +warrant against. It can't much matter to him whether I take him now, or +when he gets to Copenhagen; for take him I surely shall; but it'll +matter a good deal to you, Captain Spelsand, if you resist my +authority." + +The captain hesitated for a little, while he gave a few fierce puffs at +his dirty pipe. + +"Show us your warrant," he said presently, in a sulky tone. + +The detective had started from Scotland Yard in the first instance with +an open warrant for the arrest of the supposed murderer. He handed this +document up to the captain of the _Crow_, and that gentleman, who was by +no means an adept in the unseamanlike accomplishments of reading and +writing, turned it over, and examined it thoughtfully in the vivid +moonlight. + +He could see that there were a lot of formidable-looking words and +flourishes in it, and he felt pretty well convinced that it was a +genuine document, and meant mischief. + +"You'd better come aboard," he said; "you don't want _me_; that's +certain." + +The captain of the _Crow_ said this with an air of sublime resignation; +and in the next minute the detective was scrambling up the side of the +vessel, by the aid of a rope flung out by one of the sailors on board +the _Crow_. + +Mr. Carter was followed by one of the fishermen; and with that stalwart +ally he felt himself equal to any emergency. + +"I'll just throw my eye over your place down below," he said, "if you'll +hand me a lantern." + +This request was not complied with very willingly; and it was only on a +second production of the warrant that Mr. Carter obtained the loan of a +wretched spluttering wick, glimmering in a dirty little oil-lamp. With +this feeble light he turned his back upon the lovely moonlight, and +stumbled down into a low-ceilinged cabin, darksome and dirty, with +berths which were as black and dingy, and altogether as uninviting as +the shelves made to hold coffins in a noisome underground vault. + +There were three men asleep upon these shelves; and Mr. Carter examined +these three sleepers as coolly as if they had indeed been the coffined +inmates of a vault. Amongst them he found a man whose face was turned +towards the cabin-wall, but who wore a blue coat and a traveller's cap +of fur, shaped like a Templar's helmet, and tied down over his ears. + +The detective seized this gentleman by the fur collar of his coat and +shook him roughly. + +"Come, Mr. Joseph Wilmot," he said; "get up, my man. You've given me a +fine chase for it; but you're nabbed at last." + +The man scrambled up out of his berth, and stood in a stooping attitude, +for the cabin was not high enough for him, staring at Mr. Carter. + +"What are you talking of, you confounded fool!" he said. "What have I +got to do with Joseph Wilmot?" + +The detective had never loosed his hand from the fur collar of his +prisoner's coat. The faces of the two men were opposite to each other, +but only faintly visible in the dim light of the spluttering oil-lamp. +The man in the fur-lined coat showed two rows of wolfish teeth, bared to +the gums in a malicious grin. + +"What do you mean by waking me out of sleep?" he asked. "What do you +mean by assaulting and ballyragging me in this way? I'll have it out of +you for this, my fine gentleman. You're a detective officer, are you?--a +knowing card, of course; and you've followed me all the way from +Warwickshire, and traced me, step by step, I suppose, and taken no end +of trouble, eh? Why didn't you look after the gentleman _who stayed at +home_? Why didn't you look after the poor lame gentleman who stayed at +Woodbine Cottage, Lisford, and dressed up his pretty daughter as a +housemaid, and acted a little play to sell you, you precious clever +police-officer in plain clothes. Take me with you, Mr. Detective; stop +me in going abroad to improve my mind and manners by foreign travel, do, +Mr. Detective; and won't I have a fine action against you for false +imprisonment,--that's all?" + +There was something in the man's tone of bravado that stamped it +genuine. Mr. Carter gnashed his teeth together in a silent fury. Sold by +that hazel-eyed housemaid with her face tied up! Sent away on a false +trail, while the criminal got off at his leisure! Fooled, duped, and +laughed at after twenty years of hard service! It was too bitter. + +"Not Joseph Wilmot!" muttered Mr. Carter; "not Joseph Wilmot!" + +"No more than you are, my pippin," answered the traveller, insolently. + +The two men were still standing face to face. Something in that insolent +tone, something that brought back the memory of half-forgotten times, +startled the detective. He lifted the lamp suddenly, still looking in +the traveller's face, still muttering in the same half-absent tone, "Not +Joseph Wilmot!" and brought the light on a level with the other man's +eyes. + +"No," he cried, with a sudden tone of triumph, "not Joseph Wilmot, but +Stephen Vallance--Blackguard Steeve, the forger--the man who escaped +from Norfolk Island, after murdering one of the gaolers--beating his +brains out with an iron, if I remember right. We've had our eye on you +for a long time, Mr. Vallance; but you've contrived to give us the slip. +Yours is an old case, yours is; but there's a reward to be got for the +taking of you, for all that. So I haven't had my long journey for +nothing." + +The detective tried to fasten his other hand on Mr. Vallance's shoulder; +but Stephen Vallance struck down that uplifted hand with a heavy blow of +his fist, and, wresting himself from the detective's grasp, rushed up +the cabin-stairs. + +Mr. Carter followed close at his heels. + +"Stop that man!" he roared to one of the fishermen; "stop him!" + +I suppose the instinct of self-preservation inspired Stephen Vallance to +make that frantic rush, though there was no possible means of escape out +of the vessel, except into the open boat, or the still more open sea. As +he receded from the advancing detective, one of the fishermen sprang +towards him from another part of the deck. Thus hemmed in by the two, +and dazzled, perhaps, by the sudden brilliancy of the moonlight after +the darkness of the place below, he reeled back against an opening in +the side of the vessel, lost his balance, and fell with a heavy plunge +into the water. + +There was a sudden commotion on the deck, a simultaneous shout, as the +men rushed to the side. + +"Save him!" cried the detective. "He's got a belt stuffed with diamonds +round his waist!" + +Mr. Carter said this at a venture, for he did not know which of the men +had the diamond belt. + +One of the fishermen threw off his shoes, and took a header into the +water. The rest of the men stood by breathless, eagerly watching two +heads bobbing up and down among the moonlit waves, two pairs of arms +buffeting with the water. The force of the current drifted the two men +far away from the schooner. + +For an interval that seemed a long one, all was uncertainty. The +schooner that had made so little way before seemed now to fly in the +faint night-wind. At last there was a shout, and a head appeared above +the water advancing steadily towards the vessel. + +"I've got him!" shouted the voice of the fisherman. "I've got him by the +belt!" + +He came nearer to the vessel, striking out vigorously with one arm, and +holding some burden with the other. + +When he was close under the side, the captain of the _Crow_ flung out a +rope; but as the fisherman lifted his hand to grasp it, he uttered a +sudden cry, and raised the other hand with a splash out of the water. + +"The belt's broke, and he's sunk!" he shouted. + +The belt had broken. A little ripple of light flashed briefly in the +moonlight, and fell like a shower of spray from a fountain. Those +glittering drops, that looked like fountain spray, were some of the +diamonds bought by Joseph Wilmot; and Stephen Vallance, alias Blackguard +Steeve, alias Major Vernon, had gone down to the bottom of the sea, +never in this mortal life to rise again. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +GIVING IT UP. + + +The _Pretty Polly_ went back to the port of Kingston-upon-Hull in the +grey morning light, carrying Mr. Carter, very cold and very +down-hearted--not to say humiliated--by his failure. To have been +hoodwinked by a girl, whose devotion to the unhappy wretch she called +her father had transformed her into a heroine--to have fallen so easily +into the trap that had been set for him, being all the while profoundly +impressed with the sense of his own cleverness--was, to say the least of +it, depressing to the spirits of a first-class detective. + +"And that fellow Vallance, too," mused Mr. Carter, "to think that he +should go and chuck himself into the water just to spite me! There'd +have been some credit in taking him back with me. I might have made a +bit of character out of that. But, no! he goes and tumbles back'ards +into the water, rather than let me have any advantage out of him." + +There was nothing for Mr. Carter to do but to go straight back to +Lisford, and try his luck again, with everything against him. + +"Let me get back as fast as I may, Joseph Wilmot will have had +eight-and-forty hours' start of me," he thought; "and what can't he do +in that time, if he keeps his wits about him, and don't go wild and +foolish like, as some of 'em do, when they've got such a chance as this. +Anyhow, I'm after him, and it'll go hard with me if he gives me the slip +after all, for my blood's up, and my character's at stake, and I'd think +no more of crossing the Atlantic after him than I'd think of going over +Waterloo Bridge!" + +It was a very chill and miserable time of the morning when the _Pretty +Polly_ ground her nose against the granite steps of the quay. It was a +chill and dismal hour of the morning, and Mr. Carter felt sloppy and +dirty and unshaven, as he stepped out of the boat and staggered up the +slimy stairs. He gave the two young fishermen the promised five-pound +note, and left them very well contented with their night's work, +inglorious though it had been. + +There were no vehicles to be had at that early hour of the morning, so +Mr. Carter was fain to walk from the quay to the station, where he +expected to find Mr. Tibbles, or to obtain tidings of that gentleman. He +was not disappointed; for, although the station wore its dreariest +aspect, having only just begun to throb with a little spasmodic life, in +the way of an early goods-train, Mr. Carter found his devoted follower +prowling in melancholy loneliness amid a wilderness of empty carriages +and smokeless engines, with the turnip whiteness of his complexion +relieved by a red nose. + +Mr. Thomas Tibbles was by no means in the best possible temper in this +chill early morning. He was slapping his long thin arms across his +narrow chest, and performing a kind of amateur double-shuffle with his +long flat feet, when Mr. Carter approached him; and he kept up the same +shuffling and the same slapping while engaged in conversation with his +superior, in a disrespectful if not defiant manner. + +"A pretty game you've played me," he said, in an injured tone. "You told +me to hang about the station and watch the trains, and you'd come back +in the course of the day--you would--and we'd dine together comfortable +at the Station Hotel; and a deal you come back and dined together +comfortable. Oh, yes! I don't think so; very much indeed," exclaimed Mr. +Tibbles, vaguely, but with the bitterest derision in his voice and +manner. + +"Come, Sawney, don't you go to cut up rough about it," said Mr. Carter, +coaxingly. + +"I should like to know who'd go and cut up smooth about it?" answered +the indignant Tibbles. "Why, if you could have a hangel in the detective +business--which luckily you can't, for the wings would cut out anything +as mean as legs, and be the ruin of the purfession--the temper of that +hangel would give way under what I've gone through. Hanging about this +windy station, which the number of criss-cross draughts cuttin' in from +open doors and winders would lead a hignorant person to believe there +was seventeen p'ints of the compass at the very least--hangin' about to +watch train after train, till there ain't anything goin' in the way of +sarce as yen haven't got to stand from the porters; or sittin' in the +coffee-room of the hotel yonder, watchin' and listenin' for the next +train, till bein' there to keep an appointment with your master is the +hollerest of mockeries." + +Mr. Carter took his irate subordinate to the coffee-room of the Station +Hotel, where Mr. Tibbles had engaged a bed and taken a few hours' sleep +in the dead interval between the starting of the last train at night and +the first in the morning. The detective ordered a substantial breakfast, +with a couple of glasses of pale brandy, neat, to begin with; and Mr. +Tibbles' equanimity was restored, under the influence of ham, eggs, +mutton-cutlet, a broiled sole, and a quart or so of boiling coffee. + +Mr. Carter told his assistant very briefly that he'd been wasting his +time and trouble on a false track, and that he should give the matter +up. Sawney Tom received this announcement with a great deal of champing +and working of the jaws, and with rather a doubtful expression in his +dull red eyes; but he accepted the payment which his employer offered +him, and agreed to depart for London by the ten o'clock train. + +"And whatever I do henceforth in this business, I do single-handed," Mr. +Carter said to himself, as he turned his back upon his companion. + +At five o'clock that afternoon the detective found himself at the +Shorncliffe station, where he hired a fly and drove on post-haste to +Lisford cottage. + +The neat little habitation of the late naval commander looked pretty +much as Mr. Carter had seen it last, except that in one of the upper +windows there was a bill--a large paper placard--announcing that this +house was to let, furnished; and that all information respecting the +same was to be obtained of Mr. Hogson, grocer, Lisford. + +Mr. Carter gave a long whistle. + +"The bird's flown," he muttered. "It wasn't likely he'd stop here to be +caught." + +The detective rang the bell; once, twice, three times; but there was no +answer to the summons. He ran round the low garden-fence to the back of +the premises, where there was a little wooden gate, padlocked, but so +low that he vaulted over it easily, and went in amongst the budding +currant-bushes, the neat gravel-paths and strawberry-beds, that had been +erst so cherished by the naval commander. Mr. Carter peered in at the +back windows of the house, and through the little casement he saw a +vista of emptiness. He listened, but there was no sound of voices or +footsteps. The blinds were undrawn, and he could see the bare walls of +the rooms, the fireless grates, and that cold bleakness of aspect +peculiar to an untenanted habitation. + +He gave a low groan. + +"Gone," he muttered; "gone, as neat as ever a man went yet." + +He ran back to the fly, and drove to the establishment of Mr. Hogson, +grocer and general dealer--the shop of the village of Lisford. + +Here Mr. Carter was informed that the key of "Woodbine Cottage had been +given up on the evening of that very day on which he had seen Joseph +Wilmot sitting in the little parlour. + +"Yes, sir, it were the night before the last," Mr. Hogson said; "it were +the night before last as a young woman wrapped up about the face like, +and dressed very plain, got out of a fly at my door; and, says she, +'Would you please take charge of this here key, and be so kind as to +show any one over the cottage as would like to see it, which of course +the commission is understood?--for my master is leaving for some time on +account of having a son just come home from India, which is married and +settled in Devonshire, and my master is going there to see him, not +having seen him this many a long year.' She was a very civil-spoken +young woman, and Woodbine Cottage has been good customers to us, both +with the old tenants and the new; so of course I took the key, willin' +to do any service as lay in my power. And if you'd like to see the +cottage, sir----" + +"You're very good," said Mr. Carter, with something like a groan. "No, I +won't see the cottage to-night. What time was it when the fly stopped at +your door?" + +"Between seven and eight." + +"Between seven and eight. Just in time to catch the mail from Rugby. Was +it one of the Rose-and-Crown flies, d'ye think?" + +"Oh, yes, the fly belonged to Lisford. I'm sure of that, for Tim Baling +was drivin' it and wished me good-night." + +Mr. Carter left the Lisford emporium, and ran over to the Rose and +Crown, where he saw the man who had driven him to Shorncliffe station. +This man told the detective that he had been fetched in the evening by +the same young woman who fetched him in the morning, and that he had +driven another gentleman, who walked lame like the first, and had his +head and face wrapped up a deal, not to Shorncliffe station, but to +little Petherington station, six miles on the Rugby side of Shorncliffe, +where the gentleman and the young woman who was with him got into a +second-class carriage in the slow train for Rugby. The gentleman had +said, laughing, that the young woman was his housemaid, and he was +taking her up to town on purpose to be married to her. He was a very +pleasant-spoken gentleman, the flyman added, and paid uncommon liberal. + +"I dare say he did," muttered Mr. Carter. + +He gave the man a shilling for his information, and went back to the fly +that had brought him to the station. It was getting on for seven o'clock +by this time, and Joseph Wilmot had had eight-and-forty hours' start of +him. The detective was quite down-hearted now. + +He went up to London by the same train which he had every reason to +suppose had carried Joseph Wilmot and his daughter two nights before, +and at the Euston terminus he worked very hard on that night and on the +following day to trace the missing man. But Joseph Wilmot was only a +drop in the great ocean of London life. The train that was supposed to +have brought him to town was a long train, coming through from the +north. Half-a-dozen lame men with half-a-dozen young women for their +companions might have passed unnoticed in the bustle and confusion of +the arrival platform. + +Mr. Carter questioned the guards, the ticket-collectors, the porters, +the cabmen; but not one among them gave him the least scrap of available +information. He went to Scotland Yard despairing, and laid his case +before the authorities there. + +"There's only one way of having him," he said, "and that's the diamonds. +From what I can make out, he had no money with him, and in that case +he'll be trying to turn some of those diamonds into cash." + +The following advertisement appeared in the Supplement to the _Times_ +for the next day: + +"_To Pawnbrokers and Others.--A liberal reward will be given to any +person affording information that may lead to the apprehension of a tall +man, walking lame, who is known to have a large quantity of unset +diamonds in his possession, and who most likely has attempted to dispose +of the same_." + +But this advertisement remained unanswered. + +"They're too clever for us, sir," Mr. Carter remarked to one of the +Scotland-Yard officials. "Whoever Joseph Wilmot may have sold those +diamonds to has got a good bargain, you may depend upon it, and means to +stick to it. The pawnbrokers and others think our advertisement a plant, +you may depend upon it" + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +CLEMENT'S STORY.--BEFORE THE DAWN. + + +"I went back to my mother's house a broken and a disappointed man. I had +solved the mystery of Margaret's conduct, and at the same time had set a +barrier between myself and the woman I loved. + +"Was there any hope that she would ever be my wife? Reason told me that +there was none. In her eyes I must henceforth appear the man who had +voluntarily set himself to work to discover her father's guilt, and +track him to the gallows. + +"_Could_ she ever again love me with this knowledge in her mind? Could +she ever again look me in the face, and smile at me, remembering this? +The very sound of my name must in future be hateful to her. + +"I knew the strength of my noble girl's love for her reprobate father. I +had seen the force of that affection tested by so many cruel trials. I +had witnessed my poor girl's passionate grief at Joseph Wilmot's +supposed death: and I had seen all the intensity of her anguish when the +secret of his existence, which was at the same time the secret of his +guilt, became known to her. + +"'She renounced me then, rather than renounce that guilty wretch,' I +thought; 'she will hate me now that I have been the means of bringing +his most hideous crime to light.' + +"Yes, the crime was hideous--almost unparalleled in horror. The +treachery which had lured the victim to his death seemed almost less +horrible than the diabolical art which had fixed upon the name of the +murdered man the black stigma of a suspected crime. + +"But I knew too well that, in all the blackness of his guilt, Margaret +Wilmot would cling to her father as truly, as tenderly, as she had clung +to him in those early days when the suspicion of his worthlessness had +been only a dark shadow for ever brooding between the man and his only +child. I knew this, and I had no hope that she would ever forgive me for +my part in the weaving of that strange chain of evidence which made the +condemnation of Joseph Wilmot. + +"These were the thoughts that tormented me during the first fortnight +after my return from the miserable journey to Winchester; these were the +thoughts for ever revolving in my tired brain while I waited for tidings +from the detective. + +"During all that time it never once occurred to me that there was any +chance, however remote, of Joseph Wilmot's escape from his pursuer. + +"I had seen the science of the detective police so invariably triumphant +over the best-planned schemes of the most audacious criminals, that I +should have considered--had I ever debated the question, which I never +did--Joseph Wilmot's evasion of justice an actual impossibility. It was +most likely that he would be taken at Maudesley Abbey entirely +unprepared, in his ignorance of the fatal discovery at Winchester; an +easy prey to the experienced detective. + +"Indeed, I thought that his immediate arrest was almost a certainty; and +every morning, when I took up the papers, I expected to see a prominent +announcement to the effect that the long-undiscovered Winchester mystery +was at last solved, and that the murderer had been taken by one of the +detective police. + +"But the papers gave no tidings of Joseph Wilmot; and I was surprised, +at the end of a week's time, to read the account of a detective's +skirmish on board a schooner some miles off Hull, which had resulted in +the drowning of one Stephen Vallance, an old offender. The detective's +name was given as Henry Carter. Were there two Henry Carters in the +small band of London detective police? or was it possible that my Henry +Carter could have given up so profitable a prize as Joseph Wilmot in +order to pursue unknown criminals upon the high seas? A week after I had +read of this mysterious adventure, Mr. Carter made his appearance at +Clapham, very grave of aspect and dejected of manner. + +"'It's no use, sir,' he said; 'it's humiliating to an officer of my +standing in the force; but I'd better confess it freely. I've been sold, +sir--sold by a young woman too, which makes it three times as +mortifying, and a kind of insult to the male sex in general!' + +"My heart gave a great throb. + +"'Do you mean that Joseph Wilmot has escaped? I asked. + +"He has, sir; as clean as ever a man escaped yet. He hasn't left this +country, not to my belief, for I've been running up and down between the +different outports like mad. But what of that? If he hasn't left the +country, and if he doesn't mean to leave the country, so much the better +for him, and so much the worse for those that want to catch him. It's +trying to leave England that brings most of 'em to grief, and Joseph +Wilmot's an old enough hand to know that. I'll wager he's living as +quiet and respectable as any gentleman ever lived yet.' + +"Mr. Carter went on to tell me the whole story of his disappointments +and mortifications. I could understand all now: the moonlit figure in +the Winchester street, the dusky shadow beneath the dripping branches in +the grove. I could understand all now: my poor girl--my poor, brave +girl. + +"When I was alone, I rendered up my thanks to Heaven for the escape of +Joseph Wilmot. I had done nothing to impede the course of justice, +though I had known full well that the punishment of the evil-doer would +crush the bravest and purest heart that ever beat in an innocent woman's +bosom. I had not dared to attempt any interposition between Joseph +Wilmot and the punishment of his crime; but I was, nevertheless, most +heartily thankful that Providence had suffered him to escape that +hideous earthly doom which is supposed to be the wisest means of ridding +society of a wretch. + +"But for the wretch himself, surely long years of penitence must make a +better expiation of his guilt than that one short agony--those few +spasmodic throes, which render his death such a pleasant spectacle for a +sight-seeing populace. + +"I was glad, for the sake of the guilty and miserable creature himself, +that Joseph Wilmot had escaped. I was still gladder for the sake of that +dear hope which was more to me than any hope on earth--the hope of +making Margaret my wife. + +"'There will be no hideous recollection interwoven with my image now,' I +thought; 'she will forgive me when I tell her the history of my journey +to Winchester. She will let me take her away from the companionship that +must be loathsome to her, in spite of her devotion. She will let me +bring her to a happy home as my cherished wife.' + +"I thought this, and then in the next moment I feared that Margaret +might cling persistently to the dreadful duty of her life--the duty of +shielding and protecting a criminal; the duty of teaching a wicked man +to repent of his sins. + +"I inserted an advertisement in the Times newspaper, assuring Margaret +of my unalterable love and devotion, which no circumstances could +lessen, and imploring her to write to me. Of course the advertisement +was so worded as to give no clue to the identity of the person to whom +it was addressed. The acutest official in Scotland Yard could have +gathered nothing from the lines 'From C. to M.,' so like other appeals +made through the same medium. + +"But my advertisement remained unanswered--no letter came from Margaret. + +"The weeks and months crept slowly past. The story of the evidence of +the clothes found at Winchester was made public, together with the +history of Joseph Wilmot's flight and escape. The business created a +considerable sensation, and Lord Herriston himself went down to +Winchester to witness the exhumation of the remains of the man who had +been buried under the name of Joseph Wilmot. + +"The dead man's face was no longer recognizable. Only by induction was +the identity of Henry Dunbar ever established: but the evidence of the +identity was considered conclusive by all who were interested in the +question. Still I doubt whether, in the fabric of circumstantial +evidence against Joseph Wilmot, legal sophistry could not have +discovered some loophole by which the murderer might have escaped the +full penalty of his crime. + +"The remains were removed from Winchester to Lisford Church, where +Percival Dunbar was buried in a vault beneath the chancel. The murdered +man's coffin was placed beside that of his father, and a simple marble +tablet recording the untimely death of Henry Dunbar, cruelly and +treacherously assassinated in a grove near Winchester, was erected by +order of Lady Jocelyn, who was abroad with her husband when the story of +her father's death was revealed to her. + +"The weeks and months crept by. The revelation of Joseph Wilmot's guilt +left me free to return to my old position in the house of Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby. But I had no heart to go back to the old business +now the hope that had made my commonplace city life so bright seemed for +ever broken. I was surprised, however, into a confession of the truth by +the good-natured junior partner, who lived near us on Clapham Common, +and who dropped in sometimes as he went by my mother's gate, to while +away an idle half-hour in some political discussion. + +"He insisted upon my returning to the office directly he heard the +secret of my resignation. The business was now entirely his; for there +had been no one to succeed Henry Dunbar, and Mr. John Lovell had sold +the dead man's interest on behalf of his client, Lady Jocelyn. I went +back to my old post, but not to remain long in my old position; for a +week after my return Mr. Balderby made me an offer which I considered as +generous as it was flattering, and which I ultimately and somewhat +reluctantly accepted. + +"By means of this new and most liberal arrangement, which demanded from +me a very moderate amount of capital, I became junior partner in the +firm, which was now conducted under the names of Dunbar, Dunbar, +Balderby, and Austin. The double Dunbar was still essential to us, +though the last of the male Dunbars was dead and buried under the +chancel of Lisford Church. The old name was the legitimate stamp of our +dignity as one of the oldest Anglo-Indian banking firms in the city of +London. + +"My new life was smooth enough, and there was so much business to be got +through, so much responsibility vested in my hands--for Mr. Balderby was +getting fat and lazy, as regarded affairs in the City, though untiring +in the production of more forced pine-apples and hothouse grapes than he +could consume or give away--that I had not much leisure in which to +think of the one sorrow of my life. A City man may break his heart for +disappointed love, but he must do it out of business hours if he +pretends to be an honourable man: for every sorrowful thought which +wanders to the loved and lost is a separate treason against the 'house' +he serves. + +"Smoking my after-dinner cigar in the narrow pathways and miniature +shrubberies of my mother's garden, I could venture to think of my lost +Margaret; and I did think of her, and pray for her with as fervent +aspirations as ever rose from a man's faithful heart. And in the dusky +stillness of the evening, with the faint odour of dewy flowers round me, +and distant stars shining dimly in that far-off opal sky; against which +the branches of the elms looked so black and dense, I used to beguile +myself--or it may be that the influence of the scene and hour beguiled +me--into the thought that my separation from Margaret could be only a +temporary one. We loved each other so truly! And after all, what under +heaven is stronger than love? I thought of my poor girl in some lonely, +melancholy place, hiding with her guilty father; in daily companionship +with a miserable wretch, whose life must be made hideous to himself by +the memory of his crime. I thought of the self-abnegation, the heroic +devotion, which made Margaret strong enough to endure such an existence +as this: and out of my belief in the justice of Heaven there grew up in +my mind the faith in a happier life in store for my noble girl. + +"My mother supported me in this faith. She knew all Margaret's story +now, and she sympathized with my love and admiration for Joseph Wilmot's +daughter. A woman's heart must have been something less than womanly if +it could have tailed to appreciate my darling's devotion: and my mother +was about the last of womankind to be wanting in tenderness and +compassion for any one who had need of her pity and was worthy of her +love. + +"So we both cherished the thought of the absent girl in our minds, +talking of her constantly on quiet evenings, when we sat opposite to +each other in the snug lamp-lit drawing-room, unhindered by the presence +of guests. We did not live by any means a secluded or gloomy life, for +my mother was fond of pleasant society: and I was quite as true to +Margaret while associating with agreeable people, and hearing cheerful +voices buzzing round me, as I could have been in a hermitage whose +stillness was only broken by the howling of the storm. + +"It was in the dreariest part of the winter which followed Joseph +Wilmot's escape that an incident occurred which gave me a +strangely-mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. I was sitting one +evening in my mother's breakfast-parlour--a little room situated close +to the hall-door--when I heard the ringing of the bell at the +garden-gate. It was nine o'clock at night, a bitter wintry night, in +which I should least have expected any visitor. So I went on reading my +paper, while my mother speculated about the matter. + +"Three minutes after the bell had rung, our parlour-maid came into the +room, and placed something on the table before me. + +"'A parcel, sir,' she said, lingering a little; perhaps in the hope +that, in my eager curiosity, I might immediately open the packet, and +give her an opportunity of satisfying her own desire for information. + +"I put aside my newspaper, and looked down at the object before me. + +"Yes, it was a parcel--a small oblong box--about the size of those +pasteboard receptacles which are usually associated with Seidlitz +powders--an oblong box, neatly packed in white paper, secured with +several seals, and addressed to Clement Austin, Esq., Willow Bank, +Clapham. + +"But the hand, the dear, well-known hand, which had addressed the +packet--my blood thrilled through my veins as I recognized the familiar +characters. + +"'Who brought this parcel?' I asked, starting from my comfortable +easy-chair, and going straight out into the hall. + +"The astonished parlour-maid told me that the packet had been given her +by a lady, 'a lady who was dressed in black, or dark things,' the girl +said, 'and whose face was quite hidden by a thick veil.' After leaving +the small packet, this lady got into a cab a few paces from our gate, +the girl added, 'and the cab had tore off as fast as it could tear!' + +"I went out into the open yard, and looked despairingly London-wards. +There was no vestige of any cab: of course there had been ample time for +the cab in question to get far beyond reach of pursuit. I felt almost +maddened with this disappointment and vexation. It was Margaret, +Margaret herself most likely, who had come to my door; and I had lost +the opportunity of seeing her. + +"I stood staring blankly up and down the road for some time, and then +went back to the parlour, where my mother, with pardonable weakness, had +pounced upon the packet, and was examining it with eyes opened to their +widest extent. + +"'It is Margaret's hand!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, do open--do, please, open +it directly. What on earth can it be?' + +"I tore off the white paper covering, and revealed just such an object +as I had expected to see--a box, a common-place pasteboard box, tied +securely across and across with thin twine. I cut the twine and opened +the box. At the top there was a layer of jewellers' wool, and on that +being removed, my mother gave a little shriek of surprise and +admiration. + +"The box contained a fortune--a fortune in the shape of unset diamonds, +lying as close together as their nature would admit--unset diamonds, +which glittered and flashed upon us in the lamplight. + +"Inside the lid there was a folded paper, upon, which the following +lines were written in the dear hand, the never-to-be-forgotten hand: + +"'EVER-DEAREST CLEMENT,--_The sad and miserable secret which led to our +parting is a secret no longer. You know all, and you have no doubt +forgiven, and perhaps in part forgotten, the wretched woman to whom your +love was once so dear, and to whom the memory of your love will ever be +a consolation and a happiness. If I dared to pray to you to think +pitifully of that most unhappy man whose secret is now known to you, I +would do so; but I cannot hope for so much mercy from men: I can only +hope it from God, who in His supreme wisdom alone can fathom the +mysteries of a repentant heart. I beg of you to deliver to Lady Jocelyn +the diamonds I place in your hands. They belong of right to her; and I +regret to say they only represent apart of the money withdrawn from the +funds in the name of Henry Dunbar. Good-bye, dear and generous friend; +this it the last you will ever hear of one whose name must sound odious +to the ears of honest men. Pity me, and forget me; and may a happier +woman be to you that which I can never be!_ M. W.' + + +"This was all. Nothing could be firmer than the tone of this letter, in +spite of its pensive gentleness. My poor girl could not be brought to +believe that I should hold it no disgrace to make her my wife, in spite +of the hideous story connected with her name. In my vexation and +disappointment, I appealed once more to the unfailing friend of parted +or persecuted lovers, the Jupiter of Printing-House Square. + +"'_Margaret_,' I wrote in the advertisement which adorned the second +column of the _Times_ Supplement on twenty consecutive occasions, '_I +hold you to your old promise, and consider the circumstances of our +parting as in no manner a release from your old engagement. The greatest +wrong you can inflict upon me will be inflicted by your desertion_. +C. A." + +"This advertisement was as useless as its predecessor. I looked in vain +for any answer. + +"I lost no time in fulfilling the commission intrusted to me I went down +to Shorncliffe, and delivered the box of diamonds into the hands of John +Lovell, the solicitor; for Lady Jocelyn was still on the Continent. He +packed the box in paper, and made me seal it with my signet-ring, in the +presence of one of his clerks, before he put it away in an iron safe +near his desk. + +"When this was done, and when the _Times_ advertisement had been +inserted for the twentieth time without eliciting any reply, I gave +myself up to a kind of despair about Margaret. She had failed to see my +advertisement, I thought; for she would scarcely have been so +hard-hearted as to leave it unanswered. She had failed to see this +advertisement, as well as the previous appeal made to her through the +same medium, and she would no doubt fail to see any other. I had reason +to know that she was, or had been, in England, for she would scarcely +have intrusted the diamonds to strange hands; but it was only too likely +that she had chosen the very eve of her own and her father's departure +for some distant country as the most fitting time at which to leave the +valuable parcel with me. + +"'Her influence over her father must be complete,' I thought, 'or he +would scarcely have consented to surrender such a treasure as the +diamonds. He has most likely retained enough to pay the passage out to +America for himself and Margaret; and my poor darling will wander with +her wretched father into some remote corner of the United States, where +she will be hidden from me for ever.' + +"I remembered with unspeakable pain how wide the world was, and how easy +it would be for the woman I loved to be for ever lost to me. + +"I gave myself up to despair; it was not resignation, for my life was +empty and desolate without Margaret; try as I might to carry my burden +quietly, and put a brave face upon my sorrow. Up to the time of +Margaret's appearance on that bleak winter's night, I had cherished the +hope--or even more than hope--the belief that we should be reunited: but +after that night the old faith in a happy future crumbled away, and the +idea that Joseph Wilmot's daughter had left England grew little by +little into conviction. + +"I should never see her again. I fully believed this now. There was +never to be any more sunshine in my life: and there was nothing for me +to do but to resign myself to the even tenor of an existence in which +the quiet duties of a business career would leave little time for any +idle grief or lamentation. My sorrow was a part of my life: but even +those who knew me best failed to fathom the depth of that sorrow. To +them I seemed only a grave business man, devoted to the dry details of a +business life. + +"Eighteen months had passed since the bleak winter's night on which the +box of diamonds had been intrusted to me; eighteen months, so slow and +quiet in their course that I was beginning to feel myself an old man, +older than many old men, inasmuch as I had outlived the wreck of the one +bright hope which had made life dear to me. It was midsummer time, and +the counting-house in St. Gundolph Lane, and the parlour in which--in +virtue of my new position--I had now a right to work, seemed peculiarly +hot and frowsy, dusty and obnoxious. My work being especially hard at +this time knocked me up; and I was compelled, under pain of solemn +threats from my mother's pet medical attendant, to stay at home, and +take two or three days' rest. I submitted, very unwillingly; for however +dusty and stifling the atmosphere in St. Gundolph Lane might be, it was +better to be there, victorious over my sorrow, by means of man's +grandest ally in the battle with black care--to wit, hard work--than to +be lying on the sofa in my mother's pleasant drawing-room, listening to +the cheery click of two knitting-needles, and thinking of my wasted +life. + +"I submitted, however, to take the three days' holiday; and on the +second day, after a couple of hours' penance on the sofa, I got up, +languid and tired still, but bent on some employment by which I might +escape from the sad monotony of my own thoughts. + +"'I think I'll go into the next room and put my papers to rights, +mother,' I said. + +"My dear indulgent mother remonstrated: I was to rest and keep myself +quiet, she said, and not to worry myself about papers and tiresome +things of that kind, which appertained only to the office. But I had my +own way, and went into the little room, where there were flowers +blooming and caged birds singing in the open window. + +"This room was a sort of snuggery, half library, half breakfast-parlour, +and it was in this room my mother and I had been sitting on the night on +which the diamonds had been brought to me. + +"On one side of the fireplace stood my mother's work-table, on the other +the desk at which I wrote, whenever I wrote any letters at home--a +ponderous old-fashioned office desk, with a row of drawers on each side, +a deep well in the centre, and under that a large waste-paper basket, +full of old envelopes and torn scraps of letters. + +"I wheeled a comfortable chair up to the desk, and began my task. It +was a very long one, and involved a great deal of folding, sorting, and +arranging of documents, which perhaps were scarcely worth the trouble I +took with them. At any rate, the work kept my fingers employed, though +my mind still brooded over the old trouble. + +"I sat for nearly three hours; for it was a very long time since I had +had a day's leisure, and the accumulation of letters, bills, and +receipts was something very formidable. At last all was done, the +letters and bills endorsed and tied into neat packets that would have +done credit to a lawyer's office; and I flung myself back in my chair +with a sigh of relief. + +"But I had not finished my work yet; for I drew out the waste-paper +basket presently, and emptied its contents upon the floor, in order that +I might make sure of there being no important paper thrown by chance +amongst them, before I consigned them to be swept away by the housemaid. + +"I tossed over the chaotic fragments, the soiled envelopes, the +circulars of enterprising Clapham tradesmen, and all the other rubbish +that had accumulated within the last two years. The dust floated up to +my face and almost blinded me. + +"Yes, there was something of consequence amongst the papers--something, +at least, which I should have held it sacrilegious to consign to Molly, +the housemaid--the wrapper of the box containing the diamonds; the paper +wrapper, directed in the dear hand I loved, the hand of Margaret Wilmot. + +"I must have left the wrapper on the table on the night when I received +the box, and one of the servants had no doubt put it into the +waste-paper basket. I picked up the sheet of paper and folded it neatly; +it was a very small treasure for a lover to preserve, perhaps: but then +I had so few relics of the woman who was to have been my wife. + +"As I folded the paper, I looked, half in absence of mind, at the stamp +in the corner. It was an old-fashioned sheet of Bath post, stamped with +the name of the stationer who had sold it--Jakins, Kylmington. +Kylmington; yes, I remembered there was a town in Hampshire,--a kind of +watering-place, I believed,--called Kylmington! And the paper had been +bought there--and if so, it was more than likely that Margaret had been +there. + +"Could it be so? Could it be really possible that in this sheet of paper +I had found a clue which would help me to trace my lost love? Could it +be so? The new hope sent a thrill of sudden life and energy through my +veins. Ill--worn out, knocked up by over-work? Who could dare to say I +was any thing of the kind? I was as strong as Hercules. + +"I put the folded paper in the breast-pocket of my coat, and took down +Bradshaw. Dear Bradshaw, what an interesting writer you seemed to me on +that day! Yes, Kylmington was in Hampshire; three hours and a half from +London, with due allowance for delays in changing carriages. There was a +train would convey me from Waterloo to Kylmington that afternoon--a +train that would leave Waterloo at half-past three. + +"I looked at my watch. It was half-past two. I had only an hour for all +my preparations and the drive to Waterloo. I went to the drawing-room, +where my mother was still sitting at work near the open window. She +started when she saw my face, for my new hope had given it a strange +brightness. + +"'Why, Clem,' she said, 'you look as pleased as if you'd found some +treasure among your papers.' + +"'I hope I have, mother. I hope and believe that I have found a clue +that will enable me to trace Margaret.' + +"'You don't mean it?' + +"'I've found the name of a town which I believe to be the place where +she was staying before she brought those diamonds to me. I am going +there to try and discover some tidings of her. I am going at once. Don't +look anxious, dear mother; the journey to Kylmington, and the hope that +takes me there, will do me more good than all the drugs in Mr. Bainham's +surgery. Be my own dear indulgent mother, as you have always been, and +pack me a couple of clean shirts in a portmanteau. I shall come back +to-morrow night, I dare say, as I've only three days' leave of absence +from the office.' + +"My mother, who had never in her life refused me anything, did not long +oppose me to-day. A hansom cab rattled me off to the station; and at +five minutes before the half-hour I was on the platform, with my ticket +for Kylmington in my pocket." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE DAWN. + + +"The clock of Kylmington church, which was as much behind any other +public timekeeper I had ever encountered as the town of Kylmington was +behind any other town I had ever explored, struck eight as I opened the +little wooden gate of the churchyard, and went into the shade of an +avenue of stunted sycamores, which was supposed to be the chief glory of +Kylmington. + +"It was twenty minutes past eight by London time, and the summer sun had +gone down, leaving all the low western sky bathed in vivid yellow light, +which deepened into crimson as I watched it. + +"I had been more than an hour and a half in Kylmington. I had taken some +slight refreshment at the principal hotel--a queer, old-fashioned place, +with a ruinous, weedy appearance pervading it, and the impress of +incurable melancholy stamped on the face of every scrap of rickety +furniture and lopsided window-blind. I had taken some slight +refreshment--to this hour I don't know _what_ it was I ate upon that +balmy summer evening, so entirely was my mind absorbed by that bright +hope, which was growing brighter and brighter every moment. I had been +to the stationer's shop, which still bore above its window the faded +letters of the name 'Jakins,' though the last of the Jakinses had long +left Kylmington. I had been to this shop, and from a good-natured but +pensive matron I had heard tidings that made my bright hope a still +brighter certainty. + +"I began business by asking if there was any lady in Kylmington who gave +lessons in music and singing. + +"'Yes,' Mr. Jakins's successor told me, 'there were two music-mistresses +in the town--one was Madame Carinda, who taught at Grove House, the +fashionable ladies' school; the other was Miss Wilson, whose terms were +lower than Madame Carinda's--though Madame wasn't a bit a foreigner +except by name--and who was much respected in the town. Likewise her +papa, which had been quite the gentleman, attending church twice every +Sunday as regular as the day came round, and being quite a picture of +respectability, with his venerable pious-looking grey hair.' + +"I gave a little start as I heard this. + +"'Miss Wilson lived with her papa, did she?' I asked. + +"'Yes,' the woman told me; 'Miss Wilson had lived with her papa till the +poor old gentleman's death.' + +"'Oh, he was dead, then?' + +"'Yes, Mr. Wilson had died in the previous December, of a kind of +decline, fading away like, almost unbeknown; and being, oh, so +faithfully nursed and cared for by that blessed daughter of his. And +people did say that he had once been very wealthy, and had lost his +money in some speculation; and the loss of it had preyed upon his mind, +and he had fallen into a settled melancholy like, and was never seen to +smile.' + +"The woman opened a drawer as she talked to me, and, after turning over +some papers, took out a card--a card with embossed edges, fly-spotted, +and dusty, and with a little faded blue ribbon attached to it--a card on +which there was written, in the hand I knew so well, an announcement +that Miss Wilson, of the Hermitage, would give instruction in music and +singing for a guinea a quarter. + +"I had been about to ask for a description of the young music-mistress, +but I had no need to do so now. + +"'Miss Wilson _is_ the young lady I wish to see,' I said. 'Will you +direct me to the Hermitage? I will call there early to-morrow morning.' + +"The proprietress of Jakins's, who was, I dare say, something of a +matchmaker, after the manner of all good-natured matrons, smiled +significantly. + +"'I know where you could see Miss Wilson, nearer than the Hermitage,' +she said, 'and sooner than to-morrow morning. She works very hard all +day,--poor, dear, delicate-looking young thing; but every evening when +it's tolerably fine, she goes to the churchyard. It's the only walk I've +ever seen her take since her father's death. She goes past my window +regular every night, just about when I'm shutting up, and from my door I +can see her open the gate and go into the churchyard. It's a doleful +walk to take alone at that time of the evening, to be sure, though some +folks think it's the pleasantest walk in all Kylmington.' + +"It was in consequence of this conversation that I found myself under +the shadow of the trees while the Kylmington clock was striking eight. + +"The churchyard was a square flat, surrounded on all sides by a low +stone wall, beyond which the fields sloped down to the mouth of a river +that widened into the sea at a little distance from Kylmington, but +which hereabouts had a very dingy melancholy look when the tide was out, +as it was to-night. + +"There was no living creature except myself in the churchyard as I came +out of the shadow of the trees on to the flat, where the grass grew long +among the unpretending headstones. + +"I looked at all the newest stones till I came at last to one standing +in the obscurest corner of the churchyard, almost hidden by the low +wall. + +"There was a very brief inscription on this modest headstone; but it was +enough to tell me whose ashes lay buried under the spot on which I +stood. + + _"To the Memory of + J. W. + Who died December 19, 1853. + 'Lord have mercy upon me, a sinner!'_ + +"I was still looking at this brief memorial, when I heard a woman's +dress rustling upon the long rank grass, and turning suddenly, saw my +darling coming towards me, very pale, very pensive, but with a kind of +seraphic resignation upon her face which made her seem to me more +beautiful than I had ever seen her before. + +"She started at seeing me, but did not faint. She only grew paler than +she had been before, and pressed her two hands on her breast, as if to +still the sudden tumult of her heart. + +"I made her take my arm and lean upon it, and we walked up and down the +narrow path talking until the last low line of light faded out of the +dusky sky. + +"All that I could say to her was scarcely enough to shake her +resolution--to uproot her conviction that her father's guilt was an +insurmountable barrier between us. But when I told her of my broken +life--when, in the earnestness of my pleading, she perceived the proof +of a constancy that no time could shake, I could see that she wavered. + +"'I only want you to be happy, Clement,' she said. 'My former life has +been such an unhappy one, that I tremble at the thought of linking it to +yours. The shame, Clement--think of _that_. How will you answer people +when they ask you the name of your wife?' + +"'I will tell them that she has no name, but that which she has honoured +by accepting from me. I will tell them that she is the noblest and +dearest of women, and that her history is a story of unparalleled virtue +and devotion!' + +"I sent a telegraphic message to my mother early the next morning; and +in the afternoon the dear soul arrived at Kylmington to embrace her +future daughter. We sat late in the little parlour of the Hermitage; a +dreary cottage, looking out on the flat shore, half sand, half mud, and +the low water lying in greenish pools. Margaret told us of her father's +penitence. + +"'No repentance was ever more sincere, Clement,' she said, for she +seemed afraid we should doubt the possibility of penitence in such a +criminal as Joseph Wilmot. 'My poor father--my poor wronged, unhappy +father!--yes, wronged, Clement, you must not forget that; you must never +forget that in the first instance he was wronged, and deeply wronged, by +the man who was murdered. When first we came here, his mind brooded upon +that, and he seemed to look upon what he had done as an ignorant savage +would look upon the vengeance which his heathenish creed had taught him +to consider a justifiable act of retaliation. Little by little I won my +poor father away from such thoughts as these: till by-and-by he grew to +think of Henry Dunbar as he was when they were young men together, +linked by a kind of friendship, before the forging of the bills, and all +the trouble that followed. He thought of his old master as he knew him +first, and his heart was softened towards the dead man's memory; and +from that time his penitence began. He was sorry for what he had done. +No words can describe that sorrow, Clement: and may you never have to +watch, as I have watched, the anguish of a guilty soul! Heaven is very +merciful. If my father had failed to escape, and had been hung, he would +have died hardened and impenitent. God had compassion on him, and gave +him time to repent.'" + + _(The end of the story.)_ + + + + +THE EPILOGUE: + +ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS. + + +"My wife and I hear sometimes, through my old friend Arthur Lovell, of +the new master and mistress of Maudesley Abbey, Sir Philip and Lady +Jocelyn, who oscillate between the Rock and the Abbey when they are in +Warwickshire. Lady Jocelyn is a beautiful woman, frank, generous, +noble-hearted, beloved by every creature within twenty miles' radius of +her home, and idolized by her husband. The sad history of her father's +death has been softened by the hand of Time; and she is happy with her +children and her husband in the grand old home that was so long +overshadowed by the sinister presence of the false Henry Dunbar. + +"We are very happy. No prying eye would ever read in Margaret's bright +face the sad story of her early life. A new existence has begun for her +as wife and mother. She has little time to think of that miserable past; +but I think that, sound Protestant though she may be in every other +article of faith, amidst all her prayers those are not the least fervent +which she offers up for the guilty soul of her wretched father. + +"We are very happy. The secret of my wife's history is hidden in our own +breasts--a dark chapter in the criminal romance of life, never to be +revealed upon earth. The Winchester murder is forgotten amongst the many +other guilty mysteries which are never entirely solved. If Joseph +Wilmot's name is ever mentioned, people suggest that he went to America; +indeed, there are people who go farther, and say they have seen him in +America. + +"My mother keeps house for us; and in very nearly seven years' +experience we have never found any disunion to arise from this +arrangement. The pretty Clapham villa is gay with the sound of +children's voices, and the shrill carol of singing birds, and the joyous +barking of Skye terriers. We have added a nursery wing already to one +side of the house, and have balanced it on the other by a vinery, built +after the model of those which adorn the mansion of my senior. The +Misses Balderby have taken what they call a 'great fancy' to my wife, +and they swarm over our drawing-room carpets in blue or pink flounces +very often, on what they call 'social evenings for a little music.' I +find that a little music is only a synonym with the Misses Balderby for +a great deal of noise. + +"I love my wife's playing best, though they are kind enough to perform +twenty-page compositions by Bach and Mendelssohn for my amusement: and I +am never happier than on those dusky summer evenings when we sit alone +together in the shadowy drawing-room, and talk to each other, while +Margaret's skilful fingers glide softly over the keys in wandering +snatches of melody that melt and die away like the low breath of the +summer wind." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Henry Dunbar, by M. E. 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Braddon + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9189] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HENRY DUNBAR *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<center> +<h2>HENRY DUNBAR</h2> +<br> +A Novel +<br> +By +<br> +<h3>M.E. Braddon</h3> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h4>DEDICATION</h4> +<hr size=1 width=80> +<br> +<h5>THIS STORY IS INSCRIBED TO</h5> +<h3>JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ.</h3> +<h5>IN SINCERE ADMIRATION OF</h5> +<h5>HIS GENIUS AS A DRAMATIC AUTHOR</h5> +<h5>AND POPULAR ACTOR.</h5> +</center> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p> +<center><h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<hr size=1 width=80></center> + + +<table align="center"> +<tr> +<td>CHAPTER</td> +<td></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +I. </td><td><a href="#ch1"> +AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND BALDERBY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +II. </td><td><a href="#ch2"> +MARGARET'S FATHER</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +III. </td><td><a href="#ch3"> +THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +IV. </td><td><a href="#ch4"> +THE STROKE OF DEATH</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +V. </td><td><a href="#ch5"> +SINKING THE PAST</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +VI. </td><td><a href="#ch6"> +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +VII. </td><td><a href="#ch7"> +AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +VIII. </td><td><a href="#ch8"> +THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +IX. </td><td><a href="#ch9"> +HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +X. </td><td><a href="#ch10"> +LAURA DUNBAR</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XI. </td><td><a href="#ch11"> +THE INQUEST</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XII. </td><td><a href="#ch12"> +ARRESTED</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XIII. </td><td><a href="#ch13"> +THE PRISONER IS REMANDED</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XIV. </td><td><a href="#ch14"> +MARGARET'S JOURNEY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XV. </td><td><a href="#ch15"> +BAFFLED</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XVI. </td><td><a href="#ch16"> +IS IT LOVE OR FEAR?</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XVII. </td><td><a href="#ch17"> +THE BROKEN PICTURE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XVIII. </td><td><a href="#ch18"> +THREE WHO SUSPECT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XIX. </td><td><a href="#ch19"> +LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XX. </td><td><a href="#ch20"> +NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXI. </td><td><a href="#ch21"> +A NEW LIFE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXII. </td><td><a href="#ch22"> +THE STEEPLE-CHASE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXIII. </td><td><a href="#ch23"> +THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXIV. </td><td><a href="#ch24"> +THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXV. </td><td><a href="#ch25"> +AFTER THE WEDDING</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXVI. </td><td><a href="#ch26"> +WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR, OF THE BANKING-HOUSE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXVII. </td><td><a href="#ch27"> +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXVIII. </td><td><a href="#ch28"> +BUYING DIAMONDS</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXIX. </td><td><a href="#ch29"> +GOING AWAY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXX. </td><td><a href="#ch30"> +STOPPED UPON THE WAY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXI. </td><td><a href="#ch31"> +CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXII. </td><td><a href="#ch32"> +WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXIII. </td><td><a href="#ch33"> +MARGARET'S RETURN</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXIV. </td><td><a href="#ch34"> +FAREWELL</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXV. </td><td><a href="#ch35"> +A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXVI. </td><td><a href="#ch36"> +LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXVII. </td><td><a href="#ch37"> +MARGARET'S LETTER</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXVIII. </td><td><a href="#ch38"> +NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS JOURNEY TO WINCHESTER</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXXXIX. </td><td><a href="#ch39"> +CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL, CONTINUED</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXL. </td><td><a href="#ch40"> +FLIGHT</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLI. </td><td><a href="#ch41"> +AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLII. </td><td><a href="#ch42"> +THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLIII. </td><td><a href="#ch43"> +ON THE TRACK</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLIV. </td><td><a href="#ch44"> +CHASING THE "CROW"</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLV. </td><td><a href="#ch45"> +GIVING IT UP</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLVI. </td><td><a href="#ch46"> +CLEMENT'S STORY,--BEFORE THE DAWN</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +XXLVII. </td><td><a href="#ch47"> +THE DAWN</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td align="right"> +THE EPILOGUE: </td><td><a href="#ch48"> +ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS</a></td> +</table> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch1"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER I.</h4></center> +<center><h5>AFTER OFFICE HOURS IN THE HOUSE OF DUNBAR, DUNBAR, AND BALDERBY.</h5></center> +<p> + +The house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, East India bankers, was one +of the richest firms in the city of London--so rich that it would be +quite in vain to endeavour to describe the amount of its wealth. It was +something fabulous, people said. The offices were situated in a dingy +and narrow thoroughfare leading out of King William Street, and were +certainly no great things to look at; but the cellars below their +offices--wonderful cellars, that stretched far away underneath the +church of St. Gundolph, and were only separated by party-walls from the +vaults in which the dead lay buried--were popularly supposed to be +filled with hogsheads of sovereigns, bars of bullion built up in stacks +like so much firewood, and impregnable iron safes crammed to overflowing +with bank bills and railway shares, government securities, family +jewels, and a hundred other trifles of that kind, every one of which was +worth a poor man's fortune. +</p><p> +The firm of Dunbar had been established very soon after the English +first grew powerful in India. It was one of the oldest firms in the +City; and the names of Dunbar and Dunbar, painted upon the door-posts, +and engraved upon shining brass plates on the mahogany doors, had never +been expunged or altered: though time and death had done their work of +change amongst the owners of that name. +</p><p> +The last heads of the firm had been two brothers, Hugh and Percival +Dunbar; and Percival, the younger of these brothers, had lately died at +eighty years of age, leaving his only son, Henry Dunbar, sole inheritor +of his enormous wealth. +</p><p> +That wealth consisted of a splendid estate in Warwickshire; another +estate, scarcely less splendid, in Yorkshire; a noble mansion in +Portland Place; and three-fourths of the bank. The junior partner, Mr. +Balderby, a good-tempered, middle-aged man, with a large family of +daughters, and a handsome red-brick mansion on Clapham Common, had never +possessed more than a fourth share in the business. The three other +shares had been divided between the two brothers, and had lapsed +entirely into the hands of Percival upon the death of Hugh. +</p><p> +On the evening of the 15th of August, 1850, three men sat together in +one of the shady offices at the back of the banking-house in St. +Gundolph Lane. +</p><p> +These three men were Mr. Balderby, a confidential cashier called Clement +Austin, and an old clerk, a man of about sixty-five years of age, who +had been a faithful servant of the firm ever since his boyhood. +</p><p> +This man's name was Sampson Wilmot. +</p><p> +He was old, but he looked much older than he was. His hair was white, +and hung in long thin locks upon the collar of his shabby bottle-green +great coat. He wore a great coat, although it was the height of summer, +and most people found the weather insupportably hot. His face was wizen +and wrinkled, his faded blue eyes dim and weak-looking. He was feeble, +and his hands were tremulous with a perpetual nervous motion. Already he +had been stricken twice with paralysis, and he knew that whenever the +third stroke came it must be fatal. +</p><p> +He was not very much afraid of death, however; for his life had been a +joyless one, a monotonous existence of perpetual toil, unrelieved by any +home joys or social pleasures. He was not a bad man, for he was honest, +conscientious, industrious, and persevering. +</p><p> +He lived in a humble lodging, in a narrow court near the bank, and went +twice every Sunday to the church of St. Gundolph. +</p><p> +When he died he hoped to be buried beneath the flagstones of that City +church, and to lie cheek by jowl with the gold in the cellars of the +bank. +</p><p> +The three men were assembled in this gloomy private room after office +hours, on a sultry August evening, in order to consult together upon +rather an important subject, namely, the reception of Henry Dunbar, the +new head of the firm. +</p><p> +This Henry Dunbar had been absent from England for five-and-thirty +years, and no living creature now employed in the bank, except Sampson +Wilmot, had ever set eyes upon him. +</p><p> +He had sailed for Calcutta five-and-thirty years before, and had ever +since been employed in the offices of the Indian branch of the bank; +first as clerk, afterwards as chief and manager. He had been sent to +India because of a great error which he had committed in his early +youth. +</p><p> +He had been guilty of forgery. He, or rather an accomplice employed by +him, had forged the acceptance of a young nobleman, a brother officer of +Henry Dunbar's, and had circulated forged bills of accommodation to the +amount of three thousand pounds. +</p><p> +These bills were taken up and duly honoured by the heads of the firm. +Percival Dunbar gladly paid three thousand pounds as the price of his +son's honour. That which would have been called a crime in a poorer man +was only considered an error in the dashing young cornet of dragoons, +who had lost money upon the turf, and was fain to forge his friend's +signature rather than become a defaulter. +</p><p> +His accomplice, the man who had actually manufactured the fictitious +signatures, was the younger brother of Sampson Wilmot, who had been a +few months prior to that time engaged as messenger in the +banking-house--a young fellow of nineteen, little better than a lad; a +reckless boy, easily influenced by the dashing soldier who had need of +his services. +</p><p> +The bill-broker who discounted the bills speedily discovered their +fraudulent nature; but he knew that the money was safe. +</p><p> +Lord Adolphus Vanlorme was a customer of the house of Dunbar and Dunbar; +the bill-brokers knew that <i>his</i> acceptance was a forgery; but they knew +also that the signature of the drawer, Henry Dunbar, was genuine. +</p><p> +Messrs. Dunbar and Dunbar would not care to see the heir of their house +in a criminal dock. +</p><p> +There had been no hitch, therefore, no scandal, no prosecution. The +bills were duly honoured; but the dashing young officer was compelled to +sell his commission, and begin life afresh as a junior clerk in the +Calcutta banking-house. +</p><p> +This was a terrible mortification to the high-spirited young man. +</p><p> +The three men assembled in the quiet room behind the bank on this +oppressive August evening were talking together of that old story. +</p><p> +"I never saw Henry Dunbar," Mr. Balderby said; "for, as you know, +Wilmot, I didn't come into the firm till ten years after he sailed for +India; but I've heard the story hinted at amongst the clerks in the days +when I was only a clerk myself." +</p><p> +"I don't suppose you ever heard the rights of it, sir," Sampson Wilmot +answered, fumbling nervously with an old horn snuff-box and a red cotton +handkerchief, "and I doubt if any one knows the rights of that story +except me, and I can remember it as well as if it all happened +yesterday--ay, that I can--better than I remember many things that +really did happen yesterday." +</p><p> +"Let's hear the story from you, then, Sampson," Mr. Balderby said. "As +Henry Dunbar is coming home in a few days, we may as well know the real +truth. We shall better understand what sort of a man our new chief is." +</p><p> +"To be sure, sir, to be sure," returned the old clerk. "It's +five-and-thirty years ago,--five-and-thirty years ago this month, since +it all happened. If I hadn't good cause to remember the date because of +my own troubles, I should remember it for another reason, for it was the +Waterloo year, and city people had been losing and making money like +wildfire. It was in the year '15, sir, and our house had done wonders on +'Change. Mr. Henry Dunbar was a very handsome young man in those +days--very handsome, very aristocratic-looking, rather haughty in his +manners to strangers, but affable and free-spoken to those who happened +to take his fancy. He was very extravagant in all his ways; generous and +open-handed with money; but passionate and self-willed. It's scarcely +strange he should have been so, for he was an only child; he had neither +brother nor sister to interfere with him; and his uncle Hugh, who was +then close upon fifty, was a confirmed bachelor,--so Henry considered +himself heir to an enormous fortune." +</p><p> +"And he began his career by squandering every farthing he could get, I +suppose?" said Mr. Balderby. +</p><p> +"He did, sir. His father was very liberal to him; but give him what he +would, Mr. Percival Dunbar could never give his son enough to keep him +free of gambling debts and losses on the turf. Mr. Henry's regiment was +quartered at Knightsbridge, and the young man was very often at this +office, in and out, in and out, sometimes twice and three times a week; +and I expect that every time he came, he came to get money, or to ask +for it. It was in coming here he met my brother, who was a handsome +lad--ay, as handsome and as gentlemanly a lad as the young cornet +himself; for poor Joseph--that's my brother, gentlemen--had been +educated a bit above his station, being my mother's favourite son, and +fifteen years younger than me. Mr. Henry took a great deal of notice of +Joseph, and used to talk to him while he was waiting about to see his +father or his uncle. At last he asked the lad one day if he'd like to +leave the bank, and go and live with him as a sort of confidential +servant and amanuensis, to write his letters, and all that sort of +thing. 'I shan't treat you altogether as a servant, you know, Joseph,' +he said, 'but I shall make quite a companion of you, and you'll go about +with me wherever I go. You'll find my quarters a great deal pleasanter +than this musty old banking-house, I can tell you.' Joseph accepted this +offer, in spite of everything my poor mother and I could say to him. He +went to live with the cornet in the January of the year in which the +fabricated bills were presented at our counter." +</p><p> +"And when were the bills presented?" +</p><p> +"Not till the following August, sir. It seems that Mr. Henry had lost +five or six thousand pounds on the Derby. He got what he could out of +his father towards paying his losses, but he could not get more than +three thousand pounds; so then he went to Joseph in an awful state of +mind, declaring that he should be able to get the money in a month or so +from his father, and that if he could do anything just to preserve his +credit for the time, and meet the claims of the vulgar City betting +fellows who were pressing him, he should be able to make all square +afterwards. Then, little by little, it came out that he wanted my +brother, who had a wonderful knack of imitating any body's handwriting, +to forge the acceptance of Lord Vanlorme. 'I shall get the bills back +into my own hands before they fall due, Joe,' he said; 'it's only a +little dodge to keep matters sweet for the time being.' Well, gentlemen, +the poor foolish boy was very fond of his master, and he consented to do +this wicked thing." +</p><p> +"Do you believe this to be the first time your brother ever Committed +forgery?" +</p><p> +"I do, Mr. Balderby. Remember he was only a lad, and I dare say he +thought it a fine thing to oblige his generous-hearted young master. +I've seen him many a time imitate the signature of this firm, and other +signatures, upon a half-sheet of letter-paper, for the mere fun of the +thing: but I don't believe my brother Joseph ever did a dishonest action +in his life until he forged those bills. He hadn't need have done so, +for he was only eighteen at the time." +</p><p> +"Young enough, young enough!" murmured Mr. Balderby, compassionately. +</p><p> +"Ay, sir, very young to be ruined for life. That one error, that one +wicked act, was his ruin; for though no steps were taken against him, he +lost his character, and never held his head up in an honest situation +again. He went from bad to worse, and three years after Mr. Henry sailed +for India, my brother, Joseph Wilmot, was convicted, with two or three +others, upon a charge of manufacturing forged Bank of England notes, and +was transported for life." +</p><p> +"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby; "a sad story,--a very sad story. I +have heard something of it before, but never the whole truth. Your +brother is dead, I suppose." +</p><p> +"I have every reason to believe so, sir," answered the old clerk, +producing a red cotton handkerchief and wiping away a couple of tears +that were slowly trickling down his poor faded cheeks. "For the first +few years of his time, he wrote now and then, complaining bitterly of +his fate; but for five-and-twenty years I've never had a line from him. +I can't doubt that he's dead. Poor Joseph!--poor boy!--poor boy! The +misery of all this killed my mother. Mr. Henry Dunbar committed a great +sin when he tempted that lad to wrong; and many a cruel sorrow arose out +of that sin, perhaps to lie heavy at his door some day or other, sooner +or later, sooner or later. I'm an old man, and I've seen a good deal of +the ways of this world, and I've found that retribution seldom fails to +overtake those who do wrong." +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby shrugged his shoulders. +</p><p> +"I should doubt the force of your philosophy in this case, my good +Sampson," he said; "Mr. Dunbar has had a long immunity from his sins. I +should scarcely think it likely he would ever be called upon to atone +for them." +</p><p> +"I don't know, sir," the old clerk answered; "I don't know that. I've +seen retribution come very late, very late; when the man who committed +the sin had well nigh forgotten it. Evil trees bear evil fruit, Mr. +Balderby: the Scriptures tell us that; and take my word for it, evil +consequences are sure to come from evil deeds." +</p><p> +"But to return to the story of the forged bills," said Mr. Austin, the +cashier, looking at his watch as he spoke. +</p><p> +He was evidently growing rather impatient of the old clerk's rambling +talk. +</p><p> +"To be sure, sir, to be sure," answered Sampson Wilmot. "Well, you see, +sir, one of the bills was brought to our counter, and the cashier didn't +much like the look of my lord's signature, and he took the bill to the +inspector, and the inspector said,' Pay the money, but don't debit it +against his lordship.' About an hour afterwards the inspector carried +the bill to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and directly he set eyes upon it, he +knew that Lord Vanlorme's acceptance was a forgery. He sent for me to +his room; and when I went in, he was as white as a sheet, poor +gentleman. He handed me the bill without speaking, and when I had looked +at it, he said-- +</p><p> +"'Your brother is at the bottom of this business, Sampson. Do you +remember the half-sheet of paper I found on a blotting-pad in the +counting-house one day; half a sheet of paper scrawled over with the +imitation of two or three signatures? I asked who had copied those +signatures, and your brother came forward and owned to having done it, +laughing at his own cleverness. I told him then that it was a fatal +facility, a fatal facility, and now he has proved the truth of my words +by helping my son to turn forger and thief. That signature must be +honoured, though I should have to sacrifice half my fortune to meet the +demands upon us. Heaven knows to what amount such paper as that may be +in circulation. There are some forged bills that are as good as genuine +documents; and the Jew who discounted these knew that. If my son comes +into the bank this morning send him to me.'" +</p><p> +"And did the young man come?" asked the junior partner. +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Balderby, sir; in less than half an hour after I left Mr. +Percival Dunbar's room, in comes Mr. Henry, dashing and swaggering into +the place as if it was his own. +</p><p> +"'Will you please step into your father's room, sir?' I said; 'he wants +to see you very particular.' +</p><p> +"The cornet's jaw dropped, and his face turned ghastly white as I said +this; but he tried to carry it off with a swagger, and followed me into +Mr. Percival Dunbar's room. +</p><p> +"'You needn't leave us, Sampson,' said Mr. Hugh, who was sitting +opposite his brother at the writing-table. 'You may as well hear what I +have to say. I wish somebody whom I can rely upon to know the truth of +this business, and I think we may rely upon you.' +</p><p> +"'Yes, gentlemen,' I answered, 'you may trust me.' +</p><p> +"'What's the meaning of all this?' Mr. Henry Dunbar asked, pretending to +look innocent and surprised; but it wouldn't do, for his lips trembled +so, that it was painful to watch him. 'What's the matter?' he asked. +</p><p> +"Mr. Hugh Dunbar handed him the forged bill. +</p><p> +"'This is what's the matter,' he said. +</p><p> +"The young man stammered out something in the endeavour to deny any +knowledge of the bill in his hand; but his uncle checked him. 'Do not +add perjury to the crime you have already committed,' he said. 'How many +of these are in circulation?' +</p><p> +"'How many!' Mr. Henry repeated, in a faltering voice. "'Yes,' his uncle +answered; 'how many--to what amount?" "'Three thousand pounds,' the +cornet replied, hanging his head. 'I meant to take them up before they +fell due, Uncle Hugh,' he said. 'I did, indeed; I stood to win a hatful +of money upon the Liverpool Summer Meeting, and I made sure I should be +able to take up those bills: but I've had the devil's own luck all this +year. I never thought those bills would be presented; indeed, I never +did.' +</p><p> +"'Henry Dunbar,' Mr. Hugh said, very solemnly, 'nine men out of ten, who +do what you have done, think what you say you thought: that they shall +be able to escape the consequences of their deeds. They act under the +pressure of circumstances. They don't mean to do any wrong--they don't +intend to rob any body of a sixpence. But that first false step is the +starting point upon the road that leads to the gallows; and the worst +that can happen to a man is for him to succeed in his first crime. +Happily for you, detection has speedily overtaken you. Why did you do +this?' +</p><p> +"The young man stammered out some rambling excuse about his turf losses, +debts of honour which he was compelled to pay. Then Mr. Hugh asked him +whether the forged signature was his own doing, or the work of any body +else. The cornet hesitated for a little, and then told his uncle the +name of his accomplice. I thought this was cruel and cowardly. He had +tempted my brother to do wrong, and the least he could have done would +have been to try to shield him. +</p><p> +"One of the messengers was sent to fetch poor Joseph. The lad reached +the banking house in an hour's time, and was brought straight into the +private room, where we had all been sitting in silence, waiting for him. +</p><p> +"He was as pale as his master, but he didn't tremble, and he had +altogether a more determined look than Mr. Henry. +</p><p> +"Mr. Hugh Dunbar taxed him with what he had done. +</p><p> +"'Do you deny it, Joseph Wilmot?' he asked. +</p><p> +"'No,' my brother said, looking contemptuously at the cornet. 'If my +master has betrayed me, I have no wish to deny anything. But I dare say +he and I will square accounts some day.' +</p><p> +"'I am not going to prosecute my nephew,' Mr. Hugh said; 'so, of course +I shall not prosecute you. But I believe that you have been an evil +counsellor to this young man, and I give you warning that you will get +no character from me. I respect your brother Sampson, and shall retain +him in my service in spite of what you have done; but I hope never to +see your face again. You are free to go; but have a care how you tamper +with other men's signatures, for the next time you may not get off so +easily.' +</p><p> +"The lad took up his hat and walked slowly towards the door. +</p><p> +"'Gentlemen--gentlemen!' I cried, 'have pity upon him. Remember he is +little more than a boy; and whatever he did, he did out of love for his +master.' +</p><p> +"Mr. Hugh shook his head. 'I have no pity,' he answered, sternly: 'his +master might never have done wrong but for him.' +</p><p> +"Joseph did not say a word in answer to all this; but, when his hand was +on the handle of the door, he turned and looked at Mr. Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"'Have you nothing to say in my behalf, sir?' he said, very quietly; 'I +have been very much attached to you, sir, and I don't want to think +badly of you at parting. Haven't you one word to say in my behalf?' +</p><p> +"Mr. Henry made no answer. He sat with his head bent forward upon his +breast, and seemed as if he dare not lift his eyes to his uncle's face. +</p><p> +"'No!' Mr. Hugh answered, as sternly as before, 'he has nothing to say +for you. Go; and consider this a lucky escape.' +</p><p> +"Joseph turned upon the banker, with his face all in a crimson flame, +and his eyes flashing fire. 'Let <i>him</i> consider it a lucky escape,' he +said, pointing to Mr. Henry Dunbar,--'let <i>him</i> consider it a lucky +escape, if when we next meet he gets off scot free.' +</p><p> +"He was gone before any body could answer him. +</p><p> +"Then Mr. Hugh Dunbar turned to his nephew. +</p><p> +"'As for you,' he said, 'you have been a spoilt child of fortune, and +you have not known how to value the good things that Providence has +given you. You have begun life at the top of the tree, and you have +chosen to fling your chances into the gutter. You must begin again, and +begin this time upon the lowest step of the ladder. You will sell your +commission, and sail for Calcutta by the next ship that leaves +Southampton. To-day is the 23rd of August, and I see by the <i>Shipping +Gazette</i> that the <i>Oronoko</i> sails on the 10th of September. This will +give you little better than a fortnight to make all your arrangements." +</p><p> +"The young cornet started from his chair as if he had been shot. +</p><p> +"'Sell my commission!' he cried; 'go to India! You don't mean it, Uncle +Hugh; surely you don't mean it. Father, you will never compel me to do +this.' +</p><p> +"Percival Dunbar had never looked at his son since the young man had +entered the room. He sat with his elbow resting upon the arm of his +easy-chair, and his face shaded by his hand, and had not once spoken. +</p><p> +"He did not speak now, even when his son appealed to him. +</p><p> +"'Your father has given me full authority to act in this business,' Mr. +Hugh Dunbar said. 'I shall never marry, Henry, and you are my only +nephew, and my acknowledged heir. But I will never leave my wealth to a +dishonest or dishonourable man, and it remains for you to prove whether +you are worthy to inherit it. You will have to begin life afresh. You +have played the man of fashion, and your aristocratic associates have +led you to the position in which you find yourself to-day. You must turn +your back upon the past, Henry. Of course you are free to choose for +yourself. Sell your commission, go to India, and enter the +counting-house of our establishment in Calcutta as a junior clerk; or +refuse to do so, and renounce all hope of succeeding to my fortune or to +your father's.' +</p><p> +"The young man was silent for some minutes, then he said, sullenly +enough-- +</p><p> +"'I will go. I consider that I have been harshly treated; but I will +go.'" +</p><p> +"And he did go?" said Mr. Balderby. +</p><p> +"He did, sir," answered the clerk, who had displayed considerable +emotion in relating this story of the past. "He did go, sir,--he sold +his commission, and left England by the <i>Oronoko</i>. But he never took +leave of a living creature, and I fully believe that he never in his +heart forgave either his father or his uncle. He worked his way up, as +you know, sir, in the Calcutta counting-house, and by slow degrees rose +to be manager of the Indian branch of the business. He married in 1831, +and he has an only child, a daughter, who has been brought up in England +since her infancy, under the care of Mr. Percival." +</p><p> +"Yes," answered Mr. Balderby, "I have seen Miss Laura Dunbar at her +grandfather's country seat. She is a very beautiful girl, and Percival +Dunbar idolized her. But now to return to business, my good Sampson. I +believe you are the only person in this house who has ever seen our +present chief, Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +"I am, sir." +</p><p> +"So far so good. He is expected to arrive at Southampton in less than a +week's time, and somebody must be there to meet him and receive him. +After five-and-thirty years' absence he will be a perfect stranger in +England, and will require a business man about him to manage matters for +him, and take all trouble off his hands. These Anglo-Indians are apt to +be indolent, you know, and he may be all the worse for the fatigues of +the overland journey. Now, as you know him, Sampson, and as you are an +excellent man of business, and as active as a boy, I should like you to +meet him. Have you any objection to do this?" +</p><p> +"No, sir," answered the clerk; "I have no great love for Mr. Henry +Dunbar, for I can never cease to look upon him as the cause of my poor +brother Joseph's ruin; but I am ready to do what you wish, Mr. Balderby. +It's business, and I'm ready to do anything in the way of business. I'm +only a sort of machine, sir--a machine that's pretty nearly worn out, I +fancy, now--but as long as I last you can make what use of me you like, +sir. I'm ready to do my duty." +</p><p> +"I am sure of that, Sampson." +</p><p> +"When am I to start for Southampton, sir?" +</p><p> +"Well, I think you'd better go to-morrow, Sampson. You can leave London +by the afternoon train, which starts at four o'clock. You can see to +your work here in the morning, and reach your destination between seven +and eight. I leave everything in your hands. Miss Laura Dunbar will come +up to town to meet her father at the house in Portland Place. The poor +girl is very anxious to see him, as she has not set eyes upon him since +she was a child of two years old. Strange, isn't it, the effect of these +long separations? Laura Dunbar might pass her father in the street +without recognizing him, and yet her affection for him has been +unchanged in all these years." +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby gave the old clerk a pocket-book containing six five-pound +notes. +</p><p> +"You will want plenty of money," he said, "though, of course, Mr. Dunbar +will be well supplied. You will tell him that all will be ready for his +reception here. I really am quite anxious to see the new head of the +house. I wonder what he is like, now. By the way, it's rather a singular +circumstance that there is, I believe, no portrait of Henry Dunbar in +existence. His picture was painted when he was a young man, and +exhibited in the Royal Academy; but his father didn't think the likeness +a good one, and sent it back to the artist, who promised to alter and +improve it. Strange to say, this artist, whose name I forget, delayed +from day to day performing his promise, and at the expiration of a +twelvemonth left England for Italy, taking the young man's portrait with +him, amongst a lot of other unframed canvases. This artist never +returned from Italy, and Percival Dunbar could never find out his +whereabouts, or whether he was dead or alive. I have often heard the old +man regret that he possessed no likeness of his son. Our chief was +handsome, you say, in his youth?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir," Sampson Wilmot answered, "he was very handsome--tall and +fair, with bright blue eyes." +</p><p> +"You have seen Miss Dunbar: is she like her father?" +</p><p> +"No, sir. Her features are altogether different, and her expression is +more amiable than his." +</p><p> +"Indeed! Well, Sampson, we won't detain you any longer. You understand +what you have to do?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir, perfectly." +</p><p> +"Very well, then. Good night! By the bye, you will put up at one of the +best hotels at Southampton--say the Dolphin--and wait there till the +<i>Electra</i> steamer comes in. It is by the <i>Electra</i> that Mr. Dunbar is to +arrive. Once more, good evening!" +</p><p> +The old clerk bowed and left the room. +</p><p> +"Well, Austin," said Mr. Balderby, turning to the cashier, "we may +prepare ourselves to meet our new chief very speedily. He must know that +you and I cannot be entirely ignorant of the story of his youthful +peccadilloes, and he will scarcely give himself airs to us, I should +fancy." +</p><p> +"I don't know that, Mr. Balderby," the cashier answered; "if I am any +judge of human nature, Henry Dunbar will hate us because of that very +crime of his own, knowing that we are in the secret, and will be all the +more disagreeable and disdainful in his intercourse with us. He will +carry it off with a high hand, depend upon it." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch2"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER II.</h4></center> +<center><h5>MARGARET'S FATHER.</h5></center> +<p> + +The town of Wandsworth is not a gay place. There is an air of old-world +quiet in the old-fashioned street, though dashing vehicles drive through +it sometimes on their way to Wimbledon or Richmond Park. +</p><p> +The sloping roofs, the gable-ends, the queer old chimneys, the quaint +casement windows, belong to a bygone age; and the traveller, coming a +stranger to the little town, might fancy himself a hundred miles away +from boisterous London; though he is barely clear of the great city's +smoky breath, or beyond the hearing of her myriad clamorous tongues. +</p><p> +There are lanes and byways leading out of that humble High Street down +to the low bank of the river; and in one of these, a pleasant place +enough, there is a row of old-fashioned semi-detached cottages, standing +in small gardens, and sheltered by sycamores and laburnums from the +dust, which in dry summer weather lies thick upon the narrow roadway. +</p><p> +In one of these cottages a young lady lived with her father; a young +lady who gave lessons on the piano-forte, or taught singing, for very +small remuneration. She wore shabby dresses, and was rarely known to +have a new bonnet; but people respected and admired her, +notwithstanding; and the female inhabitants of Godolphin Cottages, who +gave her good-day sometimes as she went along the dusty lane with her +well-used roll of music in her hand, declared that she was a lady bred +and born. Perhaps the good people who admired Margaret Wentworth would +have come nearer the mark if they had said that she was a lady by right +divine of her own beautiful nature, which had never required to be +schooled into grace or gentleness. +</p><p> +She had no mother, and she had not even the memory of her mother, who +had died seventeen years before, leaving an only child of twelve months +old for James Wentworth to keep. +</p><p> +But James Wentworth, being a scapegrace and a reprobate, who lived by +means that were a secret from his neighbours, had sadly neglected this +only child. He had neglected her, though with every passing year she +grew more and more like her dead mother, until at last, at eighteen +years of age, she had grown into a beautiful woman, with hazel-brown +hair, and hazel eyes to match. +</p><p> +And yet James Wentworth was fond of his only child, after a fashion of +his own. Sometimes he was at home for weeks together, a prey to a fit of +melancholy; under the influence of which he would sit brooding in +silence over his daughter's humble hearth for hours and days together. +</p><p> +At other times he would disappear, sometimes for a few days, sometimes +for weeks and months at a time; and during his absence Margaret suffered +wearisome agonies of suspense. +</p><p> +Sometimes he brought her money; sometimes he lived upon her own slender +earnings. +</p><p> +But use her as he might, he was always proud of her, and fond of her; +and she, after the way of womankind, loved him devotedly, and believed +him to be the noblest and most brilliant of men. +</p><p> +It was no grief to her to toil, taking long weary walks and giving +tedious lessons for the small stipends which her employers had the +conscience to offer her; they felt no compunction about bargaining and +haggling as to a few pitiful shillings with a music mistress who looked +so very poor, and seemed so glad to work for their paltry pay. The +girl's chief sorrow was, that her father, who to her mind was calculated +to shine in the highest station the world could give, should be a +reprobate and a pauper. +</p><p> +She told him so sometimes, regretfully, tenderly, as she sat by his +side, with her arms twined caressingly about his neck. And there were +times when the strong man would cry aloud over his blighted life, and +the ruin which had fallen upon his youth. +</p><p> +"You're right, Madge," he said sometimes, "you're right, my girl. I +ought to have been something better; I ought to have been, and I might +have been, perhaps, but for one man--but for one base-minded villain, +whose treachery blasted my character, and left me alone in the world to +fight against society. You don't know what it is, Madge, to have to +fight that battle. A man who began life with an honest name, and fair +prospects before him, finds himself cast, by one fatal error, disgraced +and broken, on a pitiless world. Nameless, friendless, characterless, he +has to begin life afresh, with every man's hand against him. He is the +outcast of society. The faces that once looked kindly on him turn away +from him with a frown. The voices that once spoke in his praise are loud +in his disfavour. Driven from every place where once he found a welcome, +the ruined wretch hides himself among strangers, and tries to sink his +hateful identity under a false name. He succeeds, perhaps, for a time, +and is trusted, and being honestly disposed at heart, is honest: but he +cannot long escape from the hateful past. No! In the day and hour when +he is proudest of the new name he has made, and the respect he has won +for himself, some old acquaintance, once a friend, but now an enemy, +falls across his pathway. He is recognized; a cruel voice betrays him. +Every hope that he had cherished is swept away from him. Every good deed +that he has done is denounced as the act of a hypocrite. Because once +sinned he can never do well. <i>That</i> is the world's argument." +</p><p> +"But not the teaching of the gospel," Margaret murmured. "Remember, +father, who it was that said to the guilty woman, Go, and sin no more.'" +</p><p> +"Ay, my girl," James Wentworth answered, bitterly, "but the world would +have said, 'Hence, abandoned creature! go, and sin afresh; for you shall +never be suffered to live an honest life, or herd with honest people. +Repent, and we will laugh at your penitence as a shallow deception. +Weep, and we will cry out upon your tears. Toil and struggle to regain +the eminence from which you have fallen, and when you have nearly +reached the top of that difficult hill, we will band ourselves together +to hurl you back into the black abyss.' That's what the <i>world</i> says to +the sinner, Margaret, my girl. I don't know much of the gospel; I have +never read it since I was a boy, and used to read long chapters aloud to +my mother, on quiet Sunday evenings; I can see the little old-fashioned +parlour now as I speak of that time; I can hear the ticking of the +eight-day clock, and I can see my mother's fond eyes looking up at me +every now and then. But I don't know much about the gospel now; and +when, you, poor child, try to read it to me, there's some devil rises in +my breast, and shuts my ears against the words. I don't know the gospel, +but I <i>do</i> know the world. The laws of society are inflexible, Madge; +there is no forgiveness for a man who is once found out. He may commit +any crime in the calendar, so long as his crimes are profitable, and he +is content to share his profits with his neighbours. But he mustn't be +found out." +</p><p> +Upon the 16th of August, 1850, the day on which Sampson Wilmot, the +banker's clerk, was to start for Southampton, James Wentworth spent the +morning in his daughter's humble little sitting-room, and sat smoking by +the open window, while Margaret worked beside a table near him. +</p><p> +The father sat with his long clay pipe in his mouth, watching his +daughter's fair face as she bent over the work upon her knee. +</p><p> +The room was neatly kept, but poorly furnished, with that old-fashioned +spindle-legged furniture which seems peculiar to lodging-houses. Yet the +little sitting-room had an aspect of simple rustic prettiness, which is +almost pleasanter to look at than fine furniture. There were +pictures,--simple water-colour sketches,--and cheap engravings on the +walls, and a bunch of flowers on the table, and between the muslin +curtains that shadowed the window you saw the branches of the sycamores +waving in the summer wind. +</p><p> +James Wentworth had once been a handsome man. It was impossible to look +at him and not perceive as much as that. He might, indeed, have been +handsome still, but for the moody defiance in his eyes, but for the +half-contemptuous curve of his finely-moulded upper lip. +</p><p> +He was about fifty-three years of age, and his hair was grey, but this +grey hair did not impart a look of age to his appearance. His erect +figure, the carriage of his head, his dashing, nay, almost swaggering +walk, all belonged to a man in the prime of middle age. He wore a beard +and thick moustache of grizzled auburn. His nose was aquiline, his +forehead high and square, his chin massive. The form of his head and +face denoted force of intellect. His long, muscular limbs gave evidence +of great physical power. Even the tones of his voice, and his manner of +speaking, betokened a strength of will that verged upon obstinacy. +</p><p> +A dangerous man to offend! A relentless and determined man; not easily +to be diverted from any purpose, however long the time between the +formation of his resolve and the opportunity of carrying it into +execution. +</p><p> +As he sat now watching his daughter at her work, the shadows of black +thoughts darkened his brow, and spread a sombre gloom over his face. +</p><p> +And yet the picture before him could have scarcely been unpleasing to +the most fastidious eye. The girl's face, drooping over her work, was +very fair. The features were delicate and statuesque in their form; the +large hazel eyes were very beautiful--all the more beautiful, perhaps, +because of a soft melancholy that subdued their natural brightness; the +smooth brown hair rippling upon the white forehead, which was low and +broad, was of a colour which a duchess might have envied, or an empress +tried to imitate with subtle dyes compounded by court chemists. The +girl's figure, tall, slender, and flexible, imparted grace and beauty to +a shabby cotton dress and linen collar, that many a maid-servant would +have disdained to wear; and the foot visible below the scanty skirt was +slim and arched as the foot of an Arab chief. +</p><p> +There was something in Margaret Wentworth's face, some shade of +expression, vague and transitory in its nature, that bore a likeness to +her father; but the likeness was a very faint one, and it was from her +mother that the girl had inherited her beauty. +</p><p> +She had inherited her mother's nature also: but mingled with that soft +and womanly disposition there was much of the father's determination, +much of the strong man's force of intellect and resolute will. +</p><p> +A beautiful woman--an amiable woman; but a woman whose resentment for a +great wrong could be deep and lasting. +</p><p> +"Madge," said James Wentworth, throwing his pipe aside, and looking full +at his daughter, "I sit and watch you sometimes till I begin to wonder +at you. You seem contented and most happy, though the monotonous life +you lead would drive some women mad. Have you no ambition, girl?" +</p><p> +"Plenty, father," she answered, lifting her eyes from her work, and +looking at him mournfully; "plenty--for you." +</p><p> +The man shrugged his shoulders, and sighed heavily. +</p><p> +"It's too late for that, my girl," he said; "the day is past--the day is +past and gone--and the chance gone with it. You know how I've striven, +and worked, and struggled; and how I've seen my poor schemes crushed +when I had built them up with more patience than perhaps man ever built +before. You've been a good girl, Margaret--a noble girl; and you've been +true to me alike in joy and sorrow--the joy's been little enough beside +the sorrow, poor child--but you've borne it all; you've endured it all. +You've been the truest woman that was ever born upon this earth, to my +thinking; but there's one thing in which you've been unlike the rest of +your sex." +</p><p> +"And what's that, father?" +</p><p> +"You've shown no curiosity. You've seen me knocked down and disgraced +wherever I tried to get a footing; you've seen me try first one trade +and then another, and fail in every one of them. You've seen me a clerk +in a merchant's office; an actor; an author; a common labourer, working +for a daily wage; and you've seen ruin overtake me whichever way I've +turned. You've seen all this, and suffered from it; but you've never +asked me why it has been so. You've never sought to discover the secret +of my life." +</p><p> +The tears welled up to the girl's eyes as her father spoke. +</p><p> +"If I have not done so, dear father," she answered, gently, "it has been +because I knew your secret must be a painful one. I have lain awake +night after night, wondering what was the cause of the blight that has +been upon you and all you have done. But why should I ask you questions +that you could not answer without pain? I have heard people say cruel +things of you; but they have never said them twice in my hearing." Her +eyes flashed through a veil of tears as she spoke. "Oh, father,--dearest +father!" she cried, suddenly throwing aside her work, and dropping on +her knees beside the man's chair, "I do not ask for your confidence if +it is painful to you to give it; I only want your love. But believe +this, father,--always believe this,--that, whether you trust me or not, +there is nothing upon this earth strong enough to turn my heart from +you." +</p><p> +She placed her hand in her father's as she spoke, and he grasped it so +tightly that her pale face grew crimson with the pain. +</p><p> +"Are you sure of that, Madge?" he asked, bending his head to look more +closely in her earnest face. +</p><p> +"I am quite sure, father." +</p><p> +"Nothing can tear your heart from me?" +</p><p> +"Nothing in this world." +</p><p> +"What if I am not worthy of your love?" +</p><p> +"I cannot stop to think of that, father. Love is not mete out in strict +proportion to the merits of those we love. If it were, there would be no +difference between love and justice." +</p><p> +James Wentworth laughed sneeringly. +</p><p> +"There is little enough difference as it is, perhaps," he said; "they're +both blind. Well, Madge," he added, in a more serious tone, "you're a +generous-minded, noble-spirited girl, and I believe you do love me. I +fancy that if you never asked the secret of my life, you can guess it +pretty closely, eh?" +</p><p> +He looked searchingly at the girl's face. She hung her head, but did not +answer him. +</p><p> +"You can guess the secret, can't you, Madge? Don't be afraid to speak, +girl." +</p><p> +"I fear I can guess it, father dear," she murmured in a low voice. +</p><p> +"Speak out, then." +</p><p> +"I am afraid the reason you have never prospered--the reason that so +many are against you--is that you once did something wrong, very long +ago, when you were young and reckless, and scarcely knew the nature of +your own act; and that now, though you are truly penitent and sorry, and +have long wished to lead an altered life, the world won't forget or +forgive that old wrong. Is it so, father?" +</p><p> +"It is, Margaret. You've guessed right enough, child, except that you've +omitted one fact. The wrong I did was done for the sake of another. I +was tempted to do it by another. I made no profit by it myself, and I +never hoped to make any. But when detection came, it was upon <i>me</i> that +the disgrace and ruin fell; while the man for whom I had done wrong--the +man who had made me his tool--turned his back upon me, and refused to +utter one word in my justification, though he was in no danger himself, +and the lightest word from his lips might have saved me. That was a hard +case, wasn't it, Madge?" +</p><p> +"Hard!" cried the girl, with her nostrils quivering and her hands +clenched; "it was cruel, dastardly, infamous!" +</p><p> +"From that day, Margaret, I was a ruined man. The brand of society was +upon me. The world would not let me live honestly, and the love of life +was too strong in me to let me face death. I tried to live dishonestly, +and I led a wild, rackety, dare-devil kind of a life, amongst men who +found they had a skilful tool, and knew how to use me. They did use me +to their heart's content, and left me in the lurch when danger came. I +was arrested for forgery, tried, found guilty, and transported for life. +Don't flinch, girl! don't turn so white! You must have heard something +of this whispered and hinted at often enough before to-day. You may as +well know the whole truth. I was transported, for life, Madge; and for +thirteen years I toiled amongst the wretched, guilty slaves in Norfolk +Island--that was the favourite place in those days for such as me--and +at the end of that time, my conduct having been approved of by my +gaolers, the governor sent for me, gave me a good-service certificate, +and I went into a counting-house and served as a clerk. But I got a kind +of fever in my blood, and night and day I only thought of one thing, and +that was my chance of escape. I did escape,--never you mind how, that's +a long story,--and I got back to England, a free man; a free man, Madge, +<i>I</i> thought; but the world soon told me another story. I was a felon, a +gaol-bird; and I was never more to lift my head amongst honest people. I +couldn't bear it, Madge, my girl. Perhaps a better man might have +persevered in spite of all till he conquered the world's prejudice. But +<i>I</i> couldn't. I sank under my trials, and fell lower and lower. And for +every disgrace that has ever fallen upon me--for every sorrow I have +ever suffered--for every sin I have ever committed--I look to one man as +the cause." +</p><p> +Margaret Wentworth had risen to her feet. She stood before her father +now, pale and breathless, with her lips parted, and her bosom heaving. +</p><p> +"Tell me his name, father," she whispered; "tell me that man's name." +</p><p> +"Why do you want to know his name, Madge?" +</p><p> +"Never mind why, father. Tell it to me--tell it!" +</p><p> +She stamped her foot in the vehemence of her passion. +</p><p> +"Tell me his name, father," she repeated, impatiently. +</p><p> +"His name is Henry Dunbar," James Wentworth answered, "and he is the son +of a rich banker. I saw his father's death in the paper last March. His +uncle died ten years ago, and he will inherit the fortunes of both +father and uncle. The world has smiled upon him. He has never suffered +for that one false step in life, which brought such ruin upon me. He +will come home from India now, I dare say, and the world will be under +his feet. He will be worth a million of money, I should fancy; curse +him! If my wishes could be accomplished, every guinea he possesses would +be a separate scorpion to sting and to torture him." +</p><p> +"Henry Dunbar," whispered Margaret to herself--"Henry Dunbar. I will not +forget that name." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch3"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER III.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE MEETING AT THE RAILWAY STATION.</h5></center> +<p> + +When the hands of the little clock in Margaret's sitting-room pointed to +five minutes before three, James Wentworth rose from his lounging +attitude in the easy-chair, and took his hat from a side-table. +</p><p> +"Are you going out, father?" the girl asked. +</p><p> +"Yes, Madge; I'm going up to London. It don't do for me to sit still too +long. Bad thoughts come fast enough at any time; but they come fastest +when a fellow sits twirling his thumbs. Don't look so frightened, Madge; +I'm not going to do any harm. I'm only going to look about me. I may +fall in with a bit of luck, perhaps; no matter what, if it puts a few +shillings into my pocket." +</p><p> +"I'd rather you stayed at home, father dear," Margaret said, gently. +</p><p> +"I dare say you would, child. But I tell you, I can't. I <i>can't</i> sit +quiet this afternoon. I've been talking of things that always seem to +set my brain on fire. No harm shall come of my going away, girl; I +promise you that. The worst I shall do is to sit in a tavern parlour, +drink a glass of gin-and-water, and read the papers. There's no crime in +that, is there, Madge?" +</p><p> +His daughter smiled as she tried to arrange the shabby velvet collar of +his threadbare coat. +</p><p> +"No, father dear," she said; "and I'm sure I always wish you to enjoy +yourself. But you'll come home soon, won't you?" +</p><p> +"What do you call 'soon,' my lass?" +</p><p> +"Before ten o'clock. My day's work will be all over long before that, +and I'll try and get something nice for your supper." +</p><p> +"Very well, then, I'll be back by ten o'clock to-night. There's my hand +upon it." +</p><p> +He gave Margaret his hand, kissed her smooth cheeks, took his cane from +a corner of the room, and then went out. +</p><p> +His daughter watched him from the open window as he walked up the narrow +lane, amongst the groups of children gathered every here and there upon +the dusty pathway. +</p><p> +"Heaven have pity upon him, and keep him from sin!" murmured Margaret +Wentworth, clasping her hands, and with her eyes still following the +retreating figure. +</p><p> +James Wentworth jingled the money in his waistcoat-pocket as he walked +towards the railway station. He had very little; a couple of sixpences +and a few halfpence. Just about enough to pay for a second-class return +ticket, and for his glass of gin-and-water at a London tavern. +</p><p> +He reached the station three minutes before the train was due, and took +his ticket. +</p><p> +At half-past three he was in London. +</p><p> +But as he was an idle, purposeless man, without friends to visit or +money to spend, he was in no hurry to leave the railway station. +</p><p> +He hated solitude or quiet; and here in this crowded terminus there was +life and bustle and variety enough in all conscience; and all to be seen +for nothing: so he strolled backwards and forwards upon the platform, +watching the busy porters, the eager passengers rushing to and fro, and +meditating as to where he should spend the rest of his afternoon. +</p><p> +By-and-by he stood against a wooden pillar in a doorway, looking at the +cabs, as, one after another, they tore up to the station, and disgorged +their loads. +</p><p> +He had witnessed the arrival of a great many different travellers, when +his attention was suddenly arrested by a little old man, wan and wizen +and near-sighted, feeble-looking, but active, who alighted from a cab, +and gave his small black-leather portmanteau into the hands of a porter. +</p><p> +This man was Sampson Wilmot, the old confidential clerk in the house of +Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. +</p><p> +James Wentworth followed the old man and the porter. +</p><p> +"I wonder if it <i>is</i> he," he muttered to himself; "there's a +likeness--there's certainly a likeness. But it's so many years ago--so +many years--I don't suppose I should know him. And yet this man recalls +him to me somehow. I'll keep my eye upon the old fellow, at any rate." +</p><p> +Sampson Wilmot had arrived at the station about ten minutes before the +starting of the train. He asked some questions of the porter, and left +his portmanteau in the man's care while he went to get his ticket. +</p><p> +James Wentworth lingered behind, and contrived to look at the +portmanteau. +</p><p> +There was a label pasted on the lid, with an address, written in a +business-like hand-- +</p><p> + +"MR. SAMPSON WILMOT, + + +PASSENGER TO SOUTHAMPTON." +</p><p> +James Wentworth gave a long whistle. +</p><p> +"I thought as much," he muttered; "I thought I couldn't be mistaken!" +</p><p> +He went into the ticket-office, where the clerk was standing amongst the +crowd, waiting to take his ticket. +</p><p> +James Wentworth went up close to him, and touched him lightly on the +shoulder. +</p><p> +Sampson Wilmot turned and looked him full in the face. He looked, but +there was no ray of recognition in that look. +</p><p> +"Do you want me, sir?" he asked, with rather a suspicious glance at the +reprobate's shabby dress. +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Wilmot, I want to speak to you. You can come into the +waiting-room with me, after you've taken your ticket." +</p><p> +The clerk stared aghast. The tone of this shabby-looking stranger was +almost one of command. +</p><p> +"I don't know you, my good sir," stammered Sampson; "I never set eyes +upon you before; and unless you are a messenger sent after me from the +office, you must be under a mistake. You are a stranger to me!" +</p><p> +"I am no stranger, and I am no messenger!" answered the other. "You've +got your ticket? That's all right! Now you can come with me." +</p><p> +He walked into a waiting-room, the half-glass doors of which opened out +of the office. The room was empty, for it only wanted five minutes to +the starting of the train, and the passengers had hurried off to take +their seats. +</p><p> +James Wentworth took off his hat, and brushed his rumpled grey hair from +his forehead. +</p><p> +"Put on your spectacles, Sampson Wilmot," he said, "and look hard at me, +and then tell me if I am a stranger to you." +</p><p> +The old clerk obeyed, nervously, fearfully. His tremulous hands could +scarcely adjust his spectacles. +</p><p> +He looked at the reprobate's face for some moments and said nothing. But +his breath came quicker and his face grew very pale. +</p><p> +"Ay," said James Wentworth, "look your hardest, and deny me if you can. +It will be only wise to deny me; I'm no credit to any one--least of all +to a steady respectable old chap like you!" +</p><p> +"Joseph!--Joseph!" gasped the old clerk; "is it you? Is it really my +wretched brother? I thought you were dead, Joseph--I thought you were +dead and gone!" +</p><p> +"And wished it, I dare say!" the other answered, bitterly. "No, +Joseph,--no!" cried Sampson Wilmot; "Heaven knows I never wished you +ill. Heaven knows I was always sorry for you, and could make excuses for +you even when you sank lowest!" +</p><p> +"That's strange!" Joseph muttered, with a sneer; "that's very strange! +If you were so precious fond of me, how was it that you stopped in the +house of Dunbar and Dunbar? If you had had one spark of natural +affection for me, you could never have eaten their bread!" +</p><p> +Sampson Wilmot shook his head sorrowfully. +</p><p> +"Don't be too hard upon me, Joseph," he said, with mild reproachfulness; +"if I hadn't stopped at the banking-house your mother might have +starved!" +</p><p> +The reprobate made no answer to this; but he turned his face away and +sighed. +</p><p> +The bell rang for the starting of the train. +</p><p> +"I must go," Sampson cried. "Give me your address, Joseph, and I will +write to you." +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, I dare say!" answered his brother, scornfully; "no, no, <i>that</i> +won't do. I've found you, my rich respectable brother, and I'll stick to +you. Where are you going?" +</p><p> +"To Southampton." +</p><p> +"What for?" +</p><p> +"To meet Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot's face grew livid with rage. +</p><p> +The change that came over it was so sudden and so awful in its nature, +that the old clerk started back as if he had seen a ghost. +</p><p> +"You are going to meet <i>him</i>?" said Joseph, in a hoarse whisper; "he is +in England, then?" +</p><p> +"No; but he is expected to arrive almost immediately. Why do you look +like that, Joseph?" +</p><p> +"Why do I look like that?" cried the younger man; "have you grown to be +such a mere machine, such a speaking automaton, such a living tool of +the men you serve, that all human feeling has perished in your breast? +Bah! how should such as you understand what I feel? Hark! the bell's +ringing--I'll come with you." +</p><p> +The train was on the point of starting: the two men hurried out to the +platform. +</p><p> +"No,--no," cried Sampson Wilmot, as his brother stepped after him into +the carriage; "no,--no, Joseph, don't come with me,--don't come with +me!" +</p><p> +"I will go with you." +</p><p> +"But you've no ticket." +</p><p> +"I can get one--or you can get me one, for I've no money--at the first +station we stop at." +</p><p> +They were seated in a second-class railway carriage by this time. The +ticket-collector, running from carriage to carriage, was in too great a +hurry to discover that the little bit of pasteboard which Joseph Wilmot +exhibited was only a return-ticket to Wandsworth. There was a brief +scramble, a banging of doors, and Babel-like confusion of tongues; and +then the engine gave its farewell shriek and rushed away. +</p><p> +The old clerk looked very uneasily at his younger brother's face. The +livid pallor had passed away, but the strongly-marked eyebrows met in a +dark frown. +</p><p> +"Joseph--Joseph!" said Sampson, "Heaven only knows I'm glad to see you, +after more than thirty years' separation, and any help I can give you +out of my slender means I'll give freely--I will, indeed, Joseph, for +the memory of our dear mother, if not for love of you; and I do love +you, Joseph--I do love you very dearly still. But I'd rather you didn't +take this journey with me--I would, indeed. I can't see that any good +can come of it." +</p><p> +"Never you mind what comes of it. I want to talk to you. You're a nice +affectionate brother to wish to shuffle me off directly after our first +meeting. I want to talk to you, Sampson Wilmot. And I want to see <i>him</i>. +I know how the world's used <i>me</i> for the last five-and-thirty years; I +want to see how the same world--such a just and merciful world as it +is--has treated my tempter and betrayer, Henry Dunbar!" +</p><p> +Sampson Wilmot trembled like a leaf. His health had been very feeble +ever since the second shock of paralysis--that dire and silent foe, +whose invisible hand had stricken the old man down as he sat at his +desk, without one moment's warning. His health was feeble, and the shock +of meeting with his brother--this poor lost disgraced brother--whom he +had for five-and-twenty years believed to be dead, had been almost too +much for him. Nor was this all--unutterable terror took possession of +him when he thought of a meeting between Joseph Wilmot and Henry Dunbar. +The old man could remember his brother's words: +</p><p> +"Let him consider it a lucky escape, if, when we next meet, he gets off +scot free!" +</p><p> +Sampson Wilmot had prayed night and day that such a meeting might never +take place. For five-and-thirty years it had been delayed. Surely it +would not take place now. +</p><p> +The old clerk looked nervously at his brother's face. +</p><p> +"Joseph," he murmured, "I'd rather you didn't go with me to Southampton; +I'd rather you didn't meet Mr. Dunbar. You were very badly +treated--cruelly and unjustly treated--nobody knows that better than I. +But it's a long time ago, Joseph--it's a very, very long time ago. +Bitter feelings die out of a man's breast as the years roll by--don't +they, Joseph? Time heals all old wounds, and we learn to forgive others +as we hope to be forgiven--don't we, Joseph?" +</p><p> +"<i>You</i> may," answered the reprobate, fiercely; "I don't!" +</p><p> +He said no more, but sat silent, with his arms folded over his breast. +</p><p> +He looked straight before him out of the carriage-window; but he saw no +more of the pleasant landscape,--the fair fields of waving corn, with +scarlet poppies and deep-blue corn flowers, bright glimpses of sunlit +water, and distant villages, with grey church-turrets, nestling among +trees. He looked out of the carriage-window, and some of earth's +pleasantest pictures sped by him; but he saw no more of that +ever-changing prospect than if he had been looking at a blank sheet of +paper. +</p><p> +Sampson Wilmot sat opposite to him, restless and uneasy, watching his +fierce gloomy countenance. +</p><p> +The clerk took a ticket for his brother at the first station the train +stopped at. But still Joseph was silent. +</p><p> +An hour passed by, and he had not yet spoken. +</p><p> +He had no love for his brother. The world had hardened him. The +consequences of his own sins, falling very heavily upon his head, had +embittered his nature. He looked upon the man whom he had once loved and +trusted as the primary cause of his disgrace and misery, and this +thought influenced his opinion of all mankind. +</p><p> +He could not believe in the goodness of any man, remembering, as he did, +how he had once trusted Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +The brothers were alone in the carriage. +</p><p> +Sampson watched the gloomy face opposite to him for some time, and then, +with a weary sigh, he drew his handkerchief over his face, and sank back +in the corner of the carriage. But he did not sleep. He was agitated and +anxious. A dizzy faintness had seized upon him, and there was a strange +buzzing in his ears, and unwonted clouds before his dim eyes. He tried +to speak once or twice, but it seemed to him as if he was powerless to +form the words that were in his mind. +</p><p> +Then his mind began to grow confused. The hoarse snorting of the engine +sounded monotonously in his ears: growing louder and louder with every +moment; until the noise of it grew hideous and intolerable--a perpetual +thunder, deafening and bewildering him. +</p><p> +The train was fast approaching Basingstoke, when Joseph Wilmot was +suddenly startled from his moody reverie. +</p><p> +There was an awful cause for that sudden start, that look of horror in +the reprobate's face. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch4"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE STROKE OF DEATH.</h5></center> +<p> + +The old clerk had fallen from his seat, and lay in a motionless heap at +the bottom of the railway carriage. +</p><p> +The third stroke of paralysis had come upon him; inevitable, no doubt, +long ago; but hastened, it may be, by that unlooked-for meeting at the +Waterloo terminus. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot knelt beside the stricken man. He was a vagabond and an +outcast, and scenes of horror were not new to him. He had seen death +under many of its worst aspects, and the grim King of Terrors had little +terror for him. He was hardened, steeped in guilt, and callous as to the +sufferings of others. The love which he bore for his daughter was, +perhaps, the last ray of feeling that yet lingered in this man's +perverted nature. +</p><p> +But he did all he could, nevertheless, for the unconscious old man. He +loosened his cravat, unfastened his waistcoat, and felt for the beating +of his heart. +</p><p> +That heart did beat: very fitfully, as if the old clerk's weary soul had +been making feeble struggles to be released from its frail tabernacle of +clay. +</p><p> +"Better, perhaps, if this should prove fatal," Joseph muttered; "I +should go on alone to meet Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +The train reached Basingstoke; Joseph put his head out of the open +window, and called loudly to a porter. +</p><p> +The man came quickly, in answer to that impatient summons. +</p><p> +"My brother is in a fit," Joseph cried; "help me to lift him out of the +carriage, and then send some one for a doctor." +</p><p> +The unconscious form was lifted out in the arms of the two strong men. +They carried it into the waiting-room, and laid it on a sofa. +</p><p> +The bell rang, and the Southampton train rushed onward without the two +travellers. +</p><p> +In another moment the whole station was in commotion. A gentleman had +been seized with paralysis, and was dying. +</p><p> +The doctor arrived in less than ten minutes. He shook his head, after +examining his patient. +</p><p> +"It's a bad case," said he; "very bad; but we must do our best. Is there +anybody with this old gentleman?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir," the porter answered, pointing to Joseph; "this person is +with him." +</p><p> +The country surgeon glanced rather suspiciously at Joseph Wilmot. He +looked a vagabond, certainly--every inch a vagabond; a reckless, +dare-devil scoundrel, at war with society, and defiant of a world he +hated. +</p><p> +"Are you--any--relation to this gentleman?" the doctor asked, +hesitatingly. +</p><p> +"Yes, I am his brother." +</p><p> +"I should recommend his being removed to the nearest hotel. I will send +a woman to nurse him. Do you know if this is the first stroke he has +ever had?" +</p><p> +"No, I do not." +</p><p> +The surgeon looked more suspicious than ever, after receiving this +answer. +</p><p> +"Strange," he said, "that you, who say you are his brother, should not +be able to give me information upon that point." +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot answered with an air of carelessness that was almost +contemptuous: +</p><p> +"It is strange," he said; "but many stranger things have happened in +this world before now. My brother and I haven't met for years until we +met to-day." +</p><p> +The unconscious man was removed from the railway station to an inn near +at hand--a humble, countrified place, but clean and orderly. Here he was +taken to a bed-chamber, whose old-fashioned latticed windows looked out +upon the dusty road. +</p><p> +The doctor did all that his skill could devise, but he could not restore +consciousness to the paralyzed brain. The soul was gone already. The +body lay, a form of motionless and senseless clay, under the white +counterpane; and Joseph Wilmot, sitting near the foot of the bed, +watched it with a gloomy face. +</p><p> +The woman who was to nurse the sick man came by-and-by, and took her +place by the pillow. But there was very little for her to do. +</p><p> +"Is there any hope of his recovering?" Joseph asked eagerly, as the +doctor was about to leave the room. +</p><p> +"I fear not--I fear there is no hope." +</p><p> +"Will it be over soon?" +</p><p> +"Very soon, I think. I do not believe that he can last more than +four-and-twenty hours." +</p><p> +The surgeon waited for a few moments after saying this, expecting some +exclamation of surprise or grief from the dying man's brother: but there +was none; and with a hasty "good evening" the medical man quitted the +room. +</p><p> +It was growing dusk, and the twilight shadows upon Joseph Wilmot's face +made it, in its sullen gloom, darker even than it had been in the +railway carriage. +</p><p> +"I'm glad of it, I'm glad of it," he muttered; "I shall meet Harry +Dunbar alone." +</p><p> +The bed-chamber in which the sick man lay opened out of a little +sitting-room. Sampson's carpet-bag and portmanteau had been left in this +sitting-room. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot searched the pockets in the clothes that had been taken +off his brother's senseless form. +</p><p> +There was some loose silver and a bunch of keys in the waistcoat-pocket, +and a well-worn leather-covered memorandum-book in the breast-pocket of +the old-fashioned coat. +</p><p> +Joseph took these things into the sitting-room, closed the door between +the two apartments, and then rang for lights. +</p><p> +The chambermaid who brought the candles asked if he had dined. +</p><p> +"Yes," he said, "I dined five hours ago. Bring me some brandy." +</p><p> +The girl brought a small decanter of spirit and a wine-glass, set them +on the table, and left the room. Joseph Wilmot followed her to the door, +and turned the key in the lock. +</p><p> +"I don't want any intruders," he muttered; "these country people are +always inquisitive." +</p><p> +He seated himself at the table, poured out a glass of brandy, drank it, +and then drew one of the candles towards him. +</p><p> +He had put the money, the keys, and the memorandum-book, in one of his +own pockets. He took out the memorandum-book first, and examined it. +There were five Bank of England notes for five pounds each in one of the +pockets, and a letter in the other. +</p><p> +The letter was directed to Henry Dunbar, and sealed with the official +seal of the banking-house. The name of Stephen Balderby was written on +the left-hand lower corner of the envelope. +</p><p> +"So, so," whispered Joseph Wilmot, "this is the junior partner's letter +of welcome to his chief. I'll take care of that." +</p><p> +He replaced the letter in the pocket of the memorandum-book, and then +looked at the pencil entries on the different pages. +</p><p> +The last entry was the only memorandum that had any interest for him. +</p><p> +It consisted of these few words-- +</p><p> +<i>"H.D., expected to arrive at Southampton Docks on or about the 19th +inst., per steamer</i> Electra; <i>will be met by Miss Laura D. at Portland +Place."</i> +</p><p> +"Who's Laura D.?" mused the spy, as he closed the memorandum-book. "His +daughter, I suppose. I remember seeing his marriage in the papers, +twenty years ago. He married well, of course. Fortune made <i>everything</i> +smooth for him. He married a lady of rank. Curse him!" +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot sat for some time with his arms folded upon the table +before him, brooding, brooding, brooding; with a sinister smile upon his +lips, and an ominous light in his eyes. +</p><p> +A dangerous man always--a dangerous man when he was loud, reckless, +brutal, violent: but most of all dangerous when he was most quiet. +</p><p> +By-and-by he took the bunch of keys from his pocket, knelt down before +the portmanteau, and examined its contents. +</p><p> +There was very little to reward his scrutiny--only a suit of clothes, a +couple of clean shirts, and the necessaries of the clerk's simple +toilet. The carpet-bag contained a pair of boots, a hat-brush, a +night-shirt, and a faded old chintz dressing-gown. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot rose from his knees after examining these things, and +softly opened the door between the two rooms. There had been no change +in the sick chamber. The nurse still sat by the head of the bed. She +looked round at Joseph, as he opened the door. +</p><p> +"No change, I suppose?" he said. +</p><p> +"No, sir; none." +</p><p> +"I am going out for a stroll, presently. I shall be in again in an +hour's time." +</p><p> +He shut the door again, but he did not go out immediately. He knelt down +once more by the side of the portmanteau, and tore off the label with +his brother's name upon it. He tore a similar label off the carpet-bag, +taking care that no vestige of the clerk's name was left behind. +</p><p> +When he had done this, and thrust the torn labels into his pocket, he +began to walk up and down the room, softly, with his arms folded upon +his breast. +</p><p> +"The <i>Electra</i>, is expected to arrive on the nineteenth," he said, in a +low, thoughtful voice, "on or about the nineteenth. She may arrive +either before or after. To-morrow will be the seventeenth. If Sampson +dies, there will be an inquest, no doubt: a post-mortem examination, +perhaps: and I shall be detained till all that is over. I shall be +detained two or three days at least: and in the mean time Henry Dunbar +may arrive at Southampton, hurry on to London, and I may miss the one +chance of meeting that man face to face. I won't be balked of this +meeting--I won't be balked. Why should I stop here to watch by an +unconscious man's death-bed? No! Fate has thrown Henry Dunbar once more +across my pathway: and I won't throw my chance away." +</p><p> +He took up his hat--a battered, shabby-looking white hat, which +harmonized well with his vagabond appearance--and went out, after +stopping for a minute at the bar to tell the landlord that he would be +back in an hour's time. +</p><p> +He went straight to the railway station, and made inquiries as to the +trains. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch5"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER V.</h4></center> +<center><h5>SINKING THE PAST.</h5></center> +<p> + +The train from London to Southampton was due in an hour. The clerk who +gave Joseph Wilmot this information asked him how his brother was +getting on. +</p><p> +"He is much better," Joseph answered. "I am going on to Southampton to +execute some important business he was to have done there. I shall come +back early to-morrow morning." +</p><p> +He walked into the waiting-room, and stopped there, seated in the same +attitude the whole time: never stirring, never lifting his head from his +breast: always brooding, brooding, brooding: as he had brooded in the +railway carriage, as he had brooded in the little parlour of the inn. He +took his ticket for Southampton as soon as the office was open, and then +stood on the platform, where there were two or three stragglers, waiting +for the train to come up. +</p><p> +It came at last. Joseph Wilmot sprang into a second-class carriage, took +his seat in the corner, with his hat slouched over his eyes, which were +almost hidden by its dilapidated brim. +</p><p> +It was late when he reached Southampton; but he seemed to be acquainted +with the town, and he walked straight to a small public-house by the +river-side, almost hidden under the shadow of the town wall. +</p><p> +Here he got a bed, and here he ascertained that the <i>Electra</i> had not +yet arrived. +</p><p> +He ate his supper in his own room, though he was requested to take it in +the public apartment. He seemed to shrink from meeting any one, or +talking to any one; and still brooded over his own black thoughts: as he +had brooded at the railway station, in the parlour of the Basingstoke +inn, in the carriage with his brother Sampson. +</p><p> +Whatever his thoughts were, they absorbed him so entirely that he seemed +like a man who walks in his sleep, doing everything mechanically, and +without knowing what he does. +</p><p> +But for all this he was active, for he rose very early the next morning. +He had not had an hour's sleep throughout the night, but had lain in +every variety of restless attitude, tossing first on this side and then +on that: always thinking, thinking, thinking, till the action of his +brain became as mechanical as that of any other machine, and went on in +spite of himself. +</p><p> +He went downstairs, paid the money for his supper and night's lodging to +a sleepy servant-girl, and left the house as the church-clock in an +old-fashioned square hard by struck eight. +</p><p> +He walked straight to the High Street, and entered the shop of a tailor +and general outfitter. It was a stylish establishment, and there was a +languid young man taking down the shutters, who appeared to be the only +person on the establishment just at present. +</p><p> +He looked superciliously enough at Joseph Wilmot, eyeing him lazily from +head to foot, and yawning as he did so. +</p><p> +"You'd better make yourself scarce," he said; "our principal never gives +anything to tramps." +</p><p> +"Your principal may give or keep what he likes," Joseph answered, +carelessly; "I can pay for what I want. Call your master down: or stay, +you'll do as well, I dare say. I want a complete rig-out from head to +heel. Do you understand?" +</p><p> +"I shall, perhaps, when I see the money for it," the languid youth +answered, with a sneer. +</p><p> +"So you've learned the way of the world already, have you, my lad?" said +Joseph Wilmot, bitterly. Then, pulling his brother's memorandum-book +from his pocket, he opened it, and took out the little packet of +bank-notes. "I suppose you can understand these?" he said. +</p><p> +The languid youth lifted his nose, which by its natural conformation +betrayed an aspiring character, and looked dubiously at his customer. +</p><p> +"I can understand as they might be flash uns," he remarked, +significantly. +</p><p> +Mr. Joseph Wilmot growled out an oath, and made a plunge at the young +shopman. +</p><p> +"I said as they <i>might</i> be flash," the youth remonstrated, quite meekly; +"there's no call to fly at me. I didn't mean to give no offence." +</p><p> +"No," muttered Mr. Wilmot; "egad! you'd better <i>not</i> mean it. Call your +master." +</p><p> +The youth retired to obey: he was quite subdued and submissive by this +time. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot looked about the shop. +</p><p> +"The cur forgot the till," he muttered; "I might try my hand at that, +if--" He stopped and smiled with a strange, deliberate expression, not +quite agreeable to behold--"if I wasn't going to meet Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +There was a full-length looking-glass in one corner of the shop. Joseph +Wilmot walked up to it, looked at himself for a few moments in silent +contemplation, and then shook his clenched hand at the reflected image. +</p><p> +"You're a vagabond!" he muttered between his set teeth, "and you look +it! You're an outcast; and you look it! But who set the mark upon you? +Who's to blame for all the evil you have done? Whose treachery made you +what you are? That's the question!" +</p><p> +The owner of the shop appeared, and looked sharply at his customer. +</p><p> +"Now, listen to me!" Joseph Wilmot said, slowly and deliberately. "I've +been down upon my luck for some time past, and I've just got a bit of +money. I've got it honestly, mind you; and I don't want to be questioned +by such a jackanapes as that shopboy of yours." +</p><p> +The languid youth folded his arms, and endeavoured to look ferocious in +his fiery indignation; but he drew a little way behind his master as he +did so. +</p><p> +The proprietor of the shop bowed and smiled. +</p><p> +"We shall be happy to wait upon you, sir," he said; "and I have no doubt +we shall be able to give you satisfaction. If my shopman has been +impertinent--" +</p><p> +"He has," interrupted Joseph; "but I don't want to make any palaver +about that. He's like the rest of the world, and he thinks if a man +wears a shabby coat, he must be a scoundrel; that's all. I forgive him." +</p><p> +The languid youth, very much in the background, and quite sheltered, by +his master, might have been heard murmuring faintly-- +</p><p> +"Oh, indeed! Forgive, indeed! Do you really, now? Thank you for +nothing!" and other sentences of a derisive character. +</p><p> +"I want a complete rig-out," continued Joseph Wilmot; "a new suit of +clothes--hat, boots, umbrella, a carpet-bag, half-a-dozen shirts, brush +and comb, shaving tackle, and all the et-ceteras. Now, as you may be no +more inclined to trust me than that young whipper-snapper of yours, for +all you're so uncommon civil, I'll tell you what I'll do. I want this +beard of mine trimmed and altered. I'll go to a barber's and get that +done, and in the meantime you can make your mind easy about the +character of these gentlemen." +</p><p> +He handed the tradesman three of the Bank of England notes. The man +looked at them doubtfully. +</p><p> +"If you think they ain't genuine, send 'em round to one of your +neighbours, and get 'em changed," Joseph Wilmot said; "but be quick +about it. I shall be back here in half an hour." +</p><p> +He walked out of the shop, leaving the man still staring, with the three +notes in his hand. +</p><p> +The vagabond, with his hat slouched over his eyes, and big hands in his +pockets, strolled away from the High Street down to a barber's shop near +the docks. +</p><p> +Here he had his beard shaved off, his ragged moustache trimmed into the +most aristocratic shape, and his long, straggling grey hair cut and +arranged according to his own directions. +</p><p> +If he had been the vainest of men, bent on no higher object in life than +the embellishment of his person, he could not have been more particular +or more difficult to please. +</p><p> +When the barber had completed his work, Joseph Wilmot washed his face, +readjusted the hair upon his ample forehead, and looked at himself in a +little shaving-glass that hung against the wall. +</p><p> +So far as the man's head and face went, the transformation was perfect. +He was no longer a vagabond. He was a respectable, handsome-looking +gentleman, advanced in middle age. Not altogether +unaristocratic-looking. +</p><p> +The very expression of his face was altered. The defiant sneer was +changed into a haughty smile; the sullen scowl was now a thoughtful +frown. +</p><p> +Whether this change was natural to him, and merely brought about by the +alteration in his hair and beard, or whether it was an assumption of his +own, was only known to the man himself. +</p><p> +He put on his hat, still slouching the brim over his eyes, paid the +barber, and went away. He walked straight to the docks, and made +inquiries about the steamer <i>Electra</i>. She was not expected to arrive +until the next day, at the earliest. Having satisfied himself upon this +point, Joseph Wilmot went back to the outfitter's to choose his new +clothes. +</p><p> +This business occupied him for a long time; for in this he was as +difficult to please as he had been in the matter of his beard and hair. +No punctilious old bachelor, the best and brightest hours of whose life +had been devoted to the cares of the toilet, could have shown himself +more fastidious than this vagabond, who had been out-at-elbows for ten +years past, and who had worn a felon's dress for thirteen years at a +stretch in Norfolk Island. +</p><p> +But he evinced no bad taste in the selection of a costume. He chose no +gaudy colours, or flashily-cut vestments. On the contrary, the garb he +assumed was in perfect keeping with the style of his hair and moustache. +It was the dress of a middle-aged gentleman; fashionable, but +scrupulously simple, quiet alike in colour and in cut. +</p><p> +When his toilet was complete, from his twenty-one shilling hat to the +polished boots upon his well-shaped feet, he left the shady little +parlour in which he had changed his clothes, and came into the shop, +with a glove dangling loosely in one ungloved hand, and a cane in the +other. +</p><p> +The tradesman and his shopboy stared aghast. +</p><p> +"If that turn-out had cost you fifty pound, sir, instead of eighteen +pound, twelve, and elevenpence, it would be worth all the money to you; +for you look like a dook;" cried the tailor, with enthusiasm. +</p><p> +"I'm glad to hear it," Mr. Wilmot said, carelessly. He stood before the +cheval-glass, and twirled his moustache as he spoke, looking at himself +thoughtfully, with a smile upon his face. Then he took his change from +the tailor, counted it, and dropped the gold and silver into his +waistcoat-pocket. +</p><p> +The man's manner was as much altered as his person. He had entered the +shop at eight o'clock that morning a blackguard as well as a vagabond. +He left it now a gentleman; subdued in voice, easy and rather listless +in gait, haughty and self-possessed in tone. +</p><p> +"Oh, by the bye," he said, pausing upon the threshold of the door, "I'll +thank you to bundle all those old things of mine together into a sheet +of brown paper: tie them up tightly. I'll call for them after dark +to-night." +</p><p> +Having said this, very carelessly and indifferently, Mr. Wilmot left the +shop: but though he was now as well dressed and as gentlemanly-looking +as any man in Southampton, he turned into the first by-street, and +hurried away from the town to a lonely walk beside the water. +</p><p> +He walked along the shore until he came to a village near the river, and +about a couple of miles from Southampton. There he entered a low-roofed +little public-house, very quiet and unfrequented, ordered some brandy +and cold water of a girl who was seated at work behind the bar, and then +went into the parlour,--a low-ceilinged, wainscoted room, whose walls +were adorned here and there with auctioneers' announcements of coming +sales of live and dead stock, farm-houses, and farming implements, +interspersed with railway time-tables. +</p><p> +Mr. Joseph Wilmot had this room all to himself. He seated himself by the +open window, took up a country newspaper, and tried to read. +</p><p> +But that attempt was a most dismal failure. In the first place, there +was very little in the paper to read: and in the second, Joseph Wilmot +would have been unable to chain his attention to the page upon which his +eyes were fixed, though all the wisdom of the world had been +concentrated upon that one sheet of printed paper. +</p><p> +No; he could not read. He could only think. He could only think of this +strange chance which had come to him after five-and-thirty weary years. +He could only think of his probable meeting with Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +He entered the village public-house at a little after one, and he stayed +there throughout the rest of the day, drinking brandy-and-water--not +immoderately: he was very careful and watchful of himself in that +matter--taking a snack of bread and cold meat for his dinner, and +thinking of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +In that he never varied, let him do what he would. +</p><p> +In the railway carriage, at the Basingstoke inn, at the station, through +the long sleepless night at the public-house by the water, in the +tailor's shop, even when he was most occupied by the choice of his +clothes, he had still thought of Henry Dunbar. From the time of his +meeting the old clerk at the Waterloo terminus, he had never ceased to +think of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +He never once thought of his brother: not so much even as to wonder +whether the stroke had been fatal,--whether the old man was yet dead. He +never thought of his daughter, or the anguish his prolonged absence +might cause her to suffer. +</p><p> +He had put away the past as if it had never been, and concentrated all +the force of his mind upon the one idea which possessed him like some +strong demon. +</p><p> +Sometimes a sudden terror seized him. +</p><p> +What if Henry Dunbar should have died upon the passage home? What if the +<i>Electra</i> should bring nothing but a sealed leaden coffin, and a corpse +embalmed in spirit? +</p><p> +No, he could not imagine that! Fate, darkly brooding over these two men +throughout half a long lifetime, had held them asunder for +five-and-thirty years, to fling them mysteriously together now. +</p><p> +It seemed as if the old clerk's philosophy was not so very unsound, +after all. Sooner or later,--sooner or later,--the day of retribution +comes. +</p><p> +When it grew dusk, Joseph Wilmot left the little inn, and walked back to +Southampton. It was quite dark when he entered the High Street, and the +tailor's shop was closing. +</p><p> +"I thought you'd forgotten your parcel, sir," the man said; "I've had it +ready for you ever so long. Can I send it any where for you?" +</p><p> +"No, thank you; I'll take it myself." +</p><p> +With the brown-paper parcel--which was a very bulky one--under his arm, +Joseph Wilmot left the tailor's shop, and walked down to an open pier or +quay abutting on the water. +</p><p> +On his way along the river shore, between the village public-house and +the town of Southampton, he had filled his pockets with stones. He knelt +down now by the edge of the pier, and tied all these stones together in +an old cotton pocket-handkerchief. +</p><p> +When he had done this, carefully, compactly, and quickly, like a man +accustomed to do all sorts of strange things, he tied the handkerchief +full of stones to the whipcord that bound the brown-paper parcel, and +dropped both packages into the water. +</p><p> +The spot which he had chosen for this purpose was at the extreme end of +the pier, where the water was deepest. +</p><p> +He had done all this cautiously, taking care to make sure every now and +then that he was unobserved. +</p><p> +And when the parcel had sunk, he watched the widening circle upon the +surface of the water till it died away. +</p><p> +"So much for James Wentworth, and the clothes he wore," he said to +himself as he walked away. +</p><p> +He slept that night at the village inn where he had spent the day, and +the next morning walked into Southampton. +</p><p> +It was a little after nine o'clock when he entered the docks, and the +<i>Electra</i> was visible to the naked eye, steaming through the blue water +under a cloudless summer sky. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch6"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>CLEMENT AUSTIN'S DIARY.</h5></center> +<p> + +"To-day I close a volume of the rough, careless, imperfect record which +I have kept of my life. As I run my fingers through the pages of the +limp morocco-covered volume, I almost wonder at my wasted labour;--the +random notes, jotted down now and then, sometimes with long intervals +between their dates, make such a mass of worthless literature. This +diary-keeping is a very foolish habit, after all. Why do I keep this +record of a most commonplace existence? For my own edification and +improvement? Scarcely, since I very rarely read these uninteresting +entries; and I very much doubt if posterity will care to know that I +went to the office at ten o'clock on Wednesday morning; that I couldn't +get a seat in the omnibus, and was compelled to take a Hansom, which +cost me two shillings; that I dined <i>tête-à-tête</i> with my mother, and +finished the third volume of Carlyle's 'French Revolution' in the course +of the evening. <i>Is</i> there any use in such a journal as mine? Will the +celebrated New Zealander, that is to be, discover the volumes amidst the +ruins of Clapham? and shall I be quoted as the Pepys of the nineteenth +century? But then I am by no means as racy as that worldly-minded little +government clerk; or perhaps it may be that the time in which I live +wants the spice and seasoning of that golden age of rascality in which +my Lady Castlemain's white petticoats were to be seen flaunting in the +wind by any frivolous-minded lounger who chose to take notes about those +garments. +</p><p> +"After all, it is a silly, old-fogeyish habit, this of diary-keeping; +and I think the renowned Pepys himself was only a bachelor spoiled. Just +now, however, I have something more than cab-drives, lost omnibuses, and +the perusal of a favourite book to jot down, inasmuch as my mother and +myself have lately had all our accustomed habits, in a manner, +disorganized by the advent of a lady. +</p><p> +"She is a very young lady, being, in point of fact, still at a remote +distance from an epoch to which she appears to look forward as a grand +and enviable period of existence. She has not yet entered what she calls +her 'teens,' and two years must elapse before she can enter them, as she +is only eleven years old. She is the only daughter of my only sister, +Marian Lester, and has been newly imported from Sydney, where my sister +Marian and her husband have been settled for the last twelve years. Miss +Elizabeth Lester became a member of our family upon the first of July, +and has since that time continued to make herself quite at home with my +mother and myself. She is rather a pretty little girl, with very auburn +plaits hanging in loops at the back of her head. (Will the New Zealander +and his countrymen care to know the mysteries of juvenile coiffures in +the nineteenth century?) She is a very good little girl, and my mother +adores her. As for myself, I am only gradually growing resigned to the +fact that I am three-and-thirty years of age, and the uncle of a +bouncing niece, who plays variations upon 'Non più mesta.' +</p><p> +"And 'Non più mesta' brings me to another strange figure in the narrow +circle of my acquaintance; a figure that had no place in the volume +which I have just closed, but which, in the six weeks' interval between +my last record and that which I begin to-day, has become almost as +familiar as the oldest friends of my youth. 'Non più mesta'--I hear my +niece strumming the notes I know so well in the parlour below my room, +as I write these lines, and the sound of the melody brings before me the +image of a sweet pale face and dove-like brown eyes. +</p><p> +"I never fully realized the number and extent of feminine requirements +until a hack cab deposited my niece and her deal travelling-cases at our +hall-door. Miss Elizabeth Lester seemed to want everything that it was +possible for the human mind to imagine or desire. She had grown during +the homeward voyage; her frocks were too short, her boots were too +small, her bonnets tumbled off her head and hung forlornly at the back +of her neck. She wanted parasols and hair-brushes, frilled and +furbelowed mysteries of muslin and lace, copybooks, penholders, and +pomatum, a backboard and a pair of gloves, drawing-pencils, dumb-bells, +geological specimens for the illustration of her studies, and a hundred +other items, whose very names are as a strange language to my masculine +comprehension; and, last of all, she wanted a musical governess. The +little girl was supposed to be very tolerably advanced in her study of +the piano, and my sister was anxious that she should continue that study +under the superintendence of a duly-qualified instructress, whose terms +should be moderate. My sister Marian underlined this last condition. The +buying and making of the new frocks and muslin furbelows seemed almost +to absorb my mother's mind, and she was fain to delegate to me the duty +of finding a musical governess for Miss Lester. +</p><p> +"I began my task in the simplest possible way by consulting the daily +newspapers, where I found so many advertisements emanating from ladies +who declared themselves proficients in the art of music, that I was +confused and embarrassed by the wealth of my resources: but I took the +ladies singly, and called upon them in the pleasant summer evenings +after office hours, sometimes with my mother, sometimes alone. +</p><p> +"It may be that the seal of old-bachelorhood is already set upon me, and +that I am that odious and hyper-sensitive creature commonly called a +'fidget;' but somehow I could not find a governess whom I really felt +inclined to choose for my little Lizzie. Some of the ladies were elderly +and stern; others were young and frivolous; some of them were uncertain +as to the distribution of the letter <i>h</i>. One young lady declared that +she was fonder of music than anything in the world. Some were a great +deal too enthusiastic, and were prepared to adore my little niece at a +moment's notice. Many, who seemed otherwise eligible, demanded a higher +rate of remuneration than we were prepared to give. So, somehow or +other, the business languished, and after the researches of a week we +found ourselves no nearer a decision than when first I looked at the +advertisements in the <i>Times</i> supplement. +</p><p> +"Had our resources been reduced, we should most likely have been much +easier to please; but my mother said, that as there were so many people +to be had, we should do well to deliberate before we came to any +decision. So it happened that, when I went out for a walk one evening, +at the end of the second week in July, Miss Lester was still without a +governess. She was still without a governess: but I was tired of +catechizing the fair advertisers as to their qualifications, and went +out on this particular evening for a solitary ramble amongst the quiet +Surrey suburbs, in any lonely lanes or scraps of common-land where the +speculating builder had not yet set his hateful foot. It was a lovely +evening; and I, who am so much a Cockney as to believe that a London +sunset is one of the grandest spectacles in the universe, set my face +towards the yellow light in the west, and walked across Wandsworth +Common, where faint wreaths of purple mist were rising from the hollows, +and a deserted donkey was breaking the twilight stillness with a +plaintive braying. Wandsworth Common was as lonely this evening as a +patch of sand in the centre of Africa; and being something of a +day-dreamer, I liked the place because of its stillness and solitude. +</p><p> +"Something of a dreamer: and yet I had so little to dream about. My +thoughts were pleasant, as I walked across the common in the sunset; and +yet, looking back now, I wonder what I thought of, and what image there +was in my mind that could make my fancies pleasant to me. I know what I +thought of, as I went home in the dim light of the newly-risen moon, the +pale crescent that glimmered high in a cloudless heaven. +</p><p> +"I went into the little town of Wandsworth, the queer old-fashioned High +Street, the dear old street, which seems to me like a town in a Dutch +picture, where all the tints are of a sombre brown, yet in which there +is, nevertheless, so much light and warmth. The lights were beginning to +twinkle here and there in the windows; and upon this July evening there +seemed to be flowers blooming in every casement. I loitered idly through +the street, staring at the shop-windows, in utter absence of mind while +I thought-- +</p><p> +"What could I have thought of that evening? and how was it that I did +not think the world blank and empty? +</p><p> +"While I was looking idly in at one of those shop-windows--it was a +fancy-shop and stationer's--a kind of bazaar, in its humble way--my eye +was attracted by the word 'Music;' and on a little card hung in the +window I read that a lady would be happy to give lessons on the +piano-forte, at the residences of her pupils, or at her own residence, +on very moderate terms. The word 'very' was underscored. I thought it +had a pitiful look somehow, that underscoring of the adverb, and seemed +almost an appeal for employment. The inscription on the card was in a +woman's hand, and a very pretty hand--elegant but not illegible, firm +and yet feminine. I was in a very idle frame of mind, ready to be driven +by any chance wind; and I thought I might just as well turn my evening +walk to some account by calling upon the proprietress of the card. She +was not likely to suit my ideas of perfection, any more than the other +ladies I had seen; but I should at least be able to return home with the +consciousness of having made another effort to find an instructress for +my niece. +</p><p> +"The address on the card was, 'No. 3, Godolphin Cottages.' I asked the +first person I met to direct me to Godolphin Cottages, and was told to +take the second turning on my right. The second turning on my right took +me into a kind of lane or by-road, where there were some old-fashioned, +semi-detached cottages, sheltered by a row of sycamores, and shut in by +wooden palings. I opened the low gate before the third cottage, and went +into the garden,--a primly-kept little garden, with a grass-plat and +miniature gravel-walks, and with a grotto of shells and moss and craggy +blocks of stone in a corner. Under a laburnum-tree there was a green +rustic bench; and here I found a young lady sitting reading by the dying +light. She started at the sound of my footsteps on the crisp gravel, and +rose, blushing like one of the cabbage-roses that grew near her. The +blush was all the more becoming to her inasmuch as she was naturally +very pale. I saw this almost immediately, for the bright colour faded +out of her face while I was speaking to her. +</p><p> +"'I have come to inquire for a lady who teaches music,' I said; 'I saw a +card, just now, in the High Street, and as I am searching for an +instructress for my little niece, I took the opportunity of calling. But +I fear I have chosen an inconvenient time for my visit.' +</p><p> +"I scarcely know why I made this apology, since I had omitted to +apologize to the other ladies, on whom I had ventured to intrude at +abnormal hours. I fear that I was weak enough to feel bewildered by the +pensive loveliness of the face at which I looked, and that my confidence +ebbed away under the influence of those grave hazel eyes. +</p><p> +"The face is so beautiful,--as beautiful now that I have learned the +trick of every feature, though even now I cannot learn all the varying +changes of expression which make it ever new to me, as it was that +evening when it beamed on me for the first time. Shall I describe +her,--the woman whom I have only known four weeks, and who seems to fill +all the universe when I think of her?--and when do I not think of her? +Shall I describe her for the New Zealander, when the best description +must fall so far below the bright reality, and when the very act of +reducing her beauty into hard commonplace words seems in some manner a +sacrilege against the sanctity of that beauty? Yes, I will describe her; +not for the sake of the New Zealander, who may have new and +extraordinary ideas as to female loveliness, and may require a blue nose +or pea-green tresses in the lady he elects as the only type of beautiful +womanhood. I will describe her because it is sweet to me to dwell upon +her image, and to translate that dear image, no matter how poorly, into +words. Were I a painter, I should be like Claude Melnotte, and paint no +face but hers. Were I a poet, I should cover reams of paper with wild +rhapsodies about her beauty. Being only a cashier in a bank, I can do +nothing but enshrine her in the commonplace pages of my diary. +</p><p> +"I have said that she is pale. Hers is that ivory pallor which sometimes +accompanies hazel eyes and hazel-brown hair. Her eyes are of that rare +hazel, that soft golden brown, so rarely seen, so beautiful wherever +they are seen. These eyes are unvarying in their colour; it is only the +expression of them that varies with every emotion, but in repose they +have a mournful earnestness in their look, a pensive gravity that seems +to tell of a life in which there has been much shadow. The hair, parted +above the most beautiful brow I ever looked upon, is of exactly the same +colour as the eyes, and has a natural ripple in it. For the rest of the +features I must refer my New Zealander to the pictures of the old +Italian masters--of which I trust he may retain a handsome +collection;--for only on the canvases of Signori Raffaello Sanzio +d'Urbino, Titian, and the pupils who emulated them, will he find that +exquisite harmony, that purity of form and tender softness of outline, +which I beheld that summer evening in the features of Margaret +Wentworth. +</p><p> +"Margaret Wentworth,--that is her name. She told it me presently, when I +had explained to her, in some awkward vague manner, who I was, and how +it was I wanted to engage her services. Throughout that interview, I +think I must have been intoxicated by her presence, as by some subtle +and mysterious influence, stronger than the fumes of opium, or the juice +of lotus flowers. I only know that after ten minutes' conversation, +during which she was perfectly self-possessed, I opened the little +garden-gate again, very much embarrassed by the latch on one hand, and +my hat on the other, and went back out of that little paradise of twenty +feet square into the dusty lane. +</p><p> +"I went home in triumph to my mother, and told her that I had succeeded +at last in engaging a lady who was in every way suitable, and that she +was coming the following morning at eleven o'clock to give her first +lesson. But I was somewhat embarrassed when my mother asked if I had +heard the lady play; if I had inquired her terms; if I had asked for +references as to respectability, capability, and so forth. +</p><p> +"I was fain to confess, with much confusion, that I had not done any one +of these things. And then my mother asked me why, in that case, did I +consider the lady suitable,--which question increased my embarrassment +by tenfold. I could not say that I had engaged her because her eyes were +hazel, and her hair of the same colour; nor could I declare that I had +judged of her proficiency as a teacher of the piano by the exquisite +line of her pencilled eyebrows. So, in this dilemma, I had recourse to a +piece of jesuitry, of which I was not a little proud. I told my dear +mother that Miss Wentworth's head was, from a phrenological point of +view, magnificent, and that the organs of time and tune were developed +to an unusual degree. +</p><p> +"I was almost ashamed of myself when my mother rewarded this falsehood +by a kiss, declaring that I was a dear clever boy, and <i>such</i> a judge of +character, and that she would rather confide in a stranger, upon the +strength of my instinct, than, upon any inferior person's experience. +</p><p> +"After this I could only trust to the chance of Miss Wentworth's +proficiency; and when I went home from the city upon the following +afternoon, my mind was far less occupied with the business events of the +day than with abstruse speculations at to the probabilities with regard +to that young lady's skill upon the piano-forte. It was with an air of +supreme carelessness that I asked my mother whether she had been pleased +with Miss Wentworth. +</p><p> +"'Pleased with her!' cried the good soul; 'why, she plays magnificently, +Clement. Such a touch, such brilliancy! In my young days it was only +concert-players who played like that; but nowadays girls of eighteen and +twenty sit down, and dash away at the keys like a professor. I think +you'll be charmed with her, Clem'--(I'm afraid I blushed as my mother +said this; had I not been charmed with her already?)--'when you hear her +play, for she has expression as well as brilliancy. She is passionately +fond of music, I know; not because she went into any ridiculous +sentimental raptures about it, as some girls do, but because her eyes +lighted up when she told me what a happiness her piano had been to her +ever since she was a child. She gave a little sigh after saying that; +and I fancied, poor girl, that she had perhaps known very little other +happiness.' +</p><p> +"'And her terms, mother?' I said. +</p><p> +"'Oh, you dear commercial Clem, always thinking of terms!' cried my +mother. +</p><p> +"Heaven bless her innocent heart! I had asked that sordid question only +to hide the unreasoning gladness of my heart. What was it to me that +this hazel-eyed girl was engaged to teach my little niece 'Non più +mesta'? what was it to me that my breast should be all of a sudden +filled with a tumult of glad emotions, and thus shrink from any +encounter with my mother's honest eyes? +</p><p> +"'Well, Clem, the terms are almost ridiculously moderate,' my mother +said, presently. 'There's only one thing that's at all inconvenient, +that is to say, not to me, but I'm afraid <i>you'll</i> think it an +objection.' +</p><p> +"I eagerly asked the nature of this objection. Was there some cold chill +of disappointment in store for me, after all? +</p><p> +"'Well, you see, Clem,' said my mother, with some little hesitation, +'Miss Wentworth is engaged almost all through the day, as her pupils +live at long distances from one another, and she has to waste a good +deal of time in going backwards and forwards; so the only time she can +possibly give Lizzie is either very early in the morning or rather late +in the evening. Now <i>I</i> should prefer the evening, as I should like to +hear the dear child's lessons; but the question is, would <i>you</i> object +to the noise of the piano while you are at home?' +</p><p> +"Would I object? Would I object to the music of the spheres? In spite of +the grand capabilities for falsehood and hypocrisy which had been +developed in my nature since the previous evening, it was as much as I +could do to answer my mother's question deliberately, to the effect that +I didn't think I should mind the music-lessons <i>much</i>. +</p><p> +"'You'll be out generally, you know, Clem,' my mother said. +</p><p> +"'Yes,' I replied, 'of course, if I found the music in any way a +nuisance.' +</p><p> +"Coming home from the City the next day, I felt like a schoolboy who +turns his back upon all the hardships of his life, on some sunny summer +holiday. The rattling Hansom seemed a fairy car, that was bearing me in +triumph through a region of brightness and splendour. The sunlit +suburban roads were enchanted glades; and I think I should have been +scarcely surprised to see Aladdin's jewelled fruit hanging on the trees +in the villa gardens, or the gigantic wings of Sinbad's roc +overshadowing the hills of Sydenham. A wonderful transformation had +changed the earth to fairy land, and it was in vain that I fought +against the subtle influence in the air around me. +</p><p> +"Oh, was I in love, was I really in love at last, with a young lady +whose face I had only looked upon eight-and-forty hours before? Was I, +who had flirted with the Miss Balderbys; and half lost my heart to Lucy +Sedwicke, the surgeon's sister; and corresponded for nearly a year with +Clara Carpenter, with the sanction of both our houses, and everything +<i>en règle</i>, only to be jilted ignominiously for the sake of an +evangelical curate?--was I, who had railed at the foolish passion--(I +have one of Miss Carpenter's long tresses in the desk on which I am +writing, sealed in a sheet of letter-paper, with Swift's savage +inscription, 'Only a woman's hair,' on the cover)--was I caught at last +by a pair of hazel eyes and a Raffaellesque profile? Were the wings that +had fluttered in so many flames burnt and maimed by the first breath of +this new fire? I was ashamed of my silly fancy in one moment, and proud +of my love in the next. I was ten years younger all of a sudden, and my +heart was all a-glow with chivalrous devotion for this beautiful +stranger. I reasoned with myself, and ridiculed my madness, and yet +yielded like the veriest craven to the sweet intoxication. I gave the +driver of the Hansom five shillings. Had I not a right to pay him a +trifle extra for driving me through fairy-land? +</p><p> +"What had we for dinner that day? I have a vague idea that I ate cherry +tart and roast veal, fried soles, boiled custard, and anchovy sauce, all +mixed together. I know that the meal seemed to endure for the abnormal +period of half-a-dozen hours or so; and yet it was only seven o'clock +when we adjourned to the drawing-room, and Miss Wentworth was not due +until half-past seven. My niece was all in a flutter of expectation, and +ran out of the drawing-room window every now and then to see if the new +governess was coming. She need not have had that trouble, poor child, +had I been inclined to give her information; since, from the chair in +which I had seated myself to read the evening papers, I could see the +road along which Miss Wentworth must come. My eyes wandered very often +from the page before me, and fixed themselves upon this dusty suburban +road; and presently I saw a parasol, rather a shabby one, and then a +slender figure coming quickly towards our gate, and then the face, which +I am weak enough to think the most beautiful face in Christendom. +</p><p> +"Since then Miss Wentworth has come three times a week; and somehow or +other I have never found myself in any way bored by 'Non più mesta,' or +even the major and minor scales, which, as interpreted by a juvenile +performer, are not especially enthralling to the ear of the ordinary +listener. I read my books or papers, or stroll upon the lawn, while the +lesson is going on, and every now and then I hear Margaret's--I really +must write of her as Margaret; it is such a nuisance to write Miss +Wentworth--pretty voice explaining the importance of a steady position +of the wrist, or the dexterous turning over or under of a thumb, or +something equally interesting. And then, when the lesson is concluded, +my mother rouses herself from her after-dinner nap, and asks Margaret to +take a cup of tea, and even insists on her accepting that feminine +hospitality. And then we sit talking in the tender summer dusk, or in +the subdued light of a shaded lamp on the piano. We talk of books; and +it is wonderful to me to find how Margaret's tastes and opinions +coincide with mine. Miss Carpenter was stupid about books, and used to +call Carlyle nonsensical; and never really enjoyed Dickens half as much +as she pretended. I have lent Margaret some of my books; and a little +shower of withered rose-leaves dropped from the pages of 'Wilhelm +Meister,' after she had returned me the volume. I have put them in an +envelope, and sealed it. I may as well burn Miss Carpenter's hair, by +the way. +</p><p> +"Though it is only a month since the evening on which I saw the card in +the window at Wandsworth, Margaret and I seem to be old friends. After a +year Miss Carpenter and I were as far as ever--farther than ever, +perhaps--from understanding each other; but with Margaret I need no +words to tell me that I am understood. A look, a smile, a movement of +the graceful head, is a more eloquent answer than the most elaborate of +Miss Carpenter's rhapsodies. She was one of those girls whom her friends +call 'gushing;' and she called Byron a 'love,' and Shelley an 'angel:' +but if you tried her with a stanza that hasn't been done to death in +'Gems of Verse,' or 'Strings of Poetic Pearls,' or 'Drawing-room Table +Lyrics,' she couldn't tell whether you were quoting Byron or Ben Jonson. +But with Margaret--Margaret,--sweet name! If it were not that I live in +perpetual terror of the day when the dilettante New Zealander will edit +this manuscript, I think I should write that lovely name over and over +again for a page or so. If the New Zealander should exercise his +editorial discretion, and delete my raptures, it wouldn't matter; but I +might furnish him with the text for an elaborate disquisition on the +manners and customs of English lovers. Let me be reasonable about my +dear love, if I can. My dear love--do I dare to call her that already, +when, for anything I know to the contrary, there may be another +evangelical curate in the background? +</p><p> +"We seem to be old friends; and yet I know so little of her. She shuns +all allusion to her home or her past history. Now and then she has +spoken of her father; always tenderly, but always with a sigh; and I +fancy that a deepening shadow steals over her face when she mentions +that name. +</p><p> +"Friendly as we are, I can never induce her to let me see her home, +though my mother has suggested that I should do so. She is accustomed to +go about by herself, she says, after dark, as well as in the daytime. +She seems as fearless as a modern Una; and that would indeed be a savage +beast which could molest such a pure and lovely creature." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch7"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER VII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>AFTER FIVE-AND-THIRTY YEARS.</h5></center> +<p> + +Joseph Wilmot waited patiently enough, in all outward seeming, for the +arrival of the steamer. Everybody was respectful to him now, paying +deference to his altered guise, and he went where he liked without +question or hindrance. +</p><p> +There were several people waiting for passengers who were expected to +arrive by the <i>Electra</i>, and the coming of the steamer was hailed by a +feeble cheer from the bystanders grouped about the landing-place. +</p><p> +The passengers began to come on shore at about eleven o'clock. There +were a good many children and English nursemaids; three or four +military-looking men, dressed in loose garments of grey and nankeen +colour; several ladies, all more or less sunburnt; a couple of ayahs; +three men-servants; and an aristocratic-looking man of about fifty-five, +dressed, unlike the rest of the travellers, in fine broadcloth, with a +black-satin cravat, a gold pin, a carefully brushed hat, and varnished +boots. +</p><p> +His clothes, in fact, were very much of the same fashion as those which +Joseph Wilmot had chosen for himself. +</p><p> +This man was Henry Dunbar; tall and broad-chested, with grey hair and +moustache, and with a haughty smile upon his handsome face. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot stood among the little crowd, motionless as a statue, +watching his old betrayer. +</p><p> +"Not much changed," he murmured; "very little changed! Proud, and +selfish, and cruel then--proud, and selfish, and cruel now. He has grown +older, and stouter, and greyer; but he is the same man he was +five-and-thirty years ago. I can see it all in his face." +</p><p> +He advanced as Henry Dunbar landed, and approached the Anglo-Indian. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar, I believe?" he said, removing his hat. +</p><p> +"Yes, I am Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"I have been sent from the office in St. Gundolph Lane, sir," returned +Joseph; "I have a letter for you from Mr. Balderby. I came to meet you, +and to be of service to you." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar looked at him doubtfully. +</p><p> +"You are not one of the clerks in St. Gundolph Lane?" he said. +</p><p> +"No, Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"I thought as much; you don't look like a clerk; but who are you, then?" +</p><p> +"I will tell you presently, sir. I am a substitute for another person, +who was taken ill upon the road. But there is no time to speak of that +now. I came to be of use to you. Shall I see after your luggage?" +</p><p> +"Yes, I shall be glad if you will do so." +</p><p> +"You have a servant with you, Mr. Dunbar?" +</p><p> +"No, my valet was taken ill at Malta, and I left him behind." +</p><p> +"Indeed!" exclaimed Joseph Wilmot; "that was a misfortune." +</p><p> +A sudden flash of light sparkled in his eyes as he spoke. +</p><p> +"Yes, it was devilish provoking. You'll find the luggage packed, and +directed to Portland Place; be so good as to see that it is sent off +immediately by the speediest route. There is a portmanteau in my cabin, +and my travelling-desk. I require those with me. All the rest can go +on." +</p><p> +"I will see to it, sir." +</p><p> +"Thank you; you are very good. At what hotel are you staying?" +</p><p> +"I have not been to any hotel yet. I only arrived this morning. The +<i>Electra</i> was not expected until to-morrow." +</p><p> +"I will go on to the Dolphin, then," returned Mr. Dunbar; "and I shall +be glad if you will follow me directly you have attended to the luggage. +I want to get to London to-night, if possible." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar walked away, holding his head high in the air, and swinging +his cane as he went. Ha was one of those men who most confidently +believe in their own merits. The sin he had committed in his youth sat +very lightly upon his conscience. If he thought about that old story at +all, it was only to remember that he had been very badly used by his +father and his Uncle Hugh. +</p><p> +And the poor wretch who had helped him--the clever, bright-faced, +high-spirited lad who had acted as his tool and accomplice--was as +completely forgotten as if he had never existed. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar was ushered into a great sunny sitting-room at the Dolphin; a +vast desert of Brussels carpet, with little islands of chairs and tables +scattered here and there. He ordered a bottle of soda-water, sank into +an easy-chair, and took up the <i>Times</i> newspaper. +</p><p> +But presently he threw it down impatiently, and took his watch from his +waistcoat-pocket. +</p><p> +Attached to the watch there was a locket of chased yellow gold. Henry +Dunbar opened this locket, which contained the miniature of a beautiful +girl, with fair rippling hair as bright as burnished gold, and limpid +blue eyes. +</p><p> +"My poor little Laura!" he murmured; "I wonder whether she will be glad +to see me. She was a mere baby when she left India. It isn't likely +she'll remember me. But I hope she may be glad of my coming back--I hope +she may be glad." +</p><p> +He put the locket again in its place, and took a letter from his +breast-pocket. It was directed in a woman's hand, and the envelope was +surrounded by a deep border of black. +</p><p> +"If there's any faith to be put in this, she will be glad to have me +home at last," Henry Dunbar said, as he drew the letter out of its +envelope. +</p><p> +He read one passage softly to himself. +</p><p> +"If anything can console me for the loss of my dear grandfather, it is +the thought that you will come back at last, and that I shall see you +once more. You can never know, dearest father, what a bitter sorrow this +cruel separation has been to me. It has seemed so hard that we who are +so rich should have been parted as we have been, while poor children +have their fathers with them. Money seems such a small thing when it +cannot bring us the presence of those we love. And I do love you, dear +papa, truly and devotedly, though I cannot even remember your face, and +have not so much as a picture of you to recall you to my recollection." +</p><p> +The letter was a very long one, and Henry Dunbar was still reading it +when Joseph Wilmot came into the room. +</p><p> +The Anglo-Indian crushed the letter into his pocket, and looked up +languidly. +</p><p> +"Have you seen to all that?" he asked. +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Dunbar; the luggage has been sent off." +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot had not yet removed his hat. He had rather an undecided +manner, and walked once or twice up and down the room, stopping now and +then, and then walking on again, in an unsettled way; like a man who has +some purpose in his mind, yet is oppressed by a feverish irresolution as +to the performance of that purpose. +</p><p> +But Mr. Dunbar took no notice of this. He sat with the newspaper in his +hand, and did not deign to lift his eyes to his companion, after that +first brief question. He was accustomed to be waited upon, and to look +upon the people who served him as beings of an inferior class: and he +had no idea of troubling himself about this gentlemanly-looking clerk +from St. Gundolph Lane. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot stopped suddenly upon the other side of the table, near +which Mr. Dunbar sat, and, laying his hand upon it, said quietly-- +</p><p> +"You asked me just now who I was, Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +The banker looked up at him with haughty indifference. +</p><p> +"Did I? Oh, yea, I remember; and you told me you came from the office. +That is quite enough." +</p><p> +"Pardon me, Mr. Dunbar, it is not quite enough. You are mistaken: I did +not say I came from the office in St. Gundolph Lane. I told you, on the +contrary, that I came here as a substitute for another person, who was +ordered to meet you." +</p><p> +"Indeed! That is pretty much the same thing. You seem a very agreeable +fellow, and will, no doubt, be quite as useful as the original person +could have been. It was very civil of Mr. Balderby to send some one to +meet me--very civil indeed." +</p><p> +The Anglo-Indian's head sank back upon the morocco cushion of the +easy-chair, and he looked languidly at his companion, with half-closed +eyes. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot removed his hat. +</p><p> +"I don't think you've looked at me very closely, have you, Mr. Dunbar?" +he said. +</p><p> +"Have I looked at you closely!" exclaimed the banker. "My good fellow, +what do you mean?" +</p><p> +"Look me full in the face, Mr. Dunbar, and tell me if you see anything +there that reminds you of the past." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar started. +</p><p> +He opened his eyes widely enough this time, and started at the handsome +face before him. It was as handsome as his own, and almost as +aristocratic-looking. For Nature has odd caprices now and then, and had +made very little distinction between the banker, who was worth half a +million, and the runaway convict, who was not worth sixpence. +</p><p> +"Have I met you before?" he said. "In India?" +</p><p> +"No, Mr. Dunbar, not in India. You know that as well as I do. Carry your +mind farther back. Carry it back to the time before you went to India." +</p><p> +"What then?" +</p><p> +"Do you remember losing a heap of money on the Derby, and being in so +desperate a frame of mind that you took the holster-pistols down from +their place above the chimney-piece in your barrack sitting-room, and +threatened to blow your brains out? Do you remember, in your despair, +appealing to a lad who served you, and who loved you, better perhaps +than a brother would have loved you, though he <i>was</i> your inferior by +birth and station, and the son of a poor, hard-working woman? Do you +remember entreating this boy--who had a knack of counterfeiting other +people's signatures, but who had never used his talent for any guilty +purpose until that hour, so help me Heaven!--to aid you in a scheme by +which your creditors were to be kept quiet till you could get the money +to pay them? Do you remember all this? Yes, I see you do--the answer is +written on your face; and you remember me--Joseph Wilmot." +</p><p> +He struck his hand upon his breast, and stood with his eyes fixed upon +the other's face. They had a strange expression in them, those eyes--a +sort of hungry, eager look, as if the very sight of his old foe was a +kind of food that went some way towards satisfying this man's vengeful +fury. +</p><p> +"I do remember you," Henry Dunbar said slowly. He had turned deadly +pale, and cold drops of sweat had broken out upon his forehead: he wiped +them away with his perfumed cambric handkerchief as he spoke. +</p><p> +"You do remember me?" the other man repeated, with no change in the +expression of his face. +</p><p> +"I do; and, believe me, I am heartily sorry for the past. I dare say you +fancy I acted cruelly towards you on that wretched day in St. Gundolph +Lane; but I really could scarcely act otherwise. I was so harassed and +tormented by my own position, that I could not be expected to get myself +deeper into the mire by interceding for you. However, now that I am my +own master, I can make it up to you. Rely upon it, my good fellow, I'll +atone for the past." +</p><p> +"Atone for the past!" cried Joseph Wilmot. "Can you make me an honest +man, or a respectable member of society? Can you remove the stamp of the +felon from me, and win for me the position I <i>might</i> have held in this +hard world but for you? Can you give me back the five-and-thirty +blighted years of my life, and take the blight from them? Can you heal +my mother's broken heart,--broken, long ago by my disgrace? Can you give +me back the dead? Or can you give me pleasant memories, or peaceful +thoughts, or the hope of God's forgiveness? No, no; you can give me none +of these." +</p><p> +Mr. Henry Dunbar was essentially a man of the world. He was not a +passionate man. He was a gentlemanly creature, very seldom demonstrative +in his manner, and he wished to take life pleasantly. +</p><p> +He was utterly selfish and heartless. But as he was very rich, people +readily overlooked such small failings as selfishness and want of heart, +and were loud in praise of the graces of his manner and the elegance of +his person. +</p><p> +"My dear Wilmot," he said, in no wise startled by the vehemence of his +companion, "all that is so much sentimental talk. Of course I can't give +you back the past. The past was your own, and you might have fashioned +it as you pleased. If you went wrong, you have no right to throw the +blame of your wrong-doing upon me. Pray don't talk about broken hearts, +and blighted lives, and all that sort of thing. I'm a man of the world, +and I can appreciate the exact value of that kind of twaddle. I am sorry +for the scrape I got you into, and am ready to do anything reasonable to +atone for that old business. I can't give you back the past; but I can +give you that for which most men are ready to barter past, present, and +future,--I can give you money." +</p><p> +"How much?" asked Joseph Wilmot, with a half-suppressed fierceness in +his manner. +</p><p> +"Humph!" murmured the Anglo-Indian, pulling his grey moustaches with a +reflective air. "Let me see; what would satisfy you, now, my good +fellow?" +</p><p> +"I leave that for you to decide." +</p><p> +"Very well, then. I suppose you'd be quite contented if I were to buy +you a small annuity, that would keep you straight with the world for the +rest of your life. Say, fifty pounds a year." +</p><p> +"Fifty pounds a year," Joseph Wilmot repeated. He had quite conquered +that fierceness of expression by this time, and spoke very quietly. +"Fifty pounds a year--a pound a week." +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"I'll accept your offer, Mr. Dunbar. A pound a week. That will enable me +to live--to live as labouring men live, in some hovel or other; and will +insure me bread every day. I have a daughter, a very beautiful girl, +about the same age as your daughter: and, of course, she'll share my +income with me, and will have as much cause to bless your generosity as +I shall have." +</p><p> +"It's a bargain, then?" asked the East Indian, languidly. +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, it's a bargain. You have estates in Warwickshire and +Yorkshire, a house in Portland Place, and half a million of money; but, +of course, all those things are necessary to you. I shall have--thanks +to your generosity, and as an atonement for all the shame and misery, +the want, and peril, and disgrace, which I have suffered for +five-and-thirty years--a pound a week secured to me for the rest of my +life. A thousand thanks, Mr. Dunbar. You are your own self still, I +find; the same master I loved when I was a boy; and I accept your +generous offer." +</p><p> +He laughed as he finished speaking, loudly but not heartily--rather +strangely, perhaps; but Mr. Dunbar did not trouble himself to notice any +such insignificant fact as the merriment of his old valet. +</p><p> +"Now we have done with all these heroics," he said, "perhaps you'll be +good enough to order luncheon for me." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch8"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER VIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE FIRST STAGE ON THE JOURNEY HOME.</h5></center> +<p> + +Joseph Wilmot obeyed his old master, and ordered a very excellent +luncheon, which was served in the best style of the Dolphin; and a +sojourn at the Dolphin is almost a recompense for the pains and +penalties of the voyage home from India. Mr. Dunbar, from the sublime +height of his own grandeur, stooped to be very friendly with his old +valet, and insisted upon Joseph's sitting down with him at the +well-spread table. But although the Anglo-Indian did ample justice to +the luncheon, and washed down a spatchcock and a lobster-salad with +several glasses of iced Moselle, the reprobate ate and drank very +little, and sat for the best part of the time crumbling his bread in a +strange absent manner, and watching his companion's face. He only spoke +when his old master addressed him; and then in a constrained, +half-mechanical way, which might have excited the wonder of any one less +supremely indifferent than Henry Dunbar to the feelings of his +fellow-creatures. +</p><p> +The Anglo-Indian finished his luncheon, left the table, and walked to +the window: but Joseph Wilmot still sat with a full glass before him. +The sparkling bubbles had vanished from the clear amber wine; but +although Moselle at half-a-guinea a bottle could scarcely have been a +very common beverage to the ex-convict, he seemed to have no +appreciation of the vintage. He sat with his head bent and his elbow on +his knee; brooding, brooding, brooding. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar amused himself for about ten minutes looking out at the +busy street--the brightest, airiest, lightest, prettiest High Street in +all England, perhaps; and then turned away from the window and looked at +his old valet. He had been accustomed, five-and-thirty years ago, to be +familiar with the man, and to make a confidant and companion of him, and +he fell into the same manner now, naturally; as if the five-and-thirty +years had never been; as if Joseph Wilmot had never been wronged by him. +He fell into the old way, and treated his companion with that haughty +affability which a monarch may be supposed to exhibit towards his prime +favourite. +</p><p> +"Drink your wine, Wilmot," he exclaimed; "don't sit meditating there, as +if you were a great speculator brooding over the stagnation of the +money-market. I want bright looks, man, to welcome me back to my native +country. I've seen dark faces enough out yonder; and I want to see +smiling and pleasanter faces here. You look as black as if you had +committed a murder, or were plotting one." +</p><p> +The Outcast smiled. +</p><p> +"I've so much reason to look cheerful, haven't I?" he said, in the same +tone he had used when he had declared his acceptance of the banker's +bounty. "I've such a pleasant life before me, and such agreeable +recollections to look back upon. A man's memory seems to me like a book +of pictures that he must be continually looking at, whether he will or +not: and if the pictures are horrible, if he shudders as he looks at +them, if the sight of them is worse than the pain of death to him, he +must look nevertheless. I read a story the other day--at least my girl +was reading it to me; poor child! she tries to soften me with these +things sometimes--and the man who wrote the story said it was well for +the most miserable of us to pray, 'Lord, keep my memory green!' But what +if the memory is a record of crime, Mr. Dunbar? Can we pray that <i>those</i> +memories may be kept green? Wouldn't it be better to pray that our +brains and hearts may wither, leaving us no power to look back upon the +past? If I could have forgotten the wrong you did me five-and-thirty +years ago, I might have been a different man: but I couldn't forget it. +Every day and every hour I have remembered it. My memory is as fresh +to-day as it was four-and-thirty years ago, when my wrongs were only a +twelvemonth old." +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot had said all this almost as if he yielded to an +uncontrollable impulse, and spoke because he must speak, rather than +from the desire to upbraid Henry Dunbar. He had not looked at the +Anglo-Indian; he had not changed his attitude; he had spoken with his +head still bent, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had gone back to the window, and had resumed his +contemplation of the street; but he turned round with a gesture of angry +impatience as Joseph Wilmot finished speaking. +</p><p> +"Now, listen to me, Wilmot," he said. "If the firm in St. Gundolph Lane +sent you down here to annoy and insult me directly I set foot upon +British ground, they have chosen a very nice way of testifying their +respect for their chief: and they have made a mistake which they shall +repent having made sooner or later. If you came here upon your own +account, with a view to terrify me, or to extort money from me, you have +made a mistake. If you think to make a fool of me by any maudlin +sentimentality, you make a still greater mistake. I give you fair +warning. If you expect any advantage from me, you must make yourself +agreeable to me. I am a rich man, and know how to recompense those who +please me: but I will not be bored or tormented by any man alive: least +of all by you. If you choose to make yourself useful, you can stay: if +you don't choose to do so, the sooner you leave this room the better for +yourself, if you wish to escape the humiliation of being turned out by +the waiter." +</p><p> +At the end of this speech Joseph Wilmot looked up for the first time. He +was very pale, and there were strange hard lines about his compressed +lips, and a new light in his eyes. +</p><p> +"I am a poor weak fool," he said, quietly; "very weak and very foolish, +when I think there can be anything in that old story to touch your +heart, Mr. Dunbar. I will not offend you again, believe me. I have not +led a very sober life of late years: I've had a touch of <i>delirium +tremens</i>, and my nerves are not as strong as they used to be: but I'll +not annoy you again. I'm quite ready to make myself useful in any way +you may require." +</p><p> +"Get me a time-table, then, and let's see about the trains. I don't want +to stay in Southampton all day." +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot rang, and ordered the time-table; Henry Dunbar studied it. +</p><p> +"There is no express before ten o'clock at night," he said; "and I don't +care about travelling by a slow train. What am I to do with myself in +the interim?" +</p><p> +He was silent for a few moments, turning over the leaves of Bradshaw's +Guide, and thinking. +</p><p> +"How far is it from here to Winchester?" he asked presently. +</p><p> +"Ten miles, or thereabouts, I believe," Joseph answered. +</p><p> +"Ten miles! Very well, then, Wilmot, I'll tell you what I'll do. I've a +friend in the neighbourhood of Winchester, an old college companion, a +man who has a fine estate in Hampshire, and a house near St. Cross. If +you'll order a carriage and pair to be got ready immediately, we'll +drive over to Winchester. I'll go and see my old friend Michael Marston; +we'll dine at the George, and go up to London by the express which +leaves Winchester at a quarter past ten. Go and order the carriage, and +lose no time about it, that's a good fellow." +</p><p> +Half an hour after this the two men left Southampton in an open +carriage, with the banker's portmanteau, dressing-case, and +despatch-box, and Joseph Wilmot's carpet-bag. It was three o'clock when +the carriage drove away from the entrance of the Dolphin Hotel: it +wanted five minutes to four when Mr. Dunbar and his companion entered +the handsome hall of the George. +</p><p> +Throughout the drive the banker had been in very excellent spirits, +smoking cheroots, and admiring the lovely English landscape, the +spreading pastures, the glimpses of woodland, the hills beyond the grey +cathedral city, purple in the distance. +</p><p> +He had talked a good deal, making himself very familiar with his humble +friend. But he had not talked so much or so loudly as Joseph Wilmot. All +gloomy memories seemed to have melted away from this man's mind. His +former moody silence had been succeeded by a manner that was almost +unnaturally gay. A close observer would have detected that his laugh was +a little forced, his loudest merriment wanting in geniality: but Henry +Dunbar was not a close observer. People in Calcutta, who courted and +admired the rich banker, had been wont to praise the aristocratic ease +of his manner, which was not often disturbed by any vulgar demonstration +of his own emotions, and very rarely ruffled by any sympathy with the +joys, or pity for the sorrows, of his fellow-creatures. +</p><p> +His companion's ready wit and knowledge of the world--the very worst +part of the world, unhappily--amused the languid Anglo-Indian: and by +the time the travellers reached Winchester, they were on excellent terms +with each other. Joseph Wilmot was thoroughly at home with his patron; +and as the two men were dressed in the same fashion, and had pretty much +the same nonchalance of manner, it would have been very difficult for a +stranger to have discovered which was the servant and which the master. +</p><p> +One of them ordered dinner for eight o'clock, the best dinner the house +could provide. The luggage was taken up to a private room, and the two +men walked away from the hotel arm-in-arm. +</p><p> +They walked under the shadow of a low stone colonnade, and then turned +aside by the market-place, and made their way into the precincts of the +cathedral. There are quaint old courtyards, and shadowy quadrangles +hereabouts; there are pleasant gardens, where the flowers seem to grow +brighter in the sanctified shade than other flowers that flaunt in the +unhallowed sunshine. There are low old-fashioned houses, with Tudor +windows and ponderous porches, grey gables crowned with yellow +stone-moss, high garden-walls, queer nooks and corners, deep +window-seats in painted oriels, great oaken beams supporting low dark +ceilings, heavy clusters of chimneys half borne down by the weight of +the ivy that clings about them; and over all, the shadow of the great +cathedral broods, like a sheltering wing, preserving the cool quiet of +these cosy sanctuaries. +</p><p> +Beyond this holy shelter fair pastures stretch away to the feet of the +grassy hills: and a winding stream of water wanders in and out: now +hiding in dim groves of spreading elms: now creeping from the darkness, +with a murmuring voice and stealthy gliding motion, to change its very +nature, and become the noisiest brook that ever babbled over sunlit +pebbles on its way to the blue sea. +</p><p> +In one of the grey stone quadrangles close under the cathedral wall, the +two men, still arm-in-arm, stopped to make an inquiry about Mr. Michael +Marston, of the Ferns, St. Cross. +</p><p> +Alas! Ben Bolt, it is a fine thing to sail away to foreign shores and +prosper there; but it is not so pleasant to come home and hear that +Alice is dead and buried; that of all your old companions there is only +one left to greet you; and that even the brook, which rippled through +your boyish dreams, as you lay asleep amongst the rushes on its brink, +has dried up for ever! +</p><p> +Mr. Michael Marston had been dead more than ten, years. His widow, an +elderly lady, was still living at the Ferns. +</p><p> +This was the information which the two men obtained from a verger, whom +they found prowling about the quadrangle, Very little was said. One of +the men asked the necessary questions. But neither of them expressed +either regret or surprise. +</p><p> +They walked away silently, still arm-in-arm, towards the shady groves +and spreading pastures beyond the cathedral precincts. +</p><p> +The verger, who was elderly and slow, called after them in a feeble +voice as they went away: +</p><p> +"Maybe you'd like to see the cathedral, gentlemen; it's well worth +seeing." +</p><p> +But he received no answer. The two men were out of hearing, or did not +care to reply to him. +</p><p> +"We'll take a stroll towards St. Cross, and get an appetite for dinner," +Mr. Dunbar said, as he and his companion walked along a pathway, under +the shadow of a moss-grown wall, across a patch of meadow-land, and away +into the holy quiet of a grove. +</p><p> +A serene stillness reigned beneath the shelter of the spreading +branches. The winding streamlet rippled along amidst wild flowers and +trembling rushes; the ground beneath the feet of these two idle +wanderers was a soft bed of moss and rarely-trodden grass. +</p><p> +It was a lonely place this grove; for it lay between the meadows and the +high-road. Feeble old pensioners from St. Cross came here sometimes, but +not often. Enthusiastic disciples of old Izaak Walton now and then +invaded the holy quiet of the place: but not often. The loveliest spots +on earth are those where man seldom comes. +</p><p> +This spot was most lovely because of its solitude. Only the gentle +waving of the leaves, the long melodious note of a lonely bird, and the +low whisper of the streamlet, broke the silence. +</p><p> +The two men went into the grove arm-in-arm. One of them was talking, the +other listening, and smoking a cigar as he listened. They went into the +long arcade beneath the over-arching trees, and the sombre shadows +closed about them and hid them from the world. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch9"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER IX.</h4></center> +<center><h5>HOW HENRY DUNBAR WAITED DINNER.</h5></center> +<p> + +The old verger was still pottering about the grey quadrangle, sunning +himself in such glimpses of the glorious light as found their way into +that shadowy place, when one of the two gentlemen who had spoken to him +returned. He was smoking a cigar, and swinging his gold-headed cane +lightly as he came along. +</p><p> +"You may as well show me the cathedral," he said to the verger; "I +shouldn't like to leave Winchester without having seen it; that is to +say without having seen it again. I was here forty years ago, when I was +a boy; but I have been in India five-and-thirty years, and have seen +nothing but Pagan temples." +</p><p> +"And very beautiful them Pagan places be, sir, bain't they?" the old man +asked, as he unlocked a low door, leading into one of the side aisles of +the cathedral. +</p><p> +"Oh yes, very magnificent, of course. But as I was not a soldier, and +had no opportunity of handling any of the magnificence in the way of +diamonds and so forth, I didn't particularly care about them." +</p><p> +They were in the shadowy aisle by this time, and Mr. Dunbar was looking +about him with his hat in his hand. +</p><p> +"You didn't go on to the Ferns, then, sir?" said the verger. +</p><p> +"No, I sent my servant on to inquire if the old lady is at home. If I +find that she is, I shall sleep in Winchester to-night, and drive over +to-morrow morning to see her. Her husband was a very old friend of mine. +How far is it from here to the Ferns?" +</p><p> +"A matter of two mile, sir." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar looked at his watch. +</p><p> +"Then my man ought to be back in an hour's time," he said; "I told him +to come on to me here. I left him half-way between here and St. Cross." +</p><p> +"Is that other gentleman your servant, sir?" asked the verger, with +unmitigated surprise. +</p><p> +"Yes, that gentleman, as you call him, is, or rather was, my +confidential servant. He is a clever fellow, and I make a companion of +him. Now, if you please, we will see the chapels." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar evidently desired to put a stop to the garrulous inclinations +of the verger. +</p><p> +He walked through the aisle with a careless easy step, and with his head +erect, looking about him as he went along: but presently, while the +verger was busy unlocking the door of one of the chapels, Mr. Dunbar +suddenly reeled like a drunken man, and then dropped heavily upon an +oaken bench near the chapel-door. +</p><p> +The verger turned to look at him, and found him wiping the perspiration +from his forehead with his perfumed silk handkerchief. +</p><p> +"Don't be alarmed," he said, smiling at the man's scared face; "my +Indian habits have unfitted me for any exertion. The walk in the +broiling afternoon sun has knocked me up: or perhaps the wine I drank at +Southampton may have had something to do with it," he added, with a +laugh. +</p><p> +The verger ventured to laugh too: and the laughter of the two men echoed +harshly through the solemn place. +</p><p> +For more than an hour Mr. Dunbar amused himself by inspecting the +cathedral. He was eager to see everything, and to know the meaning of +everything. He peered into every nook and corner, going from monument to +monument with the patient talkative old verger at his heels; asking +questions about every thing he saw; trying to decipher half-obliterated +inscriptions upon long-forgotten tombs; sounding the praises of William +of Wykeham; admiring the splendid shrines, the sanctified relics of the +past, with the delight of a scholar and an antiquarian. +</p><p> +The old verger thought that he had never had so pleasant a task as that +of exhibiting his beloved cathedral to this delightful gentleman, just +returned from India, and ready to admire everything belonging to his +native land. +</p><p> +The verger was still better pleased when Mr. Dunbar gave him half a +sovereign as the reward for his afternoon's trouble. +</p><p> +"Thank you, sir, and kindly, to be sure," the old man cackled, +gratefully. "It's very seldom as I get gold for my trouble, sir. I've +shown this cathedral to a dook, sir; but the dook didn't treat me as +liberal as this here, sir." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar smiled. +</p><p> +"Perhaps not," he said; "the duke mightn't have been as rich a man as I +am in spite of his dukedom." +</p><p> +"No, to be sure, sir," the old man answered, looking admiringly at the +banker, and sighing plaintively. "It's well to be rich, sir, it is +indeed; and when one have twelve grand-children, and a bed-ridden wife, +one finds it hard, sir; one do indeed." +</p><p> +Perhaps the verger had faint hopes of another half sovereign from this +very rich gentleman. +</p><p> +But Mr. Dunbar seated himself upon a bench near the low doorway by which +he had entered the cathedral, and looked at his watch. +</p><p> +The verger looked at the watch too; it was a hundred-guinea chronometer, +a masterpiece of Benson's workmanship; and Mr. Dunbar's arms were +emblazoned upon the back. There was a locket attached to the massive +gold chain, the locket which contained Laura Dunbar's miniature. +</p><p> +"Seven o'clock," exclaimed the banker; "my servant ought to be here by +this time." +</p><p> +"So he ought, sir," said the verger, who was ready to agree to anything +Mr. Dunbar might say; "if he had only to go to the Ferns, sir, he might +have been back by this time easy." +</p><p> +"I'll smoke a cheroot while I wait for him," the banker said, passing +out into the quadrangle; "he's sure to come to this door to look for +me--I gave him particular orders to do so." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar finished his cheroot, and another, and the cathedral clock +chimed the three-quarters after seven, but Joseph Wilmot had not come +back from the Ferns. The verger waited upon his patron's pleasure, and +lingered in attendance upon him, though he would fain have gone home to +his tea, which in the common course he would have taken at five o'clock. +</p><p> +"Really this is too bad," cried the banker, as the clock chimed the +three-quarters; "Wilmot knows that I dine at eight, and that I expect +him to dine with me. I think I have a right to a little more +consideration from him. I shall go back to the George. Perhaps you'll be +good enough to wait here, and tell him to follow me." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar went away, still muttering, and the verger gave up all +thoughts of his tea, and waited conscientiously. He waited till the +cathedral clock struck nine, and the stars were bright in the dark blue +heaven above him: but he waited in vain. Joseph Wilmot had not come back +from the Ferns. +</p><p> +The banker returned to the George. A small round table was set in a +pleasant room on the first floor; a bright array of glass and silver +glittered under the light of five wax-candles in a silver candelabrum; +and the waiter was beginning to be nervous about the fish. +</p><p> +"You may countermand the dinner," Mr. Dunbar said, with evident +vexation: "I shall not dine till Mr. Wilmot, who is my old confidential +servant--my friend, I may say--returns." +</p><p> +"Has he gone far, sir?" +</p><p> +"To the Ferns, about a mile beyond St. Cross. I shall wait dinner for +him. Put a couple of candles on that writing-table, and bring me my +desk." +</p><p> +The waiter obeyed; he placed a pair of tall wax-candles upon the table; +and then brought the desk, or rather despatch-box, which had cost forty +pounds, and was provided with every possible convenience for a business +man, and every elegant luxury that the most extravagant traveller could +desire. It was like everything else about this man: it bore upon it the +stamp of almost limitless wealth. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and unlocked his +despatch-box. He was some little time doing this, as he had a difficulty +in finding the right key. He looked up and smiled at the waiter, who was +still hovering about, anxious to be useful. +</p><p> +"I <i>must</i> have taken too much Moselle at luncheon to-day," he said, +laughing, "or, at least, my enemies might say so, if they were to see me +puzzled to find the key of my own desk." +</p><p> +He had opened the box by this time, and was examining one of the +numerous packets of papers, which were arranged in very methodical +order, carefully tied together, and neatly endorsed. +</p><p> +"I am to put off the dinner, then, sir?" asked the waiter. +</p><p> +"Certainly; I shall wait for my friend, however long he may be. I'm not +particularly hungry, for I took a very substantial luncheon at +Southampton. I'll ring the bell if I change my mind." +</p><p> +The waiter departed with a sigh; and Henry Dunbar was left alone with +the contents of the open despatch-box spread out on the table before him +under the light of the tall wax-candles. +</p><p> +For nearly two hours he sat in the same attitude, examining the papers +one after the other, and re-sorting them. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar must have been possessed of the very spirit of order and +precision; for, although the papers had been neatly arranged before, he +re-sorted every one of them; tying up the packets afresh, reading letter +after letter, and making pencil memoranda in his pocket-book as he did +so. +</p><p> +He betrayed none of the impatience which is natural to a man who is kept +waiting by another. He was so completely absorbed by his occupation, +that he, perhaps, had forgotten all about the missing man: but at nine +o'clock he closed and locked the despatch-box, jumped up from his seat +and rang the bell. +</p><p> +"I am beginning to feel alarmed about my friend," he said; "will you ask +the landlord to come to me?" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar went to the window and looked out while the waiter was gone +upon this errand. The High Street was very quiet, a lamp glimmered here +and there, and the pavements were white in the moonlight. The footstep +of a passer-by sounded in the quiet street almost as it might have +sounded in the solemn cathedral aisle. +</p><p> +The landlord came to wait upon his guest. +</p><p> +"Can I be of any service to you, sir?" he asked, respectfully. +</p><p> +"You can be of very great service to me, if you can find my friend; I am +really getting alarmed about him." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar went on to say how he had parted with the missing man in the +grove, on the way to St. Cross, with the understanding that Wilmot was +to go on to the Ferns, and rejoin his old master in the cathedral. He +explained who Joseph Wilmot was, and in what relation he stood towards +him. +</p><p> +"I don't suppose there is any real cause for anxiety," the banker said, +in conclusion; "Wilmot owned to me that he had not been leading a sober +life of late years. He may have dropped into some roadside public-house +and be sitting boozing amongst a lot of country fellows at this moment. +It's really too bad of him." +</p><p> +The landlord shook his head. +</p><p> +"It is, indeed, sir; but I hope you won't wait dinner any longer, sir?" +</p><p> +"No, no; you can send up the dinner. I'm afraid I shall scarcely do +justice to your cook's achievements, for I took a very substantial +luncheon at Southampton." +</p><p> +The landlord brought in the silver soup-tureen with his own hands, and +uncorked a bottle of still hock, which Mr. Dunbar had selected from the +wine-list. There was something in the banker's manner that declared him +to be a person of no small importance; and the proprietor of the George +wished to do him honour. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had spoken the truth as to his appetite for his dinner. He +took a few spoonfuls of soup, he ate two or three mouthfuls of fish, and +then pushed away his plate. +</p><p> +"It's no use," he said, rising suddenly, and walking to the window; "I +am really uneasy about this fellow's absence." +</p><p> +He walked up and down the room two or three times, and then walked back +to the open window. The August night was hot and still; the shadows of +the queer old gabled roofs were sharply defined upon the moonlit +pavement. The quaint cross, the low stone colonnade, the solemn towers +of the cathedral, gave an ancient aspect to the quiet city. +</p><p> +The cathedral clock chimed the half-hour after nine while Mr. Dunbar +stood at the open window looking out into the street. +</p><p> +"I shall sleep here to-night," he said presently, without turning to +look at the landlord, who was standing behind him. "I shall not leave +Winchester without this fellow Wilmot. It is really too bad of him to +treat me in this manner. It is really very much too bad of him, taking +into consideration the position in which he stands towards me." +</p><p> +The banker spoke with the offended tone of a proud and selfish man, who +feels that he has been outraged by his inferior. The landlord of the +George murmured a few stereotyped phrases, expressive of his sympathy +with the wrongs of Henry Dunbar, and his entire reprobation of the +missing man's conduct. +</p><p> +"No, I shall not go to London to-night," Mr. Dunbar said; "though my +daughter, my only child, whom I have not seen for sixteen years, is +waiting for me at my town house. I shall not leave Winchester without +Joseph Wilmot." +</p><p> +"I'm sure it's very good of you, sir," the landlord murmured; "it's very +kind of you to think so much of this--ahem--person." +</p><p> +He had hesitated a little before the last word; for although Mr. Dunbar +spoke of Joseph Wilmot as his inferior and dependant, the landlord of +the George remembered that the missing man had looked quite as much a +gentleman as his companion. +</p><p> +The landlord still lingered in attendance upon Mr. Dunbar. The dishes +upon the table were still hidden under the glistening silver covers. +</p><p> +Surely such an unsatisfactory dinner had never before been served at the +George Hotel. +</p><p> +"I am getting seriously uncomfortable about this man," Mr. Dunbar +exclaimed at last. "Can you send a messenger to the Ferns, to ask if he +has been seen there?" +</p><p> +"Certainly, sir. One of the lads in the stable shall get a horse ready, +and ride over there directly. Will you write a note to Mrs. Marston, +sir?" +</p><p> +"A note? No. Mrs. Marston is a stranger to me. My old friend Michael +Marston did not marry until after I left England. A message will do just +as well. The lad has only to ask if any messenger from Mr. Dunbar has +called at the Ferns; and if so, at what time he was there, and at what +hour he left. That's all I want to know. Which way will the boy go; +through the meadows, or by the high road?" +</p><p> +"By the high road, sir; there's only a footpath across the meadows. The +shortest way to the Ferns is the pathway through the grove between here +and St. Cross; but you can only walk that way, for there's gates and +stiles, and such like." +</p><p> +"Yes, I know; it was there I parted from my servant--from this man +Wilmot." +</p><p> +"It's a pretty spot, sir, but very lonely at night; lonely enough in the +day, for the matter of that." +</p><p> +"Yes, it seems so. Send your messenger off at once, there's a good +fellow. Joseph Wilmot may be sitting drinking in the servants' hall at +the Ferns." +</p><p> +The landlord went away to do his guest's bidding. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar flung himself into a low easy-chair, and took up a newspaper. +But he did not read a line upon the page before him. He was in that +unsettled frame of mind which is common to the least nervous persons +when they are kept waiting, kept in suspense by some unaccountable +event. The absence of Joseph Wilmot became every moment more +unaccountable: and his old master made no attempt to conceal his +uneasiness. The newspaper dropped out of his hand: and he sat with his +face turned towards the door: listening. +</p><p> +He sat thus for more than an hour, and at the end of that time the +landlord came to him. +</p><p> +"Well?" exclaimed Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"The lad has come back, sir. No messenger from you or any one else has +called at the Ferns this afternoon." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar started suddenly to his feet, and stared at the landlord. He +paused for a few moments, watching the man's face with a thoughtful +countenance. Then he said, slowly and deliberately,-- +</p><p> +"I am afraid that something has happened." +</p><p> +The landlord fidgeted with his ponderous watch-chain, and shrugged his +shoulders with a dubious gesture. +</p><p> +"Well, it is <i>strange</i>, sir, to say the least of it. But you don't think +that----" +</p><p> +He looked at Henry Dunbar as if scarcely knowing how to finish his +sentence. +</p><p> +"I don't know what to think," exclaimed the banker. "Remember, I am +almost as much a stranger in this country as if I had never set foot on +British soil before to-day. This man may have played me a trick, and +gone off for some purpose of his own, though I don't know what purpose. +He could have best served his own interests by staying with me. On the +other hand, something may have happened to him. And yet what <i>can</i> have +happened to him?" +</p><p> +The landlord suggested that the missing man might have fallen down in a +fit, or might have loitered somewhere or other until after dark, and +then lost his way, and wandered into a mill-stream. There was many a +deep bit of water between Winchester Cathedral and the Ferns, the +landlord said. +</p><p> +"Let a search be made at daybreak to-morrow morning," exclaimed Mr. +Dunbar. "I don't care what it costs me, but I am determined this +business shall be cleared up before I leave Winchester. Let every inch +of ground between this and the Ferns be searched at daybreak to-morrow +morning; let----" +</p><p> +He did not finish the sentence, for there was a sudden clamour of +voices, and trampling, and hubbub in the hall below. The landlord opened +the door, and went out upon the broad landing-place, followed by Mr. +Dunbar. +</p><p> +The hall below was crowded by the servants of the place, and by eager +strangers who had pressed in from outside; and the two men standing at +the top of the stairs heard a hoarse murmur; which seemed all in one +voice, though it was in reality a blending of many voices; and which +grew louder and louder, until it swelled into the awful word "Murder!" +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar heard it and understood it, for his handsome face grew of a +bluish white, like snow in the moonlight, and he leaned his hand upon +the oaken balustrade. +</p><p> +The landlord passed his guest, and ran down the stairs. It was no time +for ceremony. +</p><p> +He came back again in less than five minutes, looking almost as pale as +Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +"I'm afraid your friend--your servant--is found, sir," he said. +</p><p> +"You don't mean that he is----" +</p><p> +"I'm afraid it is so, sir. It seems that two Irish reapers, coming from +Farmer Matfield's, five mile beyond St. Cross, stumbled against a man +lying in a little streamlet under the trees----" +</p><p> +"Under the trees! Where?" +</p><p> +"In the very place where you parted from this Mr. Wilmot, sir." +</p><p> +"Good God! Well?" +</p><p> +"The man was dead, sir; quite dead. They carried him to the Foresters' +Arms, sir, as that was the nearest place to where they found him; and +there's been a doctor sent for, and a deal of fuss: but the doctor--Mr. +Cricklewood, a very respectable gentleman, sir--says that the man had +been lying in the water hours and hours, and that the murder had been +done hours and hours ago." +</p><p> +"The murder!" cried Henry Dunbar; "but he may not have been murdered! +His death may have been accidental. He wandered into the water, +perhaps." +</p><p> +"Oh, no, sir; it's not that. He wasn't drowned; for the water where he +was found wasn't three foot deep. He had been strangled, sir; strangled +with a running-noose of rope; strangled from behind, sir, for the +slip-knot was pulled tight at the back of his neck. Mr. Cricklewood the +surgeon's in the hall below, if you'd like to see him; and he knows all +about it. It seems, from what the two Irishmen say, that the body was +dragged into the water by the rope. There was the track of where it had +been dragged along the grass. I'm sure, sir, I'm very sorry such an +awful thing should have happened to the--the person who attended you +here." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had need of sympathy. His white face was turned towards the +landlord's, fixed in a blank stare. He had not seemed to listen to the +man's account of the crime that had been committed, and yet he had +evidently heard everything; for he said presently, in slow, thick +accents,-- +</p><p> +"Strangled--and the body dragged down--to the water Who--who could--have +done it?" +</p><p> +"Ah! that's the question, indeed, sir. It must all have been done for +the sake of a bit of money, I suppose; for there was an empty +pocket-book found by the water's edge. There are always tramps and +such-like about the country at this time of year; and some of them will +commit almost any crime for the sake of a few pounds. I remember--ah, as +long ago as forty years and more--when I was a bit of a boy in +pinafores, there was a gentleman murdered on the Twyford road, and they +did say----" +</p><p> +But Mr. Dunbar was in no humour to listen to the landlord's +reminiscences. He interrupted the man's story with a long-drawn sigh,-- +</p><p> +"Is there anything I can do? What am I to do?" he said. "Is there +anything I can do?" +</p><p> +"Nothing, sir, until to-morrow. The inquest will be held to-morrow, I +suppose." +</p><p> +"Yes--yes, to be sure. There'll be an inquest." +</p><p> +"An inquest! Oh, yes, sir; of course there will," answered the landlord. +</p><p> +"Remember that I am a stranger to English habits. I don't know what +steps ought to be taken in such a case as this. Should there not be some +attempt made to find--the--the murderer?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir; I've <i>no doubt</i> the constables are on the look-out already. +There'll be every effort made, depend upon it; but I'm really afraid +this is a case in which the murderer will escape from justice." +</p><p> +"Why so?" +</p><p> +"Because, you see, sir, the man has had plenty of time to get off; and +unless he's a fool, he must be far away from here by this time, and then +what is there to trace him by--that's to say, unless you could identify +the money, or watch and chain, or what not, which the murdered man had +about him?" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar shook his head. +</p><p> +"I don't even know whether he wore a watch and chain," he said; "I only +met him this morning. I have no idea what money he may have had about +him." +</p><p> +"Would you like to see the doctor, sir--Mr. Cricklewood?" +</p><p> +"Yes--no--you have told me all that there is to tell, I suppose?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +"I shall go to bed. I'm thoroughly upset by all this. Stay. Is it a +settled thing that this man who has been found murdered is the person +who accompanied me to this house to-day?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, sir; there's no doubt about that. One of our people went down +to the Foresters' Arms, out of curiosity, as you may say, and he +recognized the murdered man directly as the very gentleman that came +into this house with you, sir, at four o'clock to-day." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar retired to the apartment that had been prepared for him. It +was a spacious and handsome chamber, the best room in the hotel; and one +of the waiters attended upon the rich man. +</p><p> +"As you've been accustomed to have your valet about you, you'll find it +awkward, sir," the landlord had said; "so I'll send Henry to wait upon +you." +</p><p> +This Henry, who was a smart, active young fellow, unpacked Mr. Dunbar's +portmanteau, unlocked his dressing-case, and spread the gold-topped +crystal bottles and shaving apparatus upon the dressing-table. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar sat in an easy-chair before the looking-glass, staring +thoughtfully at the reflection of his own face, pale in the light of the +tall wax-candles. +</p><p> +He got up early the next morning, and before breakfasting he despatched +a telegraphic message to the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. +</p><p> +It was from Henry Maddison Dunbar to William Balderby, and it consisted +of these words:-- +</p><p> +"<i>Pray come to me directly, at the George, Winchester. A very awful +event has happened; and I am in great trouble and perplexity. Bring a +lawyer with you. Let my daughter know that I shall not come to London +for some days</i>." +</p><p> +All this time the body of the murdered man lay on a long table in a +darkened chamber at the Foresters' Arms. +</p><p> +The rigid outline of the corpse was plainly visible under the linen +sheet that shrouded it; but the door of the dread chamber was locked, +and no one was to enter until the coming of the coroner. +</p><p> +Meanwhile the Foresters' Arms did more business than had been done there +in the same space of time within the memory of man. People went in and +out, in and out, all through the long morning; little groups clustered +together in the bar, discoursing in solemn under-tones; and other groups +straggled on the seemed as if every living creature in Winchester was +talking of the murder that had been done in the grove near St. Cross. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar sat in his own room, waiting for an answer to the +telegraphic message. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch10"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER X.</h4></center> +<center><h5>LAURA DUNBAR.</h5></center> +<p> + +While these things had been happening between London and Southampton, +Laura Dunbar, the banker's daughter, had been anxiously waiting the +coming of her father. +</p><p> +She resembled her mother, Lady Louisa Dunbar, the youngest daughter of +the Earl of Grantwick, a very beautiful and aristocratic woman. She had +met Mr. Dunbar in India, after the death of her first husband, a young +captain in a cavalry regiment, who had been killed in an encounter with +the Sikhs a year after his marriage, leaving his young widow with an +infant daughter, a helpless baby of six weeks old. +</p><p> +The poor, high-born Lady Louisa Macmahon was left most desolate and +miserable after the death of her first husband. She was very poor, and +she knew that her relations in England were very little better off than +herself. She was almost as helpless as her six-weeks' old baby; she was +heart-broken by the loss of the handsome young Irishman, whom she had +fondly loved; and ill and broken down by her sorrows, she lingered in +Calcutta, subsisting upon her pension, and too weak to undertake the +perils of the voyage home. +</p><p> +It was at this time that poor widowed Lady Louisa met Henry Dunbar, the +rich banker. She came in contact with him on account of some money +arrangements of her dead husband's, who had always banked with Dunbar +and Dunbar; and Henry, then getting on for forty years of age, had +fallen desperately in love with the beautiful young widow. +</p><p> +There is no need for me to dwell upon the history of this courtship. +Lady Louisa married the rich man eighteen months after her first +husband's death. Little Dorothea Macmahon was sent to England with a +native nurse, and placed under the care of her maternal relatives; and +Henry Dunbar's beautiful wife became queen of the best society in the +city of palaces, by the right of her own rank and her husband's wealth. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar loved her desperately, as even a selfish man can sometimes +love for once in his life. +</p><p> +But Lady Louisa never truly returned the millionaire's affection. She +was haunted by the memory of her first and purest love; she was tortured +by remorseful thoughts about the fatherless child who had been so +ruthlessly banished from her. Henry Dunbar was a jealous man, and he +grudged the love which his wife bore to his dead rival's child. It was +by his contrivance the girl had been sent from India. +</p><p> +Lady Louisa Dunbar held her place in Calcutta society for two years. But +in the very hour when her social position was most brilliant, her beauty +in the full splendour of its prime, she died so suddenly that the +fashionables of Calcutta were discussing the promised splendour of a +ball, for which Lady Louisa had issued her invitations, when the tidings +of her death spread like wildfire through the city--Henry Dunbar was a +widower. He might have married again, had he pleased to do so. The +proudest beauty in Calcutta would have been glad to become the wife of +the sole heir of that dingy banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. +</p><p> +There was a good deal of excitement upon this subject in the matrimonial +market for two or three years after Lady Louisa's death. A good many +young ladies were expressly imported from England by anxious papas and +mammas, with a view to the capture of the wealthy widower. +</p><p> +But though Griselda's yellow hair fell down to her waist in glossy, +rippling curls, that shone like molten gold; though Amanda's black eyes +glittered like the stars in a midnight sky; though the dashing Georgina +was more graceful than Diana, the gentle Lavinia more beautiful than +Venus,--Mr. Dunbar went among them without pleasure, and left them +without regret. +</p><p> +The charms of all these ladies concentrated in the person of one perfect +woman would have had no witchery for the banker. His heart was dead. He +had given all the truth, all the passion of which his nature was +capable, to the one woman who had possessed the power to charm him. +</p><p> +To seek to win love from him was about as hopeless as it would have been +to ask alms of a man whose purse was empty. The bright young English +beauties found this out by and by, and devoted themselves to other +speculations in the matrimonial market. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar sent his little girl, his only child, to England. He parted +with her, not because of his indifference, but rather by reason of his +idolatry. It was the only unselfish act of his life, this parting with +his child; and yet even in this there was selfishness. +</p><p> +"It would be sweet to me to keep her here," he thought; "but then, if +the climate should kill her; if I should lose her, as I lost her mother? +I will send her away from me now, that she may be my blessing by-and-by, +when I return to England after my father's death." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar had sworn when he left the office in St. Gundolph Lane, +after the discovery of the forgery, that he would never look upon his +father's face again,--and he kept his oath. +</p><p> +This was the father to whose coming Laura Dunbar looked forward with +eager anxiety, with a heart overflowing with tender womanly love. +</p><p> +She was a very beautiful girl; so beautiful that her presence was like +the sunlight, and made the meanest place splendid. There was a +queenliness in her beauty, which she inherited from her mother's +high-born race. But though her beauty was queenlike, it was not +imperious. There was no conscious pride in her aspect, no cold hauteur +in her ever-changing face. She was such a woman as might have sat by the +side of an English king to plead for all trembling petitioners kneeling +on the steps of the throne. She would have been only in her fitting +place beneath the shadow of a regal canopy; for in soul, as well as in +aspect, she was worthy to be a queen. She was like some tall white lily, +unconsciously beautiful, unconsciously grand; and the meanest natures +kindled with a faint glow of poetry when they came in contact with her. +</p><p> +She had been spoiled by an adoring nurse, a devoted governess, masters +who had fallen madly in love with their pupil, and servants who were +ready to worship their young mistress. Yes, according to the common +acceptation of the term, she had been spoiled; she had been allowed to +have her own way in everything; to go hither and thither, free as the +butterflies in her carefully tended garden; to scatter her money right +and left; to be imposed upon and cheated by every wandering vagabond who +found his way to her gates; to ride, and hunt, and drive--to do as she +liked, in short. And I am fain to say that the consequence of all this +foolish and reprehensible indulgence had been to make the young heiress +of Maudesley Abbey the most fascinating woman in all Warwickshire. +</p><p> +She was a little capricious, just a trifle wayward, I will confess. But +then that trifling waywardness gave just the spice that was wanting to +this grand young lily. The white lilies are never more beautiful than +when they wave capriciously in the summer wind; and if Laura Dunbar was +a little passionate when you tried to thwart her; and if her great blue +eyes at such times had a trick of lighting up with sudden fire in them, +like a burst of lurid sunlight through a summer storm-cloud, there were +plenty of gentlemen in Warwickshire ready to swear that the sight of +those lightning-flashes of womanly anger was well worth the penalty of +incurring Miss Dunbar's displeasure. +</p><p> +She was only eighteen, and had not yet "come out." But she had seen a +great deal of society, for it had been the delight of her grandfather to +have her perpetually with him. +</p><p> +She travelled from Maudesley Abbey to Portland Place in the company of +her nurse,--a certain Elizabeth Madden, who had been Lady Louisa's own +maid before her marriage with Captain Macmahon, and who was devotedly +attached to the motherless girl. +</p><p> +But Mrs. Madden was not Laura Dunbar's only companion upon this +occasion. She was accompanied by her half-sister, Dora Macmahon, who of +late years had almost lived at the Abbey, much to the delight of Laura. +Nor was the little party without an escort; for Arthur Lovell, the son +of the principal solicitor in the town of Shorncliffe, near Maudesley +Abbey, attended Miss Dunbar to London. +</p><p> +This young man had been a very great favourite with Percival Dunbar and +had been a constant visitor at the Abbey. Before the old man died, he +told Arthur Lovell to act in everything as Laura's friend and legal +adviser; and the young lawyer was very enthusiastic in behalf of his +beautiful client. Why should I seek to make a mystery of this +gentleman's feelings? He loved her. He loved this girl, who, by reason +of her father's wealth, was as far removed from him as if she had been a +duchess. He paid a terrible penalty for every happy hour, every +delicious day of simple and innocent enjoyment, that he had spent at +Maudesley Abbey; for he loved Laura Dunbar, and he feared that his love +was hopeless. +</p><p> +It was hopeless in the present, at any rate; for although he was +handsome, clever, high-spirited, and honourable, a gentleman in the +noblest sense of that noble word, he was no fit husband for the daughter +of Henry Dunbar. He was an only son, and he was heir to a very +comfortable little fortune: but he knew that the millionaire would have +laughed him to scorn had he dared to make proposals for Laura's hand. +</p><p> +But was his love hopeless in the future? That was the question which he +perpetually asked himself. +</p><p> +He was proud and ambitious. He knew that he was clever; he could not +help knowing this, though he was entirely without conceit. A government +appointment in India had been offered to him through the intervention of +a nobleman, a friend of his father's. This appointment would afford the +chance of a noble career to a man who knew how to seize the golden +opportunity, which mediocrity neglects, but which genius makes the +stepping-stone to greatness. +</p><p> +The nobleman who made the offer to Arthur Lovell had written to say that +there was no necessity for an immediate decision. If Arthur accepted the +appointment, he would not be obliged to leave England until the end of a +twelvemonth, as the vacancy would not occur before that time. +</p><p> +"In the meanwhile," Lord Herriston wrote to the solicitor, "your son can +think the matter over, my dear Lovell, and make his decision with all +due deliberation." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had already made that decision. +</p><p> +"I will go to India," he said; "for if ever I am to win Laura Dunbar, I +must succeed in life. But before I go I will tell her that I love her. +If she returns my love, my struggles will be sweet to me, for they will +be made for her sake. If she does not----" +</p><p> +He did not finish the sentence even in his own mind. He could not bear +to think that it was possible he might hear his death-knell from the +lips he worshipped. He had gladly seized upon the opportunity afforded +by this visit to the town house. +</p><p> +"I will speak to her before her father returns," he thought; "she will +speak the truth to me now fearlessly; for it is her nature to be +fearless and candid as a child. But his coming may change her. She is +fond of him, and will be ruled by him. Heaven grant he may rule her +wisely and gently!" +</p><p> +On the 17th of August, Laura and Mrs. Madden arrived in Portland Place. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell parted with his beautiful client at the railway station, +and drove off to the hotel at which he was in the habit of staying. He +called upon Miss Dunbar on the 18th; but found that she was out shopping +with Mrs. Madden. He called again, on the morning of the 19th; that +bright sunny August morning on which the body of the murdered man lay in +the darkened chamber at Winchester. +</p><p> +It was only ten o'clock when the young lawyer made his appearance in the +pleasant morning-room occupied by Laura Dunbar whenever she stayed in +Portland Place. The breakfast equipage was still upon the table in the +centre of the room. Mrs. Madden, who was companion, housekeeper, and +confidential maid to her charming young mistress, was officiating at the +breakfast-table; Dora Macmahon was sitting near her, with an open book +by the side of her breakfast-cup; and Miss Laura Dunbar was lounging in +a low easy-chair, near a broad window that opened into a conservatory +filled with exotics, that made the air heavy with their almost +overpowering perfume. +</p><p> +She rose as Arthur Lovell came into the room, and she looked more like a +lily than ever in her long loose morning-dress of soft semi-diaphanous +muslin. Her thick auburn hair was twisted into a diadem that crowned her +broad white forehead, and added a couple of inches to her height. She +held out her little ringed hand, and the jewels on the white fingers +scintillated in the sunlight. +</p><p> +"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Lovell," she said. "Dora and I have been +miserable, haven't we, Dora? London is as dull as a desert. I went for a +drive yesterday, and the Lady's Mile is as lonely as the Great Sahara. +There are plenty of theatres open, and there was a concert at one of the +opera-houses last night; but that disagreeable Elizabeth wouldn't allow +me to go to any one of those entertainments. Grandpapa would have taken +me. Dear grandpapa went everywhere with me." +</p><p> +Mrs. Madden shook her head solemnly. +</p><p> +"Your gran'pa would have gone after you to the remotest end of this +world, Miss Laura, if you'd so much as held your finger up to beckon of +him. Your gran'pa spiled you, Miss Laura. A pretty thing it would have +been if your pa had come all the way from India to find his only +daughter gallivanting at a theaytre." +</p><p> +Miss Dunbar looked at her old nurse with an arch smile. She was very +lovely when she smiled; she was very lovely when she frowned. She was +most beautiful always, Arthur Lovell thought. +</p><p> +"But I shouldn't have been gallivanting, you dear old Madden," she +cried, with a joyous silver laugh, that was like the ripple of a cascade +under a sunny sky. "I should only have been sitting quietly in a private +box, with my rapid, precious, aggravating, darling old nurse to keep +watch and ward over me. Besides, how could papa be angry with me upon +the first day of his coming home?" +</p><p> +Mrs. Madden shook her head again even more solemnly than before. +</p><p> +"I don't know about that, Miss Laura. You mustn't expect to find Mr. +Dunbar like your gran'pa." +</p><p> +A sudden cloud fell upon the girl's lovely face. +</p><p> +"Why, Elizabeth," she said, "you don't mean that papa will be unkind to +me?" +</p><p> +"I don't know your pa, Miss Laura. I never set eyes upon Mr. Dunbar in +my life. But the Indian servant that brought you over, when you was but +a bit of a baby, said that your pa was proud and passionate; and that +even your poor mar, which he loved her better than any livin' creature +upon this earth, was almost afraid of him." +</p><p> +The smile had quite vanished from Laura Dunbar's face by this time, and +the blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. +</p><p> +"Oh, what shall I do if my father is unkind to me?" she said, piteously. +"I have so looked forward to his coming home. I have counted the very +days; and if he is unkind to me--if he does not love me----" +</p><p> +She covered her face with her hands, and turned away her head. "Laura," +exclaimed Arthur Lovell, addressing her for the first time by her +Christian name, "how could any one help loving you? How----" +</p><p> +He stopped, half ashamed of his passionate enthusiasm. In those few +words he had revealed the secret of his heart: but Laura Dunbar was too +innocent to understand the meaning of those eager words. +</p><p> +Mrs. Madden understood them perfectly; and she smiled approvingly at the +young man. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell was a great favourite with Laura Dunbar's nurse. She knew +that he adored her young mistress; and she looked upon him as a model of +all that is noble and chivalrous. +</p><p> +She began to fidget with the silver tea-canisters; and then looked +significantly at Dora Macmahon. But Miss Macmahon did not understand +that significant glance. Her dark eyes--and she had very beautiful eyes, +with a grave, half-pensive softness in their sombre depths--were fixed +upon the two young faces in the sunny window; the girl's face clouded +with a look of sorrowful perplexity, the young man's face eloquent with +tender meaning. Dora Macmahon's colour went and came as she looked at +that earnest countenance, and the fingers which were absently turning +the leaves of her book were faintly tremulous. +</p><p> +"Your new bonnet's come home this morning, Miss Dora," Elizabeth Madden +said, rather sharply. "Perhaps you'd like to come up-stairs and have a +look at it." +</p><p> +"My new bonnet!" murmured Dora, vaguely. +</p><p> +"La, yes, miss; the new bonnet you bought in Regent Street only +yesterday afternoon. I never did see such a forgetful wool-gathering +young lady in all my life as you are this blessed morning, Miss Dora." +</p><p> +The absent-minded young lady rose suddenly, bewildered by Mrs. Madden's +animated desire for an inspection of the bonnet. But she very willingly +left the room with Laura's old nurse, who was accustomed to have her +mandates obeyed even by the wayward heiress of Maudesley Abbey; and +Laura was left alone with the young lawyer. +</p><p> +Miss Dunbar had seated herself once more in the low easy-chair by the +window. She sat with her elbow resting on the cushioned arm of the +chair, and her head supported by her hand. Her eyes were fixed, and +looked straight before her, with a thoughtful gaze that was strange to +her: for her nature was as joyous as that of a bird, whose music fills +all the wide heaven with one rejoicing psalm. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell drew his chair nearer to the thoughtful girl. +</p><p> +"Laura," he said, "why are you so silent? I never saw you so serious +before, except after your grandfather's death." +</p><p> +"I am thinking of my father," she answered, in a low, tremulous voice, +that was broken by her tears: "I am thinking that, perhaps, he will not +love me." +</p><p> +"Not love you, Laura! who could help loving you? Oh, if I dared--if I +could venture--I must speak, Laura Dunbar. My whole life hangs upon the +issue, and I will speak. I am not a poor man, Laura; but you are so +divided from the rest of the world by your father's wealth, that I have +feared to speak. I have feared to tell you that which you might have +discovered for yourself, had you not been as innocent as your own pet +doves in the dovecote at Maudesley." +</p><p> +The girl looked at him with wondering eyes that were still wet with +unshed tears. +</p><p> +"I love you, Laura; I love you. The world would call me beneath you in +station, now; but I am a man, and I have a man's ambition--a strong +man's iron will. Everything is possible to him who has sworn to conquer; +and for your sake. Laura, for your love I should overcome obstacles that +to another man might be invincible. I am going to India, Laura: I am +going to carve my way to fame and fortune, for fame and fortune are +<i>slaves</i> that come at the brave man's bidding; they are only <i>masters</i> +when the coward calls them. Remember, my beloved one, this wealth that +now stands between you and me may not always be yours. Your father is +not an old man; he may marry again, and have a son to inherit his +wealth. Would to Heaven, Laura, that it might be so! But be that as it +may, I despair of nothing if I dare hope for your love. Oh, Laura, +dearest, one word to tell me that I <i>may</i> hope! Remember how happy we +have been together; little children playing with flowers and butterflies +in the gardens at Maudesley; boy and girl, rambling hand-in-hand beside +the wandering Avon; man and woman standing in mournful silence by your +grandfather's deathbed. The past is a bond of union betwixt us, Laura. +Look back at all those happy days and give me one word, my darling--one +word to tell me that you love me." +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar looked up at him with a sweet smile, and laid her soft +white hand in his. +</p><p> +"I do love you, Arthur," she said, "as dearly as I should have loved my +brother had I ever known a brother's love." +</p><p> +The young man bowed his head in silence. When he looked up, Laura Dunbar +saw that he was very pale. +</p><p> +"You only love me as a brother, Laura?" +</p><p> +"How else should I love you?" she asked, innocently. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell looked at her with a mournful smile; a tender smile that +was exquisitely beautiful, for it was the look of a man who is prepared +to resign his own happiness for the sake of her he loves. +</p><p> +"Enough, Laura," he said, quietly; "I have received my sentence. You do +not love me, dearest; you have yet to suffer life's great fever." +</p><p> +She clasped her hands, and looked at him beseechingly. +</p><p> +"You are not angry with me, Arthur?" she said. +</p><p> +"Angry with you, my sweet one!" +</p><p> +"And you will still love me?" +</p><p> +"Yes, Laura, with all a brother's devotion. And if ever you have need of +my services, you shall find what it is to have a faithful friend, who +holds his life at small value beside your happiness." +</p><p> +He said no more, for there was the sound of carriage-wheels below the +window, and then a loud double-knock at the hall-door. +</p><p> +Laura started to her feet, and her bright face grew pale. +</p><p> +"My father has come!" she exclaimed. +</p><p> +But it was not her father. It was Mr. Balderby, who had just come from +St. Gundolph Lane, where he had received Henry Dunbar's telegraphic +despatch. +</p><p> +Every vestige of colour faded out of Laura's face as she recognized the +junior partner of the banking-house. +</p><p> +"Something has happened to my father!" she cried. +</p><p> +"No, no, Miss Dunbar!" exclaimed Mr. Balderby, anxious to reassure her. +"Your father has arrived in England safely, and is well, as I believe. +He is staying at Winchester; and he has telegraphed to me to go to him +there immediately." +</p><p> +"Something has happened, then?" +</p><p> +"Yes, but not to Mr. Dunbar individually; so far as I can make out by +the telegraphic message. I was to come to you here, Miss Dunbar, to tell +you not to expect your papa for some few days; and then I am to go on to +Winchester, taking a lawyer with me." +</p><p> +"A lawyer!" exclaimed Laura. +</p><p> +"Yes, I am going to Lincoln's Inn immediately to Messrs. Walford and +Walford, our own solicitors." +</p><p> +"Let Mr. Lovell go with you," cried Miss Dunbar; "he always acted as +poor grandpapa's solicitor. Let him go with you." +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Balderby," exclaimed the young man, "I beg you to allow me to +accompany you. I shall be very glad to be of service to Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby hesitated for a few moments. +</p><p> +"Well, I really don't see why you shouldn't go, if you wish to do so," +he said, presently. "Mr. Dunbar says he wants a lawyer; he doesn't name +any particular lawyer. We shall save time by your going; for we shall be +able to catch the eleven o'clock express." +</p><p> +He looked at his watch. +</p><p> +"There's not a moment to lose. Good morning, Miss Dunbar. We'll take +care of your papa, and bring him to you in triumph. Come, Lovell." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell shook hands with Laura, murmured a few words in her ear, +and hurried away with Mr. Balderby. +</p><p> +She had spoken the death-knell of his dearest hopes. He had seen his +sentence in her innocent face; but he loved her still. +</p><p> +There was something in her virginal candour, her bright young +loveliness, that touched the noblest chords of his heart. He loved her +with a chivalrous devotion, which, after all, is as natural to the +breast of a young Englishman in these modern days, miscalled degenerate, +as when the spotless knight King Arthur loved and wooed his queen. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch11"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE INQUEST.</h5></center> +<p> + +The coroner's inquest, which had been appointed to take place at noon +that day, was postponed until three o'clock in the afternoon, in +compliance with the earnest request of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +When ever was the earnest request of a millionaire refused? +</p><p> +The coroner, who was a fussy little man, very readily acceded to Mr. +Dunbar's entreaties. +</p><p> +"I am a stranger in England," the Anglo-Indian said; "I was never in my +life present at an inquest. The murdered man was connected with me. He +was last seen in my company. It is vitally necessary that I should have +a legal adviser to watch the proceedings on my behalf. Who knows what +dark suspicions may arise, affecting my name and honour?" +</p><p> +The banker made this remark in the presence of four or five of the +jurymen, the coroner, and Mr. Cricklewood, the surgeon who had been +called in to examine the body of the man supposed to have been murdered. +Every one of those gentlemen protested loudly and indignantly against +the idea of the bare possibility that any suspicion, or the shadow of a +suspicion, could attach to such a man as Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +They knew nothing of him, of course, except that he was Henry Dunbar, +chief of the rich banking-house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, and +that he was a millionaire. +</p><p> +Was it likely that a millionaire would commit a murder? +</p><p> +When had a millionaire ever been known to commit a murder? Never, of +course! +</p><p> +The Anglo-Indian sat in his private sitting-room at the George Hotel, +writing, and examining his papers--perpetually writing, perpetually +sorting and re-sorting those packets of letters in the +despatch-box--while he waited for the coming of Mr. Balderby. +</p><p> +The postponement of the coroner's inquest was a very good thing for the +landlord of the Foresters' Arms. People went in and out, and loitered +about the premises, and lounged in the bar, drinking and talking all the +morning, and the theme of every conversation was the murder that had +been done in the grove on the way to St. Cross. +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby and Arthur Lovell arrived at the George a few minutes +before two o'clock. They were shown at once into the apartment in which +Henry Dunbar sat waiting for them. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had been thinking of Laura and Laura's father throughout +the journey from London. He had wondered, as he got nearer and nearer to +Winchester, what would be his first impression respecting Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +That first impression was not a good one--no, it was not a good one. Mr. +Dunbar was a handsome man--a very handsome man--tall and +aristocratic-looking, with a certain haughty pace in his manner that +harmonized well with his good looks. But, in spite of all this, the +impression which he made upon the mind of Arthur Lovell was not an +agreeable one. +</p><p> +The young lawyer had heard the story of the forgery vaguely hinted at by +those who were familiar with the history of the Dunbar family; and he +had heard that the early life of Henry Dunbar had been that of a selfish +spendthrift. +</p><p> +Perhaps this may have had some influence upon his feelings in this his +first meeting with the father of the woman he loved. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar told the story of the murder. The two men were +inexpressibly shocked by this story. +</p><p> +"But where is Sampson Wilmot?" exclaimed Mr. Balderby. "It was he whom I +sent to meet you, knowing that he was the only person in the office who +remembered you, or whom you remembered." +</p><p> +"Sampson was taken ill upon the way, according to his brother's story," +Mr. Dunbar answered. "Joseph left the poor old man somewhere upon the +road." +</p><p> +"He did not say where?" +</p><p> +"No; and, strange to say, I forgot to ask him the question. The poor +fellow amused me by old memories of the past on the road between +Southampton and this place, and we therefore talked very little of the +present." +</p><p> +"Sampson must be very ill," exclaimed Mr. Balderby, "or he would +certainly have returned to St. Gundolph Lane to tell me what had taken +place." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar smiled. +</p><p> +"If he was too ill to go on to Southampton, he would, of course, be too +ill to return to London," he said, with supreme indifference. +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby, who was a good-hearted man, was distressed at the idea of +Sampson Wilmot's desolation; an old man, stricken with sudden illness, +and abandoned to strangers. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell was silent: he sat a little way apart from the two others, +watching Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +At three o'clock the inquest commenced. The witnesses summoned were the +two Irishmen, Patrick Hennessy and Philip Murtock, who had found the +body in the stream near St. Cross; Mr. Cricklewood, the surgeon; the +verger, who had seen and spoken to the two men, and who had afterwards +shown the cathedral to Mr. Dunbar; the landlord of the George, and the +waiter who had received the travellers and had taken Mr. Dunbar's orders +for the dinner; and Henry Dunbar himself. +</p><p> +There were a great many people in the room, for by this time the tidings +of the murder had spread far and wide. There were influential people +present, amongst others, Sir Arden Westhorpe, one of the county +magistrates resident at Winchester. Arthur Lovell, Mr. Balderby, and the +Anglo-Indian sat in a little group apart from the rest. +</p><p> +The jurymen were ranged upon either side of a long mahogany table. The +coroner sat at the top. +</p><p> +But before the examination of the witnesses was commenced, the jurymen +were conducted into that dismal chamber where the dead man lay upon one +of the long tap-room tables. Arthur Lovell went with them; and Mr. +Cricklewood, the surgeon, proceeded to examine the corpse, so as to +enable him to give evidence respecting the cause of death. +</p><p> +The face of the dead man was distorted and blackened by the agony of +strangulation. The coroner and the jurymen looked at that dead face with +wondering, awe-stricken glances. Sometimes a cruel stab, that goes +straight home to the heart, will leave the face of the murdered as calm, +as the face of a sleeping child. +</p><p> +But in this case it was not so. The horrible stamp of assassination was +branded upon that rigid brow. Horror, surprise, and the dread agony of +sudden death were all blended in the expression of the face. +</p><p> +The jurymen talked a little to one another in scarcely audible whispers, +asked a few questions of the surgeon, and then walked softly from the +darkened room. +</p><p> +The facts of the case were very simple, and speedily elicited. But +whatever the truth of that awful story might be, there was nothing that +threw any light upon the mystery. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell, watching the case in the interests of Mr. Dunbar, asked +several questions of the witnesses. Henry Dunbar was himself the first +person examined. He gave a very simple and intelligible account of all +that had taken place from the moment of his landing at Southampton. +</p><p> +"I found the deceased waiting to receive me when I landed," he said. "He +told me that he came as a substitute for another person. I did not know +him at first--that is to say, I did not recognize him as the valet who +had been in my service prior to my leaving England five-and-thirty years +ago. But he made himself known to me afterwards, and he told me that he +had met his brother in London on the sixteenth of this month, and had +travelled with him part of the way to Southampton. He also told me that, +on the way to Southampton, his brother, Sampson Wilmot, a much older man +than the deceased, was taken ill, and that the two men then parted +company." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had said all this with perfect self-possession, and with +great deliberation. He was so very self-possessed, so very deliberate, +that it seemed almost as if he had been reciting something which he had +learned by heart. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell, watching him very intently, saw this, and wondered at it. +It is very usual for a witness, even the most indifferent witness, +giving evidence about some trifling matter, to be confused, to falter, +and hesitate, and contradict himself, embarrassed by the strangeness of +his position. But Henry Dunbar was in nowise discomposed by the awful +nature of the event which had happened. He was pale; but his firmly-set +lips, his erect carriage, the determined glance of his eyes, bore +witness to the strength of his nerves and the power of his intellect. +</p><p> +"The man must be made of iron," Arthur Lovell thought to himself. "He is +either a very great man, or a very wicked one. I almost fear to ask +myself which." +</p><p> +"Where did the deceased Joseph Wilmot say he left his brother Sampson, +Mr. Dunbar?" asked the coroner. +</p><p> +"I do not remember." +</p><p> +The coroner scratched his chin, thoughtfully. +</p><p> +"That is rather awkward," he said; "the evidence of this man Sampson +might throw some light upon this most mysterious event." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar then told the rest of his story. +</p><p> +He spoke of the luncheon at Southampton, the journey from Southampton to +Winchester, the afternoon stroll down to the meadows near St. Cross. +</p><p> +"Can you tell us the exact spot at which you parted with the deceased?" +asked the coroner. +</p><p> +"No," Mr. Dunbar answered; "you must bear in mind that I am a stranger +in England. I have not been in this neighbourhood since I was a boy. My +old schoolfellow, Michael Marston, married and settled at the Ferns +during my absence in India. I found at Southampton that I should have a +few hours on my hands before I could travel express for London, and I +came to this place on purpose to see my old friend. I was very much +disappointed to find that he was dead. But I thought that I would call +upon his widow, from whom I should no doubt hear the history of my poor +friend's last moments. I went with Joseph Wilmot through the cathedral +yard, and down towards St. Cross. The verger saw us, and spoke to us as +we went by." +</p><p> +The verger, who was standing amongst the other witnesses, waiting to be +examined, here exclaimed,-- +</p><p> +"Ay, that I did, sir; I remember it well." +</p><p> +"At what time did you leave the George?" +</p><p> +"At a little after four o'clock." +</p><p> +"Where did you go then?" +</p><p> +"I went," answered Mr. Dunbar, boldly, "into the grove with the +deceased, arm-in-arm. We walked together about a quarter of a mile under +the trees, and I had intended to go on to the Ferns, to call upon +Michael Marston's widow; but my habits of late years have been +sedentary; the heat of the day and the walk together were too much for +me. I sent Joseph Wilmot on to the Ferns with a message for Mrs. +Marston, asking at what hour she could conveniently receive me to-day; +and I returned to the cathedral. Joseph Wilmot was to deliver his +message at the Ferns, and rejoin me in the cathedral." +</p><p> +"He was to return to the cathedral?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"But why should he not have returned to the George Hotel? Why should you +wait for him at the cathedral?" +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell listened, with a strange expression upon his face. If +Henry Dunbar was pale, Henry Dunbar's legal adviser was still more so. +The jurymen stared aghast at the coroner, as if they had been +awe-stricken by his impertinence towards the chief partner of the great +banking-house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. How dared he--a man with +an income of five hundred a year at the most--how dared he discredit or +question any assertion made by Henry Dunbar? +</p><p> +The Anglo-Indian smiled, a little contemptuously. He stood in a careless +attitude, playing with the golden trinkets at his watch-chain, with the +hot August sunshine streaming upon his face from a bare unshaded window +opposite him. But he did not attempt to escape that almost blinding +glare. He stood facing the sunlight; facing the gaze of the coroner and +the jurymen; the scrutinizing glance of Arthur Lovell. Unabashed and +<i>nonchalant</i> as if he had been standing in a ball-room, the hero of the +hour, the admired of all who looked upon him, Mr. Dunbar stood before +the coroner and jury, and told the broken history of his old servant's +death. +</p><p> +"Yes," Mr. Lovell thought again, as he watched the rich man's face, "his +nerves must be made of iron." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch12"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>ARRESTED.</h5></center> +<p> + +The coroner repeated his question: +</p><p> +"Why did you tell the deceased to join you at the cathedral, Mr. +Dunbar?" +</p><p> +"Merely because it suited my humour at the time to do so," answered the +Anglo-Indian, coolly. "We had been very friendly together, and I had a +fancy for going over the cathedral. I thought that Wilmot might return +from the Ferns in time to go over some portion of the edifice with me. +He was a very intelligent fellow, and I liked his society." +</p><p> +"But the journey to the Ferns and back would have occupied some time." +</p><p> +"Perhaps so," answered Mr. Dunbar; "I did not know the distance to the +Ferns, and I did not make any calculation as to time. I merely said to +the deceased, 'I shall go back and look at the cathedral; and I will +wait for you there.' I said this, and I told him to be as quick as he +could." +</p><p> +"That was all that passed between you?" +</p><p> +"It was. I then returned to the cathedral." +</p><p> +"And you waited there for the deceased?" +</p><p> +"I did. I waited until close upon the hour at which I had ordered dinner +at the George." +</p><p> +There was a pause, during which the coroner looked very thoughtful. +</p><p> +"I am compelled to ask you one more question, Mr. Dunbar," he said, +presently, hesitating a little as he spoke. +</p><p> +"I am ready to answer any questions you may wish to ask," Mr. Dunbar +replied, very quietly. +</p><p> +"Were you upon friendly terms with the deceased?" +</p><p> +"I have just told you so. We were on excellent terms. I found him an +agreeable companion. His manners were those of a gentleman. I don't know +how he had picked up his education, but he certainly had contrived to +educate himself some how or other." +</p><p> +"I understand you were friendly together at the time of his death; but +prior to that time----" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar smiled. +</p><p> +"I have been in India five-and-thirty years," he said. +</p><p> +"Precisely. But before your departure for India, had you any +misunderstanding, any serious quarrel with the deceased?" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar's face flushed suddenly, and his brows contracted as if even +his self-possession were not proof against the unpleasant memories of +the past. +</p><p> +"No," he said, with determination; "I never quarrelled with him." +</p><p> +"There had been no cause of quarrel between you?" +</p><p> +"I don't understand your question. I have told you that I never +quarrelled with him." +</p><p> +"Perhaps not; but there might have been some hidden animosity, some +smothered feeling, stronger than any openly-expressed anger, hidden in +your breast. Was there any such feeling?" +</p><p> +"Not on my part." +</p><p> +"Was there any such feeling on the part of the deceased?" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar looked furtively at William Balderby. The junior partner's +eyelids dropped under that stolen glance. +</p><p> +It was clear that he knew the story of the forged bills. +</p><p> +Had the coroner for Winchester been a clever man, he would have followed +that glance of Mr. Dunbar's, and would have understood that the junior +partner knew something about the antecedents of the dead man. But the +coroner was not a very close observer, and Mr. Dunbar's eager glance +escaped him altogether. +</p><p> +"Yes," answered the Anglo-Indian, "Joseph Wilmot had a grudge against me +before I sailed for Calcutta, but we settled all that at Southampton, +and I promised to allow him an annuity." +</p><p> +"You promised him an annuity?" +</p><p> +"Yes--not a very large one--only fifty pounds a year; but he was quite +satisfied with that promise." +</p><p> +"He had some claim upon you, then?" +</p><p> +"No, he had no claim whatever upon me," replied Mr. Dunbar, haughtily. +</p><p> +Of course, it could be scarcely pleasant for a millionaire to be +cross-questioned in this manner by an impertinent Hampshire coroner. +</p><p> +The jurymen sympathized with the banker. +</p><p> +The coroner looked rather puzzled. +</p><p> +"If the deceased had no claim upon you, why did you promise him an +annuity?" he asked, after a pause. +</p><p> +"I made that promise for the sake of 'auld lang syne,'" answered Mr. +Dunbar. "Joseph Wilmot was a favourite servant of mine five-and-thirty +years ago. We were young men together. I believe that he had, at one +time, a very sincere affection for me. I know that I always liked him." +</p><p> +"How long were you in the grove with the deceased?" +</p><p> +"Not more than ten minutes." +</p><p> +"And you cannot describe the spot where you left him?" +</p><p> +"Not very easily; I could point it out, perhaps, if I were taken there." +</p><p> +"What time elapsed between your leaving the cathedral yard with the +deceased and your returning to it without him?" +</p><p> +"Perhaps half an hour." +</p><p> +"Not longer?" +</p><p> +"No; I do not imagine that it can have been longer." +</p><p> +"Thank you, Mr. Dunbar; that will do for the present," said the coroner. +</p><p> +The banker returned to his seat. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell, still watching him, saw that his strong white hand +trembled a little as his fingers trifled with those glittering toys +hanging to his watch-chain. +</p><p> +The verger was the next person examined. +</p><p> +He described how he had been loitering in the yard of the cathedral as +the two men passed across it. He told how they had gone by arm-in-arm, +laughing and talking together. +</p><p> +"Which of them was talking as they passed you?" asked the coroner. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"Could you hear what he was saying?" +</p><p> +"No, sir. I could hear his voice, but I couldn't hear the words." +</p><p> +"What time elapsed between Mr. Dunbar and the deceased leaving the +cathedral yard, and Mr. Dunbar returning alone?" +</p><p> +The verger scratched his head, and looked doubtfully at Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +That gentleman was looking straight before him, and seemed quite +unconscious of the verger's glance. +</p><p> +"I can't quite exactly say how long it was, sir," the old man answered, +after a pause. +</p><p> +"Why can't you say exactly?" +</p><p> +"Because, you see, sir, I didn't keep no particular 'count of the time, +and I shouldn't like to tell a falsehood." +</p><p> +"You must not tell a falsehood. We want the truth, and nothing but the +truth." +</p><p> +"I know, sir; but you see I am an old man, and my memory is not as good +as it used to be. I <i>think</i> Mr. Dunbar was away an hour." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell gave an involuntary start. Every one of the jurymen looked +suddenly at Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +But the Anglo-Indian did not flinch. He was looking at the verger now +with a quiet steady gaze, which seemed that of a man who had nothing to +fear, and who was serene and undisturbed by reason of his innocence. +</p><p> +"We don't want to know what you <i>think</i>," the coroner said; "you must +tell us only what you are certain of." +</p><p> +"Then I'm not certain, sir." +</p><p> +"You are not certain that Mr. Dunbar was absent for an hour?" +</p><p> +"Not quite certain, sir." +</p><p> +"But very nearly certain. Is that so?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir, I'm very nearly certain. You see, sir, when the two gentlemen +went through the yard, the cathedral clock was chiming the quarter after +four; I remember that. And when Mr. Dunbar came back, I was just going +away to my tea, and I seldom go to my tea until it's gone five." +</p><p> +"But supposing it to have struck five when Mr. Dunbar returned, that +would only make it three quarters of an hour after the time at which he +went through the yard, supposing him to have gone through, as you say, +at the quarter past four." +</p><p> +The verger scratched his head again. +</p><p> +"I'd been loiterin' about yesterday afternoon, sir," he said; "and I was +a bit late thinkin' of my tea." +</p><p> +"And you believe, therefore, that Mr. Dunbar was absent for an hour?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir; an hour--or more." +</p><p> +"An hour, or more?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +"He was absent more than an hour; do you mean to say that?" +</p><p> +"It might have been more, sir. I didn't keep no particular 'count of the +time." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had taken out his pocket-book, and was making notes of the +verger's evidence. +</p><p> +The old man went on to describe his having shown Mr. Dunbar all over the +cathedral. He made no mention of that sudden faintness which had seized +upon the Anglo-Indian at the door of one of the chapels; but he +described the rich man's manner as having been affable in the extreme. +He told how Henry Dunbar had loitered at the door of the cathedral, and +afterwards lingered in the quadrangle, waiting for the coming of his +servant. He told all this with many encomiums upon the rich man's +pleasant manner. +</p><p> +The next, and perhaps the most important, witnesses were the two +labourers, Philip Murtock and Patrick Hennessy, who had found the body +of the murdered man. +</p><p> +Patrick Hennessy was sent out of the room while Murtock gave his +evidence; but the evidence of the two men tallied in every particular. +</p><p> +They were Irishmen, reapers, and were returning from a harvest supper at +a farm five miles from St. Cross, upon the previous evening. One of them +had knelt down upon the edge of the stream to get a drink of water in +the crown of his felt hat, and had been horrified by seeing the face of +the dead man looking up at him in the moonlight, through the shallow +water that barely covered it. The two men had dragged the body out of +the streamlet, and Philip Murtock had watched beside it while Patrick +Hennessy had gone to seek assistance. +</p><p> +The dead man's clothes had been stripped from him, with the exception of +his trousers and boots, and the other part of his body was bare. There +was a revolting brutality in this fact. It seemed that the murderer had +stripped his victim for the sake of the clothes which he had worn. There +could be little doubt, therefore, that the murder had been committed for +the greed of gain, and not from any motive of revenge. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell breathed more freely; until this moment his mind had been +racked in agonizing doubts. Dark suspicions had been working in his +breast. He had been tortured by the idea that the Anglo-Indian had +murdered his old servant, in order to remove out of his way the chief +witness of the crime of his youth. +</p><p> +But if this had been so, the murderer would never have lingered upon the +scene of his crime in order to strip the clothes from his victim's body. +</p><p> +No! the deed had doubtless been done by some savage wretch, some lost +and ignorant creature, hardened by a long life of crime, and preying +like a wild beast upon his fellow-men. +</p><p> +Such murders are done in the world. Blood has been shed for the sake of +some prize so small, so paltry, that it has been difficult for men to +believe that one human being could destroy another for such an object. +</p><p> +Heaven have pity upon the wretch so lost as to be separated from his +fellow-creatures by reason of the vileness of his nature! Heaven +strengthen the hands of those who seek to spread Christian enlightenment +and education through the land! for it is only those blessings that will +thin the crowded prison wards, and rob the gallows of its victims. +</p><p> +The robbery of the dead man's clothes, and such property as he might +have had about him at the time of his death, gave a new aspect to the +murder in the eyes of Arthur Lovell. The case was clear and plain now, +and the young man's duty was no longer loathsome to him; for he no +longer suspected Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +The constabulary had already been busy; the spot upon which the murder +had been committed, and the neighbourhood of that spot, had been +diligently searched. But no vestige of the dead man's garments had been +found. +</p><p> +The medical man's evidence was very brief. He stated, that when he +arrived at the Foresters' Arms he found the deceased quite dead, and +that he appeared to have been dead some hours; that from the bruises and +marks on the throat and neck, some contusions on the back of the head, +and other appearances on the body, which witness minutely described, he +said there were indications of a struggle having taken place between +deceased and some other person or persons; that the man had been thrown, +or had fallen down violently; and that death had ultimately been caused +by strangling and suffocation. +</p><p> +The coroner questioned the surgeon very closely as to how long he +thought the murdered man had been dead. The medical man declined to give +any positive statement on this point; he could only say that when he was +called in, the body was cold, and that the deceased might have been dead +three hours--or he might have been dead five hours. It was impossible to +form an opinion with regard to the exact time at which death had taken +place. +</p><p> +The evidence of the waiter and the landlord of the George only went to +show that the two men had arrived at the hotel together; that they had +appeared in very high spirits, and on excellent terms with each other; +that Mr. Dunbar had shown very great concern and anxiety about the +absence of his companion, and had declined to eat his dinner until nine +o'clock. +</p><p> +This closed the evidence; and the jury retired. +</p><p> +They were absent about a quarter of an hour, and then returned a verdict +of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar, Arthur Lovell, and Mr. Balderby went back to the hotel. It +was past six o'clock when the coroner's inquest was concluded, and the +three men sat down to dinner together at seven. +</p><p> +That dinner-party was not a pleasant one; there was a feeling of +oppression upon the minds of the three men. The awful event of the +previous day cast its dreadful shadow upon them. They could not talk +freely of this subject--for it was too ghastly a theme for +discussion--and to talk of any other seemed almost impossible. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had observed with surprise that Henry Dunbar had not once +spoken of his daughter. And yet this was scarcely strange; the utterance +of that name might have jarred upon the father's feelings at such a time +as this. +</p><p> +"You will write to Miss Dunbar to-night, will you not, sir?" the young +man said at last. "I fear that she will have been very anxious about you +all this day. She was alarmed by your message to Mr. Balderby." +</p><p> +"I shall not write," said the banker; "for I hope to see my daughter +to-night." +</p><p> +"You will leave Winchester this evening, then?" +</p><p> +"Yes, by the 10.15 express. I should have travelled by that train +yesterday evening, but for this terrible event." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell looked rather astonished at this. +</p><p> +"You are surprised," said Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +"I thought perhaps that you might stay--until----" +</p><p> +"Until what?" asked the Anglo-Indian; "everything is finished, is it +not? The inquest was concluded to-day. I shall leave full directions for +the burial of this poor fellow, and an ample sum for his funeral +expenses. I spoke to the coroner upon that subject this afternoon. What +more can I do?" +</p><p> +"Nothing, certainly," answered Arthur Lovell, with rather a hesitating +manner; "but I thought, under the peculiar circumstances, it might be +better that you should remain upon the spot, if possible, until some +steps shall have been taken for the finding of the murderer." +</p><p> +He did not like to give utterance to the thought that was in his mind; +for he was thinking that some people would perhaps suspect Mr. Dunbar +himself, and that it might be well for him to remain upon the scene of +the murder until that suspicion should be done away with by the arrest +of the real murderer. +</p><p> +The banker shook his head. +</p><p> +"I very much doubt the discovery of the guilty man," he said; "what is +there to hinder his escape?" +</p><p> +"Everything," answered Arthur Lovell, warmly. "First, the stupidity of +guilt, the blind besotted folly which so often betrays the murderer. It +is not the commission of a crime only that is horrible; think of the +hideous state of the criminal's mind <i>after</i> the deed is done. And it is +at that time, immediately after the crime has been perpetrated, when the +breast of the murderer is like a raging hell; it is at that time that he +is called upon to be most circumspect--to keep guard upon his every +look, his smallest word, his most trivial action,--for he knows that +every look and action is watched; that every word is greedily listened +to by men who are eager to bring his guilt home to him; by hungry men, +wrestling for his conviction as a result that will bring them a golden +reward; by practised men, who have studied the philosophy of crime, and +who, by reason of their peculiar skill, are able to read dark meanings +in words and looks that to other people are like a strange language. He +knows that the scent of blood is in the air, and that the bloodhounds +are at their loathsome work. He knows this; and at such a time he is +called upon to face the world with a bold front, and so to fashion his +words and looks that he shall deceive the secret watchers. He is never +alone. The servant who waits upon him, or the railway guard who shows +him to his seat in the first-class carriage, the porter who carries his +luggage, or the sailor who looks at him scrutinizingly as he breathes +the fresh sea-air upon the deck of that ship which is to carry him to a +secure hiding-place--any one of these may be a disguised detective, and +at any moment the bolt may fall; he may feel the light hand upon his +shoulder, and know that he is a doomed man. Who can wonder, then, that a +criminal is generally a coward, and that he betrays himself by some +blind folly of his own?" +</p><p> +The young man had been carried away by his subject, and had spoken with +a strange energy. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar laughed aloud at the lawyer's enthusiasm. +</p><p> +"You should have been a barrister, Mr. Lovell," he said; "that would +have been a capital opening for your speech as counsel for the crown. I +can see the wretched criminal shivering in the dock, cowering under that +burst of forensic eloquence." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar laughed heartily as he finished speaking, and then threw +himself back in his easy-chair, and passed his handkerchief across his +handsome forehead, as it was his habit to do occasionally. +</p><p> +"In this case I think the criminal will be most likely arrested," Arthur +Lovell continued, still dwelling upon the subject of the murder; "he +will be traced by those clothes. He will endeavour to sell them, of +course; and as he is most likely some wretchedly ignorant boor, he will +very probably try to sell them within a few miles of the scene of the +crime." +</p><p> +"I hope he will be found," said Mr. Balderby, filling his glass with +claret as he spoke; "I never heard any good of this man Wilmot, and, +indeed, I believe he went to the bad altogether after you left England, +Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"Indeed!" +</p><p> +"Yes," answered the junior partner, looking rather nervously at his +chief; "he committed forgery, I believe; fabricated forged bank notes, +or something of that kind, and was transported for life, I heard; but I +suppose he got a remission of his sentence, or something of that kind, +and returned to England." +</p><p> +"I had no idea of this," said Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +"He did not tell you, then?" +</p><p> +"Oh, no; it was scarcely likely that he should tell me." +</p><p> +Very little more was said upon the subject just then. At nine o'clock +Mr. Dunbar left the room to see to the packing of his things, at a +little before ten the three gentlemen drove away from the George Hotel, +on their way to the station. +</p><p> +They reached the station at five minutes past ten; the train was not due +until a quarter past. +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby went to the office to procure the three tickets. Henry +Dunbar and Arthur Lovell walked arm-in-arm up and down the platform. +</p><p> +As the bell for the up-train was ringing, a man came suddenly upon the +platform and looked about him. +</p><p> +He recognized the banker, walked straight up to him, and, taking off his +hat, addressed Mr. Dunbar respectfully. +</p><p> +"I am sorry to detain you, sir," he said; "but I have a warrant to +prevent you leaving Winchester." +</p><p> +"What do you mean?" +</p><p> +"I hold a warrant for your apprehension, sir." +</p><p> +"From whom?" +</p><p> +"From Sir Arden Westhorpe, our chief county magistrate; and I am to take +you before him immediately, sir." +</p><p> +"Upon what charge?" cried Arthur Lovell. +</p><p> +"Upon suspicion of having been concerned in the murder of Joseph +Wilmot." +</p><p> +The millionaire drew himself up haughtily, and looked at the constable +with a proud smile. +</p><p> +"This is too absurd," he said; "but I am quite ready to go with you. Be +good enough to telegraph to my daughter, Mr. Lovell," he added, turning +to the young man; "tell her that circumstances over which I have no +control will detain me in Winchester for a week. Take care not to alarm +her." +</p><p> +Everybody about the station had collected on the platform, and made a +circle about Mr. Dunbar. They stood a little aloof from him, looking at +him with respectful interest: altogether different from the eager +clamorous curiosity with which they would have regarded any ordinary man +suspected of the same crime. +</p><p> +He was suspected; but he could not be guilty. Why should a millionaire +commit a murder? The motives that might influence other men could have +had no weight with him. +</p><p> +The bystanders repeated this to one another, as they followed Mr. Dunbar +and his custodian from the station, loudly indignant against the minions +of the law. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar, the constable, and Mr. Balderby drove straight to the +magistrate's house. +</p><p> +The junior partner offered any amount of bail for his chief; but the +Anglo-Indian motioned him to silence, with a haughty gesture. +</p><p> +"I thank you, Mr. Balderby," he said, proudly; "but I will not accept my +liberty on sufferance. Sir Arden Westhorpe has chosen to arrest me, and +I shall abide the issue of that arrest." +</p><p> +It was in vain that the junior partner protested against this. Henry +Dunbar was inflexible. +</p><p> +"I hope, and I venture to believe, that you are as innocent as I am +myself of this horrible crime, Mr. Dunbar," the baronet said, kindly; +"and I sympathize with you in this very terrible position. But upon the +information laid before me, I consider it my duty to detain you until +the matter shall have been further investigated. You were the last +person seen with the deceased." +</p><p> +"And for that reason it is supposed that I strangled my old servant for +the sake of his clothes," cried Mr. Dunbar, bitterly. "I am a stranger +in England; but if that is your English law, I am not sorry that the +best part of my life has been passed in India. However, I am perfectly +willing to submit to any examination that may be considered necessary to +the furtherance of justice." +</p><p> +So, upon the second night of his arrival in England, Henry Dunbar, chief +of the wealthy house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, slept in +Winchester gaol. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch13"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE PRISONER IS REMANDED.</h5></center> +<p> + +Mr. Dunbar was brought before Sir Arden Westhorpe, at ten o'clock, on +the morning after his arrest. The witnesses who had given evidence at +the inquest were again summoned, and--with the exception of the verger, +and Mr. Dunbar, who was now a prisoner--gave the same evidence, or +evidence to the same effect. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell again watched the proceedings in the interest of Laura's +father, and cross-examined some of the witnesses. +</p><p> +But very little new evidence was elicited. The empty pocket-book, which +had been found a few paces from the body, was produced. The rope by +which the murdered man had been strangled was also produced and +examined. +</p><p> +It was a common rope, rather slender, and about a yard and a half in +length. It was made into a running noose that had been drawn tightly +round the neck of the victim. +</p><p> +Had the victim been a strong man he might perhaps have resisted the +attack, and might have prevented his assailant tightening the fatal +knot; but the surgeon bore witness that the dead man, though tall and +stalwart-looking, had not been strong. +</p><p> +It was a strange murder, a bloodless murder; a deed that must have been +done by a man of unfaltering resolution and iron nerve: for it must have +been the work of a moment, in which the victim's first cry of surprise +was stifled ere it was half uttered. +</p><p> +The chief witness upon this day was the verger; and it was in +consequence of certain remarks dropped by him that Henry Dunbar had been +arrested. +</p><p> +Upon the afternoon of the inquest this official had found himself a +person of considerable importance. He was surrounded by eager gossips, +greedy to hear anything he might have to tell upon the subject of the +murder; and amongst those who listened to his talk was one of the +constables--a sharp, clear-headed fellow--who was on the watch for any +hint that might point to the secret of Joseph Wilmot's death. The +verger, in describing the events of the previous afternoon, spoke of +that one fact which he had omitted to refer to before the coroner. He +spoke of the sudden faintness which had come over Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +"Poor gentleman!" he said, "I don't think I ever see the like of +anything as come over him so sudden. He walked along the aisle with his +head up, dashing and millingtary-like; but, all in a minute, he reeled +as if he'd been dead drunk, and he would have fell if there hadn't been +a bench handy. Down he dropped upon that bench like a stone; and when I +turned round to look at him the drops of perspiration was rollin' down +his forehead like beads. I never see such a face in my life, as +ghastly-like as if he'd seen a ghost. But he was laughin' and smilin' +the next minute; and it was only the heat of the weather, he says." +</p><p> +"It's odd as a gentleman that's just come home from India should +complain of the heat on such a day as yesterday," said one of the +bystanders. +</p><p> +This was the substance of the evidence that the verger gave before Sir +Arden Westhorpe. This, with the evidence of a boy who had met the +deceased and Henry Dunbar close to the spot where the body was found, +was the only evidence against the rich man. +</p><p> +To the mind of Sir Arden Westhorpe the agitation displayed by Henry +Dunbar in the cathedral was a very strong point; yet, what more possible +than that the Anglo-Indian should have been seized with a momentary +giddiness? He was not a young man; and though his broad chest, square +shoulders, and long, muscular arms betokened strength, that natural +vigour might have been impaired by the effects of a warm climate. +</p><p> +There were new witnesses upon this day, people who testified to having +been in the neighbourhood of the grove, and in the grove itself, upon +that fatal afternoon and evening. +</p><p> +Other labourers, besides the two Irishmen, had passed beneath the shadow +of the trees in the moonlight. Idle pedestrians had strolled through the +grove in the still twilight; not one of these had seen Joseph Wilmot, +nor had there been heard any cry of anguish, or wild shrieks of terror. +</p><p> +One man deposed to having met a rough-looking fellow, half-gipsy, +half-hawker, in the grove between seven and eight o'clock. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell questioned this person as to the appearance and manner of +the man he had met. +</p><p> +But the witness declared that there was nothing peculiar in the man's +manner. He had not seemed confused, or excited, or hurried, or +frightened. He was a coarse-featured, sunburnt ruffianly-looking fellow; +and that was all. +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby was examined, and swore to the splendid position which +Henry Dunbar occupied as chief of the house in St. Gundolph Lane; and +then the examination was adjourned, and the prisoner remanded, although +Arthur Lovell contended that there was no evidence to justify his +detention. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar still protested against any offer of bail; he again declared +that he would rather remain in prison than accept his liberty on +sufferance, and go out into the world a suspected man. +</p><p> +"I will never leave Winchester Gaol," he said, "until I leave it with my +character cleared in the eyes of every living creature." +</p><p> +He had been treated with the greatest respect by the prison officials, +and had been provided with comfortable apartments. Arthur Lovell and Mr. +Balderby were admitted to him whenever he chose to receive them. +</p><p> +Meanwhile every voice in Winchester was loud in indignation against +those who had caused the detention of the millionaire. +</p><p> +Here was an English gentleman, a man whose wealth was something +fabulous, newly returned from India, eager to embrace his only child; +and before he had done more than set his foot upon his native soil, he +was seized upon by obstinate and pig-headed officials, and thrown into a +prison. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell worked nobly in the service of Laura's father. He did not +particularly like the man, though he wished to like him; but he believed +him to be innocent of the dreadful crime imputed to him, and he was +determined to make that innocence clear to the eyes of other people. +</p><p> +For this purpose he urged on the police upon the track of the strange +man, the rough-looking hawker, who had been seen in the grove on the day +of the murder. +</p><p> +He himself left Winchester upon another errand. He went away with the +determination of discovering the sick man, Sampson Wilmot. The old +clerk's evidence might be most important in such a case as this; as he +would perhaps be able to throw much light upon the antecedents and +associations of the dead man. +</p><p> +The young lawyer travelled along the line, stopping at every station. At +Basingstoke he was informed that an old man, travelling with his +brother, had been taken ill; and that he had since died. An inquest had +been held upon his remains some days before, and he had been buried by +the parish. +</p><p> +It was upon the 21st of August that Arthur Lovell visited Basingstoke. +The people at the village inn told him that the old man had died at two +o'clock upon the morning of the 17th, only a few hours after his +brother's desertion of him. He had never spoken after the final stroke +of paralysis. +</p><p> +There was nothing to be learned here, therefore. Death had closed the +lips of this witness. +</p><p> +But even if Sampson Wilmot had lived to speak, what could he have told? +The dead man's antecedents could have thrown little light upon the way +in which he had met his death. It was a common murder, after all; a +murder that had been done for the sake of the victim's little property; +a silver watch, perhaps; a few sovereigns; a coat, waistcoat, and shirt. +</p><p> +The only evidence that tended in the least to implicate Henry Dunbar was +the fact that he had been the last person seen in company with the dead +man, and the discrepancy between his assertion and that of the verger +respecting the time during which he had been absent from the cathedral +yard. +</p><p> +No magistrate in his senses would commit the Anglo-Indian for trial upon +such evidence as this. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch14"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XIV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>MARGARET'S JOURNEY.</h5></center> +<p> + +While these things were taking place at Winchester, Margaret waited for +the coming of her father. She waited until her heart grew sick, but +still she did not despair of his return. He had promised to come back to +her by ten o'clock upon the evening of the 16th; but he was not a man +who always kept his promises. He had often left her in the same manner, +and had stayed away for days and weeks together. +</p><p> +There was nothing extraordinary, therefore, in his absence; and if the +girl's heart grew sick, it was not with the fear that her father would +not return to her; but with the thought of what dishonest work he might +be engaged in during his absence. +</p><p> +She knew now that he led a dishonest life. His own lips had told her the +cruel truth. She would no longer be able to defend him when people spoke +against him. Henceforth she must only plead for him. +</p><p> +The poor girl had been proud of her father, reprobate though he was; she +had been proud of his gentlemanly bearing, his cleverness, his air of +superiority over other men of his station; and the thought of his +acknowledged guilt stung her to the heart. She pitied him, and she tried +to make excuses for him in her own mind: and with every thought of the +penniless reprobate there was intermingled the memory of the wrong that +had been done him by Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"If my father has been guilty, that man is answerable for his guilt," +she thought perpetually. +</p><p> +Meanwhile she waited, Heaven only knows how anxiously, for her father's +coming. A week passed, and another week began, and still he did not +come; but she was not alarmed for his personal safety, she was only +anxious about him; and she expected his return every day, every hour. +But he did not come. +</p><p> +And all this time, with her mind racked by anxious thoughts, the girl +went about the weary duties of her daily life. Her thoughts might wander +away into vague speculations about her father's absence while she sat by +her pupil's side; but her eyes never wandered from the fingers it was +her duty to watch. Her life had been a hard one, and she was better able +to hide her sorrows and anxieties than any one to whom such a burden had +been a novelty. So, very few people suspected that there was anything +amiss with the grave young music-mistress. +</p><p> +One person did see the vague change in her manner; but that person was +Clement Austin, who had already grown skilled in reading the varying +expressions of her face, and who saw now that she was changed. She +listened to him when he talked to her of the books or the music she +loved; but her face never lighted up now with a bright look of pleasure; +and he heard her sigh now and then as she gave her lesson. +</p><p> +He asked her once if there was anything in which his services, or his +mother's, could be of any assistance to her; but she thanked him for the +kindness of his offer, and told him, "No, there was nothing in which he +could help her." +</p><p> +"But I am sure there is something on your mind. Pray do not think me +intrusive or impertinent for saying so; but I am sure of it." +</p><p> +Margaret only shook her head. +</p><p> +"I am mistaken, then?" said Clement, interrogatively. +</p><p> +"You are indeed. I have no special trouble. I am only a little uneasy +about my father, who has been away from home for the last week or two. +But there is nothing strange in that; he is often away. Only I am apt to +be foolishly anxious about him. He will scold me when he comes home and +hears that I have been so." +</p><p> +Upon the evening of the 27th August, Margaret gave her accustomed +lesson, and lingered a little as usual after the lesson, talking to Mrs. +Austin, who had taken a wonderful fancy to her granddaughter's +music-mistress; and to Clement, who somehow or other had discontinued +his summer evening walks of late, more especially on those occasions on +which his niece took he music-lesson. They talked of all manner of +things, and it was scarcely strange that amongst other topics they +should come by and-by to the Winchester murder. +</p><p> +"By the bye, Miss Wentworth," exclaimed Mrs. Austin, breaking in upon +Clement's disquisition on his favourite Carlyle's "Hero-Worship," "I +suppose you've heard about this dreadful murder that is making such a +sensation?" +</p><p> +"A dreadful murder--no, Mrs. Austin; I rarely hear anything of that +kind; for the person with whom I lodge is old and deaf. She troubles +herself very little about what is going on in the world, and I never +read the newspapers myself." +</p><p> +"Indeed," said Mrs. Austin; "well, my dear, you really surprise me. I +thought this dreadful business had made such a sensation, on account of +the great Mr. Dunbar being mixed up in it." +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar!" cried Margaret, looking at the speaker with dilated eyes. +</p><p> +"Yes, my dear, Mr. Dunbar, the rich banker. I have been very much +interested in the matter, because my son is employed in Mr. Dunbar's +bank. It seems that an old servant, a confidential valet of Mr. +Dunbar's, has been murdered at Winchester; and at first Mr. Dunbar +himself was suspected of the crime,--though, of course, that was utterly +ridiculous; for what motive could he possibly have had for murdering his +old servant? However, he has been suspected, and some stupid country +magistrate actually had him arrested. There was an examination about a +week ago, which was adjourned until to-day. We shan't know the result of +it till to-morrow." +</p><p> +Margaret sat listening to these words with a face that was as white as +the face of the dead. +</p><p> +Clement Austin saw the sudden change that had come over her countenance. +</p><p> +"Mother," he said, "you should not talk of these things before Miss +Wentworth; you have made her look quite ill. Remember, she may not be so +strong-minded as you are." +</p><p> +"No, no!" gasped Margaret, in a choking voice. "I--I--wish to hear of +this. Tell me, Mrs. Austin, what was the name of the murdered man?" +</p><p> +"Joseph Wilmot." +</p><p> +"Joseph Wilmot!" repeated Margaret, slowly. She had always known her +father by the name of James Wentworth; but what more likely than that +Wilmot was his real name! She had good reason to suspect that Wentworth +was a false one. +</p><p> +"I'll lend you a newspaper," Mrs. Austin said, good-naturedly, "if you +really want to learn the particulars of this murder." +</p><p> +"I do, if you please." +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin took a weekly paper from amongst some others that were +scattered upon a side-table. She folded up this paper and handed it to +Margaret. +</p><p> +"Give Miss Wentworth a glass of wine, mother," exclaimed Clement Austin; +"I'm sure all this talk about the murder has upset her." +</p><p> +"No, no, indeed!" Margaret answered, "I would rather not take anything. +I want to get home quickly. Good evening, Mrs. Austin." +</p><p> +She tried to say something more, but her voice failed her. She had been +in the habit of shaking hands with Mrs. Austin and Clement when she left +them; and the cashier had always accompanied her to the gate, and had +sometimes lingered with her there in the dusk, prolonging some +conversation that had been begun in the drawing-room; but to-night she +hurried from the room before the widow could remonstrate with her. +Clement followed her into the hall. +</p><p> +"Miss Wentworth," he said, "I know that something has agitated you. Pray +return to the drawing-room, and stop with us until you are more +composed." +</p><p> +"No--no--no!" +</p><p> +"Let me see you home, then?" +</p><p> +"Oh! no! no!" she cried, as the young man barred her passage, to the +door; "for pity's sake don't detain me, Mr. Austin; don't detain me, or +follow me!" +</p><p> +She passed by him, and hurried out of the house. He followed her to the +gate, and watched her disappear in the twilight; and then went back to +the drawing-room, sighing heavily as he went. +</p><p> +"I have no right to follow her against her own wish," he said to +himself. "She has given me no right to interfere with her; or to think +of her, for the matter of that." +</p><p> +He threw himself into a chair, and took up a newspaper; but he did not +read half-a-dozen lines. He sat with his eyes fixed upon the page before +him, thinking of Margaret Wentworth. +</p><p> +"Poor girl!" he said to himself, presently; "poor lonely girl! She is +too pure and beautiful for the hard struggles of this world." +</p> +<center> +* +* +* +* +*</center> +<p> +Margaret Wentworth walked rapidly along the road that led her back to +Wandsworth. She held the folded newspaper clutched tightly against her +breast. It was her death-warrant, perhaps. She never paused or slackened +her pace until she reached the lane leading down to the water. +</p><p> +She, opened the gate of the simple cottage-garden--there was no need of +bolts or locks for the fortification of Godolphin Cottages--and went up +to her own little sitting-room,--the room in which her father had told +her the secret of his life,--the room in which she had sworn to remember +the Henry Dunbar. All was dark and quiet in the house, for the mistress +of it was elderly-and old-fashioned in her ways; and Margaret was +accustomed to wait upon herself when she came home after nightfall. +</p><p> +She struck a lucifer, lighted her candle, and sat down with the +newspaper in her hand. She unfolded it, and examined the pages. She was +not long finding what she wanted. +</p> +<center>"<i>The Winchester Murder. Latest Particulars</i>."</center> +<p> +Margaret Wentworth read that horrible story. She read the newspaper +record of the cruel deed that had been done--twice--slowly and +deliberately. Her eyes were tearless, and there was a desperate courage +at her heart; that miserable, agonized heart, which seemed like a block +of ice in her breast. +</p><p> +"I swore to remember the name of Henry Dunbar," she said in, a low, +sombre voice; "I have good reason to remember it now." +</p><p> +From the first she had no doubt in her mind--from the very first she had +but one idea: and that idea was a conviction. Her father had been +murdered by his old master. The man Joseph Wilmot was her father: the +murderer was Henry Dunbar. The newspaper record told how the murdered +man had, according to his own account, met his brother at the Waterloo +station upon the afternoon of the 16th of August. That was the very +afternoon upon which James Wentworth had left his daughter to go to +London by rail. +</p><p> +He had met his old master, the man who had so bitterly injured him; the +cold-hearted scoundrel who had so cruelly betrayed him. He had been +violent, perhaps, and had threatened Henry Dunbar: and then--then the +rich man, treacherous and cold-hearted in his age as in his youth, had +beguiled his old valet by a pretended friendship, had lured him into a +lonely place, and had there murdered him; in order that all the wicked +secrets of the past might be buried with his victim. +</p><p> +As to the robbery of the clothes--the rifling of the pocketbook--that, +of course, was only a part of Henry Dunbar's deep laid scheme. +</p><p> +The girl folded the paper and put it in her breast. It was a strange +document to lie against that virginal bosom: and the breast beneath it +ached with a sick, cold pain, that was like the pain of death. +</p><p> +Margaret took up her candle, and went into a neatly-kept little room at +the back of the house,--the room in which her father had always slept +when he stayed in that house. +</p><p> +There was an old box, a battered and dilapidated hair-trunk, with a worn +rope knotted about it. The girl knelt down before the box, and put her +candle on a chair beside it. Then with her slender fingers she tried to +unfasten the knots that secured the cord. This task was not an easy one, +and her fingers ached before she had done. But she succeeded at last, +and lifted the lid of the trunk. +</p><p> +There were worn and shabby garments, tumbled and dusty, that had been +thrown pell-mell into the box: there were broken meerschaum-pipes; old +newspapers, pale with age, and with passages here and there marked by +thick strokes in faded ink. A faint effluvium that arose from the mass +of dilapidated rubbish--the weeds which the great ocean Time casts up +upon the shore of the present--testified to the neighbourhood of mice: +and scattered about the bottom of the box, amongst loose shreds of +tobacco--broken lumps of petrified cavendish--and scraps of paper, there +were a few letters. +</p><p> +Margaret gathered together these letters, and examined them. Three of +them--very old, faded, and flabby--were directed to "Joseph Wilmot, care +of the Governor of Norfolk Island," in a prim, clerk-like hand. +</p><p> +It was an ominous address. Margaret Wentworth bowed her head upon her +knees and sobbed aloud. +</p><p> +"He had been very wicked, and had need of a long life of penitence," she +thought; "but he has been murdered by Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +There was no shadow of doubt now in her mind. She had in her own hand +the conclusive proof of the identity between Joseph Wilmot and her +father; and to her this seemed quite enough to prove that Henry Dunbar +was the murderer of his old servant. He had injured the man, and it was +in the man's power to do him injury. He had resolved, therefore, to get +rid of this old accomplice, this dangerous witness of the past. +</p><p> +This was how Margaret reasoned. That the crime committed in the quiet +grove, near St. Cross, was an every-day deed, done for the most pitiful +and sordid motives that can tempt a man to shed his brother's blood, +never for a moment entered into her thoughts. Other people might think +this in their ignorance of the story of the past. +</p><p> +At daybreak the next morning she left the house, after giving a very +brief explanation of her departure to the old woman with whom she +lodged. She took the first train to Winchester, and reached the station +two hours before noon. She had her whole stock of money with her, but +nothing else. Her own wants, her own necessities, had no place in her +thoughts. Her errand was a fearful one, for she went to tell so much as +she knew of the story of the past, and to bear witness against Henry +Dunbar. +</p><p> +The railway official to whom she addressed herself at the Winchester +station treated her with civility and good-nature. The pale beauty of +her pensive face won her friends wherever she went. It is very hard upon +pug-nosed merit and red-haired virtue, that a Grecian profile, or raven +tresses, should be such an excellent letter of introduction; but, +unhappily, human nature is weak; and while beauty appeals straight to +the eye of the frivolous, merit requires to be appreciated by the wise. +</p><p> +"If there is anything I can do for you, miss," the railway official +said, politely, "I shall be very happy, I'm sure." +</p><p> +"I want to know about the murder," the girl answered, in a low, +tremulous voice, "the murder that was committed----" +</p><p> +"Yes, miss, to be sure. Everybody in Winchester is talking about it; a +most mysterious event! But," cried the official, brightening suddenly, +"you ain't a witness, miss, are you? You don't know anything +about----eh?" +</p><p> +He was quite excited at the bare idea that this pretty girl had +something to say about the murder, and that he might have the privilege +of introducing her to his fellow-citizens. To know anybody who knew +anything about Joseph Wilmot's murder was to occupy a post of some +distinction in Winchester just now. +</p><p> +"Yes," Margaret said; "I want to give evidence against Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +The railway official started, and stared aghast. +</p><p> +"Evidence against Mr. Dunbar, miss?" he said; "why, Mr. Henry Dunbar was +dismissed from custody only yesterday afternoon, and is going up to town +by the express this night, and everybody in Winchester is full of the +shameful way in which he has been treated. Why, as far as that goes, +there was no more ground for suspecting Mr. Dunbar--not that has come +out yet, at any rate--than there is for suspecting me!" And the porter +snapped his fingers contemptuously. "But if you know anything against +Mr. Dunbar, why, of course, that alters the case; and it's yer bounden +dooty, miss, to go before the magistrate directly-minute and make yer +statement." +</p><p> +The porter could hardly refrain, from smacking his lips with an air of +relish as he said this. Distinction had come to him unsought. +</p><p> +"Wait a minute, miss," he said; "I'll go and ask lief to take you round +to the magistrate's. You'll never find your way by yourself. The next up +isn't till 12.7--I can be spared." +</p><p> +The porter ran away, presented himself to a higher official, told his +story, and obtained a brief leave of absence. Then he returned to +Margaret. +</p><p> +"Now, miss," he said, "if you'll come along with me I'll take you to Sir +Arden Westhorpe's house. Sir Arden is the gentleman that has taken so +much trouble with this case." +</p><p> +On the way through the back-streets of the quiet city the porter would +fain have extracted from Margaret all that she had to tell. But the girl +would reveal nothing; she only said that she wanted to bear witness +against Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +The porter, upon the other hand, was very communicative. He told his +companion what had happened at the adjourned examination. +</p><p> +"There was a deal of applause in the court when Mr. Dunbar was told he +might consider himself free," said the porter; "but Sir Arden checked +it; there was no need for clapping of hands, he says, or for anything +but sorrow that such a wicked deed had been done, and that the cruel +wretch as did it should escape. A young man as was in the court told me +that them was Sir Arden's exack words." +</p><p> +They had reached Sir Arden's house by this time. It was a very handsome +house, though it stood in a back sweet; and a grave man-servant, in a +linen jacket, admitted Margaret into the oak-panelled hall. +</p><p> +She might have had some difficulty perhaps in seeing Sir Arden, had not +the railway porter immediately declared her business. But the name of +the murdered man was a passport, and she was ushered at once into a low +room, which was lined with book-shelves, and opened into an +old-fashioned garden. +</p><p> +Here Sir Arden Westhorpe, the magistrate, sat at a table writing. He was +an elderly man, with grey hair and whiskers, and with rather a stern +expression of countenance. Rut he was a good and a just man; and though +Henry Dunbar had been the emperor of half Europe instead of an +Anglo-Indian banker, Sir Arden would have committed him for trial had he +seen just cause for so doing. +</p><p> +Margaret was in nowise abashed by the presence of the magistrate. She +had but one thought in her mind, the thought of her father's wrongs; and +she could have spoken freely in the presence of a king. +</p><p> +"I hope I am not too late, sir," she said; "I hear that Mr. Dunbar has +been discharged from custody. I hope I am not too late to bear witness +against him." +</p><p> +The magistrate looked up with an expression of surprise. "That will +depend upon circumstances," he said; "that is to say, upon the nature of +the statement which you may have to make." +</p><p> +The magistrate summoned his clerk from an adjoining room, and then took +down the girl's information. +</p><p> +But he shook his head doubtfully when Margaret had told him all she had +to tell. That which to the impulsive girl seemed proof positive of Henry +Dunbar's guilt was very little when written down in a business-like +manner by Sir Arden Westhorpe's clerk. +</p><p> +"You know your unhappy father to have been injured by Mr. Dunbar, and +you think he may have been in the possession of secrets of a damaging +nature to that gentleman; but you do not know what those secrets were. +My poor girl, I cannot possibly move in this business upon such evidence +as this. The police are at work. This matter will not be allowed to pass +off without the closest investigation, believe me. I shall take care to +have your statement placed in the hands of the detective officer who is +entrusted with the conduct of this affair. We must wait--we must wait. I +cannot bring myself to believe that Henry Dunbar has been guilty of this +fearful crime. He is rich enough to have bribed your father to keep +silence, if he had any reason to fear what he might say. Money is a very +powerful agent, and can buy almost anything. It is rarely that a man, +with almost unlimited wealth at his command, finds himself compelled to +commit an act of violence." +</p><p> +The magistrate read aloud Margaret Wilmot's deposition, and the girl +signed it in the presence of the clerk; she signed it with her father's +real name, the name that she had never written before that day. +</p><p> +Then, having given the magistrate the address of her Wandsworth lodging, +she bade him good morning, and went out into the unfamiliar street. +</p><p> +Nothing that Sir Arden Westhorpe had said had in any way weakened her +rooted conviction of Henry Dunbar's guilt. She still believed that he +was the murderer of her father. +</p><p> +She walked for some distance without knowing where she went, then +suddenly she stopped; her face flushed, her eyes grew bright, and an +ominous smile lit up her countenance. +</p><p> +"I will go to Henry Dunbar," she said to herself, "since the law will +not help me; I will go to my father's murderer. Surely he will tremble +when he knows that his victim left a daughter who will rest neither +night nor day until she sees justice done." +</p><p> +Sir Arden had mentioned the hotel at which Henry Dunbar was staying; so +Margaret asked the first passer-by to direct her to the George. +</p><p> +She found a waiter lounging in the doorway of the hotel. +</p><p> +"I want to see Mr. Dunbar," she said. +</p><p> +The man looked at her with considerable surprise. +</p><p> +"I don't think it's likely Mr. Dunbar will see you, miss," he said; "but +I'll take your name up if you wish it." +</p><p> +"I shall be much obliged if you will do so." +</p><p> +"Certainly, miss. If you'll please to sit down in the hall I'll go to +Mr. Dunbar immediately. Your name is----" +</p><p> +"My name is Margaret Wilmot." +</p><p> +The waiter started as if he had been shot. +</p><p> +"Wilmot!" he exclaimed; "any relation to----" +</p><p> +"I am the daughter of Joseph Wilmot," answered Margaret, quietly. "You +can tell Mr. Dunbar so if you please." +</p><p> +"Yes, miss; I will, miss. Bless my soul! you really might knock me down +with a feather, miss. Mr. Dunbar can't possibly refuse to see <i>you</i>, I +should think, miss." +</p><p> +The waiter went up-stairs, looking back at Margaret as he went. He +seemed to think that the daughter of the murdered man ought to be, in +some way or other, different from other young women. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch15"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>BAFFLED.</h5></center> +<p> + +Mr. Dunbar was sitting in a luxurious easy-chair, with a newspaper lying +across his knee. Mr. Balderby had returned to London upon the previous +evening, but Arthur Lovell still remained with the Anglo-Indian. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar was a good deal the worse for the close confinement which +he had suffered since his arrival in the cathedral city. Everybody who +looked at him saw the change which the last ten days had made in his +appearance. He was very pale; there were dark purple rings about his +eyes; the eyes themselves were unnaturally bright: and the mouth--that +tell-tale feature, over whose expression no man has perfect +control--betrayed that the banker had suffered. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had been indefatigable in the service of his client: not +from any love towards the man, but always influenced more or less by the +reflection that Henry Dunbar was Laura's father; and that to serve Henry +Dunbar was in some manner to serve the woman he loved. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had only been discharged from custody upon the previous +evening, after a long and wearisome examination and cross-examination of +the witnesses who had given evidence at the coroner's inquest, and that +additional testimony upon which the magistrate had issued his warrant. +He had slept till late, and had only just finished breakfast, when the +waiter entered with Margaret's message. +</p><p> +"A young person wishes to see you, sir," he said, respectfully. +</p><p> +"A young person!" exclaimed Mr. Dunbar, impatiently; "I can't see any +one. What should any young person want with me?" +</p><p> +"She wants to see you particularly, sir; she says her name is +Wilmot--Margaret Wilmot; and that she is the daughter of----" +</p><p> +The sickly pallor of Mr. Dunbar's face changed to an awful livid hue: +and Arthur Lovell, looking at his client at this moment, saw the change. +</p><p> +It was the first time he had seen any evidence of fear either in the +face or manner of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"I will not see her," exclaimed Mr. Dunbar; "I never heard Wilmot speak +of any daughter. This woman is some impudent impostor, who wants to +extort money out of me. I will not see her: let her be sent about her +business." +</p><p> +The waiter hesitated. +</p><p> +"She is a very respectable-looking person, sir," he said; "she doesn't +look anything like an impostor." +</p><p> +"Perhaps not!" answered Mr. Dunbar, haughtily; "but she is an impostor, +for all that. Joseph Wilmot had no daughter, to my knowledge. Pray do +not let me be disturbed about this business. I have suffered quite +enough already on account of this man's death." +</p><p> +He sank back in his chair, and took up his newspaper as he finished +speaking. His face was completely hidden behind the newspaper. +</p><p> +"Shall I go and speak to this girl?" asked Arthur Lovell. "On no +account! The girl is an impostor. Let her be sent about her business!" +</p><p> +The waiter left the room. +</p><p> +"Pardon me, Mr. Dunbar," said the young lawyer; "but if you will allow +me to make a suggestion, as your legal adviser in this business, I would +really recommend you to see this girl." +</p><p> +"Why?" +</p><p> +"Because the people in a place like this are notorious gossips and +scandal-mongers. If you refuse to see this person, who, at any rate, +calls herself Joseph Wilmot's daughter, they may say----" +</p><p> +"They may say what?" asked Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"They may say that it is because you have some special reason for not +seeing her." +</p><p> +"Indeed, Mr. Lovell. Then I am to put myself out of the way--after being +fagged and harassed to death already about this business--and am to see +every adventuress who chooses to trade upon the name of the murdered +man, in order to stop the mouths of the good people of Winchester. I beg +to tell you, my dear sir, that I am utterly indifferent to anything that +may be said of me: and that I shall only study my own ease and comfort. +If people choose to think that Henry Dunbar is the murderer of his old +servant, they are welcome to their opinion: I shall not trouble myself +to set them right." +</p><p> +The waiter re-entered the room as Mr. Dunbar finished speaking. +</p><p> +"The young person says that she must see you, sir," the man said. "She +says that if you refuse to see her, she will wait at the door of this +house until you leave it. My master has spoken to her, sir; but it's no +use: she's the most determined young woman I ever saw." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar's face was still hidden by the newspaper. There was a little +pause before he replied. +</p><p> +"Lovell," he said at last, "perhaps you had better go and see this +person. You can find out if she is really related to that unhappy man. +Here is my purse. You can let her have any money you think proper. If +she is the daughter of that wretched man, I should, of course, wish her +to be well provided for. I will thank you to tell her that, Lovell. Tell +her that I am willing to settle an annuity upon her; always on condition +that she does not intrude herself upon me. But remember, whatever I give +is contingent upon her own good conduct, and must not in any way be +taken as a bribe. If she chooses to think and speak ill of me, she is +free to do so. I have no fear of her; nor of any one else." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell took the millionaire's purse and went down stairs with the +waiter. He found Margaret sitting in the hall. There was no impatience, +no violence in her manner: but there was a steady, fixed, resolute look +in her white face. The young lawyer felt that this girl would not be +easily put off by any denial of Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +He ushered Margaret into a private sitting-room leading out of the hall, +and then closed the door behind him. The disappointed waiter lingered +upon the door-mat: but the George is a well-built house, and that waiter +lingered in vain. +</p><p> +"You want to see Mr. Dunbar?" he said. +</p><p> +"Yes, sir!" +</p><p> +"He is very much fatigued by yesterday's business, and he declines to +see you. What is your motive for being so eager to see him?" +</p><p> +"I will tell that to Mr. Dunbar himself." +</p><p> +"You are <i>really</i> the daughter of Joseph Wilmot? Mr. Dunbar seems to +doubt the fact of his having had a daughter." +</p><p> +"Perhaps so. Mr. Dunbar may have been unaware of my existence until this +moment. I did not know until last night what had happened." +</p><p> +She stopped for a moment, half-stifled by a hysterical sob, which she +could not repress: but she very quickly regained her self-control, and +continued, slowly and deliberately, looking earnestly in the young man's +face with her clear brown eyes, "I did not know until last night that my +father's name was Wilmot; he had called himself by a false name--but +last night, after hearing of the--the--murder"--the horrible word seemed +to suffocate her, but she still went bravely on--"I searched a box of my +father's and found this." +</p><p> +She took from her pocket the letter directed to Norfolk Island, and +handed it to the lawyer. +</p><p> +"Read it," she said; "you will see then how my father had been wronged +by Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell unfolded the worn and faded letter. It had been written +five-and-twenty years before by Sampson Wilmot. Margaret pointed to one +passage on the second page. +</p><p> +<i>"Your bitterness against Henry Dunbar is very painful to me, my dear +Joseph; yet I cannot but feel that your hatred against my employer's son +is only natural. I know that he was the first cause of your ruin; and +that, but for him, your lot in life might have been very different. Try +to forgive him; try to forget him, even if you cannot forgive. Do not +talk of revenge. The revelation of that secret which you hold respecting +the forged bills would bring disgrace not only upon him, but upon his +father and his uncle. They are both good and honourable men, and I think +that shame would kill them. Remember this, and keep the secret of that +painful story."</i> +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell's face grew terribly grave as he read these lines. He had +heard the story of the forgery hinted at, but he had never heard its +details. He had looked upon it as a cruel scandal, which had perhaps +arisen out of some trifling error, some unpaid debt of honour; some +foolish gambling transaction in the early youth of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +But here, in the handwriting of the dead clerk, here was the evidence of +that old story. Those few lines in Sampson Wilmot's letter suggested a +<i>motive</i>. +</p><p> +The young lawyer dropped into a chair, and sat for some minutes silently +poring over the clerk's letter. He did not like Henry Dunbar. His +generous young heart, which had yearned towards Laura's father, had sunk +in his breast with a dull, chill feeling of disappointment, at his first +meeting with the rich man. +</p><p> +Still, after carefully sifting the evidence of the coroner's inquest, he +had come to the conclusion that Henry Dunbar was innocent of Joseph +Wilmot's death. He had carefully weighed every scrap of evidence against +the Anglo-Indian; and had deliberately arrived at this conclusion. +</p><p> +But now he looked at everything in a new light. The clerk's letter +suggested a motive, perhaps an adequate motive. The two men had gone +down together into that silent grove, the servant had threatened his +patron, they had quarrelled, and-- +</p><p> +No! the murder could scarcely have happened in this way. The assassin +had been armed with the cruel rope, and had crept stealthily behind his +victim. It was not a common murder; the rope and the slip-knot, the +treacherous running noose, hinted darkly at Oriental experiences: +somewhat in this fashion might a murderous Thug have assailed his +unconscious victim. +</p><p> +But then, on the other hand, there was one circumstance that always +remained in Henry Dunbar's favour--that circumstance was the robbery of +the dead man's clothes. The Anglo-Indian might very well have rifled the +pocket-book, and left it empty upon the scene of the murder, in order to +throw the officers of justice upon a wrong scent. That would have been +only the work of a few moments. +</p><p> +But was it probable--was it even possible--that the murderer would have +lingered in broad daylight, with every chance against him, long enough +to strip off the garments of his victim, in order still more effectually +to hoodwink suspicion? Was it not a great deal more likely that Joseph +Wilmot had spent the afternoon drinking in the tap-room of some roadside +public-house, and had rambled back into the grove after dark, to meet +his death at the hands of some every-day assassin, bent only upon +plunder? +</p><p> +All these thoughts passed through Arthur Lovell's mind as he sat with +Sampson's faded letter in his hands. Margaret Wilmot watched him with +eager, scrutinizing eyes. She saw doubt, perplexity, horror, indecision, +all struggling in his handsome face. +</p><p> +But the lawyer felt that it was his duty to act, and to act in the +interests of his client, whatever vaguely-hideous doubts might arise in +his own breast. Nothing but his <i>conviction</i> of Henry Dunbar's guilt +could justify him in deserting his client. He was not convinced; he was +only horror-stricken by the first whisper of doubt. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar declines to see you," he said to Margaret; "and I do not +really see what good could possibly arise out of an interview between +you. In the meantime, if you are in any way distressed--and you must +most likely need assistance at such a time as this--he is quite ready to +help you: and he is also ready to give you permanent help if you require +it." +</p><p> +He opened Henry Dunbar's purse as he spoke, but the girl rose and looked +at him with icy disdain in her fixed white face. +</p><p> +"I would sooner crawl from door to door, begging my bread of the hardest +strangers in this cruel world--I would sooner die from the lingering +agonies of starvation--than I would accept help from Henry Dunbar. No +power on earth will ever induce me to take a sixpence from that man's +hand." +</p><p> +"Why not?" +</p><p> +"<i>You</i> know why not. I can see that knowledge in your face. Tell Mr. +Dunbar that I will wait at the door of this house till he comes out to +speak to me. I will wait until I drop down dead." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell went back to his client, and told him what the girl said. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar was walking up and down the room, with his head bent moodily +upon his breast. +</p><p> +"By heavens!" he cried, angrily, "I will have this girl removed by the +police, if----" +</p><p> +He stopped abruptly, and his head sank once more upon his breast. +</p><p> +"I would most earnestly advise you to see her," pleaded Arthur Lovell; +"if she goes away in her present frame of mind, she may spread a +horrible scandal against you. Your refusing to see her will confirm the +suspicions which----" +</p><p> +"What!" cried Henry Dunbar; "does she dare to suspect me?" +</p><p> +"I fear so." +</p><p> +"Has she said as much?" +</p><p> +"Not in actual words. But her manner betrayed her suspicions. You must +not wonder if this girl is unreasonable. Her father's miserable fate +must have been a terrible blow to her." +</p><p> +"Did you offer her money?" +</p><p> +"I did." +</p><p> +"And she----" +</p><p> +"She refused it." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar winced, as if the announcement of the girl's refusal had +stung him to the quick. +</p><p> +"Since it must be so," he said, "I will see this importunate woman. But +not to-day. To-day I must and will have rest. Tell her to come to me +to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. I will see her then." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell carried this message to Margaret. +</p><p> +The girl looked at him with an earnest questioning glance. +</p><p> +"You are not deceiving me?" she said. +</p><p> +"No, indeed!" +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar said that?" +</p><p> +"He did." +</p><p> +"Then I will go away. But do not let Henry Dunbar try to deceive me! for +I will follow him to the end of the world. I care very little where I go +in my search for the man who murdered my father!" +</p><p> +She went slowly away. She went down into the cathedral yard, across +which the murdered man had gone arm-in-arm with his companion. Some +boys, loitering about at the entrance to the meadows, answered all her +questions, and took her to the spot upon which the body had been found. +</p><p> +It was a dull misty day, and there was a low wind wailing amongst the +wet branches of the old trees. The rain-drops from the fading leaves +fell into the streamlet, from whose shallow waters the dead man's face +had looked up to the moonlit sky. +</p><p> +Later in the afternoon, Margaret found her way to a cemetery outside the +town, where, under a newly-made mound of turf, the murdered man lay. +</p><p> +A great many people had been to see this grave, and had been very much +disappointed at finding it in no way different from other graves. +</p><p> +Already the good citizens of Winchester had begun to hint that the grove +near St. Cross was haunted; and there was a vague report to the effect +that the dead man had been seen there, walking in the twilight. +</p><p> +Punctual to the very striking of the clock, Margaret Wilmot presented +herself at the George at the time appointed by Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +She had passed a wretched night at a humble inn a little way put of the +town, and had been dreaming all night of her meeting with Mr. Dunbar. In +those troubled dreams she had met the rich man perpetually: now in one +place, now in another: but always in the most unlikely places: yet she +had never seen his face. She had tried to see it; but by some strange +devilry or other, peculiar to the incidents of a dream, it had been +always hidden from her. +</p><p> +The same waiter was lounging in the same attitude at the door of the +hotel. He looked up with an expression of surprise as Margaret +approached him. +</p><p> +"You've not gone, then, miss?" he exclaimed. +</p><p> +"Gone! No! I have waited to see Mr. Dunbar!" +</p><p> +"Well, that's queer," said the waiter; "did he tell you he'd see you?" +</p><p> +"Yes, he promised to see me at ten o'clock this morning." +</p><p> +"That's uncommon queer." +</p><p> +"Why so?" asked Margaret, eagerly. +</p><p> +"Because Mr. Dunbar, and that young gent as was with him, went away, bag +and baggage, by last night's express." +</p><p> +Margaret Wilmot gave no utterance to either surprise or indignation. She +walked quietly away, and went once more to the house of Sir Arden +Westhorpe. She told him what had occurred; and her statement was written +down and signed, as upon the previous day. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar murdered my father!" she said, after this had been done; +"and he's afraid to see me!" +</p><p> +The magistrate shook his head gravely. +</p><p> +"No, no, my dear," he said; "you must not say that. I cannot allow you +to make such an assertion as that. Circumstantial evidence often points +to an innocent person. If Mr. Dunbar had been in any way concerned in +this matter, he would have made a point of seeing you, in order to set +your suspicions at rest. His declining to see you is only the act of a +selfish man, who has already suffered very great inconvenience from this +business, and who dreads the scandal of some tragical scene." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch16"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XVI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>IS IT LOVE OR FEAR?</h5></center> +<p> + +Henry Dunbar and Arthur Lovell slept at the same hotel upon the night of +their journey from Winchester to London; for the banker refused to +disturb his daughter by presenting himself at the house in Portland +Place after midnight. +</p><p> +In this, at least, he showed himself a considerate father. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had made every effort in his power to dissuade the banker +from leaving Winchester upon that night, and thus breaking the promise +that he had made to Margaret Wilmot. Henry Dunbar was resolute; and the +young lawyer had no alternative. If his client chose to do a +dishonourable thing, in spite of all that the young man could say +against it, of course it was no business of his. For his own part, +Arthur Lovell was only too glad to get back to London; for Laura Dunbar +was there: and wherever she was, there was Paradise, in the opinion of +this foolish young man. +</p><p> +Early upon the morning after their arrival in London, Henry Dunbar and +the young lawyer breakfasted together in their sitting-room at the +hotel. It was a bright morning, and even London looked pleasant in the +sunshine. Henry Dunbar stood in the window, looking out into the street +below, while the breakfast was being placed upon the table. The hotel +was situated in a new street at the West End. +</p><p> +"You find London very much altered, I dare say, Mr. Dunbar?" said Arthur +Lovell, as he unfolded the morning paper. +</p><p> +"How do you mean altered?" asked the banker, absently. +</p><p> +"I mean, that after so long an absence you must find great improvements. +This street for instance--it has not been built six years." +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, I remember. There were fields upon this spot when I went to +India." +</p><p> +They sat down to breakfast. Henry Dunbar was absent-minded, and ate very +little. When he had drunk a cup of tea, he took out the locket +containing Laura's miniature, and sat silently contemplating it. +</p><p> +By-and-by he unfastened the locket from the chain, and handed it across +the table to Arthur Lovell. +</p><p> +"My daughter is very beautiful, if she is like that," said the banker; +"do you consider it a good likeness?" +</p><p> +The young lawyer looked at the portrait with a tender smile. "Yes," he +said, thoughtfully, "it is very like her--only----" +</p><p> +"Only what?" +</p><p> +"The picture is not lovely enough." +</p><p> +"Indeed! and yet it is very beautiful. Laura resembles her mother, who +was a lovely woman." +</p><p> +"But I have heard your father say, that the lower part of Miss Dunbar's +face--the mouth and chin--reminded him of yours. I must own, Mr. +Dunbar, that I cannot see the likeness." +</p><p> +"I dare say not," the banker answered, carelessly; "you must allow +something for the passage of time, my dear Lovell. and the wear and tear +of a life in Calcutta. I dare say my mouth and chin are rather harder +and sterner in their character than Laura's." +</p><p> +There was nothing more said upon the subject of the likeness; by-and-by +Mr. Dunbar got up, took his hat, and went towards the door. +</p><p> +"You will come with me, Lovell," he said. +</p><p> +"Oh, no, Mr. Dunbar. I would not wish to intrude upon you at such a +time. The first interview between a father and daughter, after a +separation of so many years, is almost sacred in its character. I----" +</p><p> +"Pshaw, Mr. Lovell! I did not think a solicitor's son would be weak +enough to indulge in any silly sentimentality. I shall be very glad to +see my daughter; and I understand from her letters that she will be +pleased to see me. That is all! At the same time, as you know Laura much +better than I do, you may as well come with me." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar's looks belied the carelessness of his words. His face was +deadly pale, and there was a singularly rigid expression about his +mouth. +</p><p> +Laura had received no notice of her father's coming. She was sitting at +the same window by which she had sat when Arthur Lovell asked her to be +his wife. She was sitting in the same low luxurious easy-chair, with the +hot-house flowers behind her, and a huge Newfoundland dog--a faithful +attendant that she had brought from Maudesley Abbey--lying at her feet. +</p><p> +The door of Miss Dunbar's morning-room was open: and upon the broad +landing-place outside the apartment the banker stopped suddenly, and +laid his hand upon the gilded balustrade. For a moment it seemed almost +as if he would have fallen: but he leaned heavily upon the bronze +scroll-work of the banister, and bit his lower lip fiercely with his +strong white teeth. Arthur Lovell was not displeased to perceive this +agitation: for he had been wounded by the careless manner in which Henry +Dunbar had spoken of his beautiful daughter. Now it was evident that the +banker's indifference had only been assumed as a mask beneath which the +strong man had tried to conceal the intensity of his feelings. +</p><p> +The two men lingered upon the landing-place for a few minutes; while Mr. +Dunbar looked about him, and endeavoured to control his agitation. +Everything here was new to him: for neither the house in Portland Place, +nor Maudesley Abbey, had been in the possession of the Dunbar family +more than twenty years. +</p><p> +The millionaire contemplated his possessions. Even upon that +landing-place there was no lack of evidence of wealth. A Persian carpet +covered the centre of the floor, and beyond its fringed margin a +tessellated pavement of coloured marbles took new and brighter hues from +the slanting rays of sunlight that streamed in through a wide +stained-glass window upon the staircase. Great Dresden vases of exotics +stood on pedestals of malachite and gold: and a trailing curtain of +purple velvet hung half-way across the entrance to a long suite of +drawing-rooms--a glistening vista of light and splendour. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar pushed open the door, and stood upon the threshold of his +daughter's chamber. Laura started to her feet. +</p><p> +"Papa!--papa!" she cried; "I thought that you would come to-day!" +</p><p> +She ran to him and fell upon his breast, half-weeping, half-laughing. +The Newfoundland dog crept up to Mr. Dunbar with his head down: he +sniffed at the heels of the millionaire, and then looked slowly upward +at the man's face with sombre sulky-looking eyes, and began to growl +ominously. +</p><p> +"Take your dog away, Laura!" cried Mr. Dunbar, angrily. +</p><p> +It happened thus that the very first words Henry Dunbar said to his +daughter were uttered in a tone of anger. The girl drew herself away +from him, and looked up almost piteously in her father's face. That face +was as pale as death: but cold, stern, and impassible. Laura Dunbar +shivered as she looked at it. She had been a spoiled child; a pampered, +idolized beauty; and had never heard anything but words of love and +tenderness. Her lips quivered, and the tears came into her eyes. +</p><p> +"Come away, Pluto," she said to the dog; "papa does not want us." +</p><p> +She took the great flapping ears of the animal in her two hands, and led +him out of the room. The dog went with his young mistress submissively +enough: but he looked back at the last moment to growl at Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +Laura left the Newfoundland on the landing-place, and went back to her +father. She flung herself for the second time into the banker's arms. +</p><p> +"Darling papa," she cried, impetuously; "my dog shall never growl at you +again. Dear papa, tell me you are glad to come home to your poor girl. +You <i>would</i> tell me so, if you knew how dearly I love you." +</p><p> +She lifted up her lips and kissed Henry Dunbar's impassible face. But +she recoiled from him for the second time with a shudder and a +long-drawn shivering sigh. The lips of the millionaire were as cold as +ice. +</p><p> +"Papa," she cried, "how cold you are! I'm afraid that you are ill!" +</p><p> +He was ill. Arthur Lovell, who stood quietly watching the meeting +between the father and daughter, saw a change come over his client's +face, and wheeled forward an arm-chair just in time for Henry Dunbar to +fall into it as heavily as a log of wood. +</p><p> +The banker had fainted. For the second time since the murder in the +grove near St. Cross he had betrayed violent and sudden emotion. This +time the emotion was stronger than his will, and altogether overcame +him. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell laid the insensible man flat upon his back on the carpet. +Laura rushed to fetch water and aromatic vinegar from her dressing-room: +and in five minutes Mr. Dunbar opened his eyes, and looked about him +with a wild half-terrified expression in his face. For a moment he +glared fiercely at the anxious countenance of Laura, who knelt beside +him: then his whole frame was shaken by a convulsive trembling, and his +teeth chattered violently. But this lasted only for a few moments. He +overcame it: grinding his teeth, and clenching his strong hands: and +then staggered heavily to his feet. +</p><p> +"I am subject to these fainting fits," he said, with a wan, sickly smile +upon his white face; "and I dreaded this interview on that account: I +knew that it would be too much for me." +</p><p> +He seated himself upon the low sofa which Laura had pushed towards him, +resting his elbows on his knees, and hiding his face in his hands. Miss +Dunbar placed herself beside her father, and wound her arm about his +neck. +</p><p> +"Poor papa," she murmured, softly; "I am so sorry our meeting has +agitated you like this: and to think that I should have fancied you cold +and unkind to me, at the very time when your silent emotion was an +evidence of your love!" +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell had gone through the open window into the conservatory: +but he could hear the girl talking to her father. His face was very +grave: and the same shadow that had clouded it once during the course of +the coroner's inquest rested upon it now. +</p><p> +"An evidence of his love! Heaven grant this may be love," he thought to +himself; "but to me it seems a great deal more like fear!" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch17"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XVII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE BROKEN PICTURE.</h5></center> +<p> + +Arthur Lovell stopped at Portland Place for the rest of the day, and +dined with the banker and his daughter in the evening. The dinner-party +was a very cheerful one, as far as Mr. Dunbar and his daughter were +concerned: for Laura was in very high spirits on account of her father's +return, and Dora Macmahon joined pleasantly in the conversation. The +banker had welcomed his dead wife's elder daughter with a speech which, +if a little studied in its tone, was at any rate very kind in its +meaning. +</p><p> +"I shall always be glad to see you with my poor motherless girl," he +said; "and if you can make your home altogether with us, you shall never +have cause to remember that you are less nearly allied to me than Laura +herself." +</p><p> +When he met Arthur and the two girls at the dinner-table, Henry Dunbar +had quite recovered from the agitation of the morning, and talked gaily +of the future. He alluded now and then to his Indian reminiscences, but +did not dwell long upon this subject. His mind seemed full of plans for +his future life. He would do this, that, and the other, at Maudesley +Abbey, in Yorkshire, and in Portland Place. He had the air of a man who +fully appreciates the power of wealth; and is prepared to enjoy all that +wealth can give him. He drank a good deal of wine during the course of +the dinner, and his spirits rose with every glass. +</p><p> +But in spite of his host's gaiety, Arthur Lovell was ill at ease. Do +what he would, he could not shake off the memory of the meeting between +the father and daughter. Henry Dunbar's deadly pallor--that wild, scared +look in his eyes, as they slowly reopened and glared upon Laura's +anxious face--were ever present to the young lawyer's mind. +</p><p> +Why was this man frightened of his beautiful child?--for that it was +fear, and not love, which had blanched Henry Dunbar's face, the lawyer +felt positive. Why was this father frightened of his own daughter, +unless----? +</p><p> +Unless what? +</p><p> +Only one horrible and ghastly suggestion presented itself to Arthur +Lovell's mind. Henry Dunbar was the murderer of his old valet: and the +consciousness of guilt had paralyzed him at the first touch of his +daughter's innocent lips. +</p><p> +But, oh, how terrible if this were true--how terrible to think that +Laura Dunbar was henceforth to live in daily and hourly association with +a traitor and an assassin! +</p><p> +"I have promised to love her for ever, though my love is hopeless, and +to serve her faithfully if ever she should need of my devotion," Arthur +Lovell thought, as he sat silent at the dinner-table, while Henry Dunbar +and his daughter talked together gaily. +</p><p> +The lawyer watched his client now with intense anxiety; and it seemed to +him that there was something feverish and unnatural in the banker's +gaiety. Laura and her step-sister left the room soon after dinner: and +the two men remained alone at the long, ponderous-looking dinner-table, +on which the sparkling diamond-cut decanters and Sèvres dessert-dishes +looked like tiny vases of light and colour on a dreary waste of polished +mahogany. +</p><p> +"I shall go to Maudesley Abbey to-morrow," Henry Dunbar said. "I want +rest and solitude after all this trouble and excitement: and Laura tells +me that she infinitely prefers Maudesley to London. Do you think of +returning to Warwickshire, Mr. Lovell?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, immediately. My father expected my return a week ago. I only +came up to town to act as Miss Dunbar's escort." +</p><p> +"Indeed, that was very kind of you. You have known my daughter for a +long time, I understand by her letters." +</p><p> +"Yes. We were children together. I was a great deal at the Abbey in old +Mr. Dunbar's time." +</p><p> +"And you will still be more often there in my time, I hope," Henry +Dunbar answered, courteously. "I fancy I could venture to make a pretty +correct guess at a certain secret of yours, my dear Lovell. Unless I am +very much mistaken, you have a more than ordinary regard for my +daughter." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell was silent, his heart beat violently, and he looked the +banker unflinchingly in the face; but he did not speak, he only bent his +head in answer to the rich man's questions. +</p><p> +"I have guessed rightly, then," said Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +"Yes, sir, I love Miss Dunbar as truly as ever a man loved the woman of +his choice! but----" +</p><p> +"But what? She is the daughter of a millionaire, and you fear her +father's disapproval of your pretensions, eh?" +</p><p> +"No, Mr. Dunbar. If your daughter loved me as truly as I love her, I +would marry her in spite of you--in spite of the world; and carve my own +way to fortune. But such a blessing as Laura Dunbar's love is not for +me. I have spoken to her, and----" +</p><p> +"She has rejected you?" +</p><p> +"She has." +</p><p> +"Pshaw! girls of her age are as changeable as the winds of heaven. Do +not despair, Mr. Lovell; and as far as my consent goes, you may have it +to-morrow, if you like. You are young, good-looking, clever, agreeable: +what more, in the name of feminine frivolity, can a girl want? You will +find no stupid prejudices in me, Mr. Lovell. I should like to see you +married to my daughter: for I believe you love her very sincerely. You +have my good will, I assure you. There is my hand upon it." +</p><p> +He held out his hand as he spoke, and Arthur Lovell took it, a little +reluctantly perhaps, but with as good a grace as he could. +</p><p> +"I thank you, sir," he said, "for your good will, and----" +</p><p> +He tried to say something more, but the words died away upon his lips. +The horrible fear which had taken possession of his breast after the +scene of the morning, weighed upon him like the burden that seems to lie +upon the sleeper's breast throughout the strange agony of nightmare. Do +what he would, he could not free himself from the weight of this +dreadful doubt. Mr. Dunbar's words <i>seemed</i> to emanate from the kind and +generous breast of a good man: but, on the other hand, might it not be +possible that the banker wished to <i>get rid</i> of his daughter? +</p><p> +He had betrayed fear in her presence, that morning: and now he was eager +to give her hand to the first suitor who presented himself: ineligible +as that suitor was in a worldly point of view. Might it not be that the +girl's innocent society was oppressive to her father, and that he wished +therefore to shuffle her off upon a new protector? +</p><p> +"I shall be very busy this evening, Mr. Lovell," said Henry Dunbar, +presently; "for I must look over some papers I have amongst the luggage +that was sent on here from Southampton. When you are tired of the +dining-room, you will be able to find the two girls, and amuse yourself +in their society, I have no doubt." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar rang the bell. It was answered by an elderly man-servant out +of livery. +</p><p> +"What have you done with the luggage that was sent from Southampton?" +asked the banker. +</p><p> +"It has all been placed in old Mr. Dunbar's bed-room, sir," the man +answered. +</p><p> +"Very well; let lights be carried there, and let the portmanteaus and +packing-cases be unstrapped and opened." +</p><p> +He handed a bunch of keys to the servant, and followed the man out of +the room. In the hall he stopped suddenly, arrested by the sound of a +woman's voice. +</p><p> +The entrance-hall of the house in Portland Place was divided into two +compartments, separated from each other by folding-doors, the upper +panels of which were of ground glass. There was a porter's chair in the +outer division of the hall, and a bronzed lamp hung from the domed +ceiling. +</p><p> +The doors between the inner and outer hall were ajar, and the voice +which Henry Dunbar heard was that of a woman speaking to the porter. +</p><p> +"I am Joseph Wilmot's daughter," the woman said. "Mr. Dunbar promised +that he would see me at Winchester: he broke his word, and left +Winchester without seeing me: but he <i>shall</i> see me, sooner or later; +for I will follow him wherever he goes, until I look into his face, and +say that which I have to say to him." +</p><p> +The girl did not speak loudly or violently. There was a quiet +earnestness in her voice; an earnestness and steadiness of tone which +expressed more determination than any noisy or passionate utterance +could have done. +</p><p> +"Good gracious me, young woman!" exclaimed the porter, "do you think as +I'm goin' to send such a rampagin' kind of a message as that to Mr. +Dunbar? Why, it would be as much as my place is worth to do it. Go along +about your business, miss; and don't you preshume to come to such a +house as this durin' gentlefolks' dinner-hours another time. Why, I'd +sooner take a message to one of the tigers in the Joological-gardings at +feedin' time than I'd intrude upon such a gentleman as Mr. Dunbar when +he's sittin' over his claret." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar stopped to listen to this conversation; then he went back +into the dining-room, and beckoned to the servant who was waiting to +precede him up-stairs. +</p><p> +"Bring me pen, ink, and paper," he said. +</p><p> +The man wheeled a writing-table towards the banker. Henry Dunbar sat +down and wrote the following lines; in the firm aristocratic handwriting +that was so familiar to the chief clerks in the banking-house. +</p><p> +"<i>The young person who calls herself Joseph Wilmot's daughter is +informed that Mr. Dunbar declines to see her now, or at any future time. +He is perfectly inflexible upon this point; and the young person will do +well to abandon the system of annoyance which she is at present +pursuing. Should she fail to do so, a statement of her conduct will be +submitted to the police, and prompt measures taken to secure Mr. +Dunbar's freedom from persecution. Herewith Mr. Dunbar forwards the +young person a sum of money which will enable her to live for some time +with ease and independence. Further remittances will be sent to her at +short intervals; if she conducts herself with propriety, and refrains +from attempting any annoyance against Mr. Dunbar. +<br> +"Portland Place, August 30, 1850</i>." +</p><p> +The banker took out his cheque-book, wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, +and folded it in the note which he had just written then he rang the +bell, and gave the note to the elderly manservant who waited upon him. +</p><p> +"Let that be taken to the young person in the hall," he said. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar followed the servant to the dining-room door and stood upon +the threshold, listening. He heard the man speak to Margaret Wilmot as +he delivered the letter; and then he heard the crackling of the +envelope, as the girl tore it open. +</p><p> +There was a pause, during which the listener waited, with an anxious +expression on his face. +</p><p> +He had not to wait long. Margaret spoke presently, in a clear ringing +voice, that vibrated through the hall. +</p><p> +"Tell your master," she said, "that I will die of starvation sooner than +I would accept bread from his hand. You can tell him what I did with his +generous gift." +</p><p> +There was another brief pause; and then, in the hushed stillness of the +house, Henry Dunbar heard a light shower of torn paper flutter down upon +the polished marble floor. Then he heard the great door of the house +close upon Joseph Wilmot's daughter. +</p><p> +The millionaire covered his face with his hands, and gave a long sigh: +but he lifted his head presently, shrugged his shoulders with an +impatient gesture, and went slowly up the lighted staircase. +</p><p> +The suite of apartments that had been occupied by Percival Dunbar +comprised the greater part of the second floor of the house in Portland +Place. There was a spacious bed-chamber, a comfortable study, a +dressing-room, bath-room, and antechamber. The furniture was handsome, +but of a ponderous style: and, in spite of their splendour, the rooms +had a gloomy look. Everything about them was dark and heavy. The house +was an old one, and the five windows fronting the street were long and +narrow, with deep oaken seats in the recesses between the heavy +shutters. The walls were covered with a dark green paper that looked +like cloth. The footsteps of the occupant were muffled by the rich +thickness of the sombre Turkey carpet. The voluminous curtains that +sheltered the windows, and shrouded the carved rosewood four-post bed, +were of a dark green, which looked black in the dim light. +</p><p> +The massive chairs and tables were of black oak, with cushions of green +velvet. A few valuable cabinet pictures, by the old masters, set in deep +frames of ebony and gold, hung at wide distances upon the wall. There +was the head of an ecclesiastic, cut from a large picture by +Spagnoletti; a Venetian senator by Tintoretto; the Adoration of the Magi +by Caravaggio. An ivory crucifix was the only object upon the high, +old-fashioned chimney-piece. +</p><p> +A pair of wax-candles, in antique silver candlesticks, burned upon a +writing-table near the fireplace, and made a spot of light in the gloomy +bed-chamber. All Henry Dunbar's luggage had been placed in this room. +There were packing-cases and portmanteaus of almost every size and +shape, and they had all been opened by a man-servant, who was kneeling +by the last when the banker entered the room. +</p><p> +"You will sleep here to-night, sir, I presume?" the servant said, +interrogatively, as he prepared to quit the apartment. "Mrs. Parkyn +thought it best to prepare these rooms for your occupation." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar looked thoughtfully round the spacious chamber. +</p><p> +"Is there no other place in which I can sleep?" he asked. "These rooms +are horribly gloomy." +</p><p> +"There is a spare room upon the floor above this, sir." +</p><p> +"Very well; let the spare room be got ready for me. I have a good many +arrangements to make, and shall be late." "Will you require assistance, +sir?" +</p><p> +"No. Let the room up-stairs be prepared. Is it immediately above this?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +"Good; I shall know how to find it, then. No one need sit up for me. Let +Miss Dunbar be told that I shall not see her again to-night, and that I +shall start for Maudesley in the course of to-morrow. She can make her +arrangements accordingly. You understand?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +"Then you can go. Remember, I do not wish to be disturbed again +to-night." +</p><p> +"You will want nothing more, sir?" +</p><p> +"Nothing." +</p><p> +The man retired. Henry Dunbar followed him to the door, listened to his +receding footsteps in the corridor and upon the staircase, and then +turned the key in the lock. He went back to the centre of the room, and +kneeling down before one of the open portmanteaus, took out every +article which it contained, slowly: removing the things one by one, and +throwing most of them into a heap upon the floor. He went through this +operation with the contents of all the boxes, throwing the clothes upon +the floor, and carrying the papers to the writing-table, where he piled +them up in a great mass. This business occupied a very long time, and +the hands of an antique clock, upon a bracket in a corner of the room, +pointed to midnight when the banker seated himself at the table, and +began to arrange and sort his papers. +</p><p> +This operation lasted for several hours. The candles were burnt down, +and the flames flickered slowly out in the silver sockets. Mr. Dunbar +went to one of the windows, drew back the green-cloth curtain, unbarred +the heavy shutters, and let the grey morning light into the room. But he +still went on with his work: reading faded documents, tying up old +papers, making notes upon the backs of letters, and other notes in his +own memorandum-book: very much as he had done at the Winchester Hotel. +The broad sunlight streamed in upon the sombre colours of the Turkey +carpet, the sound of wheels was in the street below, when the banker's +work was finished. By that time he had arranged all the papers with +unusual precision, and replaced them in one of the portmanteaus: but he +left the clothes in a careless heap upon the floor, just as they had +fallen when he first threw them out of the boxes. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar did one thing more before he left the room. Amongst the +papers which he had arranged upon the writing-table, there was a small +square morocco case, containing a photograph done upon glass. He took +this picture out of the case, dropped it upon the polished oaken floor +beyond the margin of the carpet, and ground the glass into atoms with +the heavy heel of his boot. But even then he was not content with his +work of destruction, for he stamped upon the tiny fragments until there +was nothing left of the picture but a handful of sparkling dust. He +scattered this about with his foot, dropped the empty morocco case into +his pocket, and went up-stairs in the morning sunlight. +</p><p> +It was past six o'clock, and Mr. Dunbar heard the voices of the +women-servants upon the back staircase as he went to his room. He threw +himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed, and fell into a heavy slumber. +</p><p> +At three o'clock the same day Mr. Dunbar left London for Maudesley +Abbey, accompanied by his daughter, Dora Macmahon, and Arthur Lovell. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch18"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XVIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THREE WHO SUSPECT.</h5></center> +<p> + +No further discovery was made respecting the murder that had been +committed in the grove between Winchester and St. Cross. The police made +every effort to find the murderer, but without result. A large reward +was offered by the government for the apprehension of the guilty man; +and a still larger reward was offered by Mr. Dunbar, who declared that +his own honour and good name were in a manner involved in the discovery +of the real murderer. +</p><p> +The one clue by which the police hoped to trace the footsteps of the +assassin was the booty which his crime had secured to him: the contents +of the pocket-book that had been rifled, and the clothes which had been +stripped from the corpse of the victim. By means of the clue which these +things might afford, the detective police hoped to reach the guilty man. +But they hoped in vain. Every pawnbroker's shop in Winchester, and in +every town within a certain radius of Winchester, was searched, but +without effect. No clothes at all resembling those that had been seen +upon the person of the dead man had been pledged within forty miles of +the cathedral city. The police grew hopeless at last. The reward was a +large one; but the darkness of the mystery seemed impenetrable, and +little by little people left off talking of the murder. By slow degrees +the gossips resigned themselves to the idea that the secret of Joseph +Wilmot's death was to remain a secret for ever. Two or three "sensation" +leaders appeared in some of the morning papers, urging the bloodhounds +of the law to do their work, and taunting the members of the detective +force with supineness and stupidity. I dare say the social +leader-writers were rather hard-up for subjects at this stagnant +autumnal period, and were scarcely sorry for the mysterious death of the +man in the grove. The public grumbled a little when there was no new +paragraph in the papers about "that dreadful Winchester murder;" but the +nine-days' period during which the English public cares to wonder +elapsed, and nothing had been done. Other murders were committed as +brutal in their nature as the murder in the grove; and the world, which +rarely stops long to lament for the dead, began to think of other +things. Joseph Wilmot was forgotten. +</p><p> +A month passed very quietly at Maudesley Abbey. Henry Dunbar took his +place in the county as a person of importance; lights blazed in the +splendid rooms; carriages drove in and out of the great gates in the +park, and all the landed gentry within twenty miles of the abbey came to +pay their respects to the millionaire who had newly returned from India. +He did not particularly encourage people's visits, but he submitted +himself to such festivities as his daughter declared to be necessary, +and did the honours of his house with a certain haughty grandeur, which +was a little stiff and formal as compared to the easy friendly grace of +his high-bred visitors. People shrugged their shoulders, and hinted that +there was something of the "roturier" in Mr. Dunbar; but they freely +acknowledged that he was a fine handsome-looking fellow, and that his +daughter was an angel, rendered still more angelic by the earthly +advantage of half a million or so for her marriage-portion. +</p><p> +Meanwhile Margaret Wilmot lived alone in her simple countrified lodging, +and thought sadly enough of the father whom she had lost. +</p><p> +He had not been a good father, but she had loved him nevertheless. She +had pitied him for his sorrows, and the wrongs that had been done him. +She had loved him for those feeble traces of a better nature that had +been dimly visible in his character. +</p><p> +"He had not been <i>always</i> a cheat and reprobate," the girl thought as +she sat pondering upon her father's fate. "He never would have been +dishonest but for Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +She remembered with bitter feelings the aspect of the rich man's house +in Portland Place. She had caught a glimpse of its splendour upon the +night after her return from Winchester. Through the narrow opening +between the folding-doors she had seen the pictures and the statues +glimmering in the lamplight of the inner hall. She had seen in that +brief moment a bright confusion of hothouse flowers, and trailing satin +curtains, gilded mouldings, and frescoed panels, the first few shallow +steps of a marble staircase, the filigree-work of the bronze balustrade. +</p><p> +Only for one moment had she peeped wonderingly into the splendid +interior of Henry Dunbar's mansion; but the objects seen in that one +brief glance had stamped themselves upon the girl's memory. +</p><p> +"He is rich," she thought, "and they say that wealth can buy all the +best things upon this earth. But, after all, there are few <i>real</i> things +that it can purchase. It can buy flattery, and simulated love, and sham +devotion, but it cannot buy one genuine heart-throb, one thrill of true +feeling. All the wealth of this world cannot buy <i>peace</i> for Henry +Dunbar, or forgetfulness. So long as I live he shall be made to +remember. If his own guilty conscience can suffer him to forget, it +shall be my task to recall the past. I promised my dead father that I +would remember the name of Henry Dunbar; I have had good reason to +remember it." +</p><p> +Margaret Wilmot was not quite alone in her sorrow. There was one person +who sympathized with her, with an earnest and pure desire to help her in +her sorrow. This person was Clement Austin, the cashier in St. +Gundolph's Lane; the man who had fallen head-over-heels in love with the +pretty music-mistress, but who felt half ashamed of his sudden and +unreasoning affection. +</p><p> +"I have always ridiculed what people call 'love at sight,'" he thought; +"surely I am not so silly as to have been bewitched by hazel eyes and a +straight nose. Perhaps, after all, I only take an interest in this girl +because she is so beautiful and so lonely, and because of the kind of +mystery there seems to be about her life." +</p><p> +Never for one moment had Clement Austin suspected that this mystery +involved anything discreditable to Margaret herself. The girl's sad face +seemed softly luminous with the tender light of pure and holy thoughts. +The veriest churl could scarcely have associated vice or falsehood with +such a lovely and harmonious image. +</p><p> +Since her return from Winchester, since the failure of her second +attempt to see Henry Dunbar, her life had pursued its wonted course; and +she went so quietly about her daily duties, that it was only by the +settled sadness of her face, the subdued gravity of her manner, that +people became aware of some heavy grief that had newly fallen upon her. +</p><p> +Clement Austin had watched her far too closely not to understand her +better than other people. He had noticed the change in her costume, when +she put on simple inexpensive mourning for her dead father; and he +ventured to express his regret for the loss which she had experienced. +She told him, with a gentle sorrowful accent in her voice, that she had +lately lost some one who was very dear to her; and that the loss had +been unexpected, and was very bitter to bear. But she told him no more; +and he was too well bred to intrude upon her grief by any further +question. +</p><p> +But though he refrained from saying more upon this occasion, the cashier +brooded long and deeply upon the conduct of his niece's music-mistress: +and one chilly September evening, when Miss Wentworth was <i>not</i> expected +at Clapham, he walked across Wandsworth Common, and went straight to the +lane in which Godolphin Cottages sheltered themselves under the shadow +of the sycamores. +</p><p> +Margaret had very few intervals of idleness, and there was a kind of +melancholy relief to her in such an evening as this, on which she was +free to think of her dead father, and the strange story of his death. +She was standing at the low wooden gate opening into the little garden +below the window of her room, in the deepening twilight of this +September evening. It was late in the month: the leaves were falling +from the trees, and drifting with a rustling sound along the dusty +roadway. +</p><p> +The girl stood with her elbow resting upon the top of the gate, and a +dark shawl covering her head and shoulders. She was tired and unhappy, +and she stood in a melancholy attitude, looking with sad eyes towards +the glimpse of the river at the bottom of the lane. So entirely was she +absorbed by her own gloomy thoughts, that she did not hear a footstep +approaching from the other end of the lane; she did not look up until a +man's voice said, in subdued tones,-- +</p><p> +"Good evening, Miss Wentworth; are you not afraid of catching cold? I +hope your shawl is thick, for the dews are falling, and here, near the +river, there is a damp mist on these autumn nights." +</p><p> +The speaker was Clement Austin. +</p><p> +Margaret Wilmot looked up at him, and a pensive smile stole over her +face. Yes, it was something to be spoken to so kindly in that deep manly +voice. The world had seemed so blank since her father's death: such +utter desolation had descended upon her since her miserable journey to +Winchester, and her useless visit to Portland Place: for since that time +she had shrunk away from people, wrapped in her own sorrow, separated +from the commonplace world by the exceptional nature of her misery. It +was something to this poor girl to hear thoughtful and considerate +words; and the unbidden tears clouded her eyes. +</p><p> +As yet she had spoken openly of her trouble to no living creature, since +that night upon which she had attempted to gain admission to Mr. +Dunbar's house. She was still known in the neighbourhood as Margaret +Wentworth. She had put on mourning: and she had told the few people +about the place where she lived, of her father's death: but she had told +no one the manner of that death. She had shared her gloomy secret with +neither friends nor counsellors, and had borne her dismal burden alone. +It was for this reason that Clement Austin's friendly voice raised an +unwonted emotion in her breast. The desolate girl remembered that night +upon which she had first heard of the murder, and she remembered the +sympathy that Mr. Austin had evinced on that occasion. +</p><p> +"My mother has been quite anxious about you, Miss Wentworth," said +Clement Austin. "She has noticed such a change in your manner for the +last month or five weeks; though you are as kind as ever to my little +niece, who makes wonderful progress under your care. But my mother +cannot be indifferent to your own feelings, and she and I have both +perceived the change. I fear there is some great trouble on your mind; +and I would give much--ah, Miss Wentworth, you cannot guess how +much!--if I could be of help to you in any time of grief or trouble. You +seemed very much agitated by the news of that shocking murder at +Winchester. I have been thinking it all over since, and I cannot help +fancying that the change in your manner dated from the evening on which +my mother told you that dreadful story. It struck me, that you must, +therefore, in some way or other, be interested in the fate of the +murdered man. Even beyond this, it might be possible that, if you knew +this Joseph Wilmot, you might be able to throw some light upon his +antecedents, and thus give a clue to the assassin. Little by little this +idea has crept into my mind, and to-night I resolved to come to you, and +ask you the direct question, as to whether you were in any way related +to this unhappy man." +</p><p> +At first Margaret Wilmot's only answer was a choking sob; but she grew +calmer presently, and said, in a low voice,-- +</p><p> +"Yes, you have guessed rightly, Mr. Austin; I was related to that most +unhappy man. I will tell you everything, but not here," she added, +looking back at the cottage windows, in which lights were glimmering; +"the people about me are inquisitive, and I don't want to be overheard." +</p><p> +She wrapped her shawl more closely round her, and went out of the little +garden. She walked by Clement's side down to the pathway by the river, +which was lonely enough at this time of the night. +</p><p> +Here she told him her story. She carefully suppressed all vehement +emotion; and in few and simple words related the story of her life. +</p><p> +"Joseph Wilmot was my father," she said. "Perhaps he may not have been +what the world calls a good father; but I know that he loved me, and he +was very dear to me. My mother was the daughter of a gentleman, a +post-captain in the Royal Navy, whose name was Talbot. She met my father +at the house of a lady from whom she used to receive music-lessons. She +did not know who he was, or what he was. She only knew that he called +himself James Wentworth; but he loved her, and she returned his +affection. She was very young--a mere child, who had not long emerged +from a boarding-school--and she married my poor father in defiance of +the advice of her friends. She ran away from her home one morning, was +married by stealth in an obscure little church in the City, and then +went home with my father to confess what she had done. Her father never +forgave her for that secret marriage. He swore that he would never look +upon her face after that day: and he never did, until he saw it in her +coffin. At my mother's death Captain Talbot's heart was touched: he came +for the first time to my father's house, and offered to take me away +with him, and to have me brought up amongst his younger children. But my +father refused to allow this. He grieved passionately for my poor +mother: though I have heard him say that he had much to regret in his +conduct towards her. But I can scarcely remember that sad time. From +that period our life became a wandering and wretched one. Sometimes, for +a little while, we seemed better off. My father got some employment; he +worked steadily; and we lived amongst respectable people. But soon--ah, +cruelly soon!--the new chance of an honest life was taken away from him. +His employers heard something: a breath, a whisper, perhaps: but it was +enough. He was not a man to be trusted. He promised well: so far he had +kept his promise: but there was a risk in employing him. My father never +met any good Christian who was willing to run that risk, in the hope of +saving a human soul. My father never met any one noble enough to stretch +out his hand to the outcast and say, 'I know that you have done wrong; I +know that you are without a character: but I will forget the blot upon +the past, and help you to achieve redemption in the future.' If my +father had met such a friend, such a benefactor, all might have been +different." +</p><p> +Then Margaret Wilmot related the substance of the last conversation +between herself and her father. She told Clement Austin what her father +had said about Henry Dunbar; and she showed him the letter which was +directed to Norfolk Island--that letter in which the old clerk alluded +to the power that his brother possessed over his late master. She also +told Mr. Austin how Henry Dunbar had avoided her at Winchester and in +Portland Place, and of the letter which he had written to her,--a letter +in which he had tried to bribe her to silence. +</p><p> +"Since that night," she added, "I have received two anonymous +enclosures--two envelopes containing notes to the amount of a hundred +pounds, with the words 'From a True Friend' written across the flap of +the envelope. I returned both the enclosures; for I knew whence they had +come. I returned them in two envelopes directed to Henry Dunbar, at the +office in St. Gundolph's Lane." +</p><p> +Clement Austin listened with a grave face. All this certainly seemed to +hint at the guilt of Mr. Dunbar. No clue pointing to any other person +had been as yet discovered, though the police had been indefatigable in +their search. +</p><p> +Mr. Austin was silent for some minutes; then he said, quietly,-- +</p><p> +"I am very glad you have confided in me, Miss Wilmot, and, believe me, +you shall not find me slow to help you whenever my services can be of +any avail. If you will come and drink tea with my mother at eight +o'clock to-morrow evening, I will be at home; and we can talk this +matter over seriously. My mother is a clever woman, and I know that she +has a most sincere regard for you. You will trust her, will you not?" +</p><p> +"Willingly, with my whole heart." +</p><p> +"You will find her a true friend." +</p><p> +They had returned to the little garden-gate by this time. Clement Austin +stretched out his hand. +</p><p> +"Good night, Miss Wilmot." +</p><p> +"Good night." +</p><p> +Margaret opened the gate and went into the garden. Mr. Austin walked +slowly homewards, past pleasant cottages nestling in suburban gardens, +and pretentious villas with, campanello towers and gothic porches. The +lighted windows shone out upon the darkness. Here and there he heard the +sound of a piano, or a girlish voice stealing softly out upon the cool +night air. +</p><p> +The sight of pleasant homes made the cashier think very mournfully of +the girl he had just left. +</p><p> +"Poor, desolate girl," he thought, "poor, lonely, orphan girl!" But he +thought still more about that which he had heard of Henry Dunbar; and +the evidence against the rich man seemed to grow in importance as he +reflected upon it. It was not one thing, but many things, that hinted at +the guilt of the millionaire. +</p><p> +The secret possessed, and no doubt traded upon, by Joseph Wilmot; Mr. +Dunbar's agitation in the cathedral; his determined refusal to see the +murdered man's daughter; his attempt to bribe her--these were strong +points: and by the time Clement Austin reached home, he--like Margaret +Wilmot, and like Arthur Lovell--suspected the millionaire. So now there +were three people who believed Mr. Dunbar to be the murderer of his old +servant. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch19"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XIX.</h4></center> +<center><h5>LAURA DUNBAR'S DISAPPOINTMENT.</h5></center> +<p> + +Arthur Lovell went often to Maudesley Abbey. Henry Dunbar welcomed him +freely, and the young man had not the power to resist temptation. He +went to his doom as the foolish moth flies to the candle. He went, he +saw Laura Dunbar, and spent hour after hour in her society: for his +presence was always agreeable to the impetuous girl. To her he seemed, +indeed, that which he had promised to be, a brother--kind, devoted, +affectionate: but no more. He was endeared to Laura by the memory of a +happy childhood. She was grateful to him, and she loved him: but only as +she would have loved him had he been indeed her brother. Whatever deeper +feeling lay beneath the playful gaiety of her manner had yet to be +awakened. +</p><p> +So, day after day, the young man bowed down before the goddess of his +life, and was happy--ah, fatally happy!--in her society. He forgot +everything except the beautiful face that smiled on him. He forgot even +those dark doubts which he had felt as to the secret of the Winchester +murder. +</p><p> +Perhaps he would scarcely have forgotten the suspicions that had entered +his mind after the first interview between the banker and his daughter, +had he seen much of Henry Dunbar. But he saw very little of the master +of Maudesley Abbey. The rich man took possession of the suite of +apartments that had been prepared for him, and rarely left his own +rooms: except to wander alone amongst the shady avenues of the park: or +to ride out upon the powerful horse he had chosen from the stud +purchased by Percival Dunbar. +</p><p> +This horse was a magnificent creature; the colt of a thorough-bred sire, +but of a stronger and larger build than a purely thorough-bred animal. +He was a chestnut horse, with a coat that shone like satin, and not a +white hair about him. His nose was small, his eyes large, his ears and +neck long. He had all the points which an Arab prizes in his favourite +barb. +</p><p> +To this horse Henry Dunbar became singularly attached. He had a loose +box built on purpose for the animal in a private garden adjoining his +own dressing-room, which, Like the rest of his apartments, was situated +upon the ground-floor of the abbey. Mr. Dunbar's groom slept in a part +of the house near this loose box: and horse and man were at the service +of the banker at any hour of the day or night. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar generally rode either early in the morning, or in the grey +twilight after his dinner-hour. He was a proud man, and he was not a +sociable man. When the county gentry came to welcome him to England, he +received them, and thanked them for their courtesy. But there was +something in his manner that repelled rather than invited friendship. He +gave one great dinner-party soon after his arrival at Maudesley, a ball, +at which Laura floated about in a cloud of white gauze, and with +diamonds in her hair; and a breakfast and morning concert on the lawn, +in compliance with the urgent entreaties of the same young lady. But +when invitations came flooding in upon Mr. Dunbar, he declined them one +after another, on the ground of his weak health. Laura might go where +she liked, always provided that she went under the care of a suitable +chaperone; but the banker declared that the state of his health +altogether unfitted him for society. His constitution had been much +impaired, he said, by his long residence in Calcutta. And yet he looked +a strong man. Tall, broad-chested, and powerful, it was very difficult +to perceive in Henry Dunbar's appearance any one of the usual evidences +of ill-health. He was very pale: but that unchanging pallor was the only +sign of the malady from which he suffered. +</p><p> +He rose early, rode for a couple of hours upon his chestnut horse +Dragon, and then breakfasted. After breakfast he sat in his luxurious +sitting-room, sometimes reading, sometimes writing, sometimes sitting +for hours together brooding silently over the low embers in the roomy +fireplace. At six o'clock he dined, still keeping to his own room--for +he was not well enough to dine with his daughter, he said: and he sat +alone late into the night, drinking heavily, according to the report +current in the servants' hall. +</p><p> +He was respected and he was feared in his household: but he was not +liked. His silent and reserved manner had a gloomy influence upon the +servants who came in contact with him: and they compared him very +disadvantageously with his predecessor, Percival Dunbar; the genial, +kind, old master, who had always had a cheerful, friendly word for every +one of his dependants: from the stately housekeeper in rustling silken +robes, to the smallest boy employed in the stables. +</p><p> +No, the new master of the abbey was not liked. Day after day he lived +secluded and alone. At first, his daughter had broken in upon his +solitude, and, with bright, caressing ways, had tried to win him from +his loneliness: but she found that all her efforts to do this were worse +than useless: they were even disagreeable to her father: and, by +degrees, her light footstep was heard less and less often in that lonely +wing of the house where Henry Dunbar had taken up his abode. +</p><p> +Maudesley Abbey was a large and rambling old mansion, which had been +built in half-a-dozen different reigns. The most ancient part of the +building was that very northern wing which Mr. Dunbar had chosen for +himself. Here the architecture belonged to the early Plantagenet era; +the stone walls were thick and massive, the lancet-headed windows were +long and narrow, and the arms of the early benefactors of the monastery +were emblazoned here and there upon the richly stained glass. The walls +were covered with faded tapestry, from which grim faces scowled upon the +lonely inhabitant of the chambers. The groined ceiling was of oak, that +had grown black with age. The windows of Mr. Dunbar's bedroom and +dressing-room opened into a cloistered court, beneath whose solemn +shadow the hooded monks had slowly paced, in days that were long gone. +The centre of this quadrangular court had been made into a garden, where +tall hollyhocks and prim dahlias flaunted in the autumn sunshine. And +within this cloistered courtway Mr. Dunbar had erected the loose box for +his favourite horse. +</p><p> +The southern wing of Maudesley Abbey owed its origin to a much later +period. The windows and fireplaces at this end of the house were in the +Tudor style; the polished oak wainscoting was very beautiful; the rooms +were smaller and snugger than the tapestried chambers occupied by the +banker; Venetian glasses and old crystal chandeliers glimmered and +glittered against the sombre woodwork: and elegant modern furniture +contrasted pleasantly with the Elizabethan casements and carved oaken +chimney-pieces. Everything that unlimited wealth can do to make a house +beautiful had been done for this part of the mansion by Percival Dunbar; +and had been done with considerable success. The doting grandfather had +taken a delight in beautifying the apartments occupied by his girlish +companion: and Miss Dunbar had walked upon velvet pile, and slept +beneath the shadow of satin curtains, from a very early period of her +existence. +</p><p> +She was used to luxury and elegance: she was accustomed to be surrounded +by all that is refined and beautiful: but she had that inexhaustible +power of enjoyment which is perhaps one of the brightest gifts of a +fresh young nature: and she did not grow tired of the pleasant home that +had been made for her. Laura Dunbar was a pampered child of fortune: but +there are some natures that it seems very difficult to spoil: and I +think hers must have been one of these. +</p><p> +She knew no weariness of the "rolling hours." To her the world seemed a +paradise of beauty. Remember, she had never seen real misery: she had +never endured that sick feeling of despair, which creeps over the most +callous of us when we discover the amount of hopeless misery that is, +and has been, and is to be, for ever and ever upon this weary earth. She +had seen sick cottagers, and orphan children, and desolate widows, in +her pilgrimages amongst the dwellings of the poor: but she had always +been able to relieve these afflicted ones, and to comfort them more or +less. +</p><p> +It is the sight of sorrows which we cannot alleviate that sends a +palpable stab home to our hearts, and for a time almost sickens us with +a universe which cannot go upon its course <i>without</i> such miseries as +these. +</p><p> +To Laura Dunbar the world was still entirely beautiful, for the darker +secrets of life had not been revealed to her. +</p><p> +Only once had affliction come near her; and then it had come in a calm +and solemn shape, in the death of an old man, who ended a good and +prosperous life peacefully upon the breast of his beloved granddaughter. +</p><p> +Perhaps her first real trouble came to her now in the bitter +disappointment which had succeeded her father's return to England. +Heaven only knows with what a tender yearning the girl had looked +forward to Henry Dunbar's return. They had been separated for the best +part of her brief lifetime; but what of that? He would love her all the +more tenderly because of those long years during which they had been +divided. She meant to be the same to her father that she had been to her +grandfather--a loving companion, a ministering angel. +</p><p> +But it was never to be. Her father, by a hundred tacit signs, rejected +her affection. He had shunned her presence from the first: and she had +grown now to shun him. She told Arthur Lovell of this unlooked-for +sorrow. +</p><p> +"Of all the things I ever thought of, Arthur, this never entered my +head," she said, in a low, pensive voice, as she stood one evening in +the deep embrasure of the Tudor window, looking thoughtfully out at the +wide-spreading lawn, where the shadows of the low cedar branches made +patches of darkness on the moonlit surface of the grass; "I thought that +papa might fall ill on the voyage home, and die, and that the ship for +whose safe course I prayed night and day, might bring me nothing but the +sacred remains of the dead. I have thought this, Arthur, and I have lain +awake at night, torturing myself with the thought: till my mind has +grown so full of the dark picture, that I have seen the little cabin in +the cruel, restless ship, and my father lying helpless on a narrow bed, +with only strangers to watch his death-hour. I cannot tell you how many +different things I have feared: but I never, never thought that he would +not love me. I have even thought that it was just possible he might be +unlike my grandfather, and a little unkind to me sometimes when I vexed +or troubled him: but I thought his heart would be true to me through +all, and that even in his harshest moments he would love me dearly, for +the sake of my dead mother." +</p><p> +Her voice broke, and she sobbed aloud: but the man who stood by her side +had no word of comfort to say to her. Her complaint awoke that old +suspicion which had lately slumbered in his breast--the horrible fear +that Mr. Dunbar was guilty of the murder of his old servant. +</p><p> +The young lawyer was bound to say something, however. It was too cruel +to stand by and utter no word of comfort to this sobbing girl. +</p><p> +"Laura, dear Laura," he said, "this is foolish, believe me. You must +have patience, and still hope for the best. How <i>can</i> your father do +otherwise than love you, when he grows to know you well? You may have +expected too much of him. Remember, that people who have lived long in +the East Indies are apt to become cold and languid in their manners. +When Mr. Dunbar has seen more of you, when he has become better +accustomed to your society----" +</p><p> +"That he will never be," Laura answered, impetuously. "How can he ever +know me better when he scrupulously avoids me? Sometimes whole days pass +during which I do not see him. Then I summon up courage and go to his +dreary rooms. He receives me graciously enough, and treats me with +politeness. With politeness! when I am yearning for his affection: and I +linger a little, perhaps, asking him about his health, and trying to get +more at home in his presence. But there is always a nervous restlessness +in his manner: which tells me,--oh, too plainly!--that my presence is +unwelcome to him. So I go away at last, half heart-broken. I remember, +now, how cold and brief his letters from India always seemed: but then +he need to excuse himself to me on account of the hurry of business: and +he seldom finished his letter without saying that he looked joyfully +forward to our meeting. It was very cruel of him to deceive me!" +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell was a sorry comforter. From the first he had tried in vain +to like Henry Dunbar. Since that strange scene in Portland Place, he had +suspected the banker of a foul and treacherous murder,--that worst and +darkest crime, which for ever separates a man from the sympathy of his +fellow-men, and brands him as an accursed and abhorred creature, beyond +the pale of human compassion. Ah, how blessed is that Divine and +illimitable compassion which can find pity for those whom sinful man +rejects! +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch20"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XX.</h4></center> +<center><h5>NEW HOPES MAY BLOOM.</h5></center> +<p> + +Jocelyn's Rock was ten miles from Maudesley Abbey, and only one mile +from the town of Shorncliffe. It was a noble place, and had been in the +possession of the same family ever since the days of the Plantagenets. +</p><p> +The house stood upon a rocky cliff, beneath which rushed a cascade that +leapt from crag to crag, and fell into the bosom of a deep stream, that +formed an arm of the river Avon. This cascade was forty feet below the +edge of the cliff upon which the mansion stood. +</p><p> +It was not a very large house, for most of the older part of it had +fallen into ruin long ago, and the ruined towers and shattered walls had +been cleared away; but it was a noble mansion notwithstanding. +</p><p> +One octagonal tower, with a battlemented roof, still stood almost as +firmly as it had stood in the days of the early Plantagenets, when rebel +soldiers had tried the strength of their battering-rams against the grim +stone walls. The house was built entirely of stone; the Gothic porch was +ponderous as the porch of a church. Within all was splendour; but +splendour that was very different from the modern elegance that was to +be seen in the rooms of Maudesley Abbey. +</p><p> +At Jocelyn's Rock the stamp of age was upon every decoration, on every +ornament. Square-topped helmets that had been hacked by the scimitars of +Saracen kings, spiked chamfronts that had been worn by the fiery barbs +of haughty English crusaders, fluted armour from Milan, hung against the +blackened wainscoting in the shadowy hall; Scottish hackbuts, primitive +arquebuses that had done service on Bosworth field, Homeric bucklers and +brazen greaves, javelins, crossbows, steel-pointed lances, and +two-handed swords, were in symmetrical design upon the dark and polished +panels; while here and there hung the antlers of a giant red-deer, or +the skin of a fox, in testimony to the triumphs of long-departed +sportsmen of the house of Jocelyn. +</p><p> +It was a noble old house. Princes of the blood royal had sat in the +ponderous carved oak-chairs. A queen had slept in the state-bed, in the +blue-satin chamber. Loyal Jocelyns, fighting for their king against +low-born Roundhead soldiers, had hidden themselves in the spacious +chimneys, or had fled for their lives along the secret passages behind +the tapestry. There were old pictures and jewelled drinking-cups that +dead-and-gone Jocelyns had collected in the sunny land of the Medicis. +There were costly toys of fragile Sèvres china that had been received by +one of the earls from the hand of the lovely Pompadour herself in the +days when the manufacturers of Sèvres only worked for their king, and +were liable to fall a sacrifice to their art and their loyalty by the +inhalation of arsenicated vapours. There was golden plate that a king +had given to his proud young favourite in those feudal days when +favourites were powerful in England. There was scarcely any object of +value in the mansion that had not a special history attached to it, +redounding to the honour and glory of the ancient house of Jocelyn. +</p><p> +And this splendid dwelling-place, rendered almost sacred by legendary +associations and historical recollections, was now the property of a +certain Sir Philip Jocelyn--a dashing young baronet, who had been +endowed by nature with a handsome face, frank, fearless eyes that +generally had a smile in them, and the kind of manly figure which the +late Mr. G.P.R. James was wont to designate stalwart; and who was +moreover a crack shot, a reckless cross-country-going rider, and a very +tolerable amateur artist. +</p><p> +Sir Philip Jocelyn was not what is usually called an intellectual man. +He was more warmly interested in a steeplechase on Shorncliffe Common +than in a pamphlet on political economy, even though Mr. Stuart Mill +should himself be the author of the <i>brochure</i>. He thought John Scott a +greater man than Maculloch; and Manton the gunmaker only second to Dr. +Jenner as a benefactor of his race. He found the works of the late Mr. +Apperly more entertaining than the last new Idyl from the pen of the +Laureate; and was rather at a loss for small-talk when he found his +feminine neighbour at a dinner-table was "deeply, darkly, beautifully +blue." But the young baronet was by no means a fool, notwithstanding +these sportsmanlike proclivities. The Jocelyns had been hard riders for +half-a-dozen centuries or so, and crack shots ever since the invention +of firearms. Sir Philip was a sportsman, but he did not "hunt in +dreams," and he was prepared to hold his wife a great deal "higher than +his horse," whenever he should win that pleasant addition to his +household. As yet he had thought very little of the future Lady Jocelyn. +He had a vague idea that he should marry, as the rest of the Jocelyns +had married; and that he should live happily with his wife, as his +ancestors had lived with their wives: with the exception of one dreadful +man, called Hildebrande Jocelyn, who, at some remote and mediaeval +period, had been supposed to throw his liege lady out of an oriel window +that overhung the waterfall, upon the strength of an unfounded +suspicion; and who afterwards, according to the legend, dug, or rather +scooped, for himself a cave out of the cliff-side with no better tools +than his own finger-nails, which he never cut after the unfortunate +lady's foul murder. The legend went on further to state that the white +wraith of the innocent victim might be seen, on a certain night in the +year, rising out of the misty spray of the waterfall: but as nobody +except one very weak-witted female Jocelyn had ever seen the vision, the +inhabitants of the house upon the crag had taken so little heed of the +legend that the date of the anniversary had come at last to be +forgotten. +</p><p> +Sir Philip Jocelyn thought that he should marry "some of these days," +and in the meantime troubled himself very little about the pretty +daughters of country gentlemen whom he met now and again at races, and +archery-meetings, and flower-shows, and dinner-parties, and +hunting-balls, in the queer old town-hall at Shorncliffe. He was +heart-whole; and looking out at life from the oriel window of his +dressing-room, whence he saw nothing but his own land, neatly enclosed +in a ring-fence, he thought the world, about which some people made such +dismal howling, was, upon the whole, an extremely pleasant place, +containing very little that "a fellow" need complain of. He built +himself a painting-room at Jocelyn's Rock; and-whistled to himself for +the hour together, as he stood before the easel, painting scenes in the +hunting-field, or Arab horsemen whom he had met on the great flat sandy +plains beyond Cairo, or brown-faced boys, or bright Italian +peasant-girls; all sorts of pleasant objects, under cloudless skies of +ultra-marine, with streaks of orange and vermilion to represent the +sunset. He was not a great painter, nor indeed was there any element of +greatness in his nature; but he painted as recklessly as he rode; his +subjects were bright and cheerful; and his pictures were altogether of +the order which unsophisticated people admire and call "pretty." +</p><p> +He was a very cheerful young man, and perhaps that cheerfulness was the +greatest charm he possessed. He was a man in whom no force of fashion or +companionship would ever engender the peevish <i>blasé</i>-ness so much +affected by modern youth. Did he dance? Of course he did, and he adored +dancing. Did he sing? Well, he did his best, and had a fine volume of +rich bass voice, that sounded remarkably well on the water, after a +dinner at the Star and Garter, in that dim dewy hour, when the willow +shadowed Thames is as a southern lake, and the slow dip of the oars is +in itself a kind of melody. Had he been much abroad? Yes, and he gloried +in the Continent; the dear old inconvenient inns, and the extortionate +landlords, and the insatiable commissionaires--he revelled in the +commissionaires; and the dear drowsy slow trains, with an absurd guard, +who talks an unintelligible <i>patois</i>, and the other man, who always +loses one's luggage! Delicious! And the dear little peasant-girls with +white caps, who are so divinely pretty when you see them in the distance +under a sunny meridian sky, and are so charming in coloured chalk upon +tinted paper, but such miracles of ugliness, comparatively speaking, +when you behold them at close quarters. And the dear jingling +diligences, with very little harness to speak of, but any quantity of +old rope; and the bad wines, and the dust, and the cathedrals, and the +beggars, and the trente-et-quarante tables, and in short everything. Sir +Philip Jocelyn spoke of the universe as a young husband talks of his +wife; and was never tired of her beauty or impatient of her faults. +</p><p> +The poor about Jocelyn's Rock idolized the young lord of the soil. The +poor like happy people, if there is nothing insolent in their happiness. +Philip was rich, and he distributed his wealth right royally: he was +happy, and he shared his happiness as freely as he shared his wealth. He +would divide a case of choice Manillas with a bedridden pensioner in the +Union, or carry a bottle of the Jocelyn Madeira--the celebrated Madeira +with the brown seal--in the pocket of his shooting-coat, to deliver it +into the horny hands of some hard-working mother who was burdened with a +sick child. He would sit for an hour together telling an agricultural +labourer of the queer farming he had seen abroad; and he had stood +godfather--by proxy--to half the yellow-headed urchins within ten miles' +radius of Jocelyn's Bock. No taint of vice or dissipation had ever +sullied the brightness of his pleasant life. No wretched country girl +had ever cursed his name before she cast herself into the sullen waters +of a lonely mill-stream. People loved him; and he deserved their love, +and was worthy of their respect. He had taken no high honours at Oxford; +but the sternest officials smiled when they spoke of him, and recalled +the boyish follies that were associated with his name; a sickly bedmaker +had been pensioned for life by him; and the tradesmen who had served him +testified to his merits as a prompt and liberal paymaster. I do not +think that in all his life Philip Jocelyn had ever directly or +indirectly caused a pang of pain or sorrow to any human being, unless it +was, indeed, to a churlish heir-at-law, who may have looked with a +somewhat evil eye upon the young man's vigorous and healthful aspect, +which gave little hope to his possible successor. +</p><p> +The heir-at-law would have gnashed his teeth in impotent rage had he +known the crisis which came to pass in the baronet's life a short time +after Mr. Dunbar's return from India; a crisis very common to youth, and +very lightly regarded by youth, but a solemn and a fearful crisis +notwithstanding. +</p><p> +The master of Jocelyn's Rock fell in love. All the poetry of his nature, +all the best feelings, the purest attributes of an imperfect character, +concentrated themselves into one passion, Sir Philip Jocelyn fell in +love. The arch magician waved his wand, and all the universe was +transformed into fairyland: a lovely Paradise, a modern Eden, radiant +with the reflected light that it received from the face of a woman. I +almost hesitate to tell this old, old story over again--this perpetual +story of love at first sight. +</p><p> +It is very beautiful, this sudden love, which is born of one glance at +the wonderful face that has been created to bewitch us; but I doubt if +it is not, after all, the baser form of the great passion. The love that +begins with esteem, that slowly grows out of our knowledge of the loved +one, is surely the purer and holier type of affection. +</p><p> +This love, whose gradual birth we rarely watch or recognize--this love, +that steals on us like the calm dawning of the eastern light, strikes to +a deeper root and grows into a grander tree than that fair sudden +growth, that marvellous far-shooting butterfly-blossoming orchid, called +love at first sight. The glorious exotic flower may be wanting, but the +strong root lies deeply hidden in the heart. +</p><p> +The man who loves at first sight generally falls in love with the violet +blue of a pair of tender eyes, the delicate outline of a Grecian nose. +The man who loves the woman he has known and watched, loves her because +he believes her to be the purest and truest of her sex. +</p><p> +To this last, love is faith. He cannot doubt the woman he adores: for he +adores her because he believes and has proved her to be above all doubt. +We may fairly conjecture that Othello's passion for the simple Venetian +damsel was love at first sight. He loved Desdemona because she was +pretty, and looked at him with sweet maidenly glances of pity when he +told those prosy stories of his--with full traveller's license, no +doubt--over Brabantio's mahogany. +</p><p> +The tawny-visaged general loved the old man's daughter because he +admired her, and not because he knew her; and so, by and bye, on the +strength of a few foul hints from a scoundrel, he is ready to believe +this gentle, pitiful girl the basest and most abandoned of women. +</p><p> +Hamlet would not so have acted had it been his fate to marry the woman +he loved. Depend upon it, the Danish prince had watched Ophelia closely, +and knew all the ins and outs of that young lady's temper, and had laid +conversational traps for her occasionally, I dare say, trying to entice +her into some bit of toadyism that should betray any latent taint of +falsehood inherited from poor time-serving Polonius. The Prince of +Denmark would have been rather a fidgety husband, perhaps, but he would +never have had recourse to a murderous bolster at the instigation of a +low-born knave. +</p><p> +Unhappily, some women are apt to prefer passionate, blustering Othello +to sentimental and metaphysical Hamlet. The foolish creatures are +carried away by noise and clamour, and most believe him who protests the +loudest. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn and Laura Dunbar met at that dinner-party which the +millionaire gave to his friends in celebration of his return. They met +again at the ball, where Laura waltzed with Philip; the young man had +learned to waltz upon the other side of the Alps, and Miss Dunbar +preferred him to any other of her partners. At the <i>fête champêtre</i> they +met again; and had their future lives revealed to them by a +theatrical-looking gipsy imported from London for the occasion, whose +arch prophecies brought lovely blushes into Laura's cheeks, and afforded +Philip an excellent opportunity for admiring the effect of dark-brown +eyelashes drooping over dark-blue eyes. They met again and again; now at +a steeple-chase, now at a dinner-party, where Laura appeared with some +friendly <i>chaperon</i>; and the baronet fell in love with the banker's +beautiful daughter. +</p><p> +He loved her truly and devotedly, after his own mad-headed fashion. He +was a true Jocelyn--impetuous, mad-headed daring; and from the time of +those festivities at Maudesley Abbey he only dreamed and thought of +Laura Dunbar. From that hour he haunted the neighbourhood of Maudesley +Abbey. There was a bridle-path through the park to a little village +called Lisford; and if that primitive Warwickshire village had been the +most attractive place upon this earth, Sir Philip could scarcely have +visited it oftener than he did. +</p><p> +Heaven knows what charm he found in the shady slumberous old street, the +low stone market-place, with rusty iron gates surmounted by the Jocelyn +escutcheon. The grass grew in the quiet quadrangle; the square +church-tower was half hidden by the sheltering ivy; the gabled +cottage-roofs were lop-sided with age. It was scarcely a place to offer +any very great attraction to the lord of Jocelyn Rock in all the glory +of his early man-hood; and yet Philip Jocelyn went there three times a +week upon an average, during the period that succeeded the ball and +morning concert at Maudesley Abbey. +</p><p> +The shortest way from Jocelyn's Bock to Lisford was by the high road, +but Philip Jocelyn did not care to go by the shortest way. He preferred +to take that pleasant bridle-path through Maudesley Park, that delicious +grassy arcade where the overarching branches of the old elms made a +shadowy twilight, only broken now and then by sudden patches of yellow +sunshine; where the feathery ferns trembled with every low whisper of +the autumn breeze: where there was a faint perfume of pine wood; where +every here and there, between the lower branches of the trees, there was +a blue glimmer of still water-pools, half-hidden under flat green leaves +of wild aquatic plants, where there was a solemn stillness that reminded +one of the holy quiet of a church, and where Sir Philip Jocelyn had +every chance of meeting with Laura Dunbar. +</p><p> +He met her there very often. Not alone, for Dora Macmahon was sometimes +with her, and the faithful Elizabeth Madden was always at hand to play +propriety, and to keep a sharp eye upon the interests of her young +mistress. But then it happened unfortunately that the faithful Elizabeth +was very stout, and rather asthmatic; and though Miss Dunbar could not +have had a more devoted duenna, she might certainly have had a more +active one. And it also happened that Miss Macmahon, having received +several practical illustrations of the old adage with regard to the +disadvantage of a party of three persons as compared to a party of two +persons, fell into the habit of carrying her books with her, and would +sit and read in some shady nook near the abbey, while Laura wandered +into the wilder regions of the park. +</p><p> +Beneath the shelter of the overarching elms, amidst the rustling of the +trembling ferns, Laura Dunbar and Philip Jocelyn met very often during +that bright autumnal weather. Their meetings were purely accidental of +course, as such meetings always are, but they were not the less pleasant +because of their uncertainty. +</p><p> +They were all the more pleasant, perhaps. There was that delicious fever +of suspense which kept both young eager hearts in a constant glow. There +were Laura's sudden blushes, which made her wonderful beauty doubly +wonderful. There was Philip Jocelyn's start of glad astonishment, and +the bright sparkle in his dark-brown eyes as he saw the slender, queenly +figure approaching him under the shadow of the trees. How beautiful she +looked, with the folds of her dress trailing over the dewy grass, and a +flickering halo of sunlight tremulous upon her diadem of golden hair! +Sometimes she wore a coquettish little hat, with a turned-up brim and a +peacock's plume; sometimes a broad-leaved hat of yellow straw, with +floating ribbon and a bunch of feathery grasses perched bewitchingly +upon the brim. She had the dog Pluto with her always, and generally a +volume of some new novel under her arm. I am ashamed to be obliged to +confess that this young heiress was very frivolous, and liked reading +novels better than improving her mind by the perusal of grave histories, +or by the study of the natural sciences. She spent day after day in +happy idleness--reading, sketching, playing, singing, talking, sometimes +gaily sometimes seriously, to her faithful old nurse, or to Dora, or to +Arthur Lovell, as the case might be. She had a thorough-bred horse that +had been given to her by her grandfather, but she very rarely rode him +beyond the grounds, for Dora Macmahon was no horsewoman, having been +brought up by a prim aunt of her dead mother's, who looked upon riding +as an unfeminine accomplishment; and Miss Dunbar had therefore no better +companion for her rides than a grey-haired old groom, who had ridden +behind Percival Dunbar for forty years or so. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn generally went to Lisford upon horseback; but when, as so +often happened, he met Miss Dunbar and her companion strolling amongst +the old elms, it was his habit to get off his horse, and to walk by +Laura's side, leading the animal by the bridle. Sometimes he found the +two young ladies sitting on camp-stools at the foot of one of the trees, +sketching effects of light and shadow in the deep glades around them. On +such occasions the baronet used to tie his horse to the lower branch of +an old elm, and taking his stand behind Miss Dunbar, would amuse himself +by giving her a lesson in perspective, with occasional hints to Miss +Macmahon, who, as the young man remarked, drew so much better than her +sister, that she really required very little assistance. +</p><p> +By-and-by this began to be an acknowledged thing. Special hours were +appointed for these artistic studies: and Philip Jocelyn ceased to go to +Lisford at all, contenting himself with passing almost every fine +morning under the elms at Maudesley. He found that he had a very +intelligent pupil in the banker's daughter: but I think, if Miss Dunbar +had been less intelligent, her instructor would have had patience with +her, and would have still found his best delight beneath the shadow of +those dear old elms. +</p><p> +What words can paint the equal pleasure of giving and receiving those +lessons, in the art which was loved alike by pupil and master; but which +was so small an element in the happiness of those woodland meetings? +What words can describe Laura's pleading face when she found that the +shadow of a ruined castle wouldn't agree with the castle itself, or that +a row of poplars in the distance insisted on taking that direction which +our transatlantic brothers call "slantindicular?" And then the cutting +of pencils, and crumbling of bread, and searching for mislaid scraps of +India-rubber, and mixing of water-colours, and adjusting of palettes on +the prettiest thumb in Christendom, or the planting a sheaf of brushes +in the dearest little hand that ever trembled when it met the tenderly +timid touch of an amateur drawing-master's fingers;--all these little +offices, so commonplace and wearisome when a hard-worked and poorly-paid +professor performs them for thirty or forty clamorous girls, on a +burning summer afternoon, in a great dust-flavoured schoolroom with bare +curtainless windows, were in this case more delicious than any words of +mine can tell. +</p><p> +But September and October are autumnal months; and their brightest +sunshine is, after all, only a deceptive radiance when compared to the +full glory of July. The weather grew too cold for the drawing-lessons +under the elms, and there could be no more appointments made between +Miss Dunbar and her enthusiastic instructor. +</p><p> +"I can't have my young lady ketch cold, Sir Philip, for all the +perspectives in the world," said the faithful Elizabeth. "I spoke to her +par about it only the other day; but, lor'! you may just as well speak +to a post as to Mr. Dunbar. If Miss Laura comes out in the park now, she +must wrap herself up warm, and walk fast, and not go getting the cold +shivers for the sake of drawing a parcel of stumps of trees and +such-like tomfoolery." +</p><p> +Mrs. Madden made this observation in rather an unpleasant tone of voice +one morning when the baronet pleaded for another drawing-lesson. The +truth of the matter was that Elizabeth Madden felt some slight pangs of +conscience with regard to her own part in this sudden friendship which +had arisen between Laura Dunbar and Philip Jocelyn. She felt that she +had been rather remiss in her duties as duenna, and was angry with +herself. But stronger than this feeling of self-reproach was her +indignation against Sir Philip. +</p><p> +Why did he not immediately make an offer of his hand to Laura Dunbar? +</p><p> +Mrs. Madden had expected the young man's proposal every day for the last +few weeks: every day she had been doomed to disappointment. And yet she +was perfectly convinced that Philip Jocelyn loved her young mistress. +The sharp eyes of the matron had fathomed the young man's sentiments +long before Laura Dunbar dared to whisper to herself that she was +beloved. Why, then, did he not propose? Who could be a more fitting +bride for the lord of Jocelyn's Rock than queenly Laura Dunbar, with her +splendid dower of wealth and beauty? +</p><p> +Full of these ambitious hopes, Elizabeth Madden had played her part of +duenna with such discretion as to give the young people plenty of +opportunity for sweet, half-whispered converse, for murmured +confidences, soft and low as the cooing of turtle-doves. But in all +these conversations no word hinting at an offer of marriage had dropped +from the lips of Philip Jocelyn. +</p><p> +He was so happy with Laura; so happy in those pleasant meetings under +the Maudesley elms, that no thought of anything so commonplace as a +stereotyped proposal of marriage had a place in his mind. +</p><p> +Did he love her? Of course he did: more dearly than he had ever before +loved any human creature; except that tender and gentle being, whose +image, vaguely beautiful, was so intermingled with the dreams and +realities of his childhood in that dim period in which it is difficult +to distinguish the shadows of the night from the events of the +day,--that pale and lovely creature whom he had but just learned to call +"mother," when she faded out of his life for ever. +</p><p> +It was only when the weather grew too cold for out-of-door drawing +lessons that Sir Philip began to think that it was time to contemplate +the very serious business of a proposal. He would have to speak to the +banker, and all that sort of thing, of course, the baronet thought, as +he sat by the fire in the oak-panelled breakfast-room at the Rock, +pulling his thick moustaches reflectively, and staring at the red embers +on the open hearth. The young man idolized Laura; but he did <i>not</i> +particularly affect the society of Henry Dunbar. The millionaire was +very courteous, very conciliating: but there was something in his stiff +politeness, his studied smile, his deliberate speech, something entirely +vague and indefinable, which had the same chilly effect upon Sir +Philip's friendliness, as a cold cellar has on delicate-flavoured port. +The subtle aroma vanished under that dismal influence. +</p><p> +"He's <i>her</i> father, and I'd kneel down, like the little boys in the +streets, and clean his boots, if he wanted them cleaned, because he is +her father," thought the young man; "and yet, somehow or other, I can't +get on with him." +</p><p> +No! between the Anglo-Indian banker and Sir Philip Jocelyn there was no +sympathy. They had no tastes in common: or let me rather say, Henry +Dunbar revealed no taste in common with those of the young man whose +highest hope in life was to be his son-in-law. The frank-hearted young +country gentleman tried in vain to conciliate him, or to advance from +the cold out-work of ceremonious acquaintanceship into the inner +stronghold of friendly intercourse. +</p><p> +But when Sir Philip, after much hesitation and deliberation, presented +himself one morning in the banker's tapestried sitting-room, and +unburdened his heart to that gentleman--stopping every now and then to +stare at the maker's name imprinted upon the lining of his hat, as if +that name had been a magical symbol whence he drew certain auguries by +which he governed his speech--Mr. Dunbar was especially gracious. "Would +he honour Sir Philip by entrusting his daughter's happiness to his +keeping? would he bestow upon Sir Philip the inestimable blessing of +that dear hand? Why, of course he would, provided always that Laura +wished it. In such a matter as this Laura's decision should be supreme. +He never had contemplated interfering in his daughter's bestowal of her +affections: so long as they were not wasted upon an unworthy object. He +wished her to marry whom she pleased; provided that she married an +honest man." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar gave a weary kind of sigh as he said this; but the sigh was +habitual to him, and he apologized for and explained it sometimes by +reference to his liver, which was disordered by five-and-thirty years in +an Indian climate. +</p><p> +"I wish Laura to marry," he said; "I shall be glad when she has secured +the protection of a good husband." +</p><p> +Sir Phillip Jocelyn sprang up with his face all a-glow with rapture, and +would fain have seized the banker's hand in token of his gratitude; but +Henry Dunbar waved him off with an authoritative gesture. +</p><p> +"Good morning, Sir Philip," he said; "I am very poor company, and I +shall be glad to be alone with the <i>Times</i>. You young men don't +appreciate the <i>Times</i>. You want your newspapers filled with +prize-fighting and boat-racing, and the last gossip from 'the Corner.' +You'll find Miss Dunbar in the blue drawing-room. Speak to her as soon +as you please; and let me know the result of the interview." +</p><p> +It is not often that the heiress of a million or thereabouts is quite so +readily disposed of. Sir Philip Jocelyn walked on air as he quitted the +banker's apartments. +</p><p> +"Who ever would have thought that he was such a delicious old brick?" he +thought. "I expected any quantity of cold water; and instead of that, he +sends me straight to my darling with <i>carte blanche</i> to go in and win, +if I can. If I can! Suppose Laura doesn't love me, after all. Suppose +she's only a beautiful coquette, who likes to see men go mad for love of +her. And yet I won't think that; I won't be down-hearted; I won't +believe she's anything but what she seems--an angel of purity and +truth." +</p><p> +But, spite of his belief in Laura's truth, the young baronet's courage +was very low when he went into the blue drawing-room, and found Miss +Dunbar seated in a deep embayed window, with the sunshine lighting up +her hair and gleaming amongst the folds of her violet silk dress. She +had been drawing; but her sketching apparatus lay idle on the little +table by her side, and one listless hand hung down upon her dress, with +a pencil held loosely between the slender fingers. She was looking +straight before her, out upon the sunlit lawn, all gorgeous with +flaunting autumn flowers; and there was something dreamy, not to say +pensive, in the attitude of her drooping head. +</p><p> +But she started presently at the sound of that manly footstep; the +pencil dropped from between her idle fingers, and she rose and turned +towards the intruder. The beautiful face was in shadow as she turned +away from the window; but no shadow could hide its sudden brightness, +the happy radiance which lit up that candid countenance, as Miss Dunbar +recognized her visitor. +</p><p> +The lover thought that one look more precious than Jocelyn's Rock, and a +baronetcy that dated from the days of England's first Stuarts--that one +glorious smile, which melted away in a moment, and gave place to bright +maidenly blushes, fresh and beautiful as the dewy heart of an +old-fashioned cabbage-rose gathered at sunrise. +</p><p> +That one smile was enough. Philip Jocelyn was no cox-comb, but he knew +all at once that he was beloved, and that very few words were needed. A +great many were said, nevertheless; and I do not think two happier +people ever sat side by side in the late autumn sunshine than those two, +who lingered in the deep embayed window till the sun was low in the rosy +western sky, and told Philip Jocelyn that his visit to Maudesley Abbey +had very much exceeded the limits of a morning call. +</p><p> +So Philip Jocelyn was accepted. Early the next morning he called again +upon Mr. Dunbar, and begged that an early date might be chosen for the +wedding. The banker assented willingly enough to the proposition. +</p><p> +"Let the marriage take place in the first week in November," he said. "I +am tired of living at Maudesley, and I want to get away to the +Continent. Of course I must remain here to be present at my daughter's +wedding." +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn was only too glad to receive this permission to hurry the +day of the ceremonial. He went at once to Laura, and told her what Mr. +Dunbar had said. Mrs. Madden was indignant at this unceremonious manner +of arranging matters. +</p><p> +"Where's my young lady's <i>trussaw</i> to be got at a moment's notice, I +should like to know? A deal you gentlemen know about such things. It's +no use talking, my lord, there ain't a dressmaker livin' as would +undertake the wedding-clothes for baronet's lady in little better than a +month." +</p><p> +But Mrs. Madden's objections were speedily overruled. To tell the truth, +the honest-hearted creature was very much pleased to find that her young +lady was going to be a baronet's wife, after all. She forgot all about +her old favourite, Arthur Lovell, and set herself to work to expedite +that most important matter of the wedding-garments. A man came down +express from Howell and James's to Maudesley Abbey, with a bundle of +patterns; and silks and velvets, gauzes and laces, and almost every +costly fabric that was made, were ordered for Miss Dunbar's equipment. +West-end dressmakers were communicated with. A French milliner, who +looked like a lady of fashion, arrived one morning at Maudesley Abbey, +and for a couple of hours poor Laura had to endure the slow agony of +"trying on," while Mrs. Madden and Dora Macmahon discussed all the +colours in the rainbow, and a great many new shades and combinations of +colour, invented by aspiring French chemists. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch21"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>A NEW LIFE.</h5></center> +<p> + +For the first time in her life, Margaret Wilmot knew what it was to have +friends, real and earnest friends, who interested themselves in her +welfare, and were bent upon securing her happiness; and I must admit +that in this particular case there was something more than +friendship--something holier and higher in its character--the pure and +unselfish love of an honourable man. +</p><p> +Clement Austin, the cashier at Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby's +Anglo-Indian banking-house, had fallen in love with the modest +hazel-eyed music-mistress, and had set himself to work to watch her, and +to find out all about her, long before he was conscious of the real +nature of his feelings. +</p><p> +He had begun by pitying her. He had pitied her because of her hard life, +her loneliness, her beauty, which doubtless exposed her to many dangers +that would have been spared to a plain woman. +</p><p> +Now, when a man allows himself to pity a very pretty girl, he places +himself on a moral tight-rope; and he must be a moral Blondin if he +expects to walk with any safety upon the narrow line which alone divides +him from the great abyss called love. +</p><p> +There are not many Blondins, either physical or intellectual; and the +consequence is, that nine out of ten of the gentlemen who place +themselves in this perilous position find the narrow line very slippery, +and, before they have gone twenty paces, plunge overboard plump to the +very bottom of the abyss, and are over head and ears in love before they +know where they are. +</p><p> +Clement Austin fell in love with Margaret Wilmot; and his tender regard, +his respectful devotion, were very new and sweet to the lonely girl. It +would have been strange, then, under such circumstances, if his love had +been hopeless. +</p><p> +He was in no very great hurry to declare himself; for he had a powerful +ally in his mother, who adored her son, and would have allowed him to +bring home a young negress, or a North American squaw, to the maternal +hearth, if such a bride had been necessary to his happiness. +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin very speedily discovered her son's secret; for he had taken +little pains to conceal his feelings from the indulgent mother who had +been his confidante ever since his first boyish loves at a Clapham +seminary, within whose sacred walls he had been admitted on Tuesdays and +Fridays to learn dancing in the delightful society of five-and-thirty +young ladies. +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin confessed that she would rather her son had chosen some +damsel who could lay claim to greater worldly advantages than those +possessed by the young music-mistress; but when Clement looked +disappointed, the good soul's heart melted all in a moment, and she +declared, that if Margaret was only as good as she was pretty, and truly +attached to her dear noble-hearted boy, she (Mrs. Austin) would ask no +more. +</p><p> +It happened fortunately that she knew nothing of Joseph Wilmot's +antecedents, or of the letter addressed to Norfolk Island; or perhaps +she might have made very strong objections to a match between her son +and a young lady whose father had spent a considerable part of his life +in a penal settlement. +</p><p> +"We will tell my mother nothing of the past, Miss Wilmot," Clement +Austin said, "except that which concerns yourself alone. Let the history +of your unhappy father's life remain a secret between you and me. My +mother is very fond of you; I should be sorry, therefore, if she heard +anything to shock her prejudices. I wish her to love you better every +day." +</p><p> +Clement Austin had his wish; for the kind-hearted widow grew every day +more and more attached to Margaret Wilmot. She discovered that the girl +had more than an ordinary talent for music; and she proposed that +Margaret should take a prettily furnished first-floor in a +pleasant-looking detached house, half cottage, half villa, at Clapham, +and at once set to work as a teacher of the piano. +</p><p> +"I can get you plenty of pupils, my dear," Mrs. Austin said; "for I have +lived here more than thirty years--ever since Clement's birth, in +fact--and I know almost everybody in the neighbourhood. You have only to +teach upon moderate terms, and the people will be glad to send their +children to you. I shall give a little evening party, on purpose that my +friend may hear you play." +</p><p> +So Mrs. Austin gave her evening party, and Margaret appeared in a simple +black-silk dress that had been in her wardrobe for a long time, and +which would have seemed very shabby in the glaring light of day. The +wearer of it looked very pretty and elegant, however, by the light of +Mrs. Austin's wax-candles; and the aristocracy of Clapham remarked that +the "young person" whom Mrs. Austin and her son had "taken up" was +really rather nice-looking. +</p><p> +But when Margaret played and sang, people were charmed in spite of +themselves. She had a superb contralto voice, rich, deep, and melodious; +and she played with brilliancy, and, what is much rarer, with +expression. +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin, going backwards and forwards amongst her guests to +ascertain the current of opinions, found that her protégée's success was +an accomplished fact before the evening was over. +</p><p> +Margaret took the new apartments in the course of the week; and before a +fortnight had passed, she had secured more than a dozen pupils, who gave +her ample employment for her time; and who enabled her to earn more than +enough for her simple wants. +</p><p> +Every Sunday she dined with Mrs. Austin. Clement had persuaded his +mother to make this arrangement a settled thing; although as yet he had +said nothing of his growing love for Margaret. +</p><p> +Those Sundays were pleasant days to Clement and the girl whom he hoped +to win for his wife. +</p><p> +The comfortable elegance of Mrs. Austin's drawing-room, the peaceful +quiet of the Sabbath-evening, when the curtains were drawn before the +bay-window, and the shaded lamp brought into the room; the intellectual +conversation; the pleasant talk about new books and music: all were new +and delightful to Margaret. +</p><p> +This was her first experience of a home, a real home, in which there was +nothing but union and content; no overshadowing fear, no horrible +unspoken dread, no half-guessed secrets always gnawing at the heart. But +in all this new comfort Margaret Wilmot had not forgotten Henry Dunbar. +She had not ceased to believe him guilty of her father's murder. Calm +and gentle in her outward demeanour, she kept her secret buried in her +breast, and asked for no sympathy. +</p><p> +Clement Austin had given her his best attention, his best advice; but it +all amounted to nothing. The different scraps of evidence that hinted at +Henry Dunbar's guilt were not strong enough to condemn him. The cashier +communicated with the detective police, who had been watching the case; +but they only shook their heads gravely, and dismissed him with their +thanks for his information. There was nothing in what he had to tell +them that could implicate Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +"A gentleman with a million of money doesn't put himself in the power of +the hangman unless he's very hard pushed," said the detective. "The +motive's what you must look to in these cases, sir. Now, where's Mr. +Dunbar's motive for murdering this man Wilmot?" +</p><p> +"The secret that Joseph Wilmot possessed----" +</p><p> +"Bah, my dear sir! Henry Dunbar could afford to buy all the secrets that +ever were kept. Secrets are like every other sort of article: they're +only kept to sell. Good morning." +</p><p> +After this, Clement Austin told Margaret that he could be of no use to +her. The dead man must rest in his grave: there was little hope that the +mystery of his fate would ever be fathomed by human intelligence. +</p><p> +But Margaret Wilmot did not cease to remember Mr. Dunbar She only +waited. +</p><p> +One resolution was always uppermost in her mind, even when she was +happiest with her new friends. She would see Henry Dunbar. In spite of +his obstinate determination to avoid an interview with her, she would +see him: and then, when she had gained her purpose, and stood face to +face with him, she would boldly denounce him as her father's murderer. +If then he did not flinch or falter, if she saw innocence in his face, +she would cease to doubt him, she would be content to believe that +Joseph Wilmot had met his untimely death from a stranger's hand. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch22"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE STEEPLE-CHASE.</h5></center> +<p> + +After considerable discussion, it was settled that Laura Dunbar's +wedding should take place upon the 7th of November. It was to be a very +quiet wedding. The banker had especially impressed that condition upon +his daughter. His health was entirely broken, and he would assist in no +splendid ceremonial to which half the county would be invited. If Laura +wanted bridesmaids, she might have Dora Macmahon and any particular +friend who lived in the neighbourhood. There was to be no fuss, no +publicity. Marriage was a very solemn business, Mr. Dunbar said, and it +would be as well for his daughter to be undisturbed by any pomp or +gaiety on her wedding-day. So the marriage was appointed to take place +on the 7th, and the arrangements were to be as simple as the +circumstances of the bride would admit. Sir Philip was quite willing +that it should be so. He was much too happy to take objection to any +such small matters. He only wanted the sacred words to be spoken which +made Laura Dunbar his own for ever and for ever. He wanted to take her +away to the southern regions, where he had travelled so gaily in his +careless bachelor days, where he would be so supremely happy now with +his bright young bride by his side. Fortune, who certainly spoils some +of her children, had been especially beneficent to this young man. She +had given him so many of her best gifts, and had bestowed upon him, over +and above, the power to enjoy her favours. +</p><p> +It happened that the 6th of November was a day which, some time since, +Philip Jocelyn would have considered the most important, if not the +happiest, day of the year. It was the date of the Shorncliffe +steeple-chases, and the baronet had engaged himself early in the +preceding spring to ride his thorough-bred mare Guinevere, for a certain +silver cup, subscribed for by the officers stationed at the Shorncliffe +barracks. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn looked forward to this race with a peculiar interest, for +it was to be the last he would ever ride--the very last: he had given +this solemn promise to Laura, who had in vain tried to persuade him +against even this race. She was brave enough upon ordinary occasions; +but she loved her betrothed husband too dearly to be brave on this. +</p><p> +"I know it's very foolish of me, Philip," she said, "but I can't help +being frightened. I can't help thinking of all the accidents I've ever +heard of, or read of. I've dreamt of the race ever so many times, +Philip. Oh, if you would only give it up for my sake!" +</p><p> +"My darling, my pet, is there anything I would not do for your sake that +I could do in honour? But I can't do this, Laura dearest. You see I'm +all right myself, and the mare's in splendid condition;--well, you saw +her take her trial gallop the other morning, and you must know she's a +flyer, so I won't talk about her. My name was entered for this race six +months ago, you know, dear; and there are lots of small farmers and +country people who have speculated their money on me; and they'd all +lose, poor fellows, if I hung back at the last. You don't know what +play-or-pay bets are, Laura dear. There's nothing in the world I +wouldn't do for your sake; but my backers are poor people, and I can't +put them in a hole. I must ride, Laura, and ride to win, too." +</p><p> +Miss Dunbar knew what this last phrase meant, and she conjured up the +image of her lover flying across country on that fiery chestnut mare, +whose reputation was familiar to almost every man, woman, and child in +Warwickshire: but whatever her fears might be, she was obliged to be +satisfied with her lover's promise that this should be his last +steeple-chase. +</p><p> +The day came at last, a pale November day, mild but not sunny. The sky +was all of one equal grey tint, and seemed to hang only a little way +above the earth. The caps and jackets of the gentleman riders made spots +of colour against that uniform grey sky; and the dresses of the ladies +in the humble wooden structure which did duty as a grand stand, +brightened the level landscape. +</p><p> +The course formed a long oval, and extended over three or four meadows, +and crossed a country lane. It was a tolerably flat course; but the +leaps, though roughly constructed, were rather formidable. Laura had +been over all the ground with her lover on the previous day, and had +looked fearfully at the high ragged hedges, and the broad ditches of +muddy water. But Philip only made light of her fears, and told her the +leaps were nothing, scarcely worthy of the chestnut mare's powers. +</p><p> +The course was not crowded, but there was a considerable sprinkling of +spectators on each side of the rope--soldiers from the Shorncliffe +barracks, country people, and loiterers of all kinds. There were a +couple of drags, crowded with the officers and their friends, who +clustered in all manner of perilous positions on the roof, and consumed +unlimited champagne, bitter beer, and lobster-salad, in the pauses +between the races. A single line of carriages extended for some little +distance opposite the grand stand. The scene was gay and pleasant, as a +race-ground always must be, even though it were in the wildest regions +of the New World; but it was very quiet as compared to Epsom Downs or +the open heath at Ascot. +</p><p> +Conspicuous amongst the vehicles there was a close carriage drawn by a +pair of magnificent bays--an equipage which was only splendid in the +perfection of its appointments. It was a clarence, with dark +subdued-looking panels, only ornamented by a vermilion crest. The +liveries of the servants were almost the simplest upon the course; but +the powdered heads of the men, and an indescribable something in their +style, distinguished them from the country-bred coachmen and hobbledehoy +pages in attendance on the other carriages. +</p><p> +Almost every one on the course knew that crest of an armed hand clasping +a battle-axe, and knew that it belonged to Henry Dunbar. The banker +appeared so very seldom in public that there was always a kind of +curiosity about him when he did show himself; and between the races, +people who were strolling upon the ground contrived to approach very +near the carriage in which the master of Maudesley Abbey sat, wrapped in +Cashmere shawls, and half-hidden under a great fur rug, in legitimate +Indian fashion. +</p><p> +He had consented to appear upon the racecourse in compliance with his +daughter's most urgent entreaties. She wanted him to be near her. She +had some vague idea that he might be useful in the event of any accident +happening to Philip Jocelyn. He might help her. It would be some +consolation, some support to have him with her. He might be able to do +something. Her father had yielded to her entreaties with a very +tolerable grace, and he was here; but having conceded so much, he seemed +to have done all that his frigid nature was capable of doing. He took no +interest in the business of the day, but lounged far back in the +carriage, and complained very much of the cold. +</p><p> +The vehicle had been drawn close up to the boundary of the course, and +Laura sat at the open window, pale and anxious, straining her eyes +towards the weighing-house and the paddock, the little bit of enclosed +ground where the horses were saddled. She could see the gentleman riders +going in and out, and the one rider on whose safety her happiness +depended, muffled in his greatcoat, and very busy and animated amongst +his grooms and helpers. Everybody knew who Miss Dunbar was, and that she +was going to be married to the young baronet; and people looked with +interest at that pale face, keeping such anxious watch at the +carriage-window. I am speaking now of the simple country people, for +whom a race meant a day's pleasure. There were people on the other side +of the course who cared very little for Miss Dunbar or her anxiety; who +would have cared as little if the handsome young baronet had rolled upon +the sward, crushed to death under the weight of his chestnut mare, so +long as they themselves were winners by the event. In the little +enclosure below the grand stand the betting men--that strange fraternity +which appears on every racecourse from Berwick-on-Tweed to the +Land's-End, from the banks of the Shannon to the smooth meads of +pleasant Normandy--were gathered thick, and the talk was loud about Sir +Philip and his competitors. +</p><p> +Among the men who were ready to lay against anything, and were most +unpleasantly vociferous in the declaration of their readiness, there was +one man who was well known to the humbler class of bookmen with whom he +associated, who was known to speculate upon very small capital, but who +had never been known as a defaulter. The knowing ones declared this man +worthy to rank high amongst the best of them; but no one knew where he +lived, or what he was. He was rarely known to miss a race; and he was +conspicuous amongst the crowd in those mysterious purlieus where the +plebeian bookmen, who are unworthy to enter the sacred precincts of +Tattersall's, mostly do congregate, in utter defiance of the police. No +one had ever heard the name of this man; but in default of any more +particular cognomen, they had christened him the Major; because in his +curt manners, his closely buttoned-up coat, tightly-strapped trousers, +and heavy moustache, there was a certain military flavour, which had +given rise to the rumour that the unknown had in some remote period been +one of the defenders of his country. Whether he had enlisted as a +private, and had been bought-off by his friends; whether he had borne +the rank of an officer, and had sold his commission, or had been +cashiered, or had deserted, or had been drummed-out of his regiment,--no +one pretended to say. People called him the Major; and wherever he +appeared, the Major made himself conspicuous by means of a very tall +white hat, with a broad black crape band round it. +</p><p> +He was tall himself, and the hat made him seem taller. His clothes were +very shabby, with that peculiar shiny shabbiness which makes a man look +as if he had been oiled all over, and then rubbed into a high state of +polish. He wore a greenish-brown greatcoat with a poodle collar, and was +supposed to have worn the same for the last ten years. Round his neck, +be the weather ever so sultry, he wore a comforter of rusty worsted that +had once been scarlet, and above this comforter appeared his nose, which +was a prominent aquiline. Nobody ever saw much more of the Major than +his nose and his moustache. His hat came low down over his forehead, +which was itself low, and a pair of beetle brows, of a dense +purple-black, were faintly visible in the shadow of the brim. He never +took off his hat in the presence of his fellow-men; and as he never +encountered the fair sex, except in the person of the barmaid at a +sporting public, he was not called upon to unbonnet himself in +ceremonious obeisance to lovely woman. He was eminently a mysterious +man, and seemed to enjoy himself in the midst of the cloud of mystery +which surrounded him. +</p><p> +The Major had inspected the starters for the great event of the day, and +had sharply scrutinized the gentleman riders as they went in and out of +the paddock. He was so well satisfied with the look of Sir Philip +Jocelyn, and the chestnut mare Guinevere, that he contented himself with +laying the odds against all the other horses, and allowed the baronet +and the chestnut to run for him. He asked a few questions presently +about Sir Philip, who had taken off his greatcoat by this time, and +appeared in all the glory of a scarlet satin jacket and a black velvet +cap. A Warwickshire farmer, who had found his way in among the knowing +ones, informed the Major that Sir Philip Jocelyn was going to be married +to Miss Dunbar, only daughter and sole heiress of the great Mr. Dunbar. +</p><p> +The great Mr. Dunbar! The Major, usually so imperturbable, gave a little +start at the mention of the banker's name. +</p><p> +"What Mr. Dunbar?" he asked. +</p><p> +"The banker. Him as come home from the Indies last August." +</p><p> +The Major gave a long low whistle; but he asked no further question of +the farmer. He had a memorandum-book in his hand--a greasy and +grimy-looking little volume, whose pages he was wont to study profoundly +from time to time, and in which he jotted down all manner of queer +hieroglyphics with half an inch of fat lead-pencil. He relapsed into the +contemplation of this book now; but he muttered to himself ever and anon +in undertones, and his mutterings had relation to Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"It's him," he muttered; "that's lucky. I read all about that Winchester +business in the Sunday papers. I've got it all at my fingers'-ends, and +I don't see why I shouldn't make a trifle out of it. I don't see why I +shouldn't win a little money upon Henry Dunbar. I'll have a look at my +gentleman presently, when the race is over." +</p><p> +The bell rang, and the seven starters went off with a rush; four +abreast, and three behind. Sir Philip was among the four foremost +riders, keeping the chestnut well in hand, and biding his time very +quietly. This was his last race, and he had set his heart upon winning. +Laura leaned out of the carriage-window, pale and breathless, with a +powerful race-glass in her hand. She watched the riders as they swept +round the curve in the course. Then they disappeared, and the few +minutes during which they were out of sight seemed an age to that +anxious watcher. The people run away to see them take the double leap in +the lane, and then come trooping back again, panting and eager, as three +of the riders appear again round another bend of the course. +</p><p> +The scarlet leads this time. The honest country people hurrah for the +master of Jocelyn's Rock. Have they not put their money upon him, and +are they not proud of him?--proud of his handsome face, which, amid all +its easy good-nature, has a certain dash of hauteur that befits one who +has a sprinkling of the blood of Saxon kings in his veins; proud of his +generous heart, which beats with a thousand kindly impulses towards his +fellow-men. They shout aloud as he flies past them, the long stride of +the chestnut skimming over the ground, and spattering fragments of torn +grass and ploughed-up earth about him as he goes. Laura sees the scarlet +jacket rise for a moment against the low grey sky, and then fly onward, +and that is about all she sees of the dreaded leap which she had looked +at in fear and trembling the day before. Her heart is still beating with +a strange vague terror, when her lover rides quietly past the stand, and +the people about her cry out that the race has been nobly won. The other +riders come in very slowly, and are oppressed by that indescribable air +of sheepishness which is peculiar to gentleman jockeys when they do not +win. +</p><p> +The girl's eyes fill suddenly with tears, and she leans back in the +carriage, glad to hide her happy face from the crowd. +</p><p> +Ten minutes afterwards Sir Philip Jocelyn came across the course with a +great silver-gilt cup in his arms, and surrounded by an admiring throng, +amongst whom he had just emptied his purse. +</p><p> +"I've brought you the cup, Laura; and I want you to be pleased with my +victory. It's the last triumph of my bachelor days, you know, darling." +</p><p> +"Three cheers for Miss Dunbar!" shouted some adventurous spirit among +the crowd about the baronet. +</p><p> +In the next moment the cry was taken up, and two or three hundred voices +joined in a loud hurrah for the banker's daughter. The poor girl drew +back into the carriage, blushing and frightened. +</p><p> +"Don't mind them, Laura dear," Sir Philip said; "they mean well, you +know, and they look upon me as public property. Hadn't you better give +them a bow, Mr. Dunbar?" he added, in an undertone to the banker. "It'll +please them, I know." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar frowned, but he bent forward for a moment, and, leaning his +head a little way out of the window, made a stately acknowledgment of +the people's enthusiasm. As he did so, his eyes met those of the Major, +who had crossed the course with Sir Philip and his admirers, and who was +staring straight before him at the banker's carriage. Henry Dunbar drew +back immediately after making that very brief salute to the populace. +"Tell them to drive home, Sir Philip," he said. "The people mean well, I +dare say; but I hate these popular demonstrations. There's something to +be done about the settlements, by-the-bye; you'd better dine at the +Abbey this evening. John Lovell will be there to meet you." +</p><p> +The carriage drove away; and though the Major pushed his way through the +crowd pretty rapidly, he was too late to witness its departure. He was +in a very good temper, however, for he had won what his companions +called a hatful of money on the steeple-chase, and he stood to win on +other races that were to come off that afternoon. During the interval +that elapsed before the next race, he talked to a sociable bystander +about Sir Philip Jocelyn, and the young lady he was going to marry. He +ascertained that the wedding was to take place the next morning, and at +Lisford church. +</p><p> +"In that case," thought the Major, as he went back to the ring, "I +shall sleep at Lisford to-night; I shall make Lisford my quarters for +the present, and I shall follow up Henry Dunbar." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch23"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE BRIDE THAT THE RAIN RAINS ON.</h5></center> +<p> + +There was no sunshine upon Laura Dunbar's wedding morning. The wintry +sky was low and dark, as if the heavens had been coming gradually down +to crush this wicked earth. The damp fog, the slow, drizzling rain shut +out the fair landscape upon which the banker's daughter had been wont to +look from the pleasant cushioned seat in the deep bay-window of her +dressing-room. +</p><p> +The broad lawn was soddened by that perpetual rain. The incessant +rain-drops dripped from the low branches of the black spreading cedars +of Lebanon; the smooth beads of water ran off the shining laurel-leaves; +the rhododendrons, the feathery furze, the glistening +arbutus--everything was obscured by that cruel rain. +</p><p> +The water gushed out of the quaint dragons' mouths, ranged along the +parapet of the Abbey roof; it dripped from every stone coping and +abutment; from window-ledge and porch, from gable-end and sheltering +ivy. The rain was everywhere, and the incessant pitter-patter of the +drops beating against the windows of the Abbey made a dismal sound, +scarcely less unpleasant to hear than the perpetual lamentation of the +winds, which to-day had the sound of human voices; now moaning drearily, +with a long, low, wailing murmur, now shrieking in the shrilly tones of +an angry vixen. +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar gave a long discontented sigh as she seated herself at her +favourite bay-window, and looked out at the dripping trees upon the lawn +below. +</p><p> +She was a petted heiress, remember, and the world had gone so smoothly +with her hitherto, that perhaps she scarcely endured calamity or +contradiction with so good a grace as she might have done had she been a +little nearer perfection. She was hardly better than a child as yet, +with all a child's ignorant hopefulness and blind trust in the unknown +future. She was a pampered child, and she expected to have life made +very smooth for her. +</p><p> +"What a horribly dismal morning!" Miss Dunbar exclaimed. "Did you ever +see anything like it, Elizabeth?" +</p><p> +Mrs. Madden was bustling about, arranging her young mistress's breakfast +upon a little table near the blazing fire. Laura had just emerged from +her bath room, and had put on a loose dressing-gown of wadded blue silk, +prior to the grand ceremonial of the wedding toilet, which was not to +take place until after breakfast. +</p><p> +I think Miss Dunbar looked lovelier in this <i>déshabille</i> than many a +bride in her lace and orange-blossoms. The girl's long golden hair, wet +from the bath, hung in rippling confusion about her fresh young face. +Two little feet, carelessly thrust into blue morocco slippers, peeped +out from amongst the folds of Miss Dunbar's dressing-gown, and one +coquettish scarlet heel tapped impatiently upon the floor as the young +lady watched that provoking rain. +</p><p> +"What a wretched morning!" she said. +</p><p> +"Well, Miss Laura, it is rather wet," replied Mrs. Madden, in a +conciliating tone. +</p><p> +"Rather wet!" echoed Laura, with an air of vexation; "I should think it +was <i>rather</i> wet, indeed. It's miserably wet; it's horribly wet. To +think that the frost should have lasted very nearly three weeks, and +then must needs break up on my wedding morning. Did ever anybody know +anything so provoking?" +</p><p> +"Lor', Miss Laura," rejoined the sympathetic Madden, "there's all manner +of provoking things allus happenin' in this blessed, wicked, rampagious +world of ours; only such young ladies as you don't often come across +'em. Talk of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Miss Laura; I +do think as you must have come into this mortal spear with a whole +service of gold plate. And don't you fret your precious heart, my +blessed Miss Laura, if the rain <i>is</i> contrairy. I dare say the clerk of +the weather is one of them rampagin' radicals that's allus a goin' on +about the bloated aristocracy, and he's done it a purpose to aggeravate +you. But what's a little rain more or less to you, Miss Laura, when +you've got more carriages to ride in than if you was a princess in a +fairy tale, which I think the Princess Baltroubadore, or whatever her +hard name was, in the story of Aladdin, must have had no carriage +whatever, or she wouldn't have gone walkin' to the baths. Never you mind +the rain, Miss Laura." +</p><p> +"But it's a bad omen, isn't it, Elizabeth?" asked Laura Dunbar. "I seem +to remember some old rhyme about the bride that the sun shines on, and +the bride that the rain rains on." +</p><p> +"Laws, Miss Laura, you don't mean to say as you'd bemean yourself by +taking any heed of such low rubbish as that?" exclaimed Mrs. Madden; +"why, such stupid rhymes as them are only made for vulgar people that +have the banns put up in the parish church. A deal it matters to such as +you, Miss Laura, if all the cats and dogs as ever was come down out of +the heavens this blessed day." +</p><p> +But though honest-hearted Elizabeth Madden did her best to comfort her +young mistress after her own simple fashion, she was not herself +altogether satisfied. +</p><p> +The low, brooding sky, the dark and murky atmosphere, and that +monotonous rain would have gone far to depress the spirits of the gayest +reveller in all the universe. +</p><p> +In spite of ourselves, we are the slaves of atmospheric influences; and +we cannot feel very light-hearted or happy upon black wintry days, when +the lowering heavens seem to frown upon our hopes; when, in the +darkening of the earthly prospect, we fancy that we see a shadowy +curtain closing round an unknown future. +</p><p> +Laura felt something of this; for she said, by-and-by, half impatiently, +half mournfully,-- +</p><p> +"What is the matter with me, Elizabeth. Has all the world changed since +yesterday? When I drove home with papa, after the races yesterday, +everything upon earth seemed so bright and beautiful. Such an +overpowering sense of joy was in my heart, that I could scarcely believe +it was winter, and that it was only the fading November sunshine that +lit up the sky. All my future life seemed spread before me, like an +endless series of beautiful pictures--pictures in which I could see +Philip and myself, always together, always happy. To-day, to-day, oh! +<i>how</i> different everything is!" exclaimed Laura, with a little shudder. +"The sky that shuts in the lawn yonder seems to shut in my life with it. +I can't look forward. If I was going to be parted from Philip to-day, +instead of married to him, I don't think I could feel more miserable +than I feel now. Why is it, Elizabeth, dear?" +</p><p> +"My goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Madden, "how should I tell, my +precious pet? You talk just like a poetry-book, and how can I answer you +unless I was another poetry-book? Come and have your breakfast, do, +that's a dear sweet love, and try a new-laid egg. New-laid eggs is good +for the spirits, my poppet." +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar seated herself in the comfortable arm-chair between the +fireplace and the little breakfast-table. She made a sort of pretence at +eating, just to please her old nurse, who fidgeted about the room; now +stopping by Laura's chair, and urging her to take this, that, or the +other; now running to the dressing-table to make some new arrangement +about the all-important wedding-toilet; now looking out of the window +and perjuring her simple soul by declaring that "it"--namely, the winter +sky--was going to clear up. +</p><p> +"It's breaking up above the elms yonder, Miss Laura," Elizabeth said; +"there's a bit of blue peepin' through the clouds; leastways, if it +ain't quite blue, it's a much lighter black than the rest of the sky, +and that's something. Eat a bit of Perrigorge pie, or a thin wafer of a +slice off that Strasbog 'am, Miss Laura, do now. You'll be ready to drop +with feelin' faint when you get to the altar-rails, if you persist on +bein' married on a empty stummick, Miss Laura. It's a moriel impossible +as you can look your best, my precious love, if you enter the church in +a state of starvation, just like one of them respectable beggars wot +pins a piece of paper on their weskits with 'I AM HUNGRY' wrote upon it +in large hand, and stands at the foot of one of the bridges on the +Surrey side of the water. And I shouldn't think as you would wish to +look like <i>that</i>, Miss Laura, on your wedding-day? <i>I</i> shouldn't if <i>I</i> +was goin' to be own wife to a baronet!" +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar took very little notice of her nurse's rambling discourse; +and I am fain to confess that, upon this occasion, Mrs. Madden talked +rather more for the sake of talking than from any overflow of animal +spirits. +</p><p> +The good creature felt the influence of the cold, wet, cheerless morning +quite as keenly as her mistress. Mrs. Madden was superstitious, as most +ignorant and simple-minded people generally are, more or less. +Superstition is, after all, only a dim, unconscious poetry, which is +latent in most natures, except in such very hard practical minds as are +incapable of believing in anything--not even in Heaven itself. +</p><p> +Dora Macmahon came in presently, looking very pretty in blue silk and +white lace. She looked very happy, in spite of the bad weather, and Miss +Dunbar suffered herself to be comforted by her half-sister. The two +girls sat at the table by the fire, and breakfasted, or pretended to +breakfast, together. Who could really attend to the common business of +eating and drinking on such a day as this? +</p><p> +"I've just been to see Lizzie and Ellen," Dora said, presently; "they +wouldn't come in here till they were dressed, and they've had their hair +screwed up in hair-pins all night to make it wave, and now it's a wet +day their hair won't wave after all, and their maid's going to pinch it +with the fire-irons--the tongs, I suppose." +</p><p> +Miss Macmahon had brown hair, with a natural ripple in it, and could +afford to laugh at beauty that was obliged to adorn itself by means of +hair-pins and tongs. +</p><p> +Lizzie and Ellen were the daughters of a Major Melville, and the special +friends of Miss Dunbar. They had come to Maudesley to act as her +bridesmaids, according to that favourite promise which young ladies so +often make to each other, and so very often break. +</p><p> +Laura did not appear to take much interest in the Miss Melvilles' hair. +She was very meditative about something; but her meditations must have +been of a pleasant nature, for there was a smile upon her face. +</p><p> +"Dora," she said, by-and-by, "do you know I've been thinking about +something?" +</p><p> +"About what, dear?" +</p><p> +"Don't you know that old saying about one wedding making many?" +</p><p> +Dora Macmahon blushed. +</p><p> +"What of that, Laura dear?" she asked, very innocently. +</p><p> +"I've been thinking that perhaps another wedding may follow mine. Oh, +Dora, I can't help saying it, I should be so happy if Arthur Lovell and +you were to marry." +</p><p> +Miss Macmahon blushed a much deeper red than before. +</p><p> +"Oh, Laura," she said, "that's quite impossible." +</p><p> +But Miss Dunbar shook her head. +</p><p> +"I shall live in the hope of it, notwithstanding," she said. "I love +Arthur almost as much--or perhaps quite as much, as if he were my +brother--so it isn't strange that I should wish to see him married to my +sister." +</p><p> +The two girls might have sat talking for some time longer, but they were +interrupted by Miss Dunbar's old nurse, who never for a moment lost +sight of the serious business of the day. +</p><p> +"It's all very well for you to sit there jabber, jabber, jabber, Miss +Dora," exclaimed the unceremonious Elizabeth; "you're dressed, all but +your bonnet. You've only just to pop that on, and there you are. But my +young lady isn't half dressed yet. And now, come along, Miss Laura, and +have your hair done, if you mean to have any back-hair at all to-day. +It's past nine o'clock, and you're to be at the church at eleven." +</p><p> +"And papa is to give me away!" murmured Laura, in a low voice, as she +seated herself before the dressing-table. "I wish he loved me better." +</p><p> +"Perhaps, if he loved you too well, he'd keep you, instead of giving you +away, Miss Laura," observed Mrs. Madden, with evident enjoyment of her +own wit; "and I don't suppose you'd care about that, would you, miss? +Hold your head still, that's a precious darling, and don't you trouble +yourself about anything except looking your very best this day." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch24"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXIV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE UNBIDDEN GUEST WHO CAME TO LAURA DUNBAR'S WEDDING.</h5></center> +<p> + +The wedding was to take place in Lisford church--that pretty, quaint, +old church of which I have already spoken. +</p><p> +The wandering Avon flowed through this rustic churchyard, along a +winding channel fringed by tall, trembling rushes. There was a wooden +bridge across the river, and there were two opposite entrances to the +churchyard. Pedestrians who chose the shortest route between Lisford and +Shorncliffe went in at one gate and out at another, which opened on to +the high-road. +</p><p> +The worthy inhabitants of Lisford were almost as much distressed by the +unpromising aspect of the sky as Laura Dunbar and her faithful nurse +themselves. New bonnets had been specially prepared for this festive +occasion. Chrysanthemums and dahlias, gay-looking China-asters, and all +the lingering flowers that light up the early winter landscape, had been +collected to strew the pathway beneath the bride's pretty feet. All the +brightest evergreens in the Lisford gardens had been gathered as a +fitting sacrifice for the "young lady from the Abbey." +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar's frank good-nature and reckless generosity were well +remembered upon this occasion; and every creature in Lisford was bent +upon doing her honour. +</p><p> +But this aggravating rain balked everybody. What was the use of throwing +wet dahlias and flabby chrysanthemums into the puddles through which the +bride must tread, heiress though she was? How miserable would be the +aspect of two rows of damp charity children, with red noses and no +pocket-handkerchiefs! The rector himself had a cold in his head, and +would be obliged to omit all the <i>n</i>'s and <i>m</i>'s in the marriage +service. +</p><p> +In short, everybody felt that the Abbey wedding was destined to be more +or less a failure. It seemed very hard that the chief partner in the +firm of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby could not, with all his wealth, buy +a little glimmer of sunshine to light up his daughter's wedding. It grew +so dark and foggy towards eleven o'clock, that a dozen or so of +wax-candles were hastily stuck about the neighbourhood of the altar, in +order that the bride and bridegroom might be able, each of them, to see +the person that he or she was taking for better or worse. +</p><p> +Yes, the dismal weather made everything dismal in unison with itself. A +wet wedding is like a wet pic-nic. The most heroic nature gives way +before its utter desolation; the wit of the party forgets his best +anecdote; the funny man breaks down in the climactic verse of his great +buffo song; there is no brightness in the eyes of the beauty; there is +neither sparkle nor flavour in the champagne, though the grapes thereof +have been grown in the vineyards of Widow Cliquot herself. +</p><p> +There are some things that are more powerful than emperors, and the +atmosphere is one of them. Alexander might conquer nations in very +sport; but I question whether he could have resisted the influence of a +wet day. +</p><p> +Of all the people who were to assist at Sir Philip Jocelyn's wedding, +perhaps the father of the bride was the person who seemed least affected +by that drizzling rain, that hopelessly-black sky. +</p><p> +If Henry Dunbar was grave and silent to-day, why that was nothing new: +for he was always grave and silent. If the banker's manner was stern and +moody to-day, that stern moodiness was habitual to him: and there was no +need to blame the murky heavens for any change in his temper. He sat by +the broad fireplace watching the burning coals, and waiting until he +should be summoned to take his place by his daughter's side in the +carriage that was to convey them both to Lisford church; and he did not +utter one word of complaint about that aggravating weather. +</p><p> +He looked very handsome, very aristocratic, with his grey moustache +carefully trimmed, and a white camellia in his button-hole. +Nevertheless, when he came out into the hall by-and-by, with a set smile +upon his face, like a man who is going to act a part in a play, Laura +Dunbar recoiled from him with an involuntary shiver, as she had done +upon the day of her first meeting with him in Portland Place. +</p><p> +But he offered her his hand, and she laid the tips of her fingers in his +broad palm, and went with him to the carriage. "Ask God to bless me upon +this day, papa," the girl said, in a low, tender voice, as these two +people took their places side by side in the roomy chariot. +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar laid her hand caressingly upon the banker's shoulder as she +spoke. It was not a time for reticence; it was not an occasion upon +which to be put off by any girlish fear of this stern, silent man. +</p><p> +"Ask God to bless me, father dearest," the soft, tremulous voice +pleaded, "for the sake of my dead mother." +</p><p> +She tried to see his face: but she could not. His head was turned away, +and he was busy making some alteration in the adjustment of the +carriage-window. The chariot had cost nearly three hundred pounds, and +was very well built: but there was something wrong about the window +nevertheless, if one might judge by the difficulty which Mr. Dunbar had, +in settling it to his satisfaction. +</p><p> +He spoke presently, in a very earnest voice, but with his head still +turned away from Laura. +</p><p> +"I hope God will bless you, my dear," he said; "and that He will have +pity upon your enemies." +</p><p> +This last wish was more Christianlike than natural; since fathers do not +usually implore compassion for the enemies of their children. +</p><p> +But Laura Dunbar did not trouble herself to think about this. She only +knew that her father had called down Heaven's blessing upon her; and +that his manner had betrayed such agitation as could, of course, only +spring from one cause, namely, his affection for his daughter. +</p><p> +She threw herself into his arms with a radiant smile, and putting up her +hands, drew his face round, and pressed her lips to his. +</p><p> +But, as on the day in Portland Place, a chill crept through her veins, +as she felt the deadly coldness of her father's hands lifted to push her +gently from him. +</p><p> +It is a common thing for Anglo-Indians to be quiet and reserved in their +manners, and strongly adverse to all demonstrations of this kind. Laura +remembered this, and made excuses to herself for her father's coldness. +</p><p> +The rain was still falling as the carriage stopped at the churchyard. +There were only three carriages in this brief bridal train, for Mr. +Dunbar had insisted that there should be no grandeur, no display. +</p><p> +The two Miss Melvilles, Dora Macmahon, and Arthur Lovell rode in the +same carriage. Major Melville's daughters looked very pale and cold in +their white-and-blue dresses, and the north-easter had tweaked their +noses, which were rather sharp and pointed in style. They would have +looked pretty enough, poor girls, had the wedding taken place in +summer-time; but they had not that splendid exceptional beauty which can +defy all changes of temperature, and which is alike glorious, whether +clad in abject rags or robed in velvet and ermine. +</p><p> +The carriages reached the little gate of Lisford churchyard; Philip +Jocelyn came out of the porch, and down the narrow pathway leading to +the gate. +</p><p> +The drizzling rain descended on him, though he was a baronet, and though +he came bareheaded to receive his bride. +</p><p> +I think the Lisford beadle, who was a sound Tory of the old school, +almost wondered that the heavens themselves should be audacious enough +to wet the uncovered head of the lord of Jocelyn's Rock. +</p><p> +But it went on raining, nevertheless. +</p><p> +"Times has changed, sir," said the beadle, to an idle-looking stranger +who was standing near him. "I have read in a history of Warwickshire, +that when Algernon Jocelyn was married to Dame Margery Milward, widow to +Sir Stephen Milward, knight, in Charles the First's time, there was a +cloth-of-gold canopy from the gate yonder to this porch here, and two +moving turrets of basket-work, each of 'em drawn by four horses, and +filled with forty poor children, crowned with roses, lookin' out of the +turret winders, and scatterin' scented waters on the crowd; and there +was a banquet, sir, served up at noon that day at Jocelyn's Rock, with +six peacocks brought to table with their tails spread; and a pie, served +in a gold dish, with live doves in it, every feather of 'em steeped in +the rarest perfume, which they was intended to sprinkle over the company +as they flew about here and there. But--would you believe in such a +radical spirit pervadin' the animal creation?--every one of them doves +flew straight out of the winder, and went and scattered their perfumes +on the poor folks outside. There's no such weddin's as that nowadays, +sir," said the old beadle, with a groan. "As I often say to my old +missus, I don't believe as ever England has held up its head since the +day when Charles the Martyr lost his'n." +</p><p> +Laura Dunbar went up the narrow pathway by her father's side; but Philip +Jocelyn walked upon her left hand, and the crowd had enough to do to +stare at bride and bridegroom. +</p><p> +The baronet's face, which was always a handsome one, looked splendid in +the light of his happiness. People disputed as to whether the bride or +bridegroom was handsomest; and Laura forgot all about the wet weather as +she laid her light hand on Philip Jocelyn's arm. +</p><p> +The churchyard was densely crowded in the neighbourhood of the pathway +along which the bride and bridegroom walked. In spite of the miserable +weather, in defiance of Mr. Dunbar's desire that the wedding should be a +quiet one, people had come from a very long distance in order to see the +millionaire's beautiful daughter married to the master of Jocelyn's +Rock. +</p><p> +Amongst the spectators who had come to witness Miss Dunbar's wedding was +the tall gentleman in the high white hat, who was known in sporting +circles as the Major, and who had exhibited so much interest when the +name of Henry Dunbar was mentioned on the Shorncliffe racecourse. The +Major had been very lucky in his speculations on the Shorncliffe races, +and had gone straight away from the course to the village of Lisford, +where he took up his abode at the Hose and Crown, a bright-looking +hostelry, where a traveller could have his steak or his chop done to a +turn in one of the cosiest kitchens in all Warwickshire. The Major was +very reserved upon the subject of his sporting operations when he found +himself among unprofessional people; and upon such occasions, though he +would now and then condescend to lay the odds against anything with some +unconscious agriculturalist or village tradesman, his innocence with +regard to all turf matters was positively refreshing. +</p><p> +He was a traveller in Birmingham jewellery, he told the land lady of the +quiet little inn, and was on his way to that busy commercial centre to +procure a fresh supply of glass emeralds, and a score or so of gigantic +rubies with crinkled tinsel behind them. The Major, usually somewhat +silent and morose, contrived to make himself very agreeable to the +jovial frequenters of the comfortable little public parlour of the Rose +and Crown. +</p><p> +He took his dinner and his supper in that cosy apartment; and he sat +there all the evening, listening to and joining in the conversation of +the Lisfordians, and drinking sixpenn'orths of gin-and-water, with the +air of a man who could consume a hogshead of the juice of the +juniper-berry without experiencing any evil consequences therefrom. He +ate and drank like a man of iron; and his glittering black eyes kept +perpetual watch upon the faces of the simple country people, and his +eager ears drank in every word that was spoken. Of course a great deal +was said about the event of the next morning. Everybody had something to +say about Miss Dunbar and her wealthy father, who lived so lonely and +secluded at the Abbey, and whose ways were altogether so different from +those of his father before him. +</p><p> +The Major listened to every syllable, and only edged-in a word or two +now and then, when the conversation flagged, or when there was a chance +of the subject being changed. +</p><p> +By this means he contrived to keep the Lisfordians constant to one topic +all the evening, and that topic was the manners and customs of Henry +Dunbar. +</p><p> +Very early on the morning of the wedding the Major made his appearance +in the churchyard. As for the incessant rain, that was nothing to <i>him</i>; +he was used to it; and, moreover, the wet weather gave him a good excuse +for buttoning his coat to the chin, and turning the poodle collar over +his big red ears. +</p><p> +He found the door of the church ajar, early though it was, and going in +softly, he came upon the Tory beadle and some damp charity children. +</p><p> +The Major contrived to engage the Tory beadle in conversation, which was +not very difficult, seeing that the aforesaid beadle was always ready to +avail himself of any opportunity of hearing his own voice. Of course the +loquacious beadle talked chiefly of Sir Philip Jocelyn and the banker's +daughter; and again the sporting gentleman from London heard of Henry +Dunbar's riches. +</p><p> +"I <i>have</i> heerd as Mr. Dunbar is the richest man in Europe, exceptin' +the Hemperore of Roosia and Baron Rothschild," the beadle said; "but I +don't know anythink more than that he's got a deal more money than he +knows what to do with, seein' that he passes the best part of his days +sittin' over the fire in his own room, or ridin' out after dark on +horseback, if report speaks correct." +</p><p> +"I tell you what I'll do," said the Major; "as I am in Lisford,--and, to +be candid with you, Lisford's about the dullest place it was ever my bad +luck to visit,--why, I'll stay and have a look at this wedding. I +suppose you can put me into a quiet pew, back yonder in the shadow, +where I can see all that's going on, without any of your fine folks +seeing me, eh?" +</p><p> +As the Major emphasized this question by dropping half-a-crown into the +beadle's hand, that official answered it very promptly,-- +</p><p> +"I'll put you into the comfortablest pew you ever sat in," answered the +official. +</p><p> +"You might do that easily," muttered the sporting gentleman, below his +breath; "for there's not many pews, or churches either, that <i>I</i>'ve ever +sat in." +</p><p> +The Major took his place in a corner of the church whence there was a +very good view of the altar, where the feeble flames of the wax-candles +made little splashes of yellow light in the fog. +</p><p> +The fog got thicker and thicker in the church as the hour for the +marriage ceremony drew nearer and nearer, and the light of the +wax-candles grew brighter as the atmosphere became more murky. +</p><p> +The Major sat patiently in his pew, with his arms folded upon the ledge, +where the prayer-books in the corner of the seats were wont to rest +during divine service. He planted his bristly chin upon his folded arms, +and closed his eyes in a kind of dog-sleep. +</p><p> +But in this sleep he could hear everything going on. He heard the +hobnailed soles of the charity children pattering upon the floor of the +church; he heard the sharp rustling of the evergreens and wet flowers +under the children's figures; and he could hear the deep voice of Philip +Jocelyn, talking to the clergyman in the porch, as he waited the arrival +of the carriages from Maudesley Abbey. +</p><p> +The carriages arrived at last; and presently the wedding-train came up +the narrow aisle, and took their places about the altar-rails. Henry +Dunbar stood behind his daughter, with his face in shadow. +</p><p> +The marriage-service was commenced. The Major's eyes were wide open now. +Those sharp eager black eyes took notice of everything. They rested now +upon the bride, now upon the bridegroom, now upon the faces of the +rector and his curate. +</p><p> +Sometimes those glittering eyes strove to pierce the gloom, and to see +the other faces, the faces that were farther away from the flickering +yellow light of the wax-candles; but the gloom was not to be pierced +even by the sharpest eyes. +</p><p> +The Major could only see four faces;--the faces of the bride and +bridegroom, the rector, and his curate. But by-and-by, when one of the +clergymen asked the familiar question--"<i>Who giveth this woman to be +married, to this man?</i>" Henry Dunbar came forward into the light of the +wax-candles, and gave the appointed answer. +</p><p> +The Major's folded arms dropped off the ledge, as if they had been +suddenly paralyzed. He sat, breathing hard and quick, and staring at Mr. +Dunbar. +</p><p> +"Henry Dunbar?" he muttered to himself, presently--"Henry Dunbar!" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar did not again retire into the shadow. He remained during the +rest of the ceremony standing where the light shone full upon his +handsome face. +</p><p> +When all was over, and the bride and bridegroom had signed their names +in the vestry, before admiring witnesses, the sporting gentleman rose +and walked softly out of the pew, and along one of the obscure +side-aisles. +</p><p> +The wedding-party passed out of the church-porch. The Major followed +slowly. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn and his bride went straight to the carriage that was to +convey them back to the Abbey. +</p><p> +Dora Macmahon and the two pale Bridesmaids, with areophane bonnets that +had become hopelessly limp from exposure to that cruel rain, took their +places in the second carriage. They were accompanied by Arthur Lovell, +whom they looked upon with no very great favour; for he had been silent +and melancholy throughout the drive from Maudesley Abbey to Lisford +Church, and had stared at them with vacant indifference, while handing +them out of the carriage with a mechanical kind of politeness that was +almost insulting. +</p><p> +The two first carriages drove away from the churchyard-gate, and the mud +upon the high-road splashed the closed windows of the vehicles as the +wheels went round. +</p><p> +The third carriage waited for Henry Dunbar, and the crowd in the +churchyard waited to see him get into it. +</p><p> +He had his foot upon the lowest step, and his hand upon the door, when +the Major went up to him, and tapped him lightly upon the shoulder. +</p><p> +The spectators recoiled, aghast with indignant astonishment. +</p><p> +How dared this shabby-looking man, with clumsy boots that were queer +about the heels, and a mangy fur collar, like the skin of an invalid +French poodle, to his threadbare coat--how in the name of all that is +audacious, dared such a low person as this lay his dirty fingers upon +the sacred shoulder of Henry Dunbar of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby's +banking-house, St. Gundolph Lane, City? +</p><p> +The millionaire turned, and grew as ashy pale at sight of the shabby +stranger as he could have done if the sheeted dead had risen from one of +the graves near at hand. But he uttered no exclamation of horror or +surprise. He only shrank haughtily away from the Major's touch, as if +there had been some infection to be dreaded from those dirty +finger-tips. +</p><p> +"May I be permitted to know your motive for this intrusion, sir?" the +banker asked, in a cold, repellent voice, looking the shabby intruder +full in the eyes as he spoke. +</p><p> +There was something so resolute, so defiant, in the rich man's gaze, +that it is a wonder the poor man did not shrink from encountering it. +</p><p> +But he did not: he gave back look for look. +</p><p> +"Don't say you've forgotten me, Mr. Dunbar," he said; "don't say you've +forgotten a very old acquaintance." +</p><p> +This was spoken after a pause, in which the two men had looked at each +other as earnestly as if each had been trying to read the inmost secrets +of the other's soul. +</p><p> +"Don't say you've forgotten me, Mr. Dunbar," repeated the Major. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar smiled. It was a forced smile, perhaps; but, at any rate, +it was a smile. +</p><p> +"I have a great many acquaintances," he said; "and I fancy you must have +gone down in the world since I knew you, if I may judge from +appearances." +</p><p> +The bystanders, who had listened to every word, began to murmur among +themselves. "Yes, indeed, they should rather think so:--if ever this +shabby stranger had known Mr. Dunbar, and if he was not altogether an +impostor, he must have been a very different sort of person at the time +of his acquaintance with the millionaire." +</p><p> +"When and where did I know you?" asked Henry Dunbar, with his eyes still +looking straight into the eyes of the other man. +</p><p> +"Oh, a long time ago--a very long way off!" +</p><p> +"Perhaps it was--somewhere in India--up the country?' said the banker, +very slowly. +</p><p> +"Yes, it was in India--up the country," answered the other. +</p><p> +"Then you won't find me slow to befriend you," said Mr. Dunbar. "I am +always glad to be of service to any of my Indian acquaintances--even +when the world has treated them badly. Get into my carriage, and I'll +drive you home. I shall be able to talk to you by-and-by, when all this +wedding business is over." +</p><p> +The two men seated themselves side by side upon the spring cushions of +the banker's luxurious carriage; and the vehicle drove rapidly away, +leaving the spectators in a rapture of admiration at Henry Dunbar's +condescension to his shabby Indian acquaintance. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch25"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>AFTER THE WEDDING.</h5></center> +<p> + +The banker and the man who was called the Major talked to each other +earnestly enough throughout the short drive between Lisford churchyard +and Maudesley Abbey; but they spoke in low confidential whispers, and +their conversation was interlarded by all manner of strange phrases; the +queer, outlandish words were Hindostanee, no doubt, and were by no means +easy to comprehend. +</p><p> +As the carriage drove up to the grand entrance of the Abbey, the +stranger looked out through the mud-spattered window. +</p><p> +"A fine place!" he exclaimed; "a splendid place!" +</p><p> +"What am I to call you here?" muttered Mr. Dunbar, as he got out of the +carriage. +</p><p> +"You may call me anything; as long as you do not call me when the soup +is cold. I've a two-pair back in the neighbourhood of St. Martin's Lane, +and I'm known <i>there</i> as Mr. Vavasor. But I'm not particular to a shade. +Call me anything that begins with a V. It's as well to stick to one +initial, on account of one's linen." +</p><p> +From the very small amount of linen exhibited in the Major's toilette, a +malicious person might have imagined that such a thing as a shirt was a +luxury not included in that gentleman's wardrobe. +</p><p> +"Call me Vernon," he said: "Vernon is a good name. You may as well call +me Major Vernon. My friends at the Corner--not the Piccadilly corner, +but the corner of the waste ground at the back of Field Lane--have done +me the honour to give me the rank of Major, and I don't see why I +shouldn't retain the distinction. My proclivities are entirely +aristocratic: I have no power of assimilation with the <i>canaille</i>. This +is the sort of thing that suits me. Here I am in my element." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had led his shabby acquaintance into the low, tapestried room +in which he usually sat. The Major rubbed his hands with a gesture of +enjoyment as he looked at the evidences of wealth that were heedlessly +scattered about the apartment. He gave a long sigh of satisfaction as he +dropped with a sudden plump upon the spring cushion of an easy-chair on +one side of the fireplace. +</p><p> +"Now, listen to me," said Mr. Dunbar. "I can't afford to talk to you +this morning; I have other duties to perform: When they're over, I'll +come and talk to you. In the meantime, you may sit here as long as you +like, and have what you please to eat or drink." +</p><p> +"Well, I don't mind the wing of a fowl, and a bottle of Burgundy. It's a +long time since I've tasted Burgundy. Chambertin, or Clos de Vougeot, at +twelve bob a bottle--that's the sort of tipple, I rather flatter +myself--eh?" +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar drew himself up with a slight shudder, as if repelled and +disgusted by the man's vulgarity. +</p><p> +"What do you want of me?" he asked. "Remember that I am waited for. I am +quite ready to serve you--for the sake of 'auld lang syne!'" +</p><p> +"Yes," answered the Major, with a sneer; "it's so pleasant to remember +'auld lang syne!'" +</p><p> +"Well," asked Mr. Dunbar, impatiently, "what is it you want of me?" +</p><p> +"A bottle of Burgundy--the best you have in your cellar--something to +eat, and--that which a poor man generally asks of his rich friends--his +fortunate friends--MONEY!" +</p><p> +"You shall not find me illiberal towards you. I'll come back by-and-by, +and write you a cheque." +</p><p> +"You'll make it a thumping one?" +</p><p> +"I'll make it as much as you want." +</p><p> +"That's the sort of thing. There always was something princely and +magnificent about you, Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"You shall not have any reason to complain," answered the banker, very +coldly. +</p><p> +"You'll send me the lunch?" +</p><p> +"Yes. You can hold your tongue, I suppose? You won't talk to the servant +who waits upon you?" +</p><p> +"Has your friend the manners of a gentleman, or has he not? Hasn't he +had the eminent advantage of a collegiate education--I may say, a +prolongued course of collegiate study? But look here, since you're so +afraid of my putting my foot in it, suppose I go back to Lisford now, +and I can return to you to-night after dark. Our business will keep. I +want a long talk, and a quiet talk; but I must suit my convenience to +yours. It's the dee-yuty of the poor-r-r dependant to wait upon the +per-leasure of his patron," exclaimed Major Vernon, in the studied tones +of the villain in a melodrama. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar gave a sigh of relief. +</p><p> +"Yes, that will be much better," he said. "I can talk to you comfortably +after dinner." +</p><p> +"Ta-ta, then, old boy. 'Oh, reservoir!' as we say in the classics." +</p><p> +Major Vernon extended a brawny hand of rather doubtful purity. The +millionaire touched the broad palm with the tips of his gloved fingers. +</p><p> +"Good-bye," he said; "I shall expect you at nine o'clock. You know your +way out?" +</p><p> +He opened the door as he spoke, and pointed through a vista of two or +three adjoining rooms to the hall. It was rather a broad hint. The Major +pulled the poodle collar still higher above his ears, and went out with +only his nose exposed to the influence of the atmosphere. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar shut the door, and walked to one of the windows. He leaned +his forehead against the glass, and looked out, watching the tall figure +of the Major, as he walked rapidly along the broad carriage-drive that +skirted the lawn. +</p><p> +The banker watched his shabby acquaintance until Major Vernon was quite +out of sight. Then he went back to the fireplace, dropped heavily into +his chair, and gave a long groan. It was not a sigh, it was a groan--a +groan that seemed to come from a bosom that was rent by all the agony of +despair. +</p><p> +"This decides it!" he muttered to himself. "Yes, this decides it! I've +seen it for a long time coming to a crisis. But <i>this</i> settles +everything." +</p><p> +He got up, passed his hand across his forehead and over his eyelids, +like a man who had just been awakened from a long sleep; and then went +to play his part in the grand business of the day. +</p><p> +There is a very wide difference between the feelings of the poor +adventurer--who, by some lucky accident, is enabled to pounce upon a +rich friend--and the sentiments of the wealthy victim who is pounced +upon. Nothing could present a stronger contrast than the manner of Henry +Dunbar, the banker, and the gentleman who had elected to be called Major +Vernon. Whereas Mr. Dunbar seemed plunged into the uttermost depths of +despair by the sudden appearance of his old acquaintance, the worthy +Major exhibited a delight that was almost uproarious in its +manifestation. +</p><p> +It was not until he found himself in a very lonely part of the park, +where there were no other witnesses than the timid deer, lurking here +and there under the poor shelter of a clump of leafless elms,--it was +not till Major Vernon felt himself quite alone, that he gave way to the +full exuberance of his spirits. +</p><p> +"It's a gold-mine!" he cried, rubbing his hands; "it's a regular +California!" +</p><p> +He executed a grim caper in his delight, and the scared deer fled away +from the neighbourhood of his path; perhaps they took him for some +modern gnome, dancing wild dances in the wet woodland. He laughed aloud, +with a hollow, fiendish-sounding laugh, and then clapped his hands +together till the noise of his brawny palms echoed in the rustic +silence. +</p><p> +"Henry Dunbar," he said to himself; "Henry Dunbar! He'll be a milch +cow--nothing but a milch cow. If--" he stopped suddenly, and the +triumphant grin upon his face changed to a thoughtful expression. "If he +doesn't run away," he said, standing quite still, and rubbing his chin +slowly with the palm of his hand. "What if he should give me the slip? +He <i>might</i> do that!" +</p><p> +But, after a moment's pause, he laughed aloud again, and walked on +briskly. +</p><p> +"No, he'll not do that," he said; "it won't serve his turn to run away." +</p><p> +While Major Vernon went back to Lisford, Henry Dunbar took his seat at +the breakfast-table, with Laura Lady Jocelyn by his side. +</p><p> +There was very little more gaiety at the wedding-breakfast than there +had been at the wedding. Everything was very elegant, very subdued, and +aristocratic. Silent footmen glided noiselessly backwards and forwards +behind the chairs of the guests; champagne, Moselle, hock, and Burgundy +sparkled in shallow glasses that were shaped like the broad leaf of a +water-lily. Dresden-china shepherdesses, in the centre of the oval +table, held up their chintz-patterned aprons filled with some forced +strawberries that had cost about half-a-crown apiece. Smirking shepherds +supported open-work baskets, laden with tiny Algerian apples, China +oranges, and big purple hothouse grapes. +</p><p> +The bride and bridegroom were very happy; but theirs was a subdued and +quiet happiness that had little influence upon those around them. The +wedding-breakfast was a very silent meal, for the face of the giver of +the feast was as gloomy as the sky above Maudesley Abbey; and every now +and then, in awkward pauses of the conversation, the pattering of the +incessant raindrops sounded upon the windows. +</p><p> +At last the breakfast was finished. A knife had been cunningly inserted +in the outer-wall of the splendid cake, and a few morsels of the rich +interior, which looked like a kind of portable Day-and-Martin, had been +eaten by one of the bridesmaids. Laura Jocelyn rose and left the table, +attended by the three young ladies. +</p><p> +Elizabeth Madden was waiting in the bride's dressing-room with Lady +Jocelyn's travelling-dress laid in state upon a big sofa. She kissed her +young Miss, and cried over her a little, before she was equal to begin +the business of the toilette: and then the voices of the bridesmaids +broke loose, and there was a pleasant buzz of congratulation, which +beguiled the time while Laura was exchanging her bridal costume for a +long rustling dress of dove-coloured silk, a purple-velvet cloak trimmed +and lined with sable, and a miraculous fabric of pale-pink areophane, +and starry jasmine-blossoms, which the Parisian milliner facetiously +entitled "a bonnet." +</p><p> +She went down stairs presently in this rich attire, looking like a +Russian empress, in all the glory of her youth and beauty. The +travelling-carriage was standing at the door; Arthur Lovell and Mr. +Dunbar were in the hall with the two clergymen. Laura went up to her +father to bid him good-bye. +</p><p> +"It will be a long time before we see each other again, papa dear," she +said, in tones that were only loud enough for Mr. Dunbar to hear; "say +'God bless you!' once more before I go." +</p><p> +Her head was on his breast, and her face lifted up towards his own as +she said this. +</p><p> +The banker looked straight before him with a forced smile upon his face, +that was little more than a nervous contraction of the muscles about the +lips. +</p><p> +"I will give you something better than my blessing, Laura," he said +aloud; "I have given you no wedding-present yet, but I have not +forgotten. The gift I mean to present to you will take some time to +prepare. I shall give you the handsomest diamond-necklace that was ever +made in England. I shall buy the diamonds myself, and have them set +according to my own design." +</p><p> +The bridesmaids gave a little murmur of delight. +</p><p> +Laura pressed the speaker's cold hand. +</p><p> +"I don't want any diamonds, papa," she whispered; "I only want your +love." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar did not make any response to that entreating whisper. There +was no time for any answer, perhaps, for the bride and bridegroom had to +catch an appointed train at Shorncliffe station, which was to take them +on the first stage of their Continental journey; and in the bustle and +confusion of their hurried departure, the banker had no opportunity of +saying anything more to his daughter. But he stood in the Gothic porch, +watching the departing carriage with a kind of mournful tenderness in +his face. +</p><p> +"I hope that she will be happy," he muttered to himself as he went back +to the house. "Heaven knows I hope she may be happy." +</p><p> +He did not stop to make any ceremonious adieu to his guests, but walked +straight to his own apartments. People were accustomed to his strange +manners, and were very indulgent towards his foibles. +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell and the three bridesmaids lingered a little in the blue +drawing-room. The Melvilles were to drive home to their father's house +in the afternoon, and Dora Macmahon was going with them. She was to stay +at their father's house a few weeks, and was then to go back to her aunt +in Scotland. +</p><p> +"But I am to pay my darling Laura an early visit at Jocelyn's Rock," she +said, when Arthur made some inquiry about her arrangements; "that has +been all settled." +</p><p> +The ladies and the young lawyer took an afternoon tea together before +they left Maudesley, and were altogether very sociable, not to say +merry. It was upon this occasion that Arthur Lovell, for the first time +in his life, observed that Dora Macmahon had very beautiful brown eyes, +and rippling brown hair, and the sweetest smile he had ever seen--except +in one lovely face, which was like the splendour of the noonday sun, and +seemed to extinguish all lesser lights. +</p><p> +The carriage was announced at last; and Mr. Lovell had enough to do in +attending to the three young ladies, and the stowing away of all those +bonnet-boxes, and shawls, and travelling-bags, and desks, and +dressing-cases, and odd volumes of books, and umbrellas, parasols, and +sketching-portfolios, which are the peculiar attributes of all female +travellers. And then, when all was finished, and he had bowed for the +last time in acknowledgment of those friendly becks and wreathed smiles +which greeted him from the carriage-window till it disappeared in the +curve of the avenue, Arthur Lovell walked slowly home, thinking of the +business of the day. +</p><p> +Laura was lost to him for ever. The dreadful grief which had so long +brooded darkly over his life had come down upon him at last, and the +pang had not been so insupportable as he had expected it to be. +</p><p> +"I never had any hope," he thought to himself, as he walked along the +soddened road between the gates of Maudesley and the old town that lay +before him. "I never really hoped that Laura Dunbar would be my wife." +</p><p> +John Lovell's house was one of the best in the town of Shorncliffe. It +was a queer old house, with a sloping roof, and gable-ends of solid oak, +adorned here and there by grim devices, carved by a skilful hand. It was +a large house; but low and straggling; and unpretending in its exterior. +The red light of a fire was shining in a wainscoted chamber, half +sitting-room, half library. The crimson curtains were not yet drawn +across the diamond-paned window. Arthur Lovell looked into the room as +he passed, and saw his father sitting by the fire, with a newspaper at +his feet. +</p><p> +There was no need to bolt doors against thieves and vagabonds in such a +quiet town as Shorncliffe. Arthur Lovell turned the handle of the street +door and went in. The door of his father's sitting-room was ajar, and +the lawyer heard his son's step in the hall. +</p><p> +"Is that you, Arthur?" he asked. +</p><p> +"Yes, father," the young man answered, going into the room. +</p><p> +"I want to speak to you very particularly. I suppose this wedding at +Maudesley Abbey has put all serious business out of your head." +</p><p> +"What serious business, father?" +</p><p> +"Have you forgotten Lord Herriston's offer?" +</p><p> +"The offer of the appointment in India? Oh, no, father, I have not +forgotten, only----" +</p><p> +"Only what?" +</p><p> +"I have not been able to decide." +</p><p> +As he spoke, Arthur Lovell thought of Laura Dunbar. No; she was Laura +Jocelyn now. It was a hard thing for the young man to think of her by +that new name. Would it not be better for him to go away--to put +immeasurable distance between himself and the woman he had loved so +dearly? Would it not be better and wiser to go away? And yet what if by +so doing he turned his back upon another chance of happiness? What if a +lesser star than that which had gone down in the darkness might now be +rising dim and distant in the pale grey sky? +</p><p> +"There is no reason that I should decide in a hurry," the young man +said, presently. "Lord Herriston told you that I might take twelve +months to think about his offer." +</p><p> +"He did," answered John Lovell; "but half of the time is gone, and I've +had a letter from Lord Herriston by this afternoon's post. He wants your +decision immediately; for a connection of his own has applied to him for +the appointment. He still holds to his promise, and will give you the +preference; but you must make up your mind at once." +</p><p> +"Do you wish me to go to India, father?" +</p><p> +"Do I wish you to go to India! Of course not, my dear boy, unless your +own ambition takes you there. Remember, you are an only son. You have no +occasion to leave this place. You will inherit a very good practice and +a comfortable fortune. I thought you were ambitious, and that +Shorncliffe was too narrow a sphere for your ambition, or else I should +never have entertained any idea of this Indian appointment." +</p><p> +"And you will not be sorry if I remain in England?" +</p><p> +"Sorry! No, indeed; I shall be very glad. Do you suppose, when a man has +only one son, a handsome, clever, high-minded young fellow, whose +presence is like sunshine in his father's gloomy old house--do you think +the father wants to get rid of the lad? If you do think so, you must +have a very small idea of parental affection." +</p><p> +"Then I'll refuse the appointment, father." +</p><p> +"God bless you, my boy!" exclaimed the lawyer. +</p><p> +The letter to Lord Herriston was written that night; and Arthur Lovell +resigned himself to a perpetual residence in that quiet town; within a +mile of which the towers of Jocelyn's Rock crowned the tall cliff above +the rushing waters of the Avon. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had given all necessary directions for the reception of his +shabby friend. +</p><p> +The Major was ushered at once to the tapestried room, where the banker +was still sitting at the dinner-table. He had that meal laid upon a +round table near the fire, and the room looked a very picture of comfort +and luxury as Major Vernon went into it, fresh from the black foggy +night, and the leafless avenue, where the bare trunks of the elms looked +like gigantic shadows looming through the obscurity. +</p><p> +The Major's eyes were almost dazzled by the brightness of that pleasant +chamber. This man was a reprobate; but he had begun life as a gentleman. +He remembered such a room as this long ago, across a dreary gulf of +forty ill-spent years. The sight of this room brought back the memory of +a pretty lamplit parlour, with an old man sitting in a high-backed +easy-chair: a genial matron bending over her work; two fair-faced girls; +a favourite mastiff stretched full length upon the hearth; and, last of +all, a young man at home from college, yawning over a sporting +newspaper, weary to death of all the simple innocent delights of home, +sick of the companionship of gentle sisters, the love of a fond mother, +and wishing to be back again at the old uproarious wine-parties, the +drunken orgies, the card-playing and prize-fighting, the extravagance +and debauchery of the bad set in which he was a chief. +</p><p> +The Major gave a profound sigh as he looked round the room. But the +melancholy shadow on his face changed into a grim smile, as he glanced +from the tapestried walls and curtained window, with a great Indian jar +of hothouse flowers standing upon an inlaid table before it, and filling +the room with a faint perfume of jasmine and almond, to the figure of +Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"It's comfortable," said Major Vernon; "to say the least of it, it's +very comfortable. And with a balance of half a million or so at one's +banker's, or in one's own bank--which is better still perhaps--one is +not so badly off, eh, Mr. Dunbar?" +</p><p> +"Sit down and eat one of those birds," answered the banker. "I'll talk +to you by-and-by." +</p><p> +The Major obeyed his friend; he unwound three or four yards of dingy +woollen stuff from his scraggy throat, turned down the poodle collar, +pulled his chair close to the table, squared his brows, and began +business. He made very light of a brace of partridges and a bottle of +sparkling Moselle. +</p><p> +When the table had been cleared, and the two men left alone together, +Major Vernon stretched his long legs upon the hearth-rug, plunged his +hands deep down in his trousers' pockets, and gave a sigh of +satisfaction. +</p><p> +"And now," said Mr. Dunbar, filling his glass from the starry crystal +claret-jug, "what is it that you want to say to me, Stephen Vallance, or +Major Vernon, or whatever ridiculous name you may call yourself--what is +it you've got to say?" +</p><p> +"I'll tell you that in a very few words," answered the Major, quietly; +"I want to talk to you about the man who was murdered at Winchester some +months ago." +</p><p> +The banker's hand lost its steadiness, the neck of the claret-jug +knocked against the thin lip of the glass, and shivered it into +half-a-dozen pieces. +</p><p> +"You'll spill your wine," said Major Vernon. "I'm very sorry for you if +your nerves are no better than that." +</p> +<center> +* +* +* +* +*</center> +<p> +When Major Vernon that night left his friend, he carried away with him +half-a-dozen cheques for different amounts, making in all two thousand +pounds, upon that private banking-account which Mr. Dunbar kept for +himself in the house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. +</p><p> +It was after midnight when the banker opened the hall-door, and passed +out with the Major upon the broad stone flags under the Gothic porch. +There was no rain now; but it was very dark, and the north-easterly +winds were blowing amongst the leafless branches of giant oaks and elms. +</p><p> +"Shall you present those cheques yourself?" Henry Dunbar asked, as the +two men were about to part. +</p><p> +"Yes, I think so." +</p><p> +"Dress yourself decently, then, before you do so," said the banker; +"they'd wonder what dealings you and I could have together, if you were +to show yourself in St. Gundolph Lane in your present costume." +</p><p> +"My friend is proud," exclaimed the Major, with a mock tragic accent; +"he is proud, and he despises his humble dependant." +</p><p> +"Good night," said Mr. Dunbar, rather abruptly; "it's past twelve +o'clock, and I'm tired." +</p><p> +"To be sure. You're tired. Do you--do you--sleep well?" asked Major +Vernon, in a whisper. There was no mock solemnity in his tone now. +</p><p> +The banker turned away from him with a muttered oath. The light of a +lamp suspended from the groined roof of the porch shone upon the two +men's faces. Henry Dunbar's countenance was overclouded by a black +frown, and was by no means agreeable to look upon; but the grinning face +of the Major, the thin lips wreathed into a malicious smile, the small +black eyes glittering with a sinister light, looked like the face of a +Mephistopheles. +</p><p> +"Good night," repeated the banker, turning his back upon his friend, and +about to re-enter the house. +</p><p> +Major Vernon laid his bony fingers upon Henry Dunbar's shoulder, and +stopped him before he could cross the threshold. +</p><p> +"You've given me two thou'," he said; "that's liberal enough to start +with; but I'm an old man; I'm tired of the life of a vagabond, and I +want to live like a gentleman;--not as you do, of course; <i>that's</i> out +of the question; it isn't everybody that has the good luck to be a +millionaire, like Henry Dunbar; but I want a bottle of claret with my +dinner, a good coat upon my back, and a five-pound note in my pocket +constantly. You must do as much as that for me; eh, dear boy?" +</p><p> +"I don't refuse to do it, do I?" asked Henry Dunbar, impatiently; "I +should think what you've got in your pocket already is a pretty good +beginning." +</p><p> +"My dear fellow, it's a stupendous beginning!" exclaimed Major Vernon; +"it's a princely beginning; it's a Napoleonic beginning. But that two +thou isn't meant for a blind, is it? It's not to be the beginning, +middle, and the end? You're not going to do the gentle bolt--eh?" +</p><p> +"What do you mean?" +</p><p> +"You're not going to run away? You're not going to renounce the pomps +and vanities of this wicked world, and make an early expedition across +the herring-pond--eh, friend of my soul?" +</p><p> +"Why should I run away?" asked Henry Dunbar, sternly. +</p><p> +"That's the very thing I say myself, dear boy. Why should you? A wise +man doesn't run away from landed estates, and fine houses, and half a +million of money. But when you broke that claret-glass after dinner, it +struck me somehow that you were--shall I venture the word?--<i>rather</i> +nervous! Nervous people do all manner of things. Give me your word that +you're not going to bolt, and I'm satisfied." +</p><p> +"I tell you, I have no such idea in my mind," Mr. Dunbar answered, with +increasing impatience. "Will that do?" +</p><p> +"It will, dear boy. Your hand upon it! What a cold hand you've got! Take +care of yourself; and once more--good night!" +</p><p> +"You're going to London?" +</p><p> +"Yes--to cash the cheques, and make a few business arrangements." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar bolted the great door as the footsteps of his friend the +Major died away upon the gravelled walk, which had been quickly dried by +the frosty wind. The banker had dismissed his servants at ten o'clock +that night; so there was nobody to wait upon him, or to watch him, when +he went back to the tapestried room. +</p><p> +He sat by the low fire for a little time, thinking, with a settled gloom +upon his face, and drinking Burgundy out of a tumbler. Then he went to +bed; and the light of the night-lamp shining upon his face as he slept, +showed it distorted by strange shadows, that were not altogether the +shadows of the draperies above his head. +</p><p> +Major Vernon walked briskly down the long avenue leading to the +lodge-gates. +</p><p> +"Two thou' is comfortable," he muttered to himself; "very satisfactory +for a first go-in at the gold-diggin's! but I shall expect my California +to produce a little more than that before we close the shaft, and retire +upon the profits of the speculation. I <i>think</i> my friend is safe--I +don't think he'll run away. But I shall keep my eye upon him, +nevertheless. The human eye is a great institution; and I shall watch my +friend." +</p><p> +In spite of a natural eagerness to transform those oblong slips of +paper--the cheques signed with the well-known name of Henry Dunbar--into +the still more convenient and flimsy paper circulating medium dispensed +by the Old Lady in Threadneedle Street, or the yellow coinage of the +realm, Major Vernon did not seem in any very great hurry to leave +Lisford. +</p><p> +A great many of the Lisfordians had seen the shabby stranger take his +seat in Henry Dunbar's carriage, side by side with the great banker. +This fact became universally known throughout the parish of Lisford and +two neighbouring parishes, before the shadows of night came down upon +the day of Laura Dunbar's wedding, and the Major was respected +accordingly. +</p><p> +He was shabby, certainly; queer-about the heels of his boots; and very +mangy with regard to the poodle collar. His hat was more shiny than was +consistent with the hat-manufacturing interest. His bony hands were red +and bare, and only one miserable mockery of a glove dangled between his +thumb and finger as he swaggered along the village street. +</p><p> +But he had been seen riding in Henry Dunbar's carriage, and from that +moment he had become invested with a romantic interest. He was a reduced +gentleman, who had seen better days; or he was a miser, perhaps--an +eccentric individual, who wore shabby boots and shiny hats for his own +love and pleasure. +</p><p> +People paid respect, therefore, to the stranger at the Rose and Crown, +and touched their hats to him as he went in and out, and were glad to +answer any questions he chose to put to them as he loitered about the +village. He contrived to find out a good deal in this way about things +in general, and the habits of Henry Dunbar in particular. The banker had +given his shabby acquaintance a handful of sovereigns for present use, +as well as the cheques; and the Major was able to live upon the best the +Rose and Crown could afford, and pay liberally for all he consumed. +</p><p> +"I find the Warwickshire air agree with me remarkably well," he said to +the landlord, as he sat at breakfast in the bar-parlour, upon the second +day after his interview with Henry Dunbar; "and if you know of any snug +little box in the neighbourhood that would suit a lonely old bachelor +with a comfortable income, and nobody to help him spend it, why, I +really should have a very great inclination to take it, and furnish it." +</p><p> +The landlord scratched his head, and reflected for a few minutes. Then +he slapped his leg with a sounding and triumphant slap. +</p><p> +"I know the very thing as would suit you, Major Vernon," he said--the +Major had assumed the name of Vernon, as agreed upon between himself and +Henry Dunbar--"the very thing," repeated the landlord; "you might say it +had been made to order like. There's a sale comes off next Thursday. Mr. +Grogson, the Shorncliffe auctioneer, will sell, at eleven o'clock +precisely, the furniture and lease of the snuggest little box in these +parts--Woodbine Cottage it's called--a sweet pretty little place, as was +the property of old Admiral Manders. The admiral died in the house, and +having been a bachelor, and his money having gone to distant relatives, +the lease and furniture of the cottage will be sold. But I should +think," added the landlord, gravely, looking rather doubtfully at his +guest as he spoke, "I should think the lease and furniture, pictures and +plate, will fetch a matter of eight hundred to a thousand pound; and +perhaps you mightn't care to go to that?" +</p><p> +The landlord could not refrain from glancing furtively at the white and +shining aspect of the cloth that covered the sharp knees of his +customer, which were exactly under his eyes as the two men sat opposite +to each other beside the snug little round table. +</p><p> +"You mightn't care to go to that price," he repeated, as he helped +himself to about three-quarters of a pound of cold ham. +</p><p> +The Major lifted his bristly eyebrows with a contemptuous twitch. +</p><p> +"If the cottage suits me," he said, "I don't mind a thousand for it. +To-day's Saturday;--I shall run up to town to-morrow, or Monday morning, +to settle a bit of business I've got on hand, and come back here in time +to attend the sale." +</p><p> +"My wife and me was thinkin' of goin' sir," the landlord answered, with, +unwonted reverence in his voice; and, if it was agreeable, we could +drive you over in a four-wheel shay. Woodbine Cottage is about a mile +and a half from here, and little better than a mile from Maudesley +Abbey. There's a copper coal-scuttle of the old admiral's as my wife has +got rather a fancy for. But p'raps if you was to make a hoffer previous +to the sale, the property might be disposed of as it stands by private +contrack" +</p><p> +"I'll see about that," answered Major Vernon. "I'll stroll over to +Shorncliffe, this, morning, and look in upon Mr. Grogson--Grogson, I +think you said was the auctioneer's name?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir; Peter Grogson, and very much looked up to be is, and a warm +man, folks do say. His offices is in Shorncliffe High Street, sir; next +door but two from Mr. Lovell's, the solicitor's, and not more than +half-a-dozen yards from St. Gwendoline's Church." +</p><p> +Major Vernon, as he now chose to call himself, walked from Lisford to +Shorncliffe. He was a very good walker, and, indeed, had become pretty +well used to pedestrian exercise in the course of long weary trampings +from one racecourse to another, when he was so far down on his luck as +to be unable to pay his railway fare. The frost had set in for the first +time this year; so the roads were dry and hard once more, and the sound +of horses' hoofs and rolling wheels, the jingling of bells, the +occasional barking of a noisy sheep-dog, and sturdy labourers' voices +calling to each other on the high-road, travelled far in the thin frosty +air. +</p><p> +The town of Shorncliffe was very quiet to-day, for it was only on +market-days that there was much life or bustle in the queer old streets, +and Major Vernon found no hindrance to the business that had brought him +from Lisford. +</p><p> +He went straight to Mr. Grogson, the auctioneer, and from that gentleman +heard all particulars respecting the pending sale at Woodbine Cottage. +The Major offered to take the lease at a fair price, and the furniture, +as it stood, by valuation. +</p><p> +"All I want is a comfortable little place that I can jump into without +any trouble to myself," Major Vernon said, with the air of a man of the +world. "I like to take life easily. If you can honestly recommend the +place as worth seven or eight hundred pounds, I'm willing to pay that +money for it down on the nail. I'll take it at your valuation, if the +present owners are agreeable to sell it on those terms, and I'll pay a +deposit of a couple of hundred or so on Tuesday afternoon, to show that +my proposition is a <i>bona fide</i> one." +</p><p> +A little more was said, and then Mr. Grogson pledged himself to act for +the best in the interests of Major Vernon, consistently with his +allegiance to the present owners of the property. +</p><p> +The auctioneer had been at first a little doubtful of this tall, shabby +stranger in the napless dirty-white beaver and the mangy poodle collar; +but the offer of a deposit of two hundred pounds or so gave a different +aspect to the case. There are always eccentric people in the world, and +appearances are very apt to be deceptive. There was a confident air +about the Major which seemed like that of a man with a balance at his +banker's. +</p><p> +The Major went back to the Rose and Crown, ate a comfortable little +dinner, which he had ordered before setting out for Shorncliffe, paid +his bill, and made all arrangements for starting by the first train for +London on the following morning. It was nearly ten o'clock by the time +he had done this: but late as it was, Major Vernon put on his hat, +turned his poodle collar up about his ears, and went out into Lisford +High Street. +</p><p> +There was scarcely one glimmer of light in the street as the Major +walked along it. He took the road leading to Maudesley Abbey, and walked +at a brisk pace, heedless of the snow, which was still falling thick and +fast. +</p><p> +He was covered from head to foot with snow when he stopped before the +stone porch, and rang a bell, that made a clanging noise in the +stillness of the night. He looked like some grim white statue that had +descended from its pedestal to stalk hither and thither in the darkness. +</p><p> +The servant who opened the door yawned undisguisedly in the face of his +master's friend. +</p><p> +"Tell Mr. Dunbar that I shall be glad to speak to him for a few +minutes," the Major said, making as if he would have passed into the +hall. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar left the habbey uppards of a hour ago," the footman +answered, with supreme hauteur; "but he left a message for you, in case +you was to come. The period of his habsence is huncertain, and if you +wants to kermoonicate with him, you was to please to wait till he come +back." +</p><p> +Major Vernon pushed aside the servant, and strode into the hall. The +doors were open, and through two or three intermediate rooms the Major +saw the tapestried chamber, dark and empty. +</p><p> +There was no doubt that Henry Dunbar had given him the slip--for the +time, at least; but did the banker mean mischief? was there any deep +design in this sudden departure?--that was the question. +</p><p> +"I'll write to your master," the Major said, after a pause; "what's his +London address?" +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar left no address." +</p><p> +"Humph! That's no matter. I can write to him at the bank. Good night." +</p><p> +Major Vernon stalked away through the snow. The footman made no response +to his parting civility, but stood watching him for a few moments, and +then closed the door with a bang. +</p><p> +"Hif that's a spessermin of your Hinjun acquaintances, I don't think +much of Hinjur or Hinjun serciety. But what can you expect of a nation +as insults the gentleman who waits behind his employer's chair at table +by callin' him a kitten-muncher?" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch26"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXVI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>WHAT HAPPENED IN THE BACK PARLOUR OF THE BANKING-HOUSE.</h5></center> +<p> + +Henry Dunbar arrived in London a couple of hours after Mr. Vernon left +the Abbey. He went straight to the Clarendon Hotel. He had no servant +with him, and his luggage consisted only of a portmanteau, a +dressing-case, and a despatch-box; the same despatch-box whose contents +he had so carefully studied at the Winchester hotel, upon the night of +the murder in the grove. +</p><p> +The day after his arrival was Sunday, and all that day the banker +occupied himself in reading a morocco-bound manuscript volume, which he +took from the despatch-box. +</p><p> +There was a black fog upon this November day, and the atmosphere out of +doors was cold and bleak. But the room in which Henry Dunbar sat looked +the very picture of comfort and elegance. +</p><p> +He had drawn his chair close to the fire, and on a table near his elbow +were arranged the open despatch-box, a tall crystal jug of Burgundy, +with a goblet-shaped glass, on a salver, and a case of cigars. +</p><p> +Until long after dark that evening, Henry Dunbar sat by the fire, +smoking and drinking, and reading the manuscript volume. He only paused +now and then to take pencil-notes of its contents in a little +memorandum-book, which he carried in the breast-pocket of his coat. +</p><p> +It was not till seven o'clock, when the liveried servant who waited upon +him came to inform him that his dinner was served in an adjoining +chamber, that Mr. Dunbar rose from his seat and put away the book in the +despatch-box. He laid down the volume on the table while he replaced +other papers in the box, and it fell open at the first page. On that +first page was written, in Henry Dunbar's bold, legible hand-- +</p><p> +"<i>Journal of my life in India, from my arrival in 1815 until my +departure in 1850.</i>" +</p><p> +This was the book the banker had been studying all that winter's day. +</p><p> +At twelve o'clock the next day he ordered a brougham, and was driven to +the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. This was the first time that +Henry Dunbar had visited the house in St. Gundolph Lane since his return +from India. +</p><p> +Those who knew the history of the present chief partner of the house of +Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, were in nowise astonished by this fact. +They knew that, as a young man, Henry Dunbar had contracted the tastes +and habits of an aristocrat, and that, if he had afterwards developed +into a clever and successful man of business, it was only by reason of +the force of circumstances, which had thrust him into a position that he +hated. +</p><p> +It was by no means wonderful, then, that, after becoming possessor of +the united fortunes of his father and his uncle, Henry Dunbar should +keep aloof from a place that had always been obnoxious to him. The +business had gone on without him very well during his absence, and it +went on without him now, for his place in India had been assumed by a +very clever man, who for twenty years had acted as cashier in the +Calcutta house. +</p><p> +It may be that the banker had an unpleasant recollection of his last +visit to St. Gundolph Lane, upon the day when the existence of the +forged bills was discovered by Percival and Hugh Dunbar. All the width +of thirty-five years between the present hour and that day might not be +wide enough to separate the memory of the past from the thoughts which +were busy this morning in the mind of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +Be it as it might, Mr. Dunbar's reflections this day were evidently not +of a pleasant nature. He was very pale as he rode citywards, in the +comfortable brougham, from the Clarendon; and his face had a stern, +fixed look, like a man who has nerved himself to meet some crisis, which +he knows is near at hand. +</p><p> +There was a stoppage upon Ludgate Hill. Great wooden barricades and +mountains of uprooted paving-stones, amidst which sturdy navigators +disported themselves with spades and pickaxes, and wheelbarrows full of +rubbish, blocked the way; so the brougham turned into Farringdon Street, +and went up Snow Hill, and under the grim black walls of dreadful +Newgate. +</p><p> +The vehicle travelled very slowly, for the traffic was concentrated in +this quarter by reason of the stoppage on Ludgate Hill, and Mr. Dunbar +was able to contemplate at his leisure the black prison-walls, and the +men and women selling dogs'-collars under their dismal shadows. +</p><p> +It may be that the banker's face grew a shade paler after that +contemplation. The corners of his mouth twitched nervously as he got out +of the carriage before the mahogany doors of the banking-house in St. +Gundolph Lane. But he drew a long breath, and held his head proudly +erect as he pushed open the doors and went in. +</p><p> +Never since the day of the discovery of the forged bills had that man +entered the banking-house. Dark thoughts came back upon his mind, and +the shadows deepened on his face as he gave one rapid glance round the +familiar office. +</p><p> +He walked straight towards the private parlour in which that +well-remembered scene had occurred five-and-thirty years ago. But before +he arrived at the door leading from the public offices to the back of +the house, he was stopped by a gentlemanly-looking man, who came forward +from a desk in some shadowy region, and intercepted the stranger. +</p><p> +This man was Clement Austin, the cashier. +</p><p> +"Do you wish to see Mr. Balderby, sir?" he asked. +</p><p> +"Yes. I have an appointment with him at one o'clock. My name is Dunbar." +</p><p> +The cashier bowed and opened the door. The banker passed across the +threshold, which he had not crossed for five-and-thirty years until +to-day. +</p><p> +But as Mr. Dunbar went towards the familiar parlour at the back of the +banking-house, he stopped for a minute, and looked at the cashier. +</p><p> +Clement Austin was scarcely less pale than Henry Dunbar himself. He had +heard of the banker's intended visit to St. Gundolph Lane, and had +looked forward with strange anxiety to a meeting with the man whom +Margaret Wilmot declared to be the murderer of her father. Now that the +meeting had come to pass, he looked at Henry Dunbar with an earnest, +scrutinizing gaze, as if he would fain have discovered the secret of the +man's guilt or innocence in his countenance. +</p><p> +The banker's face was pale, and grave, and stern; but Clement Austin +knew that for Henry Dunbar there were very humiliating and unpleasant +circumstances connected with the offices in St. Gundolph Lane, and it +was scarcely to be expected that a man would come smiling into a place +out of which he had gone five-and-thirty years before a disgraced and +degraded creature. +</p><p> +For a few moments the two men paused in the passage between the public +offices and the private parlour, looking at each other. +</p><p> +The banker's gaze never flinched during that encounter. It is taken as a +strong proof of a man's innocence that he should look you full in the +face with a steadfast gaze when you look at him with suspicion plainly +visible in your eyes; but would he not be the poorest villain if he +shirked that encounter of glances when he knows full surely that he is +in that moment put to the test? It is rather innocence whose eyelids +drop when you peer too closely into its eyes, for innocence is appalled +by the stern, accusing glances which it is unprepared to meet. Guilt +stares you boldly in the face, for guilt is hardened and defiant, and +has this one grand superiority over innocence--that it is <i>prepared for +the worst</i>. +</p><p> +Clement Austin opened the door of Mr. Balderby's parlour; Mr. Dunbar +went in unannounced. The cashier closed the parlour-door and returned to +his desk in the public office. +</p><p> +The junior partner was sitting at an office table near the fire writing, +but he rose as the banker entered the room, and went forward to meet +him. +</p><p> +"You are very punctual, Mr. Dunbar," he said. +</p><p> +"Yes, I am generally punctual." +</p><p> +The two men shook hands, and Mr. Balderby wheeled forward a +morocco-covered arm-chair for his senior partner, and then took his seat +opposite to him, with only the small office table between them. +</p><p> +"It may seem late in the day to bid you welcome to the bank, Mr. +Dunbar," said the junior partner, "but I do so, nevertheless--most +heartily!" +</p><p> +There was a flatness in the accent in which these two last words were +spoken, which was like the sound of a false coin when it falls dead upon +a counter and proclaims itself spurious. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar did not return his partner's greeting. He was looking round +the room, and remembering the day upon which he had last seen it. There +was very little alteration in the appearance of the dismal city chamber. +There was the same wire-blind before the window, the same solitary tree, +leafless, in the narrow courtyard without. The morocco-covered +arm-chairs had been re-covered, perhaps, during that five-and-thirty +years; but if so, the covering had grown shabby again. Even the Turkey +carpet was in the very stage of dusky dinginess that had distinguished +the carpet on which Henry Dunbar had stood five-and-thirty years before. +</p><p> +"I received your letter announcing your journey to London, and your +desire for a private interview, on Saturday afternoon," Mr. Balderby +said, after a pause. "I have made arrangements to assure our being +undisturbed so long as you may remain here. If you wish to make any +investigation of the affairs of the house, I----" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar waved his hand with a deprecatory air. +</p><p> +"Nothing is farther from my thoughts than any such design," he said. +"No, Mr. Balderby, I have only been a man of business because all chance +of another career, which I infinitely preferred, was closed upon me +five-and-thirty years ago. I am quite content to be a sleeping-partner +in the house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. For ten years prior to my +father's death he took no active part in the business. The house got on +very well without his aid; it will get on equally well without mine. The +business that brings me to London is an entirely personal matter. I am a +rich man, but I don't exactly know how rich I am, and I want to realize +rather a large sum of money." +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby bowed, but his eyebrows went up a little, as if he found it +impossible to control some slight evidence of his surprise. +</p><p> +"Previous to my daughter's marriage I settled upon her the house in +Portland Place and the Yorkshire property. She will have all my money +when I die; and, as Sir Philip Jocelyn is a rich man, she will perhaps +be one of the wealthiest women in England. So far so good. Neither Laura +nor her husband will have any reason for dissatisfaction. But this is +not quite enough, Mr. Balderby. I am not a demonstrative man, and I have +never made any great fuss about my love for my daughter; but I do love +her, nevertheless." +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar spoke very slowly here, and stopped once or twice to pass his +handkerchief across his forehead, as he had done in the hotel at +Winchester. +</p><p> +"We Anglo-Indians have rather a magnificent way of doing things, Mr. +Balderby" he continued, "when we take it into our heads to do them at +all. I want to give my daughter a diamond-necklace as a wedding present, +and I want it to be such as an Eastern prince or a Rothschild might +offer to his only child. You understand?" +</p><p> +"Oh, perfectly," answered Mr. Balderby; "I shall be most happy to be of +any use to you in the matter." +</p><p> +"All I want is a large sum of money at my command. I may go rather +recklessly to work and make a large investment in this necklace; it will +be something for Lady Jocelyn to bequeath to her children. You and John +Lovell, of Shorncliffe, were the executors to my father's will. You +signed an order for the transfer of my father's money to my account some +time in last September." +</p><p> +"I did, in concurrence with Mr. Lovell." +</p><p> +"Precisely; Lovell wrote me a letter to that effect. My father kept two +accounts here, I believe--a deposit and a drawing account?" +</p><p> +"He did." +</p><p> +"And those two accounts have gone on since my return in the same manner +as during his lifetime?" +</p><p> +"Precisely. The income which Mr. Percival Dunbar set aside for his own +use was seven thousand a year. He rarely, spent as much as that; +sometimes he spent less than half. The balance of this income, and his +double share in the profits of the business, went to the credit of his +deposit account, and various sums have been withdrawn from time to time, +and duly invested under his order." +</p><p> +"Perhaps you can let me see the ledgers containing those two accounts?" +</p><p> +"Most certainly." +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby touched the spring of a handbell upon his table. +</p><p> +"Ask Mr. Austin to bring the daily balance and deposit accounts +ledgers," he said to the person who answered his summons. +</p><p> +Clement Austin appeared five minutes afterwards, carrying two ponderous +morocco-bound volumes. +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby opened both ledgers, and placed them before his senior +partner. Henry Dunbar looked at the deposit account. His eyes ran +eagerly down the long row of figures before him until they came to the +sum total. Then his chest heaved, and he drew a long breath, like a man +who feels almost stifled by some internal oppression. +</p><p> +The last figures in the page were these: +</p> +<center>137,926<i>l</i>. 17<i>s</i>. 2<i>d</i>.</center> +<p> +One hundred and thirty-seven thousand nine hundred and twenty-six pounds +seventeen shillings and twopence. The twopence seemed a ridiculous +anti-climax; but business-men are necessarily as exact in figures as +calculating-machines. +</p><p> +"How is this money invested?" asked Henry Dunbar, pointing to the page. +His fingers trembled a little as he did so, and he dropped his hand +suddenly upon the ledger. +</p><p> +"There's fifty thousand in India stock," Mr. Balderby answered, as +indifferently as if fifty thousand pounds more or less was scarcely +worth speaking of; "and there's five-and-twenty in railway debentures, +Great Western. Most of the remainder is floating in Exchequer bills." +</p><p> +"Then you can realize the Exchequer bills?" +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby winced as if some one had trodden upon one of his corns. He +was a banker heart and soul, and he did not at all relish the idea of +any withdrawal of the bank's resources, however firm that establishment +might stand. +</p><p> +"It's rather a large amount of capital to withdraw from the business," +he said, rubbing his chin, thoughtfully. +</p><p> +"I suppose the bank can afford it!" Mr. Dunbar exclaimed, with a tone of +surprise. +</p><p> +"Oh, yes; the bank can afford it well enough. Our calls are sometimes +heavy. Lord Yarsfield--a very old customer--talks of buying an estate in +Wales; he may come down upon us at any moment for a very stiff sum of +money. However, the capital is yours, Mr. Dunbar; and you've a right to +dispose of it as you please. The Exchequer bills shall be realized +immediately." +</p><p> +"Good; and if you can dispose of the railway bonds to advantage, you may +do so." +</p><p> +"You think of spending----" +</p><p> +"I think of reinvesting the money. I have an offer of an estate north of +the metropolis, which I think will realize cent per cent a few years +hence: but that is an after consideration. At present we have only to do +with the diamond-necklace for my daughter. I shall buy the diamonds +myself, direct from the merchant-importers. You will hold yourself ready +after Wednesday, we'll say, to cash some very heavy cheques on my +account?" +</p><p> +"Certainly, Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"Then I think that is really all I have to say. I shall be happy to see +you at the Clarendon, if you will dine with me any evening that you are +disengaged." +</p><p> +There was very little heartiness in the tone of this invitation; and Mr. +Balderby perfectly understood that it was only a formula which Mr. +Dunbar felt himself called upon to go through. The junior partner +murmured his acknowledgment of Henry Dunbar's politeness; and then the +two men talked together for a few minutes on indifferent subjects. +</p><p> +Five minutes afterwards Mr. Dunbar rose to leave the room. He went into +the passage between Mr. Balderby's parlour and the public offices of the +bank. This passage was very dark; but the offices were well lighted by +lofty plate-glass windows. Between the end of the passage and the outer +doors of the bank, Henry Dunbar saw the figure of a woman sitting near +one of the desks and talking to Clement Austin. +</p><p> +The banker stopped suddenly, and went back to the parlour. +</p><p> +He looked about him a little absently as he re-entered the room. +</p><p> +"I thought I brought a cane," he said. +</p><p> +"I think not," replied Mr. Balderby, rising from before his desk. "I +don't remember seeing one in your hand." +</p><p> +"Ah, then, I suppose I was mistaken." +</p><p> +He still lingered in the parlour, putting on his gloves very slowly, and +looking out of the window into the dismal backyard, where there was a +dingy little wooden door set deep in the stone wall. +</p><p> +While the banker loitered near the window, Clement Austin came into the +room, to show some document to the junior partner. Henry Dunbar turned +round as the cashier was about to leave the parlour. +</p><p> +"I saw a woman just now talking to you in the office. That's not very +business-like, is it, Mr. Austin? Who is the woman?" +</p><p> +"She is a young lady, sir." +</p><p> +"A young lady?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +"What brings her here?" +</p><p> +The cashier hesitated for a moment before he replied, "She--wishes to +see you, Mr. Dunbar," he said, after that brief pause. +</p><p> +"What is her name?--who--who is she?" +</p><p> +"Her name is Wilmot--Margaret Wilmot." +</p><p> +"I know no such person!" answered the banker, haughtily, but looking +nervously at the half-opened door as he spoke. +</p><p> +"Shut that door, sir!" he said, impatiently, to the cashier; "the +draught from the passage is strong enough to cut a man in two. Who is +this Margaret Wilmot?" +</p><p> +"The daughter of that unfortunate man, Joseph Wilmot, who was cruelly +murdered at Winchester!" answered the cashier, very gravely. +</p><p> +He looked Henry Dunbar full in the face as he spoke. +</p><p> +The banker returned his look as unflinchingly as he had done before, and +spoke in a hard, unfaltering voice as he answered: "Tell this person, +Margaret Wilmot, that I refuse to see her to-day, as I refused to see +her in Portland Place, and as I refused to see her at Winchester!" he +said, deliberately. "Tell her that I shall always refuse to see her, +whenever or wherever she makes an attack upon me. I have suffered enough +already on account of that hideous business at Winchester, and I shall +most resolutely defend myself from any further persecution. This young +person can have no possible motive for wishing to see me. If she is poor +and wants money of me, I am ready and willing to assist her. I have +already offered to do so--I can do no more. But if she is in +distress----" +</p><p> +"She is not in distress, Mr. Dunbar," interrupted Clement Austin. "She +has friends who love her well enough to shield her from that." +</p><p> +"Indeed; and you are one of those friends, I suppose, Mr. Austin?" +</p><p> +"I am." +</p><p> +"Prove your friendship, then, by teaching Margaret Wilmot that she has a +friend and not an enemy in me. If you are--as I suspect from your +manner--something more than a friend: if you love her, and she returns +your love, marry her, and she shall have a dowry that no gentleman's +wife need be ashamed to bring to her husband." +</p><p> +There was no anger, no impatience in the banker's voice now, but a tone +of deep feeling. Clement Austin locked at him, astonished by the change +in his manner. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar saw the look, and it seemed as if he endeavoured to answer +it. +</p><p> +"You have no need to be surprised that I shrink from seeing Margaret +Wilmot," he said. "Cannot you understand that my nerves may be none of +the strongest, and that I cannot endure the idea of an interview with +this girl, who, no doubt, by her persistent pursuit of me, suspects me +of her father's murder? I am an old man, and I have been thirty-five +years in India. My health is shattered, and I have a horror of all +tragic scenes. I have not yet recovered from the shock of that horrible +business at Winchester. Go and tell Margaret Wilmot this: tell her that +I will be her true friend if she will accept that friendship, but that I +will not see her until she has learned to think better of me." +</p><p> +There was something very straightforward, very simple, in all this. For +a time, at least, Clement Austin's mind wavered. Margaret was, perhaps, +wrong, after all, and Henry Dunbar might be an innocent man. +</p><p> +It was Clement who had informed Margaret of Mr. Dunbar's expected +presence here upon this day; and it was on the strength of that +information that the girl had come to St. Gundolph Lane, with the +determination of seeing the man whom she believed to be the murderer of +her father. +</p><p> +Clement returned to the office, where he had left Margaret, in order to +repeat to her Mr. Dunbar's message. +</p><p> +No sooner had the door of the parlour closed upon the cashier than Henry +Dunbar turned abruptly to his junior partner. +</p><p> +"There is a door leading from the yard into a court that connects St. +Gundolph Lane with another lane at the back," he said, "is there not?" +</p><p> +He pointed to the dark little yard outside the window as he spoke. +</p><p> +"Yes, there is a door, I believe." +</p><p> +"Is it locked?" +</p><p> +"No; it is seldom locked till four o'clock; the clerks use it sometimes, +when they go in and out." +</p><p> +"Then I shall go out that way," said Mr. Dunbar, who was almost +breathless in his haste. "You can send the carriage back to the +Clarendon by-and-by. I don't want to see that girl. Good morning." +</p><p> +He hurried out of the parlour, and into a passage leading to the yard, +followed by Mr. Balderby, who wondered at his senior partner's +excitement. The door in the yard was not locked. Henry Dunbar opened it, +went out into the court, and closed the door behind him. +</p><p> +So, for the third time, he escaped from an interview with Margaret +Wilmot. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch27"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXVII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>CLEMENT AUSTIN'S WOOING.</h5></center> +<p> + +For the third time Margaret Wilmot was disappointed in the hope of +seeing Henry Dunbar. Clement Austin had on the previous evening told her +of the banker's intended visit to the office in St. Gundolph Lane, and +the young music-mistress had made hasty arrangements for the +postponement of her usual duties, in order that she might go to the City +to see Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"He will not dare to refuse you," Clement Austin said; "for he must know +that such a refusal would excite suspicion in the minds of the people +about him." +</p><p> +"He must have known that at Winchester, and yet he avoided me there," +answered Margaret Wilmot; "he must have known it when he refused to see +me in Portland Place. He will refuse to see me to-day, if I ask for an +interview with him. My only chance will be the chance of an accidental +meeting with Him. Do you think that you can arrange this for me, Mr. +Austin?" +</p><p> +Clement Austin readily promised to bring about an apparently accidental +meeting between Margaret and Mr. Dunbar, and this is how it was that +Joseph Wilmot's daughter had waited in the office in St. Gundolph Lane. +She had arrived only five minutes after Mr. Dunbar entered the +banking-house, and she waited very patiently, very resolutely, in the +hope that when Henry Dunbar returned to his carriage she might snatch +the opportunity of speaking to him, of seeing his face, and discovering +whether he was guilty or not. +</p><p> +She clung to the idea that some indefinable expression of his +countenance would reveal the fact of his guilt or innocence. But she +could not dispossess herself of the belief that he was guilty. What +other reason could there be for his persistent avoidance of her? +</p><p> +But, for the third time, she was baffled; and she went home very +despondently, haunted by the image of her dead father; while Henry +Dunbar went back to the Clarendon in a common hack cab, which he picked +up in Cornhill. +</p><p> +Margaret Wilmot found one of her pupils waiting in the pretty little +parlour in the cottage at Clapham, and she was obliged to sit down to +the piano and listen to a fantasia, very badly played, keeping sharp +watch upon the pupil's fingers, for an hour or so, before she was free +to think her own thoughts. +</p><p> +Margaret was very glad when the lesson was over. The pupil was a very +vivacious young lady, who called her music-mistress "dear," and would +have been glad to waste half an hour or so in an animated conversation +about the last new style in bonnets, or the shape of the fashionable +winter mantle, or the popular novel of the month. But Margaret's pale +face seemed a mute appeal for compassion; so Miss Lamberton drew on her +gloves, settled her bonnet before the glass over the mantel-piece, and +tripped away. +</p><p> +Margaret sat by the little round table, with an open book before her. +But she could not read, though the volume was one that had been lent her +by Clement, and though she took a peculiar pleasure in reading any book +that was a favourite of his. She did not read; she only sat with her +eyes fixed, and her face very pale, in the dim light of two candles that +flickered in the draught from the window. +</p><p> +She was aroused from her despondent reverie by a double knock at the +door below, and presently the neat little maid-servant ushered Mr. +Austin into the room. +</p><p> +Margaret started up, a little confused at the advent of this unexpected +visitor. It was the first time that Clement had ever called upon her +alone. He had often been her guest; but, until to-night, he had always +come under his mother's wing to see the pretty music-mistress. +</p><p> +"I am afraid I startled you, Miss Wilmot," he said. +</p><p> +"Oh, no; not at all," answered Margaret; "I was sitting here, quite +idle, thinking----" +</p><p> +"Thinking of your failure of to-day, I suppose?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +There was a pause, during which Margaret seated herself once more by the +little table, while Clement Austin walked up and down the room thinking. +</p><p> +Presently he stopped suddenly, with his elbow leaning upon the corner of +the mantel-piece, opposite Margaret, and looked down at the girl's +thoughtful face. She had blushed when the cashier first entered the +room; but she was very pale now. +</p><p> +"Margaret," said Clement Austin,--it was the first time he had called +his mother's <i>protégée</i> by her Christian name, and the girl looked up at +him with a surprised expression,--"Margaret, that which happened to-day +makes me think that your conviction is only the horrible truth, and that +Henry Dunbar, the sole surviving kinsman of those two men whom I learnt +to honour and revere long ago, when I was a mere boy, is indeed guilty +of your father's death. If so, the cause of justice demands that this +man's crime should be brought to light. I am something of Shakspeare's +opinion; I cannot but believe that 'murder will out,' somehow or other, +sooner or later. But I think that, in this business, the police have +been culpably supine. It seems as if they feared to handle the case to +closely, lest the clue they followed should lead them to Henry Dunbar." +</p><p> +"You think they have been, bribed?" +</p><p> +"No; I don't think that. There seems to be a popular belief, all over +the world, that a man with a million of money can do no wrong. I don't +believe the police have been culpable; they have only been +faint-hearted. They have suffered themselves to be discouraged by the +difficulties of the case. Other crimes have been committed, other work +has arisen for them to do, and they have been obliged to abandon an +investigation which seemed hopeless. This is how criminals escape--this +is how murderers are suffered to be at large; not because discovery is +impossible, but because it can only be effected by a slow and wearisome +process in which so few men have courage to persevere. While the country +is ringing with the record of a great crime--while the murderer is on +his guard night and day, waking and sleeping--the police watch and work: +but by-and-by, when the crime is half forgotten--when security has made +the criminal careless--when the chances of detection are ten-fold--the +police have grown tired, and there is no eye to watch the guilty man's +movements. I know nothing of the science of detection, Margaret; but I +believe that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of your father; and I will do +my uttermost, with God's help, to bring this crime home to him." +</p><p> +The girl's eyes flashed with a proud light, as Clement Austin finished +speaking. +</p><p> +"Will you do this?" she said; "will you bring to light the mystery of my +father's death? Will you bring punishment upon his murderer? It seems a +horrible thing, perhaps, for a woman to wish detection to overtake any +man, however base; but surely it would be more horrible if I were +content to let my father's murder remain unavenged. My poor father! If +he had been a good man, I do not think it would grieve me so much to +remember his cruel death: but he was not a good man--he was not a good +man." +</p><p> +"Let him have been what he may, Margaret, his murderer shall not go +unpunished if I can aid the cause of justice," said Clement Austin. "But +it was not to say this alone that I came here to-night, Margaret. I have +something more to say to you." +</p><p> +There was a tenderness in the cashier's voice as he said these last +words, that brought the blushes back to Margaret's pale cheeks. +</p><p> +"You know that I love you, Margaret," Clement said, in a low, earnest +voice; "you must know that I love you: or if you do not, it is because +there is no sympathy between us, and in that case my love is indeed +hopeless. I have loved you from the first, dear--yes, from the very +first summer twilight in which I saw your pale, pensive face in the +dusky little garden at Wandsworth. The tender interest which I then felt +in you was the first mysterious dawn of love, though I, in my infinite +wisdom, put it down to an artistic admiration for your peculiar beauty. +It was love, Margaret; and it has grown and strengthened in my heart +ever since that summer evening, until it leads me here to-night to tell +you all, and to ask you if there is any hope. Ah, Margaret, you must +have known my love all along! You would have banished me had you felt +that my love was hopeless: you could not have been so cruel as to +deceive me." +</p><p> +Margaret looked up at her lover with a frightened face. Had she done +wrong, then, to be happy in his society, if she did not love him--if she +did not love him! But surely this sudden thrill of triumph and delight +which filled her breast, as Clement spoke to her, must be in some degree +akin to love. +</p><p> +Yes, she loved him; but the bright things of this world were not for +her. Love and Duty fought for the mastery of her pure Soul: and Duty was +the conqueror. +</p><p> +"Oh, Clement!" she said, "do you forget who I am? Do you forget that +letter which I showed you long ago, a letter addressed to my father when +he was a transported felon, suffering the penalty of his crime? Do you +forget who I am, and the taint that is in my blood; the disgrace that +stains my name? I am proud to think that you have loved me, Clement +Austin; but I am no fitting wife for you!" +</p><p> +"You are a noble, true-hearted woman, Margaret; and as such you are a +fitting wife for a king. Besides, I am not such a grandee that I need +look for high lineage in the wife of my choice. I am only a working man, +content to accept a salary for my services; and looking forward +by-and-by to a junior partnership in the house I serve. Margaret, my +mother loves you; and she knows that you are the woman I seek to win as +my wife. Forget the taint upon your dead father's name as freely as I +forget it, dearest; and only answer me one question; Is my love +hopeless?" +</p><p> +"I will never consent to be your wife, Mr. Austin!" Margaret answered, +in a low voice. +</p><p> +"Because you do not love me?" +</p><p> +"Because I will never cause you to blush for the history of your wife's +girlhood." +</p><p> +"That is no answer to my question, Margaret," said Clement Austin, +seating himself by her side, and taking both her hands in his. "I must +ask you to look me full in the face, Miss Wilmot," he added, laughingly, +drawing her towards him as he spoke; "for I begin to fancy you're +addicted to prevarication. Look me in the face, Madge darling, and tell +me that you love me." +</p><p> +But the blushing face would not be turned towards his own. Margaret's +head was still averted. +</p><p> +"Don't ask me," she pleaded; "don't ask me. The day would come when you +would regret your choice. I could not endure that. It would be too +bitter. You have been very kind to me; and it would be a poor return for +your kindness, if----" +</p><p> +"If you were to make me unutterably happy, eh, Margaret? I think it +would be only a proper act of gratitude. Haven't I run all over Clapham, +Brixton, and Wandsworth--to say nothing of an occasional incursion upon +Putney--in order to procure you half-a-dozen pupils? And the very first +favour I demand of you, which is only the gift of this clever little +hand, you have the audacity to refuse me point-blank." +</p><p> +He waited for a few moments, in the hope that Margaret would say +something; but her face was still averted, and the trembling hand which +Mr. Austin was holding struggled to release itself from his grasp. +</p><p> +"Margaret," he said, very gravely, "perhaps I have been foolish and +presumptuous in this business. In that case I fully deserve to be +disappointed, however bitter the disappointment may be. If I have been +wrong, Margaret; if I have been deceived by your sweet smile, your +gentle words; for pity's sake tell me that it is so, and I will forgive +you for having involuntarily deceived me, and will try to cure myself of +my folly. But I will not leave this room, I will not abandon the dear +hope that has brought me here to-night, until you tell me plainly that +you do not love me. Speak, Margaret, and speak fearlessly." +</p><p> +But Margaret was still silent, only in the silence Clement Austin heard +a low, sobbing sound. +</p><p> +"Margaret darling, you are crying. Ah! I know now that you love me, and +I will not leave this room except as your plighted husband." +</p><p> +"Heaven help me!" murmured Joseph Wilmot's daughter; "Heaven lead me +right! for I do love you, Clement, with all my heart" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch28"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>BUYING DIAMONDS.</h5></center> +<p> + +Mr. Dunbar did not waste much time before he began the grand business +which had brought him to London--that is to say, the purchase of such a +collection of diamonds as compose a necklace second only to that which +brought poor hoodwinked Cardinal de Rohan and the unlucky daughter of +the Caesars into such a morass of trouble and slander. +</p><p> +Early upon the morning after his visit to the bank, Mr. Dunbar went out +very plainly dressed, and hailed the first empty cab that he saw in +Piccadilly. +</p><p> +He ordered the cabman to drive straight to a street leading out of +Holborn, a very quiet-looking street, where you could buy diamonds +enough to set up all the jewellers in the Palais Royale and the Rue de +la Paix, and where, if you were so whimsical as to wish to transform a +service of plate into "white soup" at a moment's notice, you might +indulge your fancy in establishments of unblemished respectability. +</p><p> +The gold and silver refiners, the diamond-merchants and wholesale +jewellers, in this quiet street, were a very superior class of people, +and you might dispose of a handful of gold chains and bangles without +any fear that one or two of them would find their way into the +operator's sleeve during the process of weighing. The great Mr. +Krusible, who thrust the last inch of an Eastern potentate's sceptre +into the melting-pot with the sole of his foot, as the detectives +entered his establishment in search of the missing bauble, and walked +lame for six months afterwards, lived somewhere in the depths of the +city, and far away from this dull-looking Holborn street; and would have +despised the even tenor of life, and the moderate profits of a business +in this neighbourhood. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar left his cab at the Holborn end of the street, and walked +slowly along the pavement till he came to a very dingy-looking +parlour-window, which might have belonged to A lawyer's office but for +some gilded letters on the wire blind, which, in a very pale and faded +inscription, gave notice that the parlour belonged to Mr. Isaac +Hartgold, diamond-merchant. A grimy brass plate on the door of the house +bore another inscription to the same effect; and it was at this door +that Mr. Dunbar stopped. +</p><p> +He rang a bell, and was admitted immediately by a very sharp-looking +boy, who ushered him into the parlour, where ha saw a mahogany counter, +a pair of small brass scales, a horse-hair-cushioned office-stool +considerably the worse for wear, and a couple of very formidable-looking +iron safes deeply imbedded in the wall behind the counter. There was a +desk near the window, at which a gentleman, with very black hair and +whiskers was seated, busily engaged in some abstruse calculations +between a pair of open ledgers. +</p><p> +He got off his high seat as Mr. Dunbar entered, and looked rather +suspiciously at the banker. I suppose the habit of selling diamonds had +made him rather suspicious of every one. Henry Dunbar wore a fashionable +greatcoat with loose open cuffs, and it was towards these loose cuffs +that Mr. Hartgold's eyes wandered with rapid and rather uneasy glances. +He was apt to look doubtfully at gentlemen with roomy coat-sleeves, or +ladies with long-haired muffs or fringed parasols. Unset diamonds are an +eminently portable species of property, and you might carry a tolerably +valuable collection of them in the folds of the smallest parasol that +ever faded under the summer sunshine in the Lady's Mile. +</p><p> +"I want to buy a collection of diamonds for a necklace," Mr. Dunbar +said, as coolly as if he had been talking of a set of silver spoons; +"and I want the necklace to be something out of the common. I should +order it of Garrard or Emanuel; but I have a fancy for buying the +diamonds upon paper, and having them made up after a design of my own. +Can you supply me with what I want?" +</p><p> +"How much do you want? You may have what some people would call a +necklace for a thousand pounds, or you may have one that'll cost you +twenty thousand. How far do you mean to go?" +</p><p> +"I am prepared to spend something between fifty and eighty thousand +pounds." +</p><p> +The diamond merchant pursed up his lips reflectively. "You are aware +that in these sort of transactions ready money is indispensable?" he +said. +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, I am quite aware of that," Mr. Dunbar answered, coolly. +</p><p> +He took out his card-case as he spoke, and handed one of his cards to +Mr. Isaac Hartgold. "Any cheques signed by that name," he said, "will be +duly honoured in St. Gundolph Lane." +</p><p> +Mr. Hartgold bent his head reverentially to the representative of a +million of money. He, in common with every business man in London, was +thoroughly familiar with the names of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. +</p><p> +"I don't know that I can supply you with fifty thousand pounds' worth of +such diamonds as you may require at a moment's notice," he said; "but I +can procure them for you in a day or two, if that will do?" +</p><p> +"That will do very well. This is Tuesday; suppose I give you till +Thursday?" +</p><p> +"The stones shall be ready for you by Thursday, sir." +</p><p> +"Very good. I will call for them on Thursday morning. In the meantime, +in order that you may understand that the transaction is a <i>bonâ fide</i> +one, I'll write a cheque for ten thousand, payable to your order, on +account of diamonds to be purchased by me. I have my cheque-book in my +pocket. Oblige me with pen and ink." +</p><p> +Mr. Hartgold murmured something to the effect that such a proceeding was +altogether unnecessary; but he brought Mr. Dunbar his office inkstand, +and looked on with an approving twinkle of his eyes while the banker +wrote the cheque, in that slow, formal hand peculiar to him. It made +things very smooth and comfortable, Mr. Hartgold thought, to say the +least of it. +</p><p> +"And now, sir, with regard to the design of the necklace," said the +merchant, when he had folded the cheque and put it into his +waistcoat-pocket. "I suppose you've some idea that you'd like to carry +out; and you'd wish, perhaps, to see a few specimens." +</p><p> +He unlocked one of the iron safes as he spoke, and brought out a lot of +little paper packets, which were folded in a peculiar fashion, and which +he opened with very gingerly fingers. +</p><p> +"I suppose you'd like some tallow-drops, sir?" he said. "Tallow-drops +work-in better than anything for a necklace." +</p><p> +"What, in Heaven's name, are tallow-drops?" +</p><p> +Mr. Hartgold took up a diamond with a pair of pincers, and exhibited it +to the banker. +</p><p> +"That's a tallow-drop, sir," he said. "It's something of a heart-shaped +stone, you see; but we call it a tallow-drop, because it's very much the +shape of a drop of tallow. You'd like large stones, of course, though +they eat into a great deal of money? There are diamonds that are known +all over Europe; diamonds that have been in the possession of royalty, +and are as well known as the family they've belonged to. The Duke of +Brunswick has pretty well cleared the market of that sort of stuff; but +still they are to be had, if you've a fancy for anything of that kind?" +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar shook his head. +</p><p> +"I don't want anything of that sort," he said; "the day may come when my +daughter, or my daughter's descendants, may be obliged to realize the +jewels. I'm a commercial man, and I want eighty thousand pounds' worth +of diamonds that shall be worth the money I give for them to break up +and sell again. I should wish you to choose diamonds of moderate size, +but not small; worth, on an average, forty or fifty pounds apiece, we'll +say." +</p><p> +"I shall have to be very particular about matching them in colour," said +Mr. Hartgold, "as they're for a necklace." The banker shrugged his +shoulders. +</p><p> +"Don't trouble yourself about the necklace," he said, rather +impatiently. "I tell you again I'm a commercial man, and what I want is +good value for my money." +</p><p> +"And you shall have it, sir," answered the diamond-merchant, briskly. +</p><p> +"Very well, then; in that case I think we understand each other, and +there's no occasion for me to stop here any longer. You'll have eighty +thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, at thereabouts, ready for me when I +call here on Thursday morning. You can cash that cheque in the meantime, +and ascertain with whom you have to deal. Good morning." +</p><p> +He left the diamond-merchant wondering at his sang froid, and returned +to the cab, which had been waiting for him all this time. +</p><p> +He was just going to step into it, when a hand touched him lightly on +the shoulder, and turning sharply and angrily round, he recognized the +gentleman who called himself Major Vernon. But the Major was by no means +the shabby stranger who had watched the marriage of Philip Jocelyn and +Laura Dunbar in Lisford Church. Major Vernon had risen, resplendent as +the phoenix, from the ashes of his old clothes. +</p><p> +The poodle collar was gone: the dilapidated boots had been exchanged for +stout water-tight Wellingtons: the napless dirty white hat had given +place to a magnificent beaver, with a broad trim curled at the sides. +Major Vernon was positively splendid. He was as much wrapped up as ever; +but his wrappings now were of a gorgeous, not to say gaudy, description. +His thick greatcoat was of a dark olive-green, and the collar turned up +over his ears was of a shiny-looking brown fur, which, to the confiding +mind of the populace, is known as imitation sable. Inside this fur +collar the Major wore a shawl-patterned scarf of all the colours in the +prismatic scale, across which his nose lacked its usual brilliancy of +hue by force of contrast. Major Vernon had a very big cigar in his +mouth, and a very big cane in his hand, and the quiet City men turned to +look at him as he stood upon the pavement talking to Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +The banker writhed under the touch of his Indian acquaintance. +</p><p> +"What do you want with me?" he asked, in low angry tones; "why do you +follow me about to play the spy upon me, and stop me in the public +street? Haven't I done enough for you? Ain't you satisfied with what I +have done?" +</p><p> +"Yes, dear boy," answered the Major, "perfectly satisfied, more than +satisfied--for the present. But your future favours--as those low +fellows, the butchers and bakers, have it--are respectfully requested +for yours truly. Let me get into the cab with you, Mr. H.D., and take me +back to the <i>casa</i>, and give me a comfortable little bit of perrogg. I +haven't lost my aristocratic taste for seven courses, and an elegant +succession of still fine sparkling wines, though during the last few +years I've been rather frequently constrained to accept the shadowy +hospitality of his grace of Humphrey. '<i>Nante dinari, nante manjare</i>,' +as we say in the Classics, which I translate, 'No credit at the +butcher's or the baker's.'" +</p><p> +"For Heaven's sake, stop that abominable slang!" said Henry Dunbar, +impatiently. +</p><p> +"It annoys you, dear friend, eh? Well, I've known the time when----But +no matter, 'let what is broken, so remain,' as the poet observes; which +is only an elegant way of saying, 'Let bygones be bygones.' And so +you've been buying diamonds, dear boy?" +</p><p> +"Who told you so?" +</p><p> +"You did, when you came out of Mr. Isaac Hartgold's establishment. I +happened to be passing the door as you went in, and I happened to be +passing the door again as you came out." +</p><p> +"And playing the spy upon me." +</p><p> +"Not at all, dear boy. It was merely a coincidence, I assure you. I +called at the bank yesterday, cashed my cheques, ascertained your +address; called at the Clarendon this morning, was told you'd that +minute gone out; looked down Albemarle Street; there you were, sure +enough; saw you get into a cab; got into another--a Hansom, and faster +than yours--came behind you to the corner of this street." +</p><p> +"You followed me," said Henry Dunbar, bitterly. +</p><p> +"Don't call it <i>following</i>, dear friend, because that's low. Accident +brought me into this neighbourhood at the very hour you were coming into +this neighbourhood. If you want to quarrel with anything, quarrel with +the doctrine of chances, not with me." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar turned away with a sulky gesture. His friend watched him +with very much the same malicious grin that had distorted his face under +the lamp-lit porch at Maudesley. The Major looked like a vulgar-minded +Mephistopheles: there was not even the "divinity of hell" about him. +</p><p> +"And so you've been buying diamonds?" he repeated presently, after a +considerable pause. +</p><p> +"Yes, I have. I am buying them for a necklace for my daughter." +</p><p> +"You are so dotingly fond of your daughter!" said the Major with a leer. +</p><p> +"It is necessary that I should give her a present." +</p><p> +"Precisely, and you won't even trust the business to a jeweller; you +insist on doing it all yourself." +</p><p> +"I shall do it for less money than a jeweller." +</p><p> +"Oh, of course," answered Major Vernon; "the motive's as clear as +daylight." +</p><p> +He was silent for a few minutes, then he laid his hand heavily upon his +companion's shoulder, put his lips close to the banker's ear, and said, +in a loud voice, for it was not easy for him to make himself heard above +the jolting of the cab,-- +</p><p> +"Henry Dunbar, you're a very clever fellow, and I dare say you think +yourself a great deal sharper than I am; but, by Heaven, if you try any +tricks with me, you'll find yourself mistaken! You must buy me an +annuity. Do you understand? Before you move right or left, or say your +soul's your own, you must buy me an annuity!" +</p><p> +The banker shook off his companion's hand, and turned round upon him, +pale, stern, and defiant. +</p><p> +"Take care, Stephen Vallance," he said; "take care how you threaten me. +I should have thought you knew me of old, and would be wise enough to +keep a civil tongue in your head, with <i>me</i>. As for what you ask, I +shall do it, or I shall let it alone--as I think fit. If I do it, I +shall take my own time about it, not yours." +</p><p> +"You're not afraid of me, then?" asked the other, recoiling a little, +and much more subdued in his tone. +</p><p> +"No!" +</p><p> +"You are very bold." +</p><p> +"Perhaps I am. Do you remember the old story of some people who had a +goose that laid golden eggs? They were greedy, and, in their besotted +avarice, they killed the goose. But they have not gone down to posterity +as examples of wisdom. No, Vallance, I'm not afraid of you." +</p><p> +Mr. Vallance leaned back in the cab, biting his nails savagely, and +thinking. It seemed as if he was trying to find an answer for Mr. +Dunbar's speech: but, if so, he must have failed, for he was silent for +the rest of the drive: and when he got out of the vehicle, by-and-by, +before the door of the Clarendon, his manner bore an undignified +resemblance to that of a half-bred cur who carries his tail between his +legs. +</p><p> +"Good afternoon, Major Vernon," the banker said, carelessly, as a +liveried servant opened the door of the hotel: "I shall be very much +engaged during the few days I am likely to remain in town, and shall be +unable to afford myself the pleasure of your society." +</p><p> +The Major stared aghast at this cool dismissal. +</p><p> +"Oh," he murmured, vaguely, "that's it, is it? Well, of course, you know +what's best for yourself--so, good afternoon!" +</p><p> +The door closed upon Major Vernon, alias Mr. Stephen Vallance, while he +was still staring straight before him, in utter inability to realize his +position. But he drew his cashmere shawl still higher up about his ears, +took out a gaudy scarlet-morocco cigar-case, lighted another big cigar, +and then strolled slowly down the quiet West-end street, with his bushy +eyebrows contracted into a thoughtful frown. +</p><p> +"Cool," he muttered between his closed lips; "very cool, to say the +least of it. Some people would call it audacious. But the story of the +goose with the golden eggs is one of childhood's simple lessons that +we're obliged to remember in after-life. And to think that the +Government of this country should have the audacity to offer a measly +hundred pounds or so for the discovery of a great crime! The shabbiness +of the legislature must answer for it, if criminals remain at large. My +friend's a deep one, a cursedly deep one; but I shall keep my eye upon +him 'My faith is strong in time,' as the poet observes. My friend +carries it with a high hand at present; but the day may come when he may +want me; and if ever he does want me, egad, he shall pay me my own +price, and it shall be rather a stiff one into the bargain." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch29"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXIX.</h4></center> +<center><h5>GOING AWAY.</h5></center> +<p> + +At one o'clock on the appointed Thursday morning, Mr. Dunbar presented +himself in the diamond-merchant's office. Henry Dunbar was not alone. He +had called in St. Gundolph Lane, and asked Mr. Balderby to go with him +to inspect the diamonds he had bought for his daughter. +</p><p> +The junior partner opened his eyes to the widest extent as the +brilliants were displayed before him, and declared that big senior's +generosity was something more than princely. +</p><p> +But perhaps Mr. Balderby did not feel so entirely delighted two or three +hours afterwards, when Mr. Isaac Hartgold presented himself before the +counter in St. Gundolph Lane, whence he departed some time afterwards +carrying away with him seventy-five thousand eight hundred pounds in +Bank-of-England notes. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar walked away from the neighbourhood of Holborn with his coat +buttoned tightly across his broad chest, and nearly eighty thousand +pounds' worth of property hidden away in his breast-pockets. He did not +go straight back to the Clarendon, but pierced his way across +Smithfield, and into a busy smoky street, where he stopped by-and-by at +a dingy-looking currier's shop. +</p><p> +He went in and selected a couple of chamois skins, very thick and +strong. At another shop he bought some large needles, half-a-dozen +skeins of stout waxed thread, a pair of large scissors, a couple of +strong steel buckles, and a tailor's thimble. When he had made these +purchases, he hailed the first empty cab that passed him, and went back +to his hotel. +</p><p> +He dined, drank the best part of a bottle of Burgundy, and then ordered +a cup of strong tea to be taken to his dressing-room. He had fires in +his bedroom and dressing-room every night. To-night he retired very +early, dismissed the servant who attended upon him, and locked the door +of the outer room, the only door communicating with the corridor of the +hotel. +</p><p> +He drank a cup of tea, bathed his head with cold water, and then sat +down at a writing-table near the fire. +</p><p> +But he was not going to write; he pushed aside the writing-materials, +and took his purchases of the afternoon from his pocket. He spread the +chamois leather out upon the table, and cut the skins into two long +strips, about a foot broad. He measured these round his waist, and then +began to stitch them together, slowly and laboriously. +</p><p> +The work was not easy, and it took the banker a very long time to +complete it to his own satisfaction. It was past twelve o'clock when he +had stitched both sides and one end of the double chamois-leather belt; +the other end he left open. +</p><p> +When he had completed the two sides and the end that was closed, he took +four or five little canvas-bags from his pocket. Every one of these +canvas-bags was full of loose diamonds. +</p><p> +A thrill of rapture ran through the banker's veins as he plunged his +fingers in amongst the glittering stones. He filled his hands with the +bright gems, and let them run from one hand to the other, like streams +of liquid light. Then, very slowly and carefully, he began to drop the +diamonds into the open end of the chamois-leather belt. +</p><p> +When he had dropped a few into the belt, he stitched the leather across +and across, quilting-in the stones. This work took him so long, that it +was four o'clock in the morning when he had quilted the last diamond +into the belt. He gave a long sigh of relief as he threw the waste +scraps of leather upon the top of the low fire, and watched them slowly +smoulder away into black ashes. Then he put the chamois-leather belt +under his pillow, and went to bed. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar went back to Maudesley Abbey by the express on the morning +after the day on which he had completed his purchase of the diamonds. He +wore the chamois-leather belt buckled tightly round his waist next to +his inner shirt, and was able to defy the swell-mob, had those gentry +been aware of the treasures which he carried about with him. +</p><p> +He wrote from Warwickshire to one of the best and most fashionable +jewellers at the West End, and requested that a person who was +thoroughly skilled in his business might be sent down to Maudesley +Abbey, duly furnished with drawings of the newest designs in diamond +necklaces, earrings, &c. +</p><p> +But when the jeweller's agent came, two or three days afterwards, Mr. +Dunbar could find no design that suited him; and the man returned to +London without having received an order, and without having even seen +the brilliants which the banker had bought. +</p><p> +"Tell your employer that I will retain two or three of these designs," +Mr. Dunbar said, selecting the drawings as he spoke; "and if, upon +consideration, I find that one of them will suit me, I will communicate +with your establishment. If not, I shall take the diamonds to Paris, and +get them made up there." +</p><p> +The jeweller ventured to suggest the inferiority of Parisian workmanship +as compared with that of a first-rate English establishment; but Mr. +Dunbar did not condescend to pay any attention to the young man's +remonstrance. +</p><p> +"I shall write to your employer in due course," he said, coldly. "Good +morning." +</p><p> +Major Vernon had returned to the Rose and Crown at Lisford. The deed +which transferred to him the possession of Woodbine Cottage was speedily +executed, and he took up his abode there. His establishment was composed +of the old housekeeper, who had waited on the deceased admiral, and a +young man-of-all-work, who was nephew to the housekeeper, and who had +also been in the service of the late owner of the cottage. +</p><p> +From his new abode Mr. Vernon was able to keep a tolerably sharp +look-out upon the two great houses in his neighbourhood--Maudesley Abbey +and Jocelyn's Rock. Country people know everything about their +neighbours; and Mrs. Manders, the housekeeper, had means of +communication with both "the Abbey" and "the Rock;" for she had a niece +who was under-housemaid in the service of Henry Dunbar, and a grandson +who was a helper in Sir Philip Jocelyn's stables. Nothing could have +better pleased the new inhabitant of Woodbine Cottage, who was speedily +on excellent terms with his housekeeper. +</p><p> +From her he heard that a jeweller's assistant had been to Maudesley, and +had submitted a portfolio of designs to the millionaire. +</p><p> +"Which they do say," Mrs. Manders continued, "that Mr. Dunbar had laid +out nigh upon half-a-million of money in diamonds; and that he is going +to give his daughter, Lady Jocelyn, a set of jewels such as the Queen +upon her throne never set eyes on. But Mr. Dunbar is rare and difficult +to please, it seems; for the young man from the jeweller's, he says to +Mrs. Grumbleton at the western lodge, he says, 'Your master is not easy +to satisfy, ma'am,' he says; from which Mrs. Grumbleton gathers that he +had not took a order from Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +Major Vernon whistled softly to himself when Mrs. Manders retired, after +having imparted this piece of information. +</p><p> +"You're a clever fellow, dear friend," he muttered, as he lighted his +cigar; "you're a stupendous fellow, dear boy; but your friend can see +through less transparent blinds than this diamond business. It's well +planned--it's neat, to say the least of it. And you've my best wishes, +dear boy; but--you must pay for them--you must pay for them, Henry +Dunbar." +</p><p> +This little conversation between the new tenant of Woodbine Cottage and +his housekeeper occurred on the very evening on which Major Vernon took +possession of his new abode. The next day was Sunday--a cold wintry +Sunday; for the snow had been falling all through the last three days +and nights, and lay deep on the ground, hiding the low thatched roofs, +and making feathery festoons about the leafless branches, until Lisford +looked like a village upon the top of a twelfth-cake. While the +Sabbath-bells were ringing in the frosty atmosphere, Major Vernon opened +the low white gate of his pleasant little garden, and went out upon the +high-road. +</p><p> +But not towards the church. Major Vernon was not going to church on this +bright winter's morning. He went the other way, tramping through the +snow, towards the eastern gate of Maudesley Park. He went in by the low +iron gate, for there was a bridle-path by this part of the park--that +very bridle-path by which Philip Jocelyn had ridden to Lisford so often +in the autumn weather. +</p><p> +Major Vernon struck across this path, following the tracks of late +footsteps in the deep snow, and thus took the nearest way to the Abbey. +There he found all very quiet. The supercilious footman who admitted him +to the hall seemed doubtful whether he should admit him any farther. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar are hup," he said; "and have breakfasted, to the best of my +knowledge, which the breakfast ekewpage have not yet been removed." +</p><p> +"So much the better," Major Vernon answered, coolly. "You may bring up +some fresh coffee, John; for I haven't made much of a breakfast myself; +and if you'll tell the cook to devil the thigh of a turkey, with plenty +of cayenne-pepper and a squeeze of lemon, I shall be obliged. You +need'nt trouble yourself; I know my way." +</p><p> +The Major opened the door leading to Mr. Dunbar's apartments, and walked +without ceremony into the tapestried chamber, where he found the banker +sitting near a table, upon which a silver coffee service, a Dresden cup +and saucer, and two or three covered dishes gave evidence that Mr. +Dunbar had been breakfasting. Cold meats, raised pies, and other +comestibles were laid out upon the carved-oak sideboard. +</p><p> +The Major paused upon the threshold of the chamber and gravely +contemplated his friend. +</p><p> +"It's comfortable!" he exclaimed; "to say the least of it, it's very +comfortable, dear boy!" +</p><p> +The dear boy did not look particularly pleased as he lifted his eyes to +his visitor's face. +</p><p> +"I thought you were in London?" he said. +</p><p> +"Which shows how very little you trouble yourself about the concerns of +your neighbours," answered Major Vernon, "for if you had condescended to +inquire about the movements of your humble friend, you would have been +told that he had bought a comfortable little property in the +neighbourhood, and settled down to do the respectable country gentleman +for the remainder of his natural life--always supposing that the +liberality of his honoured friend enables him to do the thing decently." +</p><p> +"Do you mean to say that you have bought property in this +neighbourhood?" +</p><p> +"Yes! I am leasehold proprietor of Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford and +Shorncliffe." +</p><p> +"And you mean to settle in Warwickshire?" +</p><p> +"I do." +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar smiled to himself as his friend said this. +</p><p> +"You're welcome to do so," he said, "as far as I am concerned." +</p><p> +The Major looked at him sharply. +</p><p> +"Your sentiments are liberality itself, my dear friend. But I must +respectfully remind you that the expenses attendant upon taking +possession of my humble abode have been very heavy. In plain English, +the two thou' which you so liberally advanced as the first instalment of +future bounties, has melted like snow in a rapid thaw. I want another +two thou', friend of my youth and patron of my later years. What's a +thousand or so, more or less, to the senior partner in the house of D., +D., and B.? Make it two five this time, and your petitioner will ever +pray, &c. &c. &c. Make it two five, Prince of Maudesley!" +</p><p> +There is no need for me to record the interview between these two men. +It was rather a long one; for, in congenial companionship, Major Vernon +had plenty to say for himself: it was only when he felt himself out of +his element and unappreciated that the Major wrapped himself in the +dignity of silence, at in some mystic mantle, and retired for the time +being from the outer world. +</p><p> +He did not leave Maudesley Abbey until he had succeeded in the object of +his visit, and he carried away in his pocket-book cheques to the amount +of two thousand five hundred pounds. +</p><p> +"I flatter myself I was just in the nick of time," the Major thought, as +he walked back to Woodbine Cottage, "for as sure as my name's what it +is, my friend means a bolt. He means a bolt; and the money I've had +to-day is the last I shall ever receive from that quarter." +</p><p> +Almost immediately after Major Vernon's departure, Henry Dunbar rang the +bell for the servant who acted as his valet whenever he required the +services of one, which was not often. +</p><p> +"I shall start for Paris to-night, Jeffreys," he said to this man. "I +want to see what the French jewellers can do before I trust Lady +Jocelyn's necklace into the hands of English workmen. I'm not well, and +I want change of air and scene, so I shall start for Paris to-night. +Pack a small portmanteau with everything that's indispensable, but pack +nothing unnecessary." +</p><p> +"Am I to go with you, sir?" the man asked. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar looked at his watch, and seemed to reflect upon this +question some moments before he answered. +</p><p> +"How do the up-trains go on a Sunday?" he asked. +</p><p> +"There's an express from the north stops at Rugby at six o'clock, sir. +You might meet that, if you left Shorncliffe by the 4:35 train." +</p><p> +"I could do that," answered the banker; "it's only three o'clock. Pack +my portmanteau at once, Jeffreys, and order the carriage to be ready for +me at a quarter to four. No, I won't take you to Paris with me. You can +follow me in a day or two with some more things." +</p><p> +"Yes, sir." +</p><p> +There was no such thing as bustle and confusion in a household organized +like that of Mr. Dunbar. The valet packed his master's portmanteau and +dressing-case; the carriage came round to the gravel-drive before the +porch at the appointed moment; and five minutes afterwards Mr. Dunbar +came out into the hall, with his greatcoat closely buttoned over his +broad chest, and a leopard-skin travelling-rug flung across his +shoulder. +</p><p> +Round his waist he wore the chamois-leather belt which he had made with +his own hands at the Clarendon Hotel. This belt had never quitted him +since the night upon which he made it. The carriage conveyed him to the +Shorncliffe station. He got out and went upon the platform. Although it +was not yet five o'clock, the wintry light was fading in the grey sky, +and in the railway station it was already dark. There were lamps here +and there, but they only made separate splotches of light in the dusky +atmosphere. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar walked slowly up and down the platform. He was so deeply +absorbed by his own thoughts that he was quite startled presently when a +young man came close behind him, and addressed him eagerly. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar," he said; "Mr. Dunbar!" +</p><p> +The banker turned sharply round, and recognized Arthur Lovell. +</p><p> +"Ah! my dear Lovell, is that you? You quite startled me." +</p><p> +"Are you going by the next train? I was so anxious to see you." +</p><p> +"Why so?" +</p><p> +"Because there's some one here who very much wishes to see you; quite an +old friend of yours, he says. Who do you think it is?" +</p><p> +"I don't know, I can't guess--I've so many old friends. I can't see any +one, Lovell. I'm very ill, I saw a physician while I was in London; and +he told me that my heart is diseased, and that if I wish to live I must +avoid any agitation, any sudden emotion, as I would avoid a deadly +poison. Who is it that wants to see me?" +</p><p> +"Lord Herriston, the great Anglo-Indian statesman. He is a friend of my +father's, and he has been very kind to me--indeed, he offered me an +appointment, which I found it wisest to decline. He talked a great deal +about you, when my father told him that you'd settled at Maudesley, and +would have driven over to see you if he could have managed to spare the +time, without losing his train. You'll see him, wont you?" +</p><p> +"Where is he?" +</p><p> +"Here, in the station--in the waiting-room. He has been visiting in +Warwickshire, and he lunched with my father <i>en passant</i>; he is going to +Derby, and he's waiting for the down-train to take him on to the main +line. You'll come and see him?" +</p><p> +"Yes, I shall be very glad; I----" +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar stopped suddenly, with his hand upon his side. The bell had +been ringing while Lovell and the banker had stood upon the platform +talking. The train came into the station at this moment. +</p><p> +"I shan't be able to see Lord Herriston to-night," Mr. Dunbar said, +hurriedly; "I must go by this train, or I shall lose a day. Good-bye, +Lovell. Make my best compliments to Herriston; tell him I have been very +ill. Good-bye." +</p><p> +"Your portmanteau's in the carriage, sir," the servant said, pointing to +the open door of a first-class compartment. Henry Dunbar got into the +carriage. At the moment of his doing so, an elderly gentleman came out +of the waiting-room. +</p><p> +"Is this my train, Lovell?" he asked. +</p><p> +"No, my Lord. Mr. Dunbar is here; he goes by this train. You'll have +time to speak to him." +</p><p> +The train was moving. Lord Herriston was an active old fellow. He ran +along the platform, looking into the carriages. But the old man's sight +was not as good as his legs were; he looked eagerly into the +carriage-windows, but he only saw a confusion of flickering lamplight, +and strange faces, and newspapers unfurled in the hands of wakeful +travellers, and the heads of sleepy passengers rolling and jolting +against the padded sides of the carriage. +</p><p> +"My eyes are not what they used to be," he said, with a good-tempered +laugh, when he went back to Arthur Lovell. "I didn't succeed in getting +a glimpse of my old friend Henry Dunbar." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch30"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXX.</h4></center> +<center><h5>STOPPED UPON THE WAY.</h5></center> +<p> + +Mr. Dunbar leant back in the corner of his comfortable seat, with his +eyes closed. But he was not asleep, he was only thinking; and every now +and then he bent forward, and looked out of the window into the darkness +of the night. He could only distinguish the faint outline of the +landscape as the train swept on upon its way, past low meadows, where +the snow lay white and stainless, unsullied by a passing footfall; and +scanty patches of woodland, where the hardy firs looked black against +the glittering whiteness of the ground. +</p><p> +The country was all so much alike under its thick shroud of snow, that +Mr. Dunbar tried in vain to distinguish any landmarks upon the way. +</p><p> +The train by which he travelled stopped at every station; and, though +the journey between Shorncliffe and Rugby was only to last an hour, it +seemed almost interminable to this impatient traveller, who was eager to +stand upon the deck of Messrs. ----'s electric steamers, to feel the icy +spray dashing into his face, and to see the town of Dover, shining like +a flaming crescent against the darkness of the night, and the Calais +lights in the distance rising up behind the black edge of the sea. +</p><p> +The banker looked at his watch, and made a calculation about the time. +It was now a quarter past five; the train was to reach Rugby at ten +minutes to six; at six the London express left Rugby; at a quarter to +eight it reached London; at half-past eight the Dover mail would leave +London Bridge station; and at half-past seven, or thereabouts, next +morning, Henry Dunbar would be rattling through the streets of Paris. +</p><p> +And then? Was his journey to end in that brilliant city, or was he to go +farther? That was a question whose answer was hidden in the traveller's +own breast. He had not shown himself a communicative man at the best of +times, and to-night he looked like a man whose soul is weighed down by +the burden of a purpose which must he achieved at any cost of personal +sacrifice. +</p><p> +He could not hear the names of the stations. He only heard those +guttural and inarticulate sounds which railway officials roar out upon +the darkness of the night, to the bewilderment of helpless travellers. +His inability to distinguish the names of the stations annoyed him. The +delay attendant upon every fresh stoppage worried him, as if the pause +had been the weary interval of an hour. He sat with his watch in his +hand; for every now and then he was seized with a sudden terror that the +train had fallen out of its regular pace, and was crawling slowly along +the rails. +</p><p> +What if it should not reach Rugby until after the London express had +left the station? +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar asked one of his fellow-travellers if this train was always +punctual. +</p><p> +"Yes," the gentleman answered, coolly; "I believe it is generally pretty +regular. But I don't know how the snow may affect the engine. There have +been accidents in some parts of the country." +</p><p> +"In consequence of the depth of snow?" +</p><p> +"Yes. I understand so." +</p><p> +It was about ten minutes after this brief conversation, and within a +quarter of an hour of the time at which the train was due at Rugby, when +the carriage, which had rocked a good deal from the first, began to +oscillate very violently. One meagre little elderly traveller turned +rather pale, and looked nervously at his fellow-passengers; but the +young man who had spoken to Henry Dunbar, and a bald-headed +commercial-looking gentleman opposite to him, went on reading their +newspapers as coolly as if the rocking of the carriage had been no more +perilous than the lullaby motion of an infant's cradle, guided by a +mother's gentle foot. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar never took his eyes from the dial of his watch. So the +nervous traveller found no response to his look of terror. +</p><p> +He sat quietly for a minute or so, and then lowered the window near him, +and let in a rush of icy wind, whereat the bald-headed commercial +gentleman turned upon him rather fiercely, and asked him what he was +about, and if he wanted to give them all inflammation of the lungs, by +letting in an atmosphere that was two degrees below zero. But the little +elderly gentleman scarcely heard this remonstrance; his head was out of +the window, and he was looking eagerly Rugby-wards along the line. +</p><p> +"I'm afraid there's something wrong," he said, drawing in his head for a +moment, and looking with a scared white face at his fellow-passengers; +"I'm really afraid there's something wrong. We're eight minutes behind +our time, and I see the danger-signal up yonder, and the line seems +blocked up with snow, and I really fear----" +</p><p> +He looked out again, and then drew in his head very suddenly. +</p><p> +"There's something coming!" he cried; "there's an engine coming----" +</p><p> +He never finished his sentence. There was a horrible smashing, tearing, +grinding noise, that was louder than thunder, and more hideous than the +crashing of cannon against the wooden walls of a brave ship. +</p><p> +That horrible sound was followed by a yell almost as horrible; and then +there was nothing but death, and terror, and darkness, and anguish, and +bewilderment; masses of shattered woodwork and iron heaped in direful +confusion upon the blood-stained snow; human groans, stifled under the +wrecks of shivered carriages: the cries of mothers whose children had +been flung out of their arms into the very jaws of death; the piteous +wail of children, who clung, warm and living, to the breasts of dead +mothers, martyred in that moment of destruction; husbands parted from +their wives; wives shrieking for their husbands; and, amidst all, brave +men, with white faces, hurrying here and there, with lamps in their +hands, half-maimed and wounded some of them, but forgetful of themselves +in their care for the helpless wretches round them. +</p><p> +The express going northwards had run into the train from Shorncliffe, +which had come upon the main line just nine minutes too late. +</p><p> +One by one the dead and wounded were earned away from the great heap of +ruins; one by one the prostrate forms were borne away by quiet bearers, +who did their duty calmly and fearlessly in that hideous scene of havoc +and confusion. The great object to be achieved was the immediate +clearance of the line; and the sound of pickaxes and shovels almost +drowned those other dreadful sounds, the piteous moans of sufferers who +were so little hurt as to be conscious of their sufferings. +</p><p> +The train from Shorncliffe had been completely smashed. The northern +express had suffered much less; but the engine-driver had been killed, +and several of the passengers severely injured. +</p><p> +Henry Dunbar was amongst those who were carried away helpless, and, to +all appearance, lifeless from the ruin of the Shorncliffe train. +</p><p> +One of the banker's legs was broken, and he had received A blow upon the +head, which had rendered him immediately unconscious. +</p><p> +But there were cases much worse than that of the banker; the surgeon who +examined the sufferers said that Mr. Dunbar might recover from his +injuries in two or three months, if he was carefully treated. The +fracture of the leg was very simple; and if the limb was skilfully set, +there would not be the least fear of contraction. +</p><p> +Half-a-dozen surgeons were busy in one of the waiting-rooms at the Rugby +station, whither the sufferers had been conveyed, and one of them took +possession of the banker. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar's card-case had been found in the breast-pocket of his +overcoat, and a great many people in the waiting-room knew that the +gentleman with the white lace and grey moustache, lying so quietly upon +one of the broad sofas, was no less a personage than Henry Dunbar, of +Maudesley Abbey and St. Gundolph Lane. The surgeon knew it, and thought +his good angel had sent this particular patient across his pathway. +</p><p> +He made immediate arrangements for bearing off Mr. Dunbar to the nearest +hotel; he sent for his assistant; and in a quarter of an hour's time the +millionaire was restored to consciousness, and opened his eyes upon the +eager faces of two medical gentlemen, and upon a room that was strange +to him. +</p><p> +The banker looked about him with an expression of perplexity, and then +asked where he was. He knew nothing of the accident itself, and he had +quite lost the recollection of all that had occurred immediately before +the accident, or, indeed, from the time of his leaving Maudesley Abbey. +</p><p> +It was only little by little that the memory of the events of that day +returned to him. He had wanted to leave Maudesley; he had wanted to go +abroad--to go upon a journey--that was no new purpose in his mind. Had +he actually set out upon that journey? Yes, surely, he must have started +upon it; but what had happened, then? +</p><p> +He asked the surgeon what had happened, and why it was that he found +himself in that strange place. +</p><p> +Mr. Daphney, the Rugby surgeon, told his patient all about the accident, +in such a bland, pleasant way, that anybody might have thought the +collision of a couple of engines rather an agreeable little episode in a +man's life. +</p><p> +"But we are doing admirably, sir," Mr. Daphney concluded; "nothing could +be more desirable than the way in which we are going on; and when our +leg has been set, and we've taken a cooling draught, we shall be, quite +comfortable for the night. I really never saw a cleaner fracture--never, +I can assure you." +</p><p> +But Mr. Dunbar raised himself into a sitting position, in spite of the +remonstrances of his medical attendant, and looked anxiously about him. +</p><p> +"You say this place is Rugby?" he asked, moodily. +</p><p> +"Yes, this is Rugby," answered the surgeon, smiling, and rubbing his +hands, almost as if he would have said, "Now, isn't <i>that</i> delightful?" +"Yes, this is the Queen's Hotel, Rugby; and I'm sure that every +attention which the proprietor, Mr.----" +</p><p> +"I must get away from this place to-night," said Mr. Dunbar, +interrupting the surgeon rather unceremoniously. +</p><p> +"To-night, my dear sir!" cried Mr. Daphney; "impossible--utterly +impossible--suicide on your part, my dear sir, if you attempted it, and +murder upon mine, if I allowed you to carry out such an idea. You will +be a prisoner here for a month or so, sir, I regret to say; but we shall +do all in our power to make your sojourn agreeable." +</p><p> +The surgeon could not help looking cheerful as he made this +announcement; but seeing a very black and ominous expression upon the +face of his patient, he contrived to modify the radiance of his own +countenance. +</p><p> +"Our first proceeding, sir, must be to straighten this poor leg," he +said, soothingly. "We shall place the leg in a cradle, from the thigh +downwards: but I won't trouble you with technical details. I doubt if we +shall be justified in setting the leg to-night; we must reduce the +swelling before we can venture upon any important step. A cooling +lotion, applied with linen cloths, must be kept on all night. I have +made arrangements for a nurse, and my assistant will also remain here +all night to supervise her movements." +</p><p> +The banker groaned aloud. +</p><p> +"I want to get to London," he said. "I must get to London!" +</p><p> +The surgeon and his assistant removed Mr. Dunbar's clothes. His trousers +had to be cut away from his broken leg before anything could be done. +Mr. Daphney removed his patient's coat and waistcoat; but the linen +shirt was left, and the chamois-leather belt worn by the banker was +under this shirt, next to and over a waistcoat of scarlet flannel. +</p><p> +"I wear a leather belt next my flannel waistcoat," Mr. Dunbar said, as +the two men were undressing him; "I don't wish it to be removed." +</p><p> +He fainted away presently, for his leg was very painful; and on reviving +from his fainting fit, he looked very suspiciously at his attendants, +and put his hand to the buckle of his belt, in order to make himself +sure that it had not been tampered with. +</p><p> +All through the long, feverish, restless night he lay pondering over +this miserable interruption of his journey, while the sick-nurse and the +surgeon's assistant alternately slopped cooling lotions about his +wretched broken leg. +</p><p> +"To think that <i>this</i> should happen," he muttered to himself every now +and then. "Amongst all the things I've ever dreaded, I never thought of +this." +</p><p> +His leg was set in the course of the next day, and in the evening he had +a long conversation with the surgeon. +</p><p> +This time Henry Dunbar did not speak so much of his anxiety to get away +upon the second stage of his continental journey. His servant Jeffreys +arrived at Rugby in the course of the day; for the news of the accident +had reached Maudesley Abbey, and it was known that Mr. Dunbar had been a +sufferer. +</p><p> +To-night Henry Dunbar only spoke of the misery of being in a strange +house. +</p><p> +"I want to get back to Maudesley," he said. "If you can manage to take +me there, Mr. Daphney, and look after me until I've got over the effects +of this accident, I shall be very happy to make you any compensation you +please for whatever loss your absence from Rugby might entail upon you." +</p><p> +This was a very diplomatic speech: Mr. Dunbar knew that the surgeon +would not care to let so rich a patient out of his hands; but he fancied +that Mr. Daphney would have no objection to carrying his patient in +triumph to Maudesley Abbey, to the admiration of the unprofessional +public, and to the aggravation of rival medical men. +</p><p> +He was not mistaken in his estimate of human nature. At the end of the +week he had succeeded in persuading the surgeon to agree to his removal; +and upon the second Monday after the railway accident, Henry Dunbar was +placed in a compartment which was specially prepared for him in the +Shorncliffe train, and was conveyed from Shorncliffe station to +Maudesley Abbey, without undergoing any change of position upon the +road, and very carefully tended throughout the journey by Mr. Daphney +and Jeffreys the valet. +</p><p> +They wheeled Mr. Dunbar's bed into his favourite tapestried chamber, and +laid him there, to drag out long dreary days and nights, waiting till +his broken bones should unite, and he should be free to go whither he +pleased. He was not a very patient sufferer; he bore the pain well +enough, but he chafed perpetually against the delay; and every morning +he asked the surgeon the same question-- +</p><p> +"When shall I be strong enough to walk about?" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch31"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>CLEMENT AUSTIN MAKES A SACRIFICE.</h5></center> +<p> + +Margaret Wilmot had promised to become the wife of the man she loved; +but she had given that promise very reluctantly, and only upon one +condition. The condition was, that, before her marriage with Clement +Austin took place, the mystery of her father's death should be cleared +up for ever. +</p><p> +"I cannot be your wife so long as the secret of that cruel deed remains +unknown," she said to Clement. "It seems to me as if I have already +been, wickedly neglectful of a solemn duty. Who had my father to love +him and remember him in all the world but me? and who should avenge his +death if I do not? He was an outcast from society; and people think it a +very small thing that, after having led a reckless life, he should die a +cruel death. If Henry Dunbar, the rich banker, had been murdered, the +police would never have rested until the assassin had been discovered. +But who cares what became of Joseph Wilmot, except his daughter? His +death makes no blank in the world: except to me--except to me!" +</p><p> +Clement Austin did not forget his promise to do his uttermost towards +the discovery of the banker's guilt. He believed that Henry Dunbar was +the murderer of his old servant; and he had believed it ever since that +day upon which the banker stole, like a detected thief, out of the house +in St. Gundolph Lane. +</p><p> +It was just possible that Henry Dunbar might avoid Joseph Wilmot's +daughter from a natural horror of the events connected with his return +to England; but that the banker should resort to a cowardly stratagem to +escape from an interview with the girl could scarcely be accounted for, +except by the fact of his guilt. +</p><p> +He had an insurmountable terror of seeing this girl, because he was the +murderer of her father. +</p><p> +The longer Clement Austin deliberated upon this business the more +certainly he came to that one terrible conclusion: Henry Dunbar was +guilty. He would gladly have thought otherwise: and he would have been +very happy had he been able to tell Margaret Wilmot that the mystery of +her father's death was a mystery that would never be solved upon this +earth: but he could not do so; he could only bow his head before the +awful necessity that urged him on to take his part in this drama of +crime--the part of an avenger. +</p><p> +But a cashier in a London bank has very little time to play any part in +life's history, except that quiet <i>rôle</i> which seems chiefly to consist +in locking and unlocking iron safes, peering furtively into mysterious +ledgers, and shovelling about new sovereigns as coolly as if they were +Wallsend or Clay-Cross coals. +</p><p> +Clement Austin's life was not an easy one, and he had no time to turn +amateur detective, even in the service of the woman ha loved. +</p><p> +He had no time to turn amateur detective so long as he remained at the +banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. +</p><p> +But could he remain there? That question arose in his mind, and took a +very serious form. Was it possible to remain in that house when he +believed the principal member of it to be one of the most infamous of +men? +</p><p> +No; it was quite impossible for him to remain in his present situation. +So long as he took a salary from Dunbar, Dunbar and Balderby, he was in +a manner under obligation to Henry Dunbar. He could not remain in this +man's service, and yet at the same time play the spy upon his actions, +and work heart and soul to drag the dreadful secret of his life into the +light of day. +</p><p> +Thus it was that towards the close of the week in which Henry Dunbar, +for the first time after his return from India, visited the +banking-offices, Clement Austin handed a formal notice of resignation to +Mr. Balderby. The cashier could not immediately resign his situation, +but was compelled to give his employers a month's notice of the +withdrawal of his services. +</p><p> +A thunderbolt falling upon the morocco-covered writing-table in Mr. +Balderby's private parlour could scarcely have been more astonishing to +the junior partner than this letter which Clement Austin handed him very +quietly and very respectfully. +</p><p> +There were many reasons why Clement Austin should remain in the +banking-house. His father had lived for thirty years, and had eventually +died, in the employment of Dunbar and Dunbar. He had been a great +favourite with the brothers; and Clement had been admitted into the +house as a boy, and had received much notice from Percival. More than +this, he had every chance of being admitted ere long to a junior +partnership upon very easy terms, which junior partnership would of +course be the high-road to a great fortune. +</p><p> +Mr. Balderby sat with the letter open in his hands, staring at the lines +before him as if he was scarcely able to comprehend their purport. +</p><p> +"Do you <i>mean</i> this, Austin?" he said at last. +</p><p> +"Yes, sir. Circumstances over which I have no control compel me to offer +you my resignation." +</p><p> +"Have you quarrelled with anybody in the office? Has anything occurred +in the house that has made you uncomfortable?" +</p><p> +"No, indeed, Mr. Balderby; I am very comfortable in my position." +</p><p> +The junior partner leaned back in his chair, and stared at the cashier +as if he had been trying to detect the traces of incipient insanity in +the young man's countenance. +</p><p> +"You are comfortable in your position, and yet you--Oh! I suppose the +real truth of the matter is, that you have heard of something better, +and you are ready to give us the go-by in order to improve your own +circumstances?" said Mr. Balderby, with a tone of pique; "though I +really don't see how you can very well be better off anywhere than you +are here," he added, thoughtfully. +</p><p> +"You do me wrong, sir, when you think that I could willingly leave you +for my own advantage," Clement answered, quietly. "I have no better +engagement, nor have I even a prospect of any engagement." +</p><p> +"You haven't!" exclaimed the junior partner; "and yet you throw away +such a chance as only falls to the lot of one man in a thousand! I don't +particularly care about guessing riddles, Mr. Austin; perhaps you'll be +kind enough to tell me frankly why you want to leave us?" +</p><p> +"I regret to say that it is impossible for me to do so, sir," replied +the cashier; "my motive for leaving this house, which is a kind of +second home to me, is no frivolous one, believe me. I have weighed well +the step I am about to take, and I am quite aware that I sacrifice very +excellent prospects in throwing up my present situation. But the reason +of my resignation must remain a secret; for the present at least. If +ever the day comes when I am able to explain my conduct, I believe that +you will give me your hand, and say to me, 'Clement Austin, you only did +your duty.'" +</p><p> +"Clement," said Mr. Balderby, "you are an excellent fellow; but you +certainly must have got some romantic crotchet in your head, or you +could never have thought of writing such a letter as this. Are you going +to be married? Is that your reason for leaving us? Have you fascinated +some wealthy heiress, and are you going to retire into splendid +slavery?" +</p><p> +"No, sir. I am engaged to be married; but the lady whom I hope to call +my wife is poor, and I have every necessity to be a working man for the +rest of my life." +</p><p> +"Well, then, my dear fellow, it's a riddle; and, as I said before, I'm +not good at guessing enigmas. There, my boy; go home and sleep upon +this; and come back to me to-morrow morning, and tell me to throw this +stupid letter in the fire--that's the wisest thing you can do. Good +night." +</p><p> +But, in spite of all that Mr. Balderby could say, Clement Austin +steadily adhered to his resolution. He worked early and late during the +month in which he remained at his post, preparing the ledgers, balancing +accounts, and making things straight and easy for the new cashier. He +told Margaret Wilmot of what he had done, but he did not tell her the +extent of the sacrifice which he had made for her sake. She was the only +person who knew the real motive of his conduct, for to his mother he +said very little more than he had said to Mr. Balderby. +</p><p> +"I shall be able to tell you my motives for leaving the banking-house at +some future time, dear mother," he said; "until that time I can only +entreat you to trust me, and to believe that I have acted for the best." +</p><p> +"I do believe it, my dear," answered the widow, cheerfully; "when did +you ever do anything that wasn't wise and good?" +</p><p> +Her only son, Clement, was the god of this simple woman's idolatry; and +if he had seen fit to turn her out of doors, and ask her to beg by his +side in the streets of the city, I doubt if she would not have imagined +some hidden wisdom lurking at the bottom of his apparently irrational +proceedings. So she made no objection to his abandoning his desk in the +house of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. +</p><p> +"We shall be poorer, I suppose, Clem," Mrs. Austin said; "but that's +very little consequence, for your dear father left me so comfortably off +that I can very well afford to keep house for my only son; and I shall +have you more at home, dear, and that will indeed be happiness." +</p><p> +But Clement told his mother that he had some very important business on +hand just then, which would occupy him a good deal; and indeed the first +step necessary would be a journey to Shorncliffe, in Warwickshire. +</p><p> +"Why, that's where you went to school, Clem!" +</p><p> +"Yes, mother." +</p><p> +"And it's near Mr. Percival Dunbar--or, at least, Mr. Dunbar's country +house." +</p><p> +"Yes, mother," answered Clement. "Now the business in which I am engaged +is--is rather of a difficult nature, and I want legal help. My old +schoolfellow, Arthur Lovell, who is as good a fellow as ever breathed, +has been educated for the law, and is now a solicitor. He lives at +Shorncliffe with his father, John Lovell, who is also a solicitor, and a +man of some standing in the county. I shall run down to Shorncliffe, see +my old friend, and get has advice; and if you'll bring Margaret down for +a few days' change of air, we'll stop at the dear old Reindeer, where +you used to come, mother, when I was at school, and where you used to +give me such jolly dinners in the days when a good dinner was a treat to +a hungry schoolboy." +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin smiled at her son; she smiled tenderly as she remembered his +bright boyhood. Mothers with only sons are not very strong-minded. Had +Clement proposed a trip to the moon, she would scarcely have known how +to refuse him her company on the expedition. +</p><p> +She shivered a little, and looked rather doubtfully from the blazing; +fire which lit up the cozy drawing-room to the cold grey sky outside the +window. +</p><p> +"The beginning of January isn't the pleasantest time in the year for a +trip into the country, Clem, dear," she said; "but I should certainly be +very lonely at home without you. And as to poor Madge, of course it +would be a great treat to her to get away from her pupils and have a +peep at the genuine country, even though there isn't a single leaf upon +the trees. So I suppose I must say yes. But do tell me all about this +business there's a dear good boy." +</p><p> +Unfortunately the dear good boy was obliged to tell his mother that the +business in question was, like his motive for resigning his situation, a +profound secret, and that it must remain so for some time to come. +</p><p> +"Wait, dear mother," he said; "you shall know all about it by-and-by. +Believe me, when I tell you that it's not a very pleasant business," he +added, with a sigh. +</p><p> +"It's not unpleasant for you, I hope, Clement?" +</p><p> +"It isn't pleasant for any one who is concerned in it, mother," answered +the young man, thoughtfully; "it's altogether a miserable business; but +I'm not concerned in it as a principal, you know, dear mother; and when +it's all over we shall only look back upon it as the passing of a black +cloud over our lives, and you will say that I have done my duty. Dearest +mother, don't look so puzzled," added Clement; "this matter <i>must</i> +remain a secret for the present. Only wait, and trust me." +</p><p> +"I will, my dear boy," Mrs. Austin said, presently. "I will trust you +with all my heart; for I know how good you are. But I don't like +secrets, Clem; secrets always make me uncomfortable." +</p><p> +No more was said upon this subject, and it was arranged by-and-by that +Mrs. Austin and Margaret should prepare to start for Warwickshire at the +beginning of the following week, when Clement would be freed from all +engagements to Messrs. Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby. +</p><p> +Margaret had waited very patiently for this time, in which Clement would +be free to give her all his help in that awful task which lay before +her--the discovery of Henry Dunbar's guilt. +</p><p> +"You will go to Shorncliffe with my mother," Clement Austin said, upon +the evening after his conversation with the widow; "you will go with +her, Madge, ostensibly upon a little pleasure trip. Once there, we shall +be able to contrive an interview with Mr. Dunbar. He is a prisoner at +Maudesley Abbey, laid up by the effect of his accident the other day, +but not too ill to see people, Balderby says; therefore I should think +we may be able to plan an interview between you and him. You still hold +to your original purpose? You wish to <i>see</i> Henry Dunbar?" +</p><p> +"Yes," answered Margaret, thoughtfully; "I want to see him. I want to +look straight into the face of the man whom I believe to be my father's +murderer. I don't know why it is, but this purpose has been uppermost in +my mind ever since I heard of that dreadful journey to Winchester; ever +since I first knew that my father had been murdered while travelling +with Henry Dunbar. It might, as you have said, be wiser to watch and +wait, and to avoid all chance of alarming this man. But I can't be wise. +I want to see him. I want to look in his face, and see if his eyes can +meet mine." +</p><p> +"You shall see him then, dear girl. A woman's instinct is sometimes +worth more than a man's wisdom. You shall see Henry Dunbar. I know that +my old schoolfellow Arthur Lovell will help me, with all his heart and +soul. I have called again upon the Scotland-Yard people, and I gave them +a minute description of the scene in St. Gundolph Lane; but they only +shrugged their shoulders, and said the circumstances looked queer, but +were not strong enough to act upon. If any body can help us, Arthur +Lovell can; for he was present at the inquest and all further +examination of the witnesses at Winchester." +</p><p> +If Margaret Wilmot and Clement Austin had been going upon any other +errand than that which took them to Warwickshire, the journey to +Shorncliffe might have been very pleasant to them. +</p><p> +To Margaret, this comfortable journey in the cushioned corner of a +first-class carriage, respectfully waited upon by the man she loved, +possessed at least the charm of novelty. Her journeys hitherto had been +long wearisome pilgrimages in draughty third-class carriages, with noisy +company, and in an atmosphere pervaded by a powerful effluvium of +various kinds of alcohol. +</p><p> +Her life had been a very hard one, darkened by the ever-brooding shadow +of disgrace. It was new to her to sit quietly looking out at the low +meadows and glimmering white-walled villas, the patches of sparse +woodland, the distant villages, the glimpses of rippling water, shining +in the wintry sun. It was new to her to be loved by people whose minds +were unembittered by the baneful memories of wrong and crime. It was new +to her to hear gentle voices, sweet Christian-like words: it was new to +her to breathe the bright atmosphere that surrounds those who lead a +virtuous, God-fearing life. +</p><p> +But there is little sunshine without its attendant shadow. The shadow +upon Margaret's life now was the shadow of that coming task--that +horrible work which must be done--before she could be free to thank God +for His mercies, and to be happy. +</p><p> +The London train reached Shorncliffe early in the afternoon. Clement +Austin hired a roomy old fly, and carried off his companions to the +Reindeer. +</p><p> +The Reindeer was a comfortable old-fashioned hotel. It had been a very +grand place in the coaching-days, and you entered the hostelry by a +broad and ponderous archway, under which Highflyers and Electrics had +driven triumphantly in the days that were for ever gone. +</p><p> +The house was a roomy old place, with long corridors and wide +staircases; noble staircases, with broad, slippery, oaken banisters and +shallow steps. The rooms were grand and big, with bow windows so +spotless in their cleanness that they had rather a cold effect on a +January day, and were apt to inspire in the vulgar mind the fancy that a +little dirt or smoke would look warmer and more comfortable. Certainly, +if the Reindeer had a fault, it was that it was too clean. Everything +was actually slippery with cleanness, from the newly-calendered chintz +that covered the sofa and the chair-cushions to the copper coal-scuttle +that glittered by the side of the dazzling brass fender. There were +faint odours of soft soap in the bed-chambers, which no amount of dried +lavender could overcome. There was an effluvium of vitriol about all the +brass-work, and there was a good deal of brass-work in the Reindeer: and +if one species of decoration is more conducive to shivering than +another, it certainly is brass-work in a state of high polish. +</p><p> +There was no dish ever devised by mortal cook which the sojourner at the +Reindeer could not have, according to the preliminary statement of the +landlord; but with whatever ambitious design the sojourner began to talk +about dinner, it always ended, somehow or other, by his ordering a +chicken, a little bit of boiled bacon, a dish of cutlets, and a tart. +There were days upon which divers species of fish were to be had in +Shorncliffe, but the sojourner at the Reindeer rarely happened to hit +upon one of those days. +</p><p> +Clement Austin installed Margaret and the widow in a sitting-room which +would have comfortably accommodated about forty people. There was a +bow-window quite large enough for the requirements of a small family, +and Mrs. Austin settled herself there, while the landlord was struggling +with a refractory fire, and pretending not to know that the grate was +damp. +</p><p> +Clement went through the usual fiction of deliberation as to what he +should have for dinner, and of course ended with the perennial chicken +and cutlets. +</p><p> +"I haven't the fine appetite I had fifteen years ago, Mr. Gilwood," he +said to the landlord, "when my mother yonder, who hasn't grown fifteen +days older in all those fifteen years,--bless her dear motherly +heart!--used to come down to see me at the academy in the Lisford Road, +and give me a dinner in this dear old room. I thought your cutlets the +most ethereal morsels ever dished by mortal cook, Mr. Gilwood, and this +room the best place in all the world. You know Mr. Lovell--Mr. Arthur +Lovell?" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir; and a very nice young gentleman he is." +</p><p> +"He's settled in Shorncliffe, I suppose?" +</p><p> +"Well, I believe he is, sir. There was some talk of his going out to +India, in a Government appointment, sir, or something of that sort; but +I'm given to understand that it's all off now, and that Mr. Arthur is to +go into partnership with his father; and a very clever young lawyer he +is, I've been told." +</p><p> +"So much the better," answered Clement, "for I want to consult him upon +a little matter of business. Good-bye, mother! Take care of Madge, and +make yourselves as comfortable as you can. I think the fire will burn +now, Mr. Gilwood. I shan't be away above an hour, I dare say; and then +I'll come and take you for a walk before dinner. God bless you, my poor +Madge!" Clement whispered, as Margaret followed him to the door of the +room, and looked wistfully after him as he went down the staircase. +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin had once cherished ambitious views with regard to her son's +matrimonial prospects; but she had freely given them up when she found +that he had set his heart upon winning Margaret Wilmot for his wife. The +good mother had made this sacrifice willingly and without complaint, as +she would have made any other sacrifice for her dearly-beloved only son; +and she found the reward of her devotion; for Margaret, this penniless, +friendless girl, had become very dear to her--a real daughter, not in +law, but bound by the sweet ties of gratitude and affection. +</p><p> +"And I was such a silly old creature, my dear," the widow said to +Margaret, as they sat in the bow-window looking out into the quiet +street; "I was so worldly-minded that I wanted Clement to marry a rich +woman, so that I might have some stuck-up daughter-in-law, who would +despise her husband's mother, and estrange my boy from me, and make my +old age miserable. That's what I wanted, Madge, and what I might have +had, perhaps, if Clem hadn't been wiser than his silly old mother. And, +thanks to him, I've got the sweetest, truest, brightest girl that ever +lived; though you are not as bright as usual to-day, Madge," Mrs. Austin +added, thoughtfully. "You haven't smiled once this morning, my dear, and +you seem as if you'd something on your mind." +</p><p> +"I've been thinking of my poor father," Margaret answered, quietly. +</p><p> +"To be sure, my dear; and I might have known as much, my poor +tender-hearted lamb. I know how unhappy those thoughts always make you." +</p><p> +Clement Austin had not been at Shorncliffe for three years. He had +visited Maudesley Abbey several times during the lifetime of Percival +Dunbar, for he had been a favourite with the old man; and he had been +four years at a boarding-school kept by a clergyman of the Church of +England in a fine old brick mansion on the Lisford Road. +</p><p> +The town of Shorncliffe was therefore familiar to Mr. Austin; and he +looked neither to the right nor to the left as he walked towards the +archway of St. Gwendoline's Church, near which Mr. Lovell's house was +situated. +</p><p> +He found Arthur at home, and very delighted to see his old schoolfellow. +The two young men went into a little panelled room, looting into the +garden, a cosy little room which Arthur Lovell called his study; and +here they sat together for upwards of an hour, discussing the +circumstances of the murder at Winchester, and the conduct of Mr. Dunbar +since that event. +</p><p> +In the course of that interview, Clement Austin plainly perceived that +Arthur Lovell had come to the same conclusion as himself, though the +young lawyer was slow to express his opinion. +</p><p> +"I cannot bear to think it," he said; "I know Laura Dunbar--that is to +say, Lady Jocelyn--and it is too horrible to me to imagine that her +father is guilty of this crime. What would be that innocent girl's +feelings if it should be so, and if her father's guilt should be brought +home to him!" +</p><p> +"Yes, it would be very terrible for Lady Jocelyn, no doubt," Clement +answered; "but that consideration must not hinder the course of justice. +I think this man's position has served him as a shield from the very +first. People have thought it next to impossible that Henry Dunbar could +be guilty of a crime, while they would have been ready enough to suspect +some penniless vagabond of any iniquity." +</p><p> +Arthur Lovell told Clement that the banker was still at Maudesley, bound +a prisoner by his broken leg, which was going on favourably enough, but +very slowly. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar had expressed a wish to go abroad, in spite of his broken +leg, and had only desisted from his design of being conveyed somehow or +other from place to place, when he was told that any such imprudence +might result in permanent lameness. +</p><p> +"Keep yourself quiet, and submit to the necessities of your accident, +and you'll recover quickly," the surgeon told his patient. "Try to hurry +the work of nature, and you'll have cause to repent your impatience for +the remainder of your life." +</p><p> +So Henry Dunbar had been obliged to submit himself to the decrees of +Fate, and to lie day after day, and night after night, upon his bed in +the tapestried chamber, staring at the fire, or the figure of his valet +and attendant; nodding in the easy-chair by the hearth; or listening to +the cinders falling from the grate, and the moaning of the winter wind +amongst the bare branches of the elms. +</p><p> +The banker was getting better and stronger every day, Arthur Lovell +said. His attendants were able to remove him from one chamber to +another; a pair of crutches had been made for him, but he had not yet +been able to make his first feeble trial of them. He was fain to content +himself with being carried to an easy-chair, to sit for a few hours, +wrapped in blankets, with the leopard-skin rug about his legs. No man +could have been more completely a prisoner than this man had become by +the result of the fatal accident near Rugby. +</p><p> +"Providence has thrown him into my power," Margaret said, when Clement +repeated to her the information which he had received from Arthur +Lovell,--"Providence has thrown this man into my power; for he can no +longer escape, and, surrounded by his own servants, he will scarcely +dare to refuse to see me; he will surely never be so unwise as to betray +his terror of me." +</p><p> +"And if he does refuse----" +</p><p> +"If he does, I'll invent some stratagem by which I may see him. But he +will not refuse. When he finds that I am so resolute as to follow him +here, he will not refuse to see me." +</p><p> +This conversation took place during a brief walk which the lovers took +in the wintry dusk, while Mrs. Austin nodded by the fire in that +comfortable half-hour which precedes dinner. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch32"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>WHAT HAPPENED AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY.</h5></center> +<p> + +Early the next day Clement Austin walked to Maudesley Abbey, in order to +procure all the information likely to facilitate Margaret Wilmot's grand +purpose. He stopped at the gate of the principal lodge. The woman who +kept it was an old servant of the Dunbar family, and had known Clement +Austin in Percival Dunbar's lifetime. She gave him a hearty welcome, and +he had no difficulty whatever in setting her tongue in motion upon the +subject of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +She told him a great deal; she told him that the present owner of the +Abbey never had been liked, and never would be liked: for his stern and +gloomy manner was so unlike his father's easy, affable good-nature, that +people were always drawing comparisons between the dead man and the +living. +</p><p> +This, in a few words, is the substance of what the worthy woman said in +a good many words. Mrs. Grumbleton gave Clement all the information he +required as to the banker's daily movements at the present time. Henry +Dunbar was now in the habit of rising about two o'clock in the day, at +which time he was assisted from his bedroom to his sitting-room, where +he remained until seven or eight o'clock in the evening. He had no +visitors, except the surgeon, Mr. Daphney, who lived in the Abbey, and a +gentleman called Vernon, who had bought Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford, +and who now and then was admitted to Mr. Dunbar's sitting-room. +</p><p> +This was all Clement Austin wanted to know. Surely it might be possible, +with a little clever management, to throw the banker completely off his +guard, and to bring about the long-delayed interview between him and +Margaret Wilmot. +</p><p> +Clement returned to the Reindeer, had a brief conversation with +Margaret, and made all arrangements. +</p><p> +At four o'clock that afternoon, Miss Wilmot and her lover left the +Reindeer in a fly; at a quarter to five the fly stopped at the +lodge-gates. +</p><p> +"I will walk to the house," Margaret said; "my coming will attract less +notice. But I may be detained for some time, Clement. Pray, don't wait +for me. Your dear mother will be alarmed if you are very long absent. Go +back to her, and send the fly for me by-and-by." +</p><p> +"Nonsense, Madge. I shall wait for you, however long you may be. Do you +think my heart is not as much engaged in anything that may influence +your fate as even your own can be? I won't go with you to the Abbey; for +it will be as well that Henry Dunbar should remain in ignorance of my +presence in the neighbourhood. I will walk up and down the road here, +and wait for you." +</p><p> +"But you may have to wait so long, Clement." +</p><p> +"No matter how long. I can wait patiently, but I could not endure to go +home and leave you, Madge." +</p><p> +They were standing before the great iron gates as Clement said this. He +pressed Margaret's cold hand; he could feel how cold it was, even +through her glove; and then rang the bell. She looked at him as the gate +was opened; she turned and looked at him with a strangely earnest gaze +as she crossed the boundary of Henry Dunbar's domain, and then walked +slowly along the broad avenue. +</p><p> +That last look had shown Clement Austin a pale resolute face, something +like the countenance of a fair young martyr going quietly to the stake. +</p><p> +He walked away from the gates, and they shut behind him with a loud +clanging noise. Then he went back to them, and watched Margaret's figure +growing dim and distant in the gathering dusk as she approached the +Abbey. A faint glow of crimson firelight reddened the gravel-drive +before the windows of Mr. Dunbar's apartments, and there was a footman +airing himself under the shadow of the porch, with a glimmer of light +shining out of the hall behind him. +</p><p> +"I do not suppose I shall have to wait very long for my poor girl," +Clement thought, as he left the gates, and walked briskly up and down +the road. "Henry Dunbar is a resolute man; he will refuse to see her +to-day, as he refused before." +</p><p> +Margaret found the footman lolling against the clustered pillars of the +gothic porch, staring thoughtfully at the low evening light, yellow and +red behind the brown trunks of the elms, and picking his teeth with a +gold toothpick. +</p><p> +The sight of the open hall-door, and this languid footman lolling in the +porch, suddenly inspired Margaret Wilmot with a new idea. Would it not +be possible to slip quietly past this man, and walk straight to the +apartments of Mr. Dunbar, unquestioned, uninterrupted? +</p><p> +Clement had pointed out to her the windows of the rooms occupied by the +banker. They were on the left-hand side of the entrance-hall. It would +be impossible for her to mistake the door leading to them. It was dusk, +and she was very plainly dressed, with a black straw bonnet, and a veil +over her face. Surely she might deceive this languid footman by +affecting to be some hanger-on of the household, which of course was a +large one. +</p><p> +In that case she had no right to present herself at the front door, +certainly; but then, before the languid footman could recover from the +first shock of indignation at her impertinence, she might slip past him +and reach the door leading to those apartments in which the banker hid +himself and his guilt. +</p><p> +Margaret lingered a little in the avenue, watching for a favourable +opportunity in which she might hazard this attempt. She waited five +minutes or so. +</p><p> +The curve of the avenue screened her, in some wise, from the man in the +porch, who never happened to roll his languid eyes towards the spot +where she was standing. +</p><p> +A flight of rooks came scudding through the sky presently, very much +excited, and cawing and screeching as if they had been an ornithological +fire brigade hurrying to extinguish the flames of some distant rookery. +</p><p> +The footman, who was suffering acutely from the complaint of not knowing +what to do with himself, came out of the porch and stood in the middle +of the gravelled drive, with his back towards Margaret, staring at the +birds as they flew westward. +</p><p> +This was her opportunity. The girl hurried to the door with a light +step, so light upon the smooth solid gravel that the footman heard +nothing until she was on the broad stone step under the porch, when the +fluttering of her skirt, as it brushed against the pillars, roused him +from a species of trance or reverie. +</p><p> +He turned sharply round, as upon a pivot, and stared aghast at the +retreating figure under the porch. +</p><p> +"Hi, you there, young woman!" he exclaimed, without stirring from his +post; "where are you going to? What's the meaning of your coming to this +door? Are you aware that there's such a place as a servants' 'all and a +servants' hentrance?" +</p><p> +But the languid retainer was too late. Margaret's hand was upon the +massive knob of the door upon the left side of the hall before the +footman had put this last indignant question. +</p><p> +He listened for an apologetic murmur from the young woman; but hearing +none, concluded that she had found her way to the servants' hall, where +she had most likely some business or other with one of the female +members of the household. +</p><p> +"A dressmaker, I dessay," the footman thought. "Those gals spend all +their earnings in finery and fallals, instead of behaving like +respectable young women, and saving up their money against they can go +into the public line with the man of their choice." +</p><p> +He yawned, and went on staring at the rooks, without troubling himself +any further about the impertinent young person who had dared to present +herself at the grand entrance. +</p><p> +Margaret opened the door, and went into the room next the hall. +</p><p> +It was a handsome apartment, lined with books from the floor to the +ceiling; but it was quite empty, and there was no fire burning in the +grate. The girl put up her veil, and looked about her. She was very, +very pale now, and trembled violently; but she controlled her agitation +by a great effort, and went slowly on to the next room. +</p><p> +The second room was empty like the first; but the door between it and +the next chamber was wide open, and Margaret saw the firelight shining +upon the faded tapestry, and reflected in the sombre depths of the +polished oak furniture. She heard the low sound of the light ashes +falling on the hearth, and the shorting breath of a dog. +</p><p> +She knew that the man she sought, and had so long sought without avail, +was in that room. Alone; for there was no murmur of voices, no sound of +any one moving in the apartment. That hour, to which Margaret Wilmot had +looked as the great crisis of her life, had come; and her courage failed +her all at once, and her heart sank in her breast on the very threshold +of the chamber in which she was to stand face to face with Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"The murderer of my father!" she thought; "the man whose influence +blighted my father's life, and made him what he was. The man through +whose reckless sin my father lived a life that left him, oh! how sadly +unprepared to die! The man who, knowing this, sent his victim before an +offended God, without so much warning as would have given him time to +think one prayer. I am going to meet <i>that</i> man face to face!" +</p><p> +Her breath came in faint gasps, and the firelit chamber swam before her +eyes as she crossed the threshold of that door, and went into the room +where Henry Dunbar was sitting alone before the low fire. +</p><p> +He was wrapped in crimson draperies of thick woollen stuff, and the +leopard-skin railway rug was muffled about his knees A dog of the +bull-dog breed was lying asleep at the banker's feet, half-hidden in the +folds of the leopard-skin. Henry Dunbar's head was bent over the fire, +and his eyes were closed in a kind of dozing sleep, as Margaret Wilmot +went into the room. +</p><p> +There was an empty chair opposite to that in which the banker sat; an +old-fashioned, carved oak-chair, with a high back and crimson-morocco +cushions. Margaret went softly up to this chair, and laid her hand upon +the oaken framework. Her footsteps made no sound on the thick Turkey +carpet; the banker never stirred from his doze, and even the dog at his +feet slept on. +</p><p> +"Mr. Dunbar!" cried Margaret, in a clear, resolute voice; "awake! it is +I, Margaret Wilmot, the daughter of the man who was murdered in the +grove near Winchester!" +</p><p> +The dog awoke, and snapped at her. The man lifted his head, and looked +at her. Even the fire seemed roused by the sound of her voice! for a +little jet of vivid light leaped up out of the smouldering log, and +lighted the scared face of the banker. +</p><p> +Clement Austin had promised Margaret to wait for her, and to wait +patiently; and he meant to keep his promise. But there are some limits +even to the patience of a lover, though he were the veriest +knight-errant who was ever eager to shiver a lance or hack the edge of a +battle-axe for love of his liege lady. When you have nothing to do but +to walk up and down a few yards of hard dusty high-road, upon a bleak +evening in January, an hour more or less is of considerable importance. +Five o'clock struck about ten minutes after Margaret Wilmot had entered +the park, and Clement thought to himself that even if Margaret were +successful in obtaining an interview with the banker, that interview +would be over before six. But the faint strokes of Lisford-church clock +died away upon the cold evening wind, and Clement was still pacing up +and down, and the fly was still waiting; the horse comfortable enough, +with a rug upon his back and his nose in a bag of oats; the man walking +up and down by the side of the vehicle, slapping his gloved hands across +his shoulders every now and then to keep himself warm. In that long hour +between six and seven, Clement Austin's patience wore itself almost +threadbare. It is one thing to ride into the lists on a prancing steed, +caparisoned with embroidered trappings, worked by the fair hands of your +lady-love, and with the trumpets braying, and the populace shouting, and +the Queen of beauty smiling sweet approval of your prowess: but it is +quite another thing to walk up and down a dusty country road, with the +wind biting like some ravenous animal at the tip of your nose, and no +more consciousness of your legs and arms than if you were a Miss Biffin. +</p><p> +By the time seven o'clock struck, Clement Austin's patience had given up +the ghost; and to impatience had succeeded a vague sense of alarm. +Margaret Wilmot had gone to force herself into this man's presence, in +spite of his reiterated refusal to see her. What if--what if, goaded by +her persistence, maddened by the consciousness of his own guilt, he +should attempt any violence. +</p><p> +Oh, no, no; that was quite impossible. If this man was guilty, his crime +had been deliberately planned, and executed with such a diabolical +cunning, that he had been able so far to escape detection. In his own +house, surrounded by prying servants, he would never dare to assail this +girl by so much as a harsh word. +</p><p> +But, notwithstanding this, Clement was determined to wait no longer. He +would go to the Abbey at once, and ascertain the cause of Margaret's +delay. He rang the bell, went into the park, and ran along the avenue to +the perch. Lights were shining in Mr. Dunbar's windows, but the great +hall-door was closely shut. +</p><p> +The languid footman came in answer to Clement's summons. +</p><p> +"There is a young lady here," Clement said, breathlessly; "a young +lady--with Mr. Dunbar." +</p><p> +"Ho! is that hall?" asked the footman, satirically. "I thought +Shorncliffe town-'all was a-fire, at the very least, from the way you +rung. There <i>was</i> a young pusson with Mr. Dunbar above a hour ago, if +<i>that's</i> what you mean?" +</p><p> +"Above an hour ago?" cried Clement Austin, heedless of the man's +impertinence in his own growing anxiety; "do you mean to say that the +young lady has left?" +</p><p> +"She <i>have</i> left, above a hour ago." +</p><p> +"She went away from this house an hour ago?" +</p><p> +"More than a hour ago." +</p><p> +"Impossible!" Clement said; "impossible!" +</p><p> +"It may be so," answered the footman, who was of an ironical turn of +mind; "but I let her out with my own hands, and I saw her go out with my +own eyes, notwithstanding." +</p><p> +The man shut the door before Clement had recovered from his surprise, +and left him standing in the porch; bewildered, though he scarcely knew +why; frightened, though he scarcely knew what he feared. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch33"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>MARGARET'S RETURN.</h5></center> +<p> + +For some minutes Clement Austin lingered in the porch at Maudesley +Abbey, utterly at a loss as to what he should do next. +</p><p> +Margaret had left the Abbey an hour ago, according to the footman's +statement; but, in that case, where had she gone? Clement had been +walking up and down the road before the iron gates of the park, and they +had not been opened once during the hours in which he had waited outside +them. Margaret could not have left the park, therefore, by the principal +entrance. If she had gone away at all, she must have gone out by one of +the smaller gates--by the lodge-gate upon the Lisford Road, perhaps, and +thus back to Shorncliffe. +</p><p> +"But then, why, in Heaven's name, had Margaret set out to walk home when +the fly was waiting for her at the gates; when her lover was also +waiting for her, full of anxiety to know the result of the step she had +taken? +</p><p> +"She forgot that I was waiting for her, perhaps," Clement thought to +himself. "She may have forgotten all about me, in the fearful excitement +of this night's work." +</p><p> +The young man was by no means pleased by this idea. +</p><p> +"Margaret can love me very little, in that case," he said to himself. +"My first thought, in any great crisis of my life, would be to go to +her, and tell her all that had happened to me." +</p><p> +There were no less than four different means of exit from the park. +Clement Austin knew this, and he knew that it would take him upwards of +two hours to go to all four of them. +</p><p> +"I'll make inquiries at the gate upon the Lisford Road," he said to +himself; "and if I find Margaret has left by that way, I can get the fly +round there, and pick her up between this and Shorncliffe. Poor girl, in +her ignorance of this neighbourhood, she has no idea of the distance she +will have to walk!" +</p><p> +Mr. Austin could not help feeling vexed by Margaret's conduct; but he +did all he could to save the girl from the fatigue she was likely to +entail upon herself through her own folly. He ran to the lodge upon the +Lisford Road, and asked the woman who kept it, if a lady had gone out +about an hour before. +</p><p> +The woman told him that a young lady had gone out an hour and a half +before. +</p><p> +This was enough. Clement ran across the park to the western entrance, +got into the fly, and told the man to drive back to Shorncliffe, by the +Lisford Road, as fast as he could go, and to look out on the way for the +young lady whom he had driven to Maudesley Abbey that afternoon. +</p><p> +"You watch the left side of the road, I'll watch the right," Clement +said. +</p><p> +The driver was cold and cross, but he was anxious to get back to +Shorncliffe, and he drove very fast. +</p><p> +Clement sat with the window down, and the frosty wind blowing full upon +his face as he looted out for Margaret. +</p><p> +But he reached Shorncliffe without having overtaken her, and the fly +crawled under the ponderous archway beneath which the dashing +mail-coaches had rolled in the days that were for ever gone. +</p><p> +"She must have got home before me," the cashier thought; "I shall find +her up-stairs with my mother." +</p><p> +He went up to the large room with the bow-window. The table in the +centre of the room was laid for dinner, and Mrs. Austin was nodding in a +great arm-chair near the fire, with the county newspaper in her lap. The +wax-candles were lighted, the crimson curtains were drawn before the +bow-window, and the room looked altogether very comfortable: but there +was no Margaret. +</p><p> +The widow started up at the sound of the opening of the door and her +son's hurried footsteps. +</p><p> +"Why, Clement," she cried, "how late you are! I seem to have been +sitting dozing here for full two hours; and the fire has been +replenished three times since the cloth was laid for dinner. What have +you been doing, my dear boy?" +</p><p> +Clement looked about him before he answered. +</p><p> +"Yes, I am very late, mother, I know," he said; "but where's Margaret?" +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin stared aghast at her son's question. +</p><p> +"Why, Margaret is with you, is she not?" she exclaimed. +</p><p> +"No, mother; I expected to find her here." +</p><p> +"Did you leave her, then?" +</p><p> +"No, not exactly; that is to say, I----" +</p><p> +Clement did not finish the sentence. He walked slowly up and down the +room thinking, whilst his mother watched him very anxiously. +</p><p> +"My dear Clement," Mrs. Austin exclaimed at last, "you really quite +alarm me. You set out this afternoon upon some mysterious expedition +with Margaret; and though I ask you both where you are going, you both +refuse to satisfy my very natural curiosity, and look as solemn as if +you were about to attend a funeral. Then, after ordering dinner for +seven o'clock, you keep it waiting nearly two hours; and you come in +without Margaret, and seem alarmed at not seeing net here. What does it +all mean, Clement?" +</p><p> +"I cannot tell you, mother." +</p><p> +"What! is this business of to-day, then, a part of your secret?" +</p><p> +"It is," answered the cashier. "I can only say again what I said before, +mother--trust me!" +</p><p> +The widow sighed, and shrugged her shoulders with a deprecating gesture. +</p><p> +"I suppose I <i>must</i> be satisfied, Clem," she said. "But this is the +first time there's ever been anything like a mystery between you and +me." +</p><p> +"It is, mother; and I hope it may be the last." +</p><p> +The elderly waiter, who remembered the coaching days, and pretended to +believe that the Reindeer was not an institution of the past, came in +presently with the first course. +</p><p> +It happened to be one of those days on which fish was to be had in +Shorncliffe; and the first course consisted of a pair of very small +soles and a large cruet-stand. The waiter removed the cover with as +lofty a flourish as if the small soles had been the noblest turbot that +ever made the glory of an aldermannic feast. +</p><p> +Clement seated himself at the dinner-table, in deference to his mother, +and went through the ceremony of dinner; but he scarcely ate half a +dozen mouthfuls. His ears were strained to hear the sound of Margaret's +footstep in the corridor without; and he rejected the waiter's +fish-sauces in a manner that almost wounded the feelings of that +functionary. His mind was racked by anxiety about the missing girl. +</p><p> +Had he passed her on the road? No, that was very improbable; for he had +kept so sharp a watch upon the lonely highway that it was more than +unlikely the familiar figure of her whom he looked for could have +escaped his eager eyes. Had Mr. Dunbar detained her at Maudesley Abbey +against her will? No, no, that was quite impossible; for the footman had +distinctly declared that he had seen his master's visitor leave the +house; and the footman's manner had been innocence itself. +</p><p> +The dinner-table was cleared by-and-by, and Mrs. Austin produced some +coloured wools, and a pair of ivory knitting-needles, and set to work +very quietly by the light of the tall wax-candles; but even she was +beginning to be uneasy at the absence of hot son's betrothed wife. +</p><p> +"My dear Clement," she said at last, "I'm really growing quite uneasy +about Madge. How is it that you left her?" +</p><p> +Clement did not answer this question; but he got up and took his hat +from a side-table near the door. +</p><p> +"I'm uneasy about her absence too, mother," he said, "I'll go and look +for her." +</p><p> +He was leaving the room, but his mother called to him. +</p><p> +"Clement!" she cried, "you surely won't go out without your +greatcoat--upon such a bitter night as this, too!" +</p><p> +But Mr. Austin did not stop to listen to his mother's remonstrance; he +hurried out into the corridor, and shut the door of the room behind him. +He wanted to run away and look for Margaret, though he did not know how +or where to seek for her. Quiescence had become intolerable to him. It +was utterly impossible that he should sit calmly by the fire, waiting +for the coming of the girl he loved. +</p><p> +He was hurrying along the corridor, but he stopped abruptly, for a +well-known figure appeared upon the broad landing at the top of the +stairs. There was an archway at the end of the corridor, and a lamp hung +under the archway. By the light of this lamp, Clement Austin saw +Margaret Wilmot coming towards him slowly: as if she dragged herself +along by a painful effort, and would have been well content to sink upon +the carpeted floor and lie there helpless and inert. +</p><p> +Clement ran to meet her, with his face lighted up by that intense +delight which a man feels when some intolerable fear is suddenly lifted +off his mind. +</p><p> +"Margaret!" he cried; "thank God you have returned! Oh, my dear, if you +only knew what misery your conduct has caused me!" +</p><p> +He held out his arms, but, to his unutterable surprise, the girl +recoiled from him. She recoiled from him with a look of horror, and +shrank against the wall, as if her chief desire was to avoid the +slightest contact with her lover. +</p><p> +Clement was startled by the blank whiteness of her face, the fixed stare +of her dilated eyes. The January wind had blown her hair about her +forehead in loose disordered tresses; her shawl and dress were wet with +melted snow; but the cashier scarcely looked at these. He only saw her +face; his gaze was fascinated by the girl's awful pallor, and the +strange expression of her eyes. +</p><p> +"My darling," he said, "come into the parlour. My mother has been almost +as much alarmed as I have been. Come, Margaret; my poor girl, I can see +that this interview has been too much for you. Come, dear." +</p><p> +Once more he approached her, and again she shrank away from him, +dragging herself along against the wall, and with her eyes still fixed +in the same deathlike stare. +</p><p> +"Don't speak to me, Clement Austin," she cried; "don't approach me. +There is contamination in me. I am no fit associate for an honest man. +Don't come near me." +</p><p> +He would have gone to her, to clasp her in his arms, and comfort her +with soothing, tender words; but there was something in her eyes that +held him at bay, as if he had been rooted to the spot on which he stood. +</p><p> +"Margaret!" he cried. +</p><p> +He followed her, but she still recoiled from him, and, as he held out +his hand to grasp her wrist, she slipped by him suddenly, and rushed +away towards the other end of the corridor. +</p><p> +Clement followed her; but she opened a door at the end of the passage, +and went into Mrs. Austin's room. The cashier heard the key turned +hurriedly in the lock, and he knew that Margaret Wilmot had locked +herself in. The room in which she slept was inside that occupied by Mrs. +Austin. +</p><p> +Clement stood for some moments almost paralyzed by what had happened. +Had he done wrong in seeking to bring about this interview between +Margaret Wilmot and Henry Dunbar? He began to think that he had been +most culpable. This impulsive and sensitive girl had seen her father's +assassin: and the horror of the meeting had been too much for her +impressionable nature, and had produced, for the time at least, a +fearful effect upon her over-wrought brain. +</p><p> +"I must appeal to my mother," Clement thought; "she alone can give me +any help in this business." +</p><p> +He hurried back to the sitting-room, and found his mother still watching +the rapid movements of her ivory knitting-needles. The Reindeer was a +well-built house, solid and old-fashioned, and listeners lurking in the +long passages had small chance of reaping much reward for their pains +unless they found a friendly keyhole. +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin looked up with an expression of surprise as her son +re-entered the room. +</p><p> +"I thought you had gone to look for Margaret," she said. +</p><p> +"There was no occasion to do so, mother; she has returned." +</p><p> +"Thank Heaven for that! I have been quite alarmed by her strange +absence." +</p><p> +"So have I, mother; but I am still more alarmed by her manner, now that +she has returned. I asked you just now to trust me, mother," said +Clement, very gravely. "It is my turn now to confide in you. The +business in which Margaret has been engaged this evening was of a most +painful nature--so painful that I am scarcely surprised by the effect +that it has produced on her sensitive mind. I want you to go to her, +mother. I want you to comfort my poor girl. She has locked herself in +her own room; but she will admit you, no doubt. Go to her, dear mother, +and try and quiet her excitement, while I go for a medical man." +</p><p> +"You think she is ill, then, Clement?" +</p><p> +"I don't know that, mother; but such violent emotion as she has +evidently endured might produce brain-fever. I'll go and look for a +doctor." +</p><p> +Clement hurried down to the hall of the hotel, while his mother went to +seek Margaret. He found the landlord, who directed him to the favourite +Shorncliffe medical man. +</p><p> +Luckily, Mr. Vincent, the surgeon, was at home. He received Clement very +cordially, put on his hat without five minutes delay, and accompanied +Margaret's lover back to the Reindeer. +</p><p> +"It is a case of mental excitement," Clement said. "There may be no +necessity for medical treatment; but I shall feel more comfortable when +you have seen this poor girl." +</p><p> +Clement conducted Mr. Vincent to the sitting-room, which was empty. +</p><p> +"I'll go and see how Miss Wilmot is now," the cashier said. The doctor +gave a scarcely perceptible start as he heard that name of Wilmot. The +murder of Joseph Wilmot had formed the subject of many a long discussion +amongst the towns-people at Shorncliffe, and the familiar name struck +the surgeon's ear. +</p><p> +"But what of that?" thought Mr. Vincent. "The name is not such a very +uncommon one." +</p><p> +Clement went to his mother's room and knocked softly at the door. The +widow came out to him presently. +</p><p> +"How is she now?" Clement asked. +</p><p> +"I can scarcely tell you. Her manner frightens me. She is lying on her +bed as motionless as if she were a corpse, and with her eyes fixed upon +the blank wall opposite to her. When I speak to her, she does not answer +me by so much as a look; but if I go near her she shivers, and gives a +long shuddering sigh. What does it all mean, Clement?" +</p><p> +"Heaven knows, mother. I can only tell you that she has gone through a +meeting which was certainly calculated to have considerable effect upon +her mind. But I had no idea that the effect would be anything like this. +Can the doctor come?" +</p><p> +"Yes; he had better come at once." +</p><p> +Clement returned to the sitting-room, and remained there while Mr. +Vincent went to see Margaret. To Poor Clement it seemed as if the +surgeon was absent nearly an hour, so intolerable was the anguish of +that interval of suspense. +</p><p> +At last, however, the creaking footstep of the medical man sounded in +the corridor. Clement hurried to the door to meet him. +</p><p> +"Well!" he cried, eagerly. +</p><p> +Mr. Vincent shook his head. +</p><p> +"It is a case in which my services can be of very little avail," he +said; "the young lady is suffering from some mental uneasiness, which +she refuses to communicate to her friends. If you could get her to talk +to you, she would no doubt be very much benefited. If she were an +ordinary person, she would cry, and the relief of tears would have a +most advantageous effect upon her mind. Our patient is by no means an +ordinary person She has a very strong will." +</p><p> +"Margaret has a strong will!" exclaimed Clement, with a look of +surprise; "why, she is gentleness itself." +</p><p> +"Very likely; but she has a will of iron, nevertheless. I implored her +to speak to me just now; the tone of her voice would have helped to some +slight diagnosis of her state; but I might as well have implored a +statue. She only shook her head slowly, and she never once looked at me. +However, I will send her a sedative draught, which had better be taken +immediately, and I'll look round in the morning." +</p><p> +Mr. Vincent left the Reindeer, and Clement went to his mother's room. +That loving mother was ready to sympathize with every trouble that +affected her only son. She came out of Margaret's room and went to meet +Clement. +</p><p> +"Is she still the same, mother?" he asked. +</p><p> +"Yes, quite the same. Would you like to see her?" +</p><p> +"Very much." +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin and her son went into the adjoining chamber. Margaret was +lying, dressed in the damp, draggled gown which she had worn that +afternoon, upon the outside of the bed. The dull stony look of her face +filled Clement's mind with an awful terror. He began to fear that she +was going mad. +</p><p> +He sat down upon a chair close by the bed, and watched her for some +moments in silence, while his mother stood by, scarcely less anxious +than himself. +</p><p> +Margaret's arm hung loosely by her side as lifeless in its attitude as +if it had belonged to the dead. Clement took the slender hand in his. +Lie had expected to find it dry and burning with feverish heat; but, to +his surprise, it was cold as ice. +</p><p> +"Margaret," he said, in a low earnest voice, "you know how dearly I have +loved and do love you; you know how entirely my happiness depends upon +yours; surely, my dear one, you will not refuse--you cannot be so cruel +as to keep your sorrow a secret from him who has so good a right to +share it? Speak to me, my darling. Remember what suffering you are +inflicting upon me by this cruel silence." +</p><p> +At last the hazel eyes lost their fixed look, and wandered for a moment +to Clement Austin's face. +</p><p> +"Have pity upon me," the girl said, in a hoarse unnatural voice; "have +compassion upon me, for I need man's mercy as well as the mercy of God. +Have some pity upon me, Clement Austin, and leave me; I will talk to you +to-morrow." +</p><p> +"You will tell me all that has happened?" +</p><p> +"I will talk to you to-morrow," answered Margaret, looking at her lover +with a white, inflexible face; "but leave me now; leave me, or I will +run out of this room, and away from this house. I shall go mad if I am +not left alone!" +</p><p> +Clement Austin rose from his seat near the bedside. +</p><p> +"I am going, Margaret," he said, in a tone of wounded feeling; "but I +leave you with a heavy heart. I did not think there would ever come a +time in which you would reject my sympathy." +</p><p> +"I will talk to you to-morrow," Margaret said, for the second time. +</p><p> +She spoke in a strange mechanical way, as if this had been a set speech +which she had arranged for herself. +</p><p> +Clement stood looking at her for some little time; but there was no +change either in her face or attitude, and the young man went slowly and +sorrowfully from the room. +</p><p> +"I leave her in your hands, mother," he said. "I know how tender and +true a friend she has in you; I leave her in your care, under +Providence. May Heaven have pity upon her and me!" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch34"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>FAREWELL.</h5></center> +<p> + +Margaret submitted to take the sedative draught sent by the medical man. +She submitted, at Mrs. Austin's request; but it seemed as if she +scarcely understood why the medicine was offered to her. She was like a +sleep-walker, whose brain is peopled by the creatures of a dream, and +who has no consciousness of the substantial realities that surround him. +</p><p> +The draught Mr. Vincent had spoken of as a sedative turned out to be a +very powerful opiate, and Margaret sank into a profound slumber about a +quarter of an hour after taking the medicine. +</p><p> +Mrs. Austin went to Clement to carry him these good tidings. +</p><p> +"I shall sit up two or three hours, and see how the poor girl goes on, +Clement," the widow said; "but I hope you'll go to bed; I know all this +excitement has worn you out." +</p><p> +"No, mother; I feel no sense of fatigue." +</p><p> +"But you will try to get some rest, to please me? See, dear boy, it's +already nearly twelve o'clock." +</p><p> +"Yes, if you wish it, mother, I'll go to my room," Mr. Austin answered, +quickly. +</p><p> +His room was near those occupied by his mother and Margaret, much nearer +than the sitting-room. He bade Mrs. Austin good night and left her; but +he had no thought of going to bed, or even trying to sleep. He went to +his own room, and walked up and down; going out into the corridor every +now and then, to listen at the door of his mother's chamber. +</p><p> +He heard nothing. Some time between two and three o'clock Mrs. Austin +opened the door of her room, and found her son lingering in the +corridor. +</p><p> +"Is she still asleep, mother?" he asked. +</p><p> +"Yes, and she is sleeping very calmly. I am going to bed now; pray try +to get some sleep yourself, Clem." +</p><p> +"I will, mother." +</p><p> +Clement returned to his room. He was thankful, as he thought that sleep +would bring tranquillity and relief to Margaret's overwrought brain. He +went to bed and fell asleep, for he was exhausted by the fatigue of the +day and the anxiety of the night. Poor Clement fell asleep, and dreamt +that he met Margaret Wilmot by moonlight in the park around Maudesley +Abbey, walking with a DEAD MAN, whose face was strange to him. This was +the last of many dreams, all more or less grotesque or horrible, but +none so vivid or distinct as this. The end of the vision woke Clement +with a sudden shock, and he opened his eyes upon the cold morning light, +which seemed especially cold in this chamber at the Reindeer, where the +paper on the walls was of the palest grey, and every curtain or drapery +of a spotless white. +</p><p> +Clement lost no time over his toilet. He looked at his watch while +dressing, and found that it was between seven and eight. It wanted a +quarter to eight when he left his room, and went to his mother's door to +inquire about Margaret. He knocked softly, but there was no answer; then +he tried the door, and finding it unlocked, opened it a few inches with +a cautious hand, and listened to his mother's regular breathing. +</p><p> +"She is asleep, poor soul," he thought. "I won't disturb her, for she +must want rest after sitting up half last night." +</p><p> +Clement closed the door as noiselessly as he had opened it, and then +went slowly to the sitting-room. There was a struggling fire in the +shining grate; and the indefatigable waiter, who refused to believe in +the extinction of mail-coaches, had laid the breakfast +apparatus--frosty-looking white-and-blue cups and saucers on a snowy +cloth, a cut-glass cream-jug that looked as if it had been made out of +ice, and a brazen urn in the last stage of polish. The breakfast service +was harmoniously adapted to the season, and eminently calculated to +produce a fit of shivering in the sojourner at the Reindeer. +</p><p> +But Clement Austin did not bestow so much as one glance upon the +breakfast-table. He hurried to the bow-window, where Margaret Wilmot was +sitting, neatly dressed in her morning garments, with her shawl on, and +her bonnet lying on a chair near her. +</p><p> +"Margaret!" exclaimed Clement, as he approached the place where Joseph +Wilmot's daughter was sitting; "my dear Margaret, why did you get up so +early this morning, when you so much need rest?" +</p><p> +The girl rose and looked at her lover with a grave and quiet earnestness +of expression; but her face was quite as colourless as it had been upon +the previous night, and her lips trembled a little as she spoke to +Clement. +</p><p> +"I have had sufficient rest," she said, in a low, tremulous voice; "I +got up early because--because--I am going away." +</p><p> +Her two hands had been hanging loosely amongst the fringes of her shawl; +she lifted them now, and linked her fingers together with a convulsive +motion; but she never withdrew her eyes from Clement's face, and her +glance never faltered as she looked at him. +</p><p> +"Going away, Margaret?" the cashier cried; "going away--to-day--this +morning?" +</p><p> +"Yes, by the half-past nine o'clock train." +</p><p> +"Margaret, you must be mad to talk of such a thing." +</p><p> +"No," the girl answered, slowly; "that is the strangest thing of all--I +am not mad. I am going away, Clement--Mr. Austin. I wished to avoid +seeing you. I meant to have written to you to tell you----" +</p><p> +"To tell me what, Margaret?" asked Clement. "Is it I who am going mad; +or am I dreaming all this?" +</p><p> +"It is no dream, Mr. Austin. My letter would have only told you the +truth. I am going away from here because I can never be your wife." +</p><p> +"You can never be my wife! Why not, Margaret?" +</p><p> +"I cannot tell you the reason." +</p><p> +"But you <i>shall</i> tell me, Margaret!" cried Clement, passionately. "I +will accept no sentence such as this until I know the reason for +pronouncing it; I will suffer no imaginary barrier to stand between you +and me. There is some mystery, some mystification in all this, Margaret; +some woman's fancy, which a few words of explanation would set at rest. +Margaret, my pearl! do you think I will consent to lose you so lightly? +My own dear love! do you know me so little as to think that I will part +with you? My love is a stronger passion than you think, Madge; and the +bondage you accepted when you promised to be my wife is a bondage that +cannot so easily be shaken off!" +</p><p> +Margaret watched her lover's face with melancholy, tearless eyes. +</p><p> +"Fate is stronger than love, Clement," she said, mournfully, "I can +never be your wife!" +</p><p> +"Why not?" +</p><p> +"For a reason which you can never know." +</p><p> +"Margaret, I will not submit----" +</p><p> +"You must submit," the girl said, holding up her hand, as if to stop her +lover's passionate words. "You must submit, Clement. This world seems +very hard sometimes, so hard that in a dreadful interval of dull despair +the heavens are hidden from us, and we cannot recognize the Eternal +wisdom guiding the hand that afflicts us. My life seems very hard to me +to-day, Clement. Do not try to make it harder. I am a most unhappy +woman; and in all the world there is only one favour you can grant me. +Let me go away unquestioned; and blot my image from your heart for ever +when I am gone." +</p><p> +"I will never consent to let you go," Clement Austin answered, +resolutely. "You are mine by right of your own most sacred promise, +Margaret. No womanish folly shall part us." +</p><p> +"Heaven knows it is no woman's folly that parts us, Clement," the girl +answered, in a plaintive, tremulous voice. +</p><p> +"What is it, then, Margaret?" +</p><p> +"I can never tell you." +</p><p> +"You will change your mind." +</p><p> +"Never." +</p><p> +She looked at him with an air of quiet resolution stamped upon her +colourless face. +</p><p> +Clement remembered what the doctor had said of his patient's iron will. +Was it possible that Mr. Vincent had been right? Was this gentle girl's +resolution to overrule a strong man's passionate vehemence? +</p><p> +"What is it that can part us, Margaret?" Mr. Austin cried. "What is it? +You saw Mr. Dunbar yesterday?" +</p><p> +The girl shuddered, and over her colourless face there came a livid +shade, which was more deathlike than the marble whiteness that had +preceded it. +</p><p> +"Yes," Margaret Wilmot said, after a pause. "I was--very fortunate. I +gained admission to--Mr. Dunbar's rooms." +</p><p> +"And you spoke to him?" +</p><p> +"Yes." +</p><p> +"Did your interview with him confirm or dissipate your suspicions? Do +you still believe that Henry Dunbar murdered your unhappy father?" +</p><p> +"No," answered Margaret, resolutely; "I do not." +</p><p> +"You do not? The banker's manner convinced you of his innocence, then?" +</p><p> +"I do not believe that Henry Dunbar murdered my--my unhappy father." +</p><p> +It is impossible to describe the tone of anguish with which Margaret +spoke those last three words. +</p><p> +"But something transpired in that interview at Maudesley Abbey, +Margaret? Henry Dunbar told you something--perhaps something about your +dead father--some disgraceful secret which you never heard before; and +you think that the shame of that secret is a burden which I would fear +to carry? You mistake my nature, Margaret, and you commit a cruel +treason against my love. Be my wife, dear one; and if malicious people +should point to you, and say, 'Clement Austin's wife is the daughter of +a thief and a forger,' I would give them back scorn for scorn, and tell +them that I honour my wife for virtues that have been sometimes missing +in the consort of an emperor." +</p><p> +For the first time that morning Margaret's eyes grew dim, but she +brushed away the gathering tears with a rapid movement of her trembling +hand. +</p><p> +"You are a good man, Clement Austin," she said; "and I--wish that I were +better worthy of you. You are a good man; but you are very cruel to me +to-day. Have pity upon me, and let me go." +</p><p> +She drew a pretty little watch from her waist, and looked at the dial. +Then, suddenly remembering that the watch had been Clement's gift, she +took the slender chain from her neck, and handed them both to him. +</p><p> +"You gave me these when I was your betrothed wife, Mr. Austin; I have no +right to keep them now." +</p><p> +She spoke very mournfully; but poor Clement was only mortal. He was a +good man, as Margaret had just declared; but, unhappily, good men are +apt to fly into passions as well as their inferiors in the scale of +morality. +</p><p> +Clement Austin threw the pretty little Genevese toy upon the floor, and +ground it to atoms under the heel of his boot. +</p><p> +"You are cruel and unjust, Mr. Austin," Margaret said. +</p><p> +"I am a man, Miss Wilmot," Clement answered, bitterly; "and I have the +feelings of a man. When the woman I have loved and believed in turns +upon me, and coolly tells me that she means to break my heart, without +so much as deigning to give me a reason for her conduct, I am not so +much a gentleman as to be able to smile politely, and request her to +please herself." +</p><p> +The cashier turned away from Margaret, and walked two at three times up +and down the room. He was in a passion, but grief and indignation were +so intermingled in his breast that he scarcely knew which was uppermost. +But grief and love allied themselves presently, and together were much +too strong for indignation. +</p><p> +Clement Austin went back to the window; Margaret was standing where he +had left her, but she had put on her bonnet and gloves, and was quite +ready to leave the house. +</p><p> +"Margaret," said Mr. Austin, trying to take her hand; but she drew +herself away from him, almost as she had shrunk from him in the corridor +on the previous night; "Margaret, once for all, listen to me. I love +you, and I believe you love me. If this is true, no obstacle on earth +shall part us so long as we live. There is only one condition upon which +I will let you go this day." +</p><p> +"What is that condition?" +</p><p> +"Tell me that I have been fooled by my own egotism. I am twelve years +older than you, Margaret, and there is nothing very romantic or +interesting either in myself or my worldly position. Tell me that you do +not love me. I am a proud man, I will not sue <i>in formâ pauperis</i>. If +you do not love me, Margaret, you are free to go." +</p><p> +Margaret bowed her head, and moved slowly towards the door. +</p><p> +"You are going--Miss Wilmot!" +</p><p> +"Yes, I am going. Farewell, Mr. Austin." +</p><p> +Clement caught the retreating girl by her wrist. +</p><p> +"You shall not go thus, Margaret Wilmot!" he cried, passionately--"not +thus! You shall speak to me! You shall speak plainly! You shall speak +the truth! You do not love me?" +</p><p> +"No; I do not love you." +</p><p> +"It was all a farce, then--a delusion--it was all falsehood and trickery +from first to last. When you smiled at me, your smile was a mockery; +when you blushed, your blushes were the simulated blushes of a professed +coquette. Every tender word you have ever spoken to me--every tremulous +cadence in your low voice--every tearful look in the eyes that have +seemed so truthful--all--it has altogether been false--altogether a +delusion--a----" +</p><p> +The strong man covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud. +Margaret watched him with tearless eyes; her lips were convulsively +contracted, but there was no other evidence of emotion in her face. +</p><p> +"Why did you do this, Margaret?" Clement asked at last, in a +heart-rending voice; "why did you do this cruel thing?" +</p><p> +"I will tell you why," the girl answered, slowly and deliberately; "I +will tell you why, Mr. Austin; and then I shall seem utterly despicable +in your eyes, and it will be a very easy thing for you to blot my image +from your heart. I was a poor desolate girl; and I was worse than poor +and desolate, for the stain of my father's shameful history blackened my +name. It was a fine thing for such as me to win the love of an honest +man--a gentleman--who could shelter me from all the troubles of life, +and give me a stainless name and an honourable place in society. I was +the daughter of a returned convict, an outcast, and your love offered me +a splendid chance of redemption from the black depths of disgrace and +misery in which I lived. I was only mortal, Clement Austin; what was +there in my blood that should make me noble, or good, or strong to stand +against temptation? I seized upon the one chance of my miserable life; I +plotted to win your love. Step by step I lured you on until you offered +to make me your wife. That was my end and aim. I triumphed; and for a +time enjoyed my success, and the advantages that it brought me. But I +suppose the worst sinners have some kind of conscience. Mine was +awakened last night, and I resolved to spare you the misery of being +married to a woman who comes of such a race as that from which I +spring." +</p><p> +Nothing could be more callous than the manner with which Margaret Wilmot +had made this speech. Her tones had never faltered. She had spoken +slowly, pausing before every fresh sentence; but she had spoken like a +wretched creature, whose withered heart was almost incapable of womanly +emotion. Clement Austin looked at her with a blank wondering stare. +</p><p> +"Oh! great heavens!" he cried at last; "how could I think it possible +that any man could be as cruelly deceived as I have been by this woman!" +</p><p> +"I may go now, Mr. Austin?" said Margaret. +</p><p> +"Yes, you may go now--<i>you</i>, who once were the woman I loved; you, who +have thrown away the beautiful mask I believed in, and revealed to me +the face of a skeleton; you, who have lifted the silver veil of +imagination to show me the hideous ghastliness of reality. Go, Margaret +Wilmot; and may Heaven forgive you!" +</p><p> +"Do you forgive me, Mr. Austin?" +</p><p> +"Not yet. I will pray God to make me strong enough to forgive you!" +</p><p> +"Farewell, Clement!" +</p><p> +If my readers have seen <i>Manfred</i> at Drury Lane, let them remember the +tone in which Miss Rose Leclercq breathed her last farewell to Mr. +Phelps, and they will know how Margaret Wilmot pronounced this mournful +word--love's funeral bell,-- +</p><p> +"Farewell, Clement!" +</p><p> +"One word, Miss Wilmot," cried Mr. Austin. "I have loved you too much in +the past ever to become indifferent to your fate. Where are you going?" +</p><p> +"To London." +</p><p> +"To your old apartments at Clapham?" +</p><p> +"Oh, no, no!" +</p><p> +"Have you money--money enough to last you for some time?" +</p><p> +"Yes; I have saved money." +</p><p> +"If you should be in want of help, will you let me help you?" +</p><p> +"Willingly, Mr. Austin. I am not too proud to accept your help in the +hour of my need." +</p><p> +"You will write to me, then, at my mother's, or you will write to my +mother herself, if ever you require assistance. I shall tell my mother +nothing of what has passed between us this day, except that we have +parted. You are going by the half-past nine o'clock train, you say, Miss +Wilmot?" +</p><p> +Clement had only spoken the truth when he said that he was a proud man. +He asked this question in the same business-like tone in which he might +have addressed a lady who was quite indifferent to him. +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Austin." +</p><p> +"I will order a fly for you, then. You have five minutes to spare. And I +will send one of the waiters to the station, so that you may have no +trouble about your luggage." +</p><p> +Clement rang the bell, and gave the necessary orders. Then he bowed +gravely to Margaret, and wished her good morning as she left the room. +</p><p> +And this is how Margaret Wilmot parted from Clement Austin. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch35"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>A DISCOVERY AT THE LUXEMBOURG.</h5></center> +<p> + +While Henry Dunbar sat in his lonely room at Maudesley Abbey, held +prisoner by his broken leg, and waiting anxiously for the hour in which +he should be allowed the privilege of taking his first experimental +promenade upon crutches, Sir Philip Jocelyn and his beautiful young wife +drove together on the crowded boulevards of the French capital. +</p><p> +They had been southward, and had returned to the gayest capital in all +the world at the time when that capital is at its best and brightest. +They had returned to Paris for the early new year: and, as this year +happened fortunately to be ushered into existence by a sharp frost and a +bright sunny sky, the boulevards were not the black rivers of mud and +slush that they are apt to be in the first days of the infantine year. +Prince Louis Napoleon Buonaparte was only First President as yet; and +Paris was by no means the wonderful city of endless boulevards and +palatial edifices that it has since grown to be under the master hand +which rules and beautifies it, as a lover adorns his mistress. But it +was not the less the most charming city in the universe; and Philip +Jocelyn and his wife were as happy as two children in this paradise of +brick and mortar. +</p><p> +They suited each other so well; they were never tired of each other's +society, or at a stand-still for want of something to say to each other. +They were rather frivolous, perhaps; but a little frivolity may be +pardoned in two people who were so very young and so entirely happy. Sir +Philip may have been a little too much devoted to horses and dogs, and +Laura may have been a shade too enthusiastic upon the subject of new +bonnets, and the jewellery in the Rue de la Paix. But if they idled a +little just now, in this delicious honeymoon-time, when it was so sweet +to be together always, from morning till night, driving in a sleigh with +jingling bells upon the snowy roads in the Bois, sitting on the balcony +at Meurice's at night, looking down into the long lamp-lit street and +the misty gardens, where the trees were leafless and black against the +dark blue sky, they meant to do their duty, and be useful to their +fellow-creatures, when they were settled at Jocelyn's Rock. Sir Philip +had half-a-dozen schemes for free schools, and model cottages with ovens +that would bake everything in the world, and chimneys that would never +smoke. And Laura had her own pet plans. Was she not an heiress, and +therefore specially sent into the world to give happiness to people who +had been born without that pleasant appendage of a silver spoon in their +infantine mouths? She meant to be scrupulously conscientious in the +administration of her talents; and sometimes at church on a Sunday, when +the sermon was particularly awakening, she mentally debated the serious +question as to whether new bonnets, and a pair of Jouvin's gloves daily, +were not sinful; but I think she decided that the new bonnets and gloves +were, on the whole, a pardonable weakness, as being good for trade. +</p><p> +The Warwickshire baronet knew a good many people in Paris, and he and +his bride received a very enthusiastic welcome from these old friends, +who pronounced that Miladi Jocelyn was <i>charmante</i> and <i>la belle des +belles</i>; and that Sir Jocelyn was the most fortunate of men in having +discovered this gay, lighthearted girl amongst the prudish and +pragmatical <i>meess</i> of the <i>brumeuse Angleterre</i>. +</p><p> +Laura made herself very much at home with her Parisian acquaintance; and +in the grand house in the Rue Lepelletier many a glass was turned full +upon the beautiful English bride with the <i>chevelure doré</i> and the +violet blue eyes. +</p><p> +One morning Laura told her husband, with a gay laugh, that she was going +to victimize him; but he was to promise to be patient and bear with her +for once in a way. +</p><p> +"What is it you want me to do, my darling?" +</p><p> +"I want you to give me a long day in the Luxembourg. I want to see all +the pictures--the modern pictures especially. I remember all the +Rubenses at the Louvre, for I saw them three years ago, when I was +staying in Paris with grandpapa. I like the modern pictures best, +Philip: and I want you to tell me all about the artists, and what I +ought to admire, and all that sort of thing." +</p><p> +Sir Philip never refused his wife anything; so he said, yes: and Laura +ran away to her dressing-room like a school-girl who has been pleading +for a holiday and has won her cause. She returned in a little more than +ten minutes, in the freshest toilette, all pale shimmering blue, like +the spring sky, with pearl-grey gloves and boots and parasol, and a +bonnet that seemed made of azure butterflies. +</p><p> +It was drawing towards the close of this delightful honeymoon tour, and +it was a bright sunshiny morning early in February; but February in +Paris is sometimes better than April in London. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn's work that morning was by no means light, for Laura was +fond of pictures, in a frivolous amateurish kind of way; and she ran +from one canvas to another, like a fickle-minded bee that is bewildered +by the myriad blossoms of a boundless parterre. But she fixed upon a +picture which she said she preferred to anything she had seen in the +gallery. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn was examining some pictures on the other side of the room +when his wife made this discovery. She hurried to him immediately, and +led him off to look at the picture. It was a peasant-girl's head, very +exquisitely painted by a modern artist, and the baronet approved his +wife's taste. +</p><p> +"How I wish you could get me a copy of that picture, Philip," Laura +said, entreatingly. "I should so like one to hang in my morning-room at +Jocelyn's Rock. I wonder who painted that lovely face?" +</p><p> +There was a young artist hard at work at his easel, copying a large +devotional subject that hung near the picture Laura admired. Sir Philip +asked this gentleman if he knew the name of the artist who had painted +the peasant-girl. +</p><p> +"Ah, but yes, monsieur!" the painter answered, with animated politeness; +"it is the work of one of my friends; a young Englishman, of a renown +almost universal in Paris." +</p><p> +"And his name, monsieur?" +</p><p> +"He calls himself Kerstall--Frederick Kerstall; he is the son of an old +monsieur, who calls himself also Kerstall, and who had much of celebrity +in England it is many years." +</p><p> +"Kerstall!" exclaimed Laura, suddenly; "Mr. Kerstall! why, it was a Mr. +Kerstall who painted papa's portrait; I have heard grandpapa say so +again and again; and he took it away to Italy with him, promising to +bring it back to London when he returned, after a year or two of study. +And, oh, Philip, I should so like to see this old Mr. Kerstall; because, +you know, he may have kept papa's portrait until this very day, and I +should so like to have a picture of my father as he was when he was +young, and before the troubles of a long life altered him," Laura said, +rather mournfully. +</p><p> +She turned to the French artist presently, and asked him where the elder +Mr. Kerstall lived, and if there was any possibility of seeing him. +</p><p> +The painter shrugged up his shoulders, and pursed up his mouth, +thoughtfully. +</p><p> +"But, madame," he said, "this Monsieur Kerstall's father is very old, +and he has ceased to paint it is a long time. They have said that he is +even a little imbecile, that he does not remember himself of the most +common events of his life. But there are some others who say that his +memory has not altogether failed, and that he is still enough harshly +critical towards the works of others." +</p><p> +The Frenchman might have run on much longer upon this subject, but Laura +was too impatient to be polite. She interrupted him by asking for Mr. +Kerstall's address. +</p><p> +The artist took out one of his own cards, and wrote the required address +in pencil. +</p><p> +"It is in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, madame, in the Rue Cailoux, +over the office of a Parisian journal," he said, as he handed the card +to Laura. "I don't think you will have any difficulty in finding the +house." +</p><p> +Laura thanked the French artist and then took her husband's arm and +walked away with him. +</p><p> +"I don't care about looking at any more pictures to-day, Philip," she +said; "but, oh, I do wish you would take me to this Mr. Kerstall's +studio at once! You will be doing me such a favour, Philip, if you'll +say yes." +</p><p> +"When did I ever say no to anything you asked me, Laura? We'll go to Mr. +Kerstall immediately, if you like. But why are you so anxious to see +this old portrait of your father, my dear?" +</p><p> +"Because I want to see what he was before he went to India. I want to +see what he was when he was bright and young before the world had +hardened him. Ah, Philip, since we have known and loved each other, it +seems to me as if I had no thought or care for any one in all this wide +world except yourself. But before that time I was very unhappy about my +father. I had expected that he would be so fond of me. I had so built +upon his return to England, thinking that we should be nearer and dearer +to each other than any father and daughter ever were before. I had +thought all this, Philip; night after night I had dreamt the same +dream,--the bright happy dream in which my father came home to me, the +fond foolish dream in which I felt his strong arms folded round me, and +his true heart beating against my own. But when he did come at last, it +seemed to me as if this father was a man of stone; his white fixed face +repelled me; his cold hard voice turned my blood to ice. I was +frightened of him, Philip; I was frightened of my own father; and little +by little we grew to shun each other, till at last we met like +strangers, or something worse than strangers; for I have seen my father +look at me with an expression of absolute horror in his stern cruel +eyes. Can you wonder, then, that I want to see what he was in his youth? +I shall learn to love him, perhaps, if I can see the smiling image of +his lost youth." +</p><p> +Laura said all this in a very low voice as she walked with her husband +through the garden of the Luxembourg. She walked very fast; for she was +as eager as a child who is intent upon some scheme of pleasure. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch36"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>LOOKING FOR THE PORTRAIT.</h5></center> +<p> + +The Rue Cailoux was a very quiet little street--a narrow, winding +street, with tall shabby-looking houses, and untidy-little greengrocers' +shops peeping out here and there. +</p><p> +The pavement suggested the idea that there had just been an outbreak of +the populace, and that the stones had been ruthlessly torn up to serve +in the construction of barricades, and only very carelessly put down +again. It was a street which seemed to have been built with a view to +achieving the largest amount of inconvenience out of a minimum of +materials; and looked at in this light the Rue Cailoux was a triumph: it +was a street in which Parisian drivers clacked their whips to a running +accompaniment of imprecations: it was a street in which you met dirty +porters carrying six feet of highly-baked bread, and shrill old women +with wonderful bandanas bound about their grisly heads: but above all, +it was a street in which you were so shaken and jostled, and bumped and +startled, by the ups and downs of the pavement, that you had very little +leisure to notice the distinctive features of the neighbourhood. +</p><p> +The house in which Mr. Kerstall, the English artist, lived was a +gloomy-looking building with a dingy archway, beneath which Sir Philip +Jocelyn and his wife alighted. +</p><p> +There was a door under this archway, and there was a yard beyond it, +with the door of another house opening upon it, and ranges of black +curtainless windows looking down upon it, and an air of dried herbs, +green-stuff, chickens in the moulting stage, and old women, generally +pervading it. The door which belonged to Mr. Kerstall's house, or rather +the house in which Mr. Kerstall lived in common with a colony of unknown +number and various avocations, was open, and Sir Philip and his wife +went into the hall. +</p><p> +There was no such thing as a porter or portress; but a stray old woman, +hovering under the archway, informed Philip Jocelyn that Mr. Kerstall +was to be found on the second story. So Laura and her husband ascended +the stairs, which were bare of any covering except dirt, and went on +mounting through comparative darkness, past the office of the Parisian +journal, till they came to a very dingy black door. +</p><p> +Philip knocked, and, after a considerable interval, the door was opened +by another old woman, tidier and cleaner than the old women who pervaded +the yard, but looking very like a near relation to those ladies. +</p><p> +Philip inquired in French for the senior Mr. Kerstall; and the old woman +told him, very much through her nose, that Mr. Kerstall father saw no +one; but that Mr. Kerstall son was at his service. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn said that in that case he would be glad to see Mr. +Kerstall junior; upon which the old woman ushered the baronet and his +wife into a saloon, distinguished by an air of faded splendour, and in +which the French clocks and ormolu candelabras were in the proportion of +two to one to the chairs and tables. +</p><p> +Sir Philip gave his card to the old woman, and she carried it into the +adjoining chamber, whence there issued a gush of tobacco-smoke, as the +door between the two rooms was opened and then shut again. +</p><p> +In less than three minutes by the minute-hand of the only one of the +ormolu clocks which made any pretence of going, the door was opened +again, and a burly-looking, middle-aged gentleman, with a very black +beard, and a dirty holland blouse all smeared with smudges of +oil-colour, appeared upon the threshold of the adjoining chamber, +surrounded by a cloud of tobacco-smoke--like a heathen deity, or a +good-tempered-looking African genie newly escaped from his bottle. +</p><p> +This was Mr. Kerstall junior. He introduced himself to Sir Philip, and +waited to hear what that gentleman required of him. +</p><p> +Philip Jocelyn explained his business, and told the painter how, more +than five-and-thirty years before, the portrait of Henry Dunbar, only +son of Percival Dunbar the great banker, had been painted by Mr. Michael +Kerstall, at that time a fashionable artist. +</p><p> +"Five-and-thirty years ago!" said the painter, pulling thoughtfully at +his beard; "five-and-thirty years ago! that's a very long time, my lord, +and I'm afraid it's not likely my father will remember the circumstance; +for I regret to say that he is slow to remember the events of a few days +past. His memory has been failing a long time. You wish to know the fate +of this portrait of Mr. Dunbar, I think you said?" +</p><p> +Laura answered this question, although it had been addressed to her +husband. +</p><p> +"Yes, we want to see the picture, if possible," she said; "Mr. Dunbar is +my father, and there is no other portrait of him in existence. I do so +want to see this one, and to obtain possession of it, if it is possible +for me to do so." +</p><p> +"And you are of opinion that my father took the picture to Italy with +him when he left England more than five-and-thirty years ago?" +</p><p> +"Yes; I've heard my grandfather say so. He lost sight of Mr. Kerstall, +and could never obtain any tidings of the picture. But I hope that, late +as it is, we may be more fortunate now. You do not think the picture has +been destroyed, do you?" Laura asked eagerly. +</p><p> +"Well," the artist answered, doubtfully, "I should be inclined to fear +that the portrait may have been painted out: and yet, by the bye, as the +picture belonged by right to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and not to my father, +that circumstance may have preserved it uninjured through all these +years. My father has a heap of unframed canvases, inches thick in dust, +and littering every corner of his room. Mr. Dunbar's portrait may be +amongst them. +</p><p> +"Oh, I should be so very much obliged if you would allow me to examine +those pictures," said Laura. +</p><p> +"You think you would recognize the portrait?" +</p><p> +"Yes, surely; I could not fail to do so. I know my father's face so well +as it is, that I must certainly have some knowledge of it as it was +five-and-thirty years ago, however much he may have altered in the +interval. Pray, Mr. Kerstall, oblige me by letting me see the pictures." +</p><p> +"I should be very churlish were I to refuse to do so," the painter +answered, good-naturedly. "I will just go and see if my father is able +to receive visitors. He has been a voluntary exile from England for the +last five-and-thirty years, so I fear he will have forgotten the name of +Dunbar; but he may by chance be able to give us some slight assistance." +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall left his visitors for about ten minutes, and at the end of +that time he returned to say that his father was quite ready to receive +Sir Philip and Lady Jocelyn. +</p><p> +"I mentioned the name of Dunbar to him," the painter said; "but he +remembers nothing. He has been painting a little this morning, and is in +very high spirits about his work. It pleases him to handle the brushes, +though his hand is terribly shaky, and he can scarcely hold the +palette." +</p><p> +The artist led the way to a large room, comfortably but plainly +furnished, and heated to a pitch of suffocation by a stove. There was a +bed in a curtained alcove at the end of the apartment; an easel stood +near the large window; and the proprietor of the chamber sat in a +cushioned arm-chair close to the suffocating stove. +</p><p> +Michael Kerstall was an old man, who looked even older than he was. He +was a picturesque-looking old man, with long white hair dropping down +over his coat-collar, and a black-velvet skull-cap upon his head. He was +a cheerful old man, and life seemed very pleasant to him; for Frenchmen +have a habit of honouring their fathers and mothers, and Mr. Frederick +Kerstall was a naturalized citizen of the French republic. +</p><p> +The old man nodded and smiled and chuckled as Sir Philip and Laura were +presented to him, and pointed with a courtly grace to the chairs which +his son set for his guests. +</p><p> +"You want to see my pictures, sir? Ah, yes; to be sure, to be sure! The +modern school of painting, sir, is something marvellous to an old man, +sir; an old man who remembers Sir Thomas Lawrence--ay, sir, I had the +honour to know him intimately. No pre-Raphaelite theories in those days, +sir; no figures cut of coloured pasteboard and glued on to the canvas; +no green trees and vermilion draperies, and chocolate-coloured streaks +across an ultramarine background, sir; and I'm told the young people +call that a sky. No pointed chins, and angular knees and elbows, and +frizzy red hair--red, sir, and as frizzy as a blackamoor's--and I'm told +the young people call that female beauty. No, sir; nothing of that sort +in my day. There was a French painter in my day, sir, called David, and +there was an English painter in my day called Lawrence; and they painted +ladies and gentlemen, sir; and they instituted a gentlemanly school, +sir. And you put a crimson curtain behind your subject, and you put a +bran-new hat, or a roll of paper, in his right hand, and you thrust his +left hand in his waistcoat--the best black satin, sir, with strong light +in the texture--and you made your subject look like a gentleman. Yes, +sir, if he was a chimney-sweep when he went into your studio, he went +out of it a gentleman." +</p><p> +The old man would have gone on talking for any length of time, for +pre-Raphaelitism was his favourite antipathy; and the black-bearded +gentleman standing behind his chair was an enthusiastic member of the +pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall senior seemed so thoroughly in possession of all his +faculties while he held forth upon modern art, that Laura began to hope +his memory could scarcely be so much impaired as his son had represented +it to be. +</p><p> +"When you painted portraits in England, Mr. Kerstall," she said, "before +you went to Italy, you painted a likeness of my father, Henry Dunbar, +who was then a young man. Do you remember that circumstance?" +</p><p> +Laura asked this question very hopefully; but to her surprise, Mr. +Kerstall took no notice whatever of her inquiry, but went rambling on +about the degeneracy of modern art. +</p><p> +"I am told there is a young man called Millais, sir, and another young +man called Holman Hunt, sir,--positive boys, sir; actually very little +more than boys, sir; and I'm given to understand, sir, that when these +young men's works are exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, sir, +people crowd round them, and go raving mad about them; while a +gentlemanly portrait of a county member, with a Corinthian pillar and a +crimson curtain, gets no more attention than if it was a bishop's +half-length of black canvas. I am told so, sir, and I am obliged to +believe it, sir." +</p><p> +Poor Laura listened very impatiently to all this talk about painters and +their pictures. But Mr. Kerstall the younger perceived her anxiety, and +came to her relief. +</p><p> +"Lady Jocelyn would very much like to see the pictures you have +scattered about in this room, my dear father," he said, "if you have no +objection to our turning them over?" +</p><p> +The old man chuckled and nodded. +</p><p> +"You'll find 'em gentlemanly," he said; "you'll find 'em all more or +less gentlemanly." +</p><p> +"You're sure you don't remember painting the portrait of a Mr. Dunbar?" +Mr. Kerstall the younger said, bending over his father's chair as he +spoke. "Try again, father--try to remember--Henry Dunbar, the son of +Percival Dunbar, the great banker." +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall senior, who never left off smiling, nodded and chuckled, +and scratched his head, and seemed to plunge into a depth of profound +thought. +</p><p> +Laura began to hope again. +</p><p> +"I remember painting Sir Jasper Rivington, who was Lord Mayor in the +year--bless my heart how the dates do slip out of my mind, to be +sure!--I remember painting <i>him</i>, in his robes too; yes, sir--by gad, +sir, his official robes. He'd liked me to have painted him looking out +of the window of his state-coach, sir, bowing to the populace on Ludgate +Hill, with the dome of St. Paul's in the background; but I told him the +notion wasn't practicable, sir; I told him it couldn't be done, sir; +I----" +</p><p> +Laura looked despairingly at Mr. Kerstall the younger. +</p><p> +"May we see the pictures?" she asked. "I am sure that I shall recognize +my father's portrait, if by any chance it should be amongst them." +</p><p> +"We will set to work at once, then," the artist said, briskly. "We're +going to look at your pictures, father." +</p><p> +Unframed canvases, and unfinished sketches on millboard, were lying +about the room in every direction, piled against the wall, heaped on +side-tables, and stowed out of the way upon shelves, and everywhere the +dust lay thick upon them. +</p><p> +"It was quite a chamber of horrors," Mr. Kerstall the younger said, +gaily: for it was here that he banished his own failures; his sketches +for his pictures that were to be painted upon some future occasion; +carelessly-drawn groups that he meant some day to improve upon; finished +pictures that he had been unable to sell; and all the other useless +litter of an artist's studio. +</p><p> +There were a great many dingy performances of Mr. Kerstall senior; very +classical, and extremely uninteresting; studies from the life, grey and +chalky and muscular, with here and there a knotty-looking foot or a +lumpy arm, in the most unpleasant phases of foreshortening. There were a +good many portraits, gentlemanly to the last degree; but poor Laura +looked in vain for the face she wanted to see--the hard cold face, as +she fancied it must have been in youth. +</p><p> +There were portraits of elderly ladies with stately head-gear, and +simpering young ladies with innocent short-waisted bodices and flowers +held gracefully, in their white-muslin draperies; there were portraits +of stern clerical grandees, and parliamentary non-celebrities, with +popular bills rolled up in their hands, ready to be laid upon the +speaker's table, and with a tight look about the lips, that seemed to +say the member was prepared to carry his motion, or perish on the floor +of the House. +</p><p> +There were only a few portraits of young men of military aspect, looking +fiercely over regulation stocks, and with forked lightning and little +pyramids of cannon-balls in the background. +</p><p> +Laura sighed heavily at last, for amongst all these portraits there was +not one which in the least possible degree recalled the hard handsome +face with which she was familiar. +</p><p> +"I'm afraid my father's picture has been lost or destroyed," she said, +mournfully. +</p><p> +But Mr. Kerstall would not allow this. +</p><p> +I have said that it was Laura's peculiar privilege to bewitch everybody +with whom she came in contact, and to transform them, for the nonce, +into her willing slaves, eager to go through fire and water in the +service of this beautiful creature, whose eyes and hair were like blue +skies and golden sunshine, and carried light and summer wherever they +went. +</p><p> +The black-bearded artist in the paint-smeared holland blouse was in no +manner proof against Lady Jocelyn's fascinations. +</p><p> +He had well-nigh suffocated himself with dust half-a-dozen times already +in her service, and was ready to inhale as much more dust if she desired +him so to do. +</p><p> +"We won't give it up just yet, Lady Jocelyn," he said, cheerfully; +"there's a couple of shelves still to examine. Suppose we try shelf +number one, and see if we can find Mr. Henry Dunbar up there." +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall junior mounted upon a chair, and brought down another heap +of canvases, dirtier than any previous collection. He brought these to a +table by the side of his father's easel, and one by one he wiped them +clean with a large ragged silk handkerchief, and then placed them on the +easel. +</p><p> +The easel stood in the full light of the broad window. The day was +bright and clear, and there was no lack of light, therefore, upon the +portraits. +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall senior began to be quite interested in his son's +proceedings, and contemplated the younger man's operations with a +perpetual chuckling and nodding of the head, that were expressive of +unmitigated satisfaction. +</p><p> +"Yes, they're gentlemanly," the old man mumbled; "nobody can deny that +they're gentlemanly. They may make a cabal against me in Trafalgar +Square, and decline to hang 'em: but they can't say my pictures are +ungentlemanly. No, no. Take a basin of water and a sponge, Fred, and +wash the dust off. It pleases me to see 'em again--yes, by gad, sir, it +pleases me to see 'em again!" +</p><p> +Mr. Frederick Kerstall obeyed his father, and the pictures brightened +wonderfully under the influence of a damp sponge. It was rather a slow +operation; but Laura was bent upon seeing every picture, and Philip +Jocelyn waited patiently enough until the inspection should be +concluded. +</p><p> +The old man brightened up as much as his paintings, and began presently +to call out the names of the subjects. +</p><p> +"The member for Slopton-on-the-Tees," he said, as his son placed a +portrait on the easel; "that was a presentation picture, but the +subscriptions were never paid up, and the committee left the portrait +upon my hands. I don't remember the name of the member, because my +memory isn't quite so good as it used to be; but the borough was +Slopton-on-the-Tees--Slopton--yes, yes, I remember that." +</p><p> +The younger Kerstall took away the member for Slopton, and put another +picture on the easel. But this was like the rest; the pictured face bore +no trace of resemblance to that face for which Laura was looking. +</p><p> +"I remember him too," the old man cried, with a triumphant chuckle. "He +was an officer in the East-India Company's service. I remember him; a +dashing young fellow he was too. He had the picture painted for his +mother: paid me a third of the money at the first sitting; never paid me +a sixpence afterwards; and went off to India, promising to send me a +bill of exchange for the balance by the next mail; but I never heard any +more of him." +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall removed the Indian officer, and substituted another +portrait. +</p><p> +Sir Philip, who was sitting near the window, looking on rather +listlessly, cried-- +</p><p> +"What a handsome face!" +</p><p> +It <i>was</i> a handsome face--a bright young face, which smiled haughty +defiance at the world--a splendid face, with perhaps a shade of +insolence in the curve of the upper lip, sharply denned under a thick +auburn moustache, with pointed ends that curled fiercely upwards. It was +such a face as might have belonged to the favourite of a powerful king; +the face of the Cinq Mars, on the very summit of his giddy eminence, +with a hundred pairs of boots in his dressing-room, and quiet Cardinal +Richelieu watching silently for the day of his doom. English Buckingham +may have worn the same insolent smile upon his lips, the same bright +triumph in his glance, when he walked up to the throne of Louis the +Just, with the pearls and diamonds dropping from his garments as he went +along, and with forbidden love beaming on him out of Austrian Anne's +blue eyes. It was such a face as could only belong to some high +favourite of fortune, defiant of all mankind in the consciousness of his +own supreme advantages. +</p><p> +But Laura Jocelyn shook her head as she looked at the picture. +</p><p> +"I begin to despair of finding my father's portrait," she said; "I have +seen nothing at all like it yet." +</p><p> +The old man lifted up his bony hand, and pointed to the picture on the +easel. +</p><p> +"That's the best thing I ever did," he said, "the very best thing I ever +did. It was exhibited in the Academy six-and-thirty years ago--yes, by +gad, sir, six-and-thirty years ago! and the papers mentioned it very +favourably, sir; but the man who commissioned it, sent it back to me for +alteration. The expression of the face didn't please him; but he paid me +two hundred guineas for the picture, so I had no reason to complain; and +if I'd remained in England, the connection might have been advantageous +to me; for they were rich city people, sir--enormously +wealthy--something in the banking-line, and the name, the name--let me +see--let me see!" +</p><p> +The old man tapped his forehead thoughtfully. +</p><p> +"I remember," he added presently: "it was a great name in the City--it +was a well-known name--Dun--Dunbar--Dunbar." +</p><p> +"Why, father, that was the very name I was asking you about, half an +hour ago!" +</p><p> +"I don't remember your asking me any such thing," the old man answered, +rather snappishly; "but I do know that the picture on that easel is the +portrait of Mr. Dunbar's only son." +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall the younger looked at Laura Jocelyn, full; expecting to see +her face beaming with satisfaction; but, to his own surprise, she looked +more disappointed than ever. +</p><p> +"Your poor father's memory deceives him," she said, in a low voice; +"that is not my father's portrait." +</p><p> +"No," said Philip Jocelyn, "that was never the likeness of Henry +Dunbar." +</p><p> +Mr. Frederick Kerstall shrugged his shoulders. +</p><p> +"I told you as much," he murmured, confidentially. "I told you my poor +father's memory was gone. Would you like to see the rest of the +pictures?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, if you do not mind all this trouble." +</p><p> +Mr. Kerstall brought down another heap of unframed canvases from shelf +number two. Some of these were fancy heads, and some sketches for grand +historical pictures. There were only about four portraits, and not one +of them bore the faintest likeness to the face that Laura wanted to see. +</p><p> +The old man chuckled as his son exhibited the pictures, and every now +and then volunteered some scrap of information about these various works +of art, to which his son listened patiently and respectfully. +</p><p> +So at last the inspection was ended. The baronet and his wife thanked +the artist very warmly for his politeness, and Philip gave him a +commission for a replica of the picture which Laura had admired in the +Luxembourg. Mr. Frederick Kerstall conducted his guests down the dingy +staircase, and saw them to the hired carriage that was waiting under the +archway. +</p><p> +And this was all that came of Laura Jocelyn's search for her father's +portrait. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch37"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>MARGARET'S LETTER.</h5></center> +<p> + +Life seemed very blank to Clement Austin when he returned to London a +day or two after Margaret Wilmot's departure from the Reindeer. He told +his mother that he and his betrothed had parted; but he would tell no +more. +</p><p> +"I have been cruelly disappointed, mother, and the subject is very +bitter to me," he said; and Mrs. Austin had not the courage to ask any +further questions. +</p><p> +"I suppose I <i>must</i> be satisfied, Clement," she said. "It seems to me as +if we had been living lately in an atmosphere of enigmas. But I can +afford to be contented, Clement, so long as I have you with me." +</p><p> +Clement went back to London. His life seemed to have altogether slipped +away from him, and he felt like an old man who has lost all the bright +chances of existence; the hope of domestic happiness and a pleasant +home; the opportunity of a useful career and an honoured name; and who +has nothing more to do but to wait patiently till the slow current of +his empty life drops into the sea of death. +</p><p> +"I feel so old, mother," he said, sometimes; "I feel so old." +</p><p> +To a man who has been accustomed to be busy there is no affliction so +intolerable as idleness. +</p><p> +Clement Austin felt this, and yet he had no heart to begin life again, +though tempting offers came to him from great commercial houses, whose +chiefs were eager to secure the well-known cashier of Messrs. Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby's establishment. +</p><p> +Poor Clement could not go into the world yet. His disappointment had +been too bitter, and he had no heart to go out amongst hard men of +business, and begin life again. He wasted hour after hour, and day after +day, in gloomy thoughts about the past. What a dupe he had been! what a +shallow, miserable fool! for he had believed as firmly in Margaret +Wilmot's truth, as he had believed in the blue sky above his head. +</p><p> +One day a new idea flashed into Clement Austin's mind; an idea which +placed Margaret Wilmot's character even in a worse light than that in +which she had revealed herself in her own confession. +</p><p> +There could be only one reason for the sudden change in her sentiments +about Henry Dunbar: the millionaire had bribed her to silence! This +girl, who seemed the very incarnation of purity and candour, had her +price, perhaps, as well as other people, and Henry Dunbar had bought the +silence of his victim's daughter. +</p><p> +"It was the knowledge of this business that made her shrink away from me +that night when she told me that she was a contaminated creature, unfit +to be the associate of an honest man Oh, Margaret, Margaret! poverty +must indeed be a bitter school if it has prepared you for such +degradation as this!" +</p><p> +The longer Clement thought of the subject, the more certainly he arrived +at the conclusion that Margaret Wilmot had been, either bribed or +frightened into silence by Henry Dunbar. It might be that the banker had +terrified this unhappy girl by some awful threat that had preyed upon +her mind, and driven her from the man who loved her, whom she loved +perhaps, in spite of those heartless words which she had spoken in the +bitter hour of their parting. +</p><p> +Clement could not thoroughly believe in the baseness of the woman he had +trusted. Again and again he went over the same ground, trying to find +some lurking circumstance, no matter how unlikely in its nature, which +should explain and justify Margaret's conduct. +</p><p> +Sometimes in his dreams he saw the familiar face looking at him with +pensive, half-reproachful glances; and then a dark figure that was +strange to him came between him and that gentle shadow, and thrust the +vision away with a ruthless hand. At last, by dint of going over the +ground again and again, always pleading Margaret's cause against the +stern witness of cruel facts, Clement came to look upon the girl's +innocence as a settled thing. +</p><p> +There was falsehood and treachery in the business, but Margaret Wilmot +was neither false nor treacherous. There was a mystery, and Henry Dunbar +was at the bottom of it. +</p><p> +"It seems as if the spirit of the murdered man troubled our lives, and +cried to us for vengeance," Clement thought. "There will be no peace for +us until the secret of the deed done in the grove near Winchester has +been brought to light." +</p><p> +This thought, working night and day in Clement Austin's brain, gave rise +to a fixed resolve. Before he went back to the quiet routine of life, he +set himself a task to accomplish, and that task was the solution of the +Winchester mystery. +</p><p> +On the very day after this resolution took a definite form, Clement +received a letter from Margaret Wilmot. The sight of the well-known +writing gave him a shock of mingled surprise and hope, and his fingers +were faintly tremulous as they tore open the envelope. The letter was +carefully worded, and very brief. +</p><p> +"<i>You are a good man, Mr. Austin</i>," Margaret wrote; "<i>and though you +have reason to despise me, I do not think you will refuse to receive my +testimony in favour of another who has been falsely suspected of a +terrible crime, and who has need of justification. Henry Dunbar was not +the murderer of my father. As Heaven is my witness, this is the truth, +and I know it to be the truth. Let this knowledge content you, and allow +the secret of the murder to remain for ever a mystery upon earth, God +knows the truth, and has doubtless punished the wretched sinner who was +guilty of that crime, as He punishes every other sinner, sooner or +later, in the course of His ineffable wisdom. Leave the sinner, wherever +he may be hidden, to the judgment of God, which penetrates every +hiding-place; and forget that you have ever known me, or my miserable +story.</i> +</p><p> +"MARGARET WILMOT." +</p><p> +Even this letter did not shake Clement Austin's resolution. +</p><p> +"No, Margaret," he thought; "even your pleading shall not turn me from +my purpose. Besides, how can I tell in what manner this letter may have +been written? It may have been written at Henry Dunbar's dictation, and +under coercion. Be it as it may, the mystery of the Winchester murder +shall be set at rest, if patience or intelligence can solve the enigma. +No mystery shall separate me from the woman I love." +</p><p> +Clement put Margaret's letter in his pocket, and went straight to +Scotland Yard, where he obtained an introduction to a +businesslike-looking man, short and stoutly built, with close-cropped +hair, very little shirt-collar, a shabby black satin stock, and a coat +buttoned tightly across the chest. He was a man whose appearance was +something between the aspect of a shabby-genteel half-pay captain and an +unlucky stockbroker: but Clement liked the steady light of his small +grey eyes, and the decided expression of his thin lips and prominent +chin. +</p><p> +The detective business happened to be rather dull just now. There was +nothing stirring but a Bank-of-England forgery case; and Mr. Carter +informed Clement that there were more cats in Scotland Yard than could +find mice to kill. Under these circumstances, Mr. Carter was able to +enter into Clement's views, and sequestrate himself for a short period +for the more deliberate investigation of the Winchester business. +</p><p> +"I'll look up a file of newspapers, and run my eye over the details of +the case," said the detective. "I was away in Glasgow, hunting up the +particulars of the great Scotch-plaid robberies, all last summer, and I +can't say I remember much of what was done in the Wilmot business. Mr. +Dunbar himself offered a reward for the apprehension of the guilty +party, didn't he?" +</p><p> +"Yes; but that might be a blind." +</p><p> +"Oh, of course it might; but then, on the other hand, it mightn't. You +must always look at these sort of things from every point of view. Start +with a conviction of the man's guilt, and you'll go hunting up evidence +to bolster that conviction. My plan is to begin at the beginning; learn +the alphabet of the case, and work up into the syntax and prosody." +</p><p> +"I should like to help you in this business," Clement Austin said, "for +I have a vital interest in the issue of the case." +</p><p> +"You're rather more likely to hinder than help, sir," Mr. Carter +answered, with a smile; "but you're welcome to have a finger in the pie +if you like, as long as you'll engage to hold your tongue when I tell +you." +</p><p> +Clement promised to be the very spirit of discretion. The detective +called upon him two days after the interview at Scotland Yard. +</p><p> +"I've read-up the Wilmot case, sir," Mr. Carter said; "and I think the +next best thing I can do is to see the scene of the murder. I shall +start for Winchester to-morrow morning." +</p><p> +"Then I'll go with you," Clement said, promptly. +</p><p> +"So be it, Mr. Austin. You may as well bring your cheque-book while +you're about it, for this sort of thing is apt to come rather +expensive." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch38"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>NOTES FROM A JOURNAL KEPT BY CLEMENT AUSTIN DURING HIS JOURNEY TO +WINCHESTER.</h5></center> +<p> + +"If I had been a happy man, with no great trouble weighing upon my mind, +and giving its own dull colour to every event of my life, I think I +might have been considerably entertained by the society of Mr. Carter, +the detective. The man had an enthusiastic love of his profession; and +if there is anything degrading in the office, that degradation had in no +way affected him. It may be that Mr. Carter's knowledge of his own +usefulness was sufficient to preserve his self-respect. If, in the +course of his duty, he had unpleasant things to do; if he had to affect +friendly acquaintanceship with the man whom he was hunting to the +gallows; if he was called upon to worm-out chance clues to guilty +secrets in the careless confidence that grows out of a friendly glass; +if at times he had to stoop to acts which, in other men, would be +branded as shameful and treacherous, he knew that he did his duty, and +that society could not hold together unless some such men as +himself--clear-headed, brave, resolute, and unscrupulous in the +performance of unpleasant work--were willing to act as watch-dogs for +the protection of the general fold, and to the terror of savage and +marauding beasts. +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter told me a great deal of his experience during our journey +down to Winchester. I listened to him, and understood what he said to +me; but I could not take any interest in his conversation. I could not +remember anything, or think of anything, except the mystery which +separates me from the woman I love. +</p><p> +"The more I think of this, the stronger becomes my conviction that I +have not been the dupe of a heartless or mercenary woman. Margaret has +not acted as a free agent. She has paid the penalty of her determination +to force herself into the presence of Henry Dunbar. By some inexplicable +means, by some masterpiece of villany and cunning, this man has induced +his victim's daughter to become the champion of his innocence, instead +of the denouncer of his guilt. +</p><p> +"There must be some hopeless entanglement, some cruel involvement, by +reason of which Margaret is compelled to falsify her nature, and +sacrifice her own happiness as well as mine. When she left me that day +at Shorncliffe, she suffered as cruelly as I could suffer: I know now +that it was so. But I was blinded then by pride and anger: I was +conscious of nothing but my own wrongs. +</p><p> +"Three times in the course of my journey from London to Winchester I +have taken Margaret's strange letter from my pocket-book, and have read +the familiar lines, with the idea of putting entire confidence in my +companion, and placing the letter in his hands. But in order to do this +I must tell him the story of my love and my disappointment; and I cannot +bring myself to do that. It may be that this man could discover hidden +meanings in Margaret's words--meanings that are utterly dark to me. I +suppose the science of detection includes the power to guess at thoughts +that lurk behind expressions which are simple enough in themselves. +</p> +<center> +* +* +* +* +*</center> +<p> +"We got into Winchester at twelve o'clock in the day; and Mr. Carter +proposed that we should come straight to the George Hotel, at which +house Henry Dunbar stayed after the murder in the grove. +</p><p> +"'We can't do better than put up at the hotel where the suspected party +was stopping at the time of the event we're looking up,' Mr. Carter said +to me, as we strolled away from the station, after giving our small +amount of luggage into the care of a porter; 'we shall pick up all +manner of information in a promiscuous way, if we're staying in the +house; little bits that will seem nothing at all till you put them all +together, and begin at the beginning, and read them off the right way. +Now, Mr. Austin, there's a few words I must say before we begin +business; for you're an amateur at this kind of work, and it's just +possible that, with the best intentions, you may go and spoil my game. +Now, I've undertaken this affair, and I want to go through with it +conscientiously; under which circumstances I'm obliged to be candid. Are +you willing to act under orders?' +</p><p> +"I told Mr. Carter that I was perfectly willing to obey his orders in +everything, so long as what I did helped the purposes of our journey. +</p><p> +"'That's all square and pleasant,' he answered; 'so now for it. First +and foremost, you and me are two gentlemen that have got more time than +we know what to do with, and more money than we know how to spend. We've +heard a great deal about the fishing round Winchester; and we've come +down to spend an idle week or so, and have a look about the place +against next summer; and if we like the looks of the place, why, we +shall come and spend the summer months at the George, where we find the +accommodation in general, and say the fried soles, or the mock-turtle, +in particular, better than at any hotel in the three kingdoms. That's +number one; and that places us at once on the footing of good customers, +who are likely to be better customers. This will square the landlord and +the waiters, and there's nothing they can tell us that they won't tell +us willingly. So much for the first place. Now point number two is, that +we know nothing whatever of the man that was murdered. We know Mr. +Dunbar because he's a great man, a public character, and all that sort +of thing. We did see something about the murder in the papers, but +didn't take any interest in it. This will draw out the landlord or the +waiters, as the case may be, and we shall get the history of the murder, +with all that was said, and done, and thought, and suspected and hinted, +and whispered about it. When the landlord and the waiters have talked +about it a good deal, we begin to warm up, and take a kind of morbid +interest in the business; and then, little by little, I put in my +questions, and keep on putting 'em till every bit of information upon +this particular subject is picked away as clean as the meat that's torn +off a bone by a hungry dog. Now you'd like to help me in this business, +I dare say, Mr. Austin; and if you would, I think I can hit upon a plan +by which you might make yourself uncommonly useful.' +</p><p> +"I told my companion that I was very anxious to give him any help I +could afford, however insignificant that help might be. +</p><p> +"'Then, I'll tell you what you can do. I shan't go at the subject we +want to talk about at once; because, if I did, I should betray my +interest in the business and spoil my game; not that anybody would try +to thwart me, you understand, if they knew that I was detective officer +Henry Carter, of Scotland Yard. They'd be all on the <i>qui vive</i> directly +they found out who I was, and what I was after, and they'd try to help +me. That's what they'd do; and Tom would tell me this, and Dick would +explain that, and Harry would remember the other; and among them they'd +contrive to muddle the clearest head that ever worked a difficult +problem in criminal Euclid. My game is to keep myself dark, and get all +the light I can from other people. I shan't ask any leading question, +but I shall wait quietly till the murder of Joseph Wilmot crops up in +the conversation; and I don't suppose I shall have to wait long. Your +business will be easy enough. You'll have letters to write, you will; +and as soon as ever you hear me and the landlord, or me and the waiter, +as the case may be, working round to the murder, you'll take out your +desk and begin to write.' +</p><p> +"'You want me to take notes of the conversation,' I said. +</p><p> +"'You've hit it. You won't appear to take any interest in the talk about +Henry Dunbar and the murder of his valet. You'll be altogether wrapped +up in those letters of yours, which must be written before the London +post goes out; but you'll contrive to write down every word that's said +by the people at the George bearing upon the business we're hunting up. +Never mind my questions; don't write them down, for they're of no +account. Write down the answers as plain as you can. They'll come all of +a heap, or anyhow; but that's no matter. It'll be my business to sort +'em, and put 'em ship-shape afterwards. You just keep your mouth shut, +and take notes, Mr. Austin; that's all you've got to do.' +</p><p> +"I promised to do this to the best of my ability. We were close to the +George by this time, and I could not help thinking of that bright +summer's day upon which Henry Dunbar and his victim had driven into +Winchester on the first stage of a journey which one of them was never +to finish. The conviction of the banker's guilt had so grown upon me +since that scene in St. Gundolph Lane, that I thought of the man now +almost as if he had been fairly tried and deliberately found guilty. It +surprised me when the detective talked of his guilt as open to question, +and yet to be proved. In my mind Henry Dunbar stood self-condemned, by +the evidence of his own conduct, as the murderer of his old servant +Joseph Wilmot. +</p><p> +"The weather was bleak and windy, and there were very few wanderers in +the hilly High Street of Winchester. We were received with very +courteous welcome at the George, and were conducted to a comfortable +sitting-room upon the first-floor, with windows looking out upon the +street. Two bedrooms in the vicinity of the sitting-room were assigned +to us. I ordered dinner for six o'clock, having ascertained that hour to +be agreeable to Mr. Carter, who was slowly removing his wrappings, and +looking deliberately at every separate article in the room; as if he +fancied there might be some scrap of information to be picked up from a +window-blind, or a coal-scuttle, or lurking mysteries hidden in a +sideboard-drawer. I have no doubt the habit of observation was so strong +upon this man that he observed the most insignificant things +involuntarily. +</p><p> +"It was a very dull unpleasant day, and I was glad to draw my chair to +the fire and make myself comfortable, while the waiter went to fetch a +bottle of soda-water and sixpenn'orth of 'best French' for my companion, +who was walking about the room with his hands in his pockets, and his +grizzled eyebrows knotted together. +</p><p> +"The reward which Government had offered for the arrest of Joseph +Wilmot's murderer was the legitimate price usually bidden for the head +of an assassin. The Government had offered to pay one hundred pounds to +any person or persons who should give such information as would lead to +the apprehension of the guilty party or parties. I had promised Mr. +Carter that I would give him another hundred pounds on my own account if +he succeeded in solving the mystery of Joseph Wilmot's death. The reward +at stake was therefore two hundred pounds; and this was a pretty high +stake, Mr. Carter told me, as the detective business went. I had given +him my written engagement to pay the hundred pounds upon the day of the +murderer's arrest, and I was very well able to do so without fear of +being compelled to ask help of my mother; for I had saved upwards of a +thousand pounds during my twelve years' service in the house of Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby. +</p><p> +"I saw from Mr. Carter's countenance that he was thinking, and thinking +very earnestly. He drank the soda-water and brandy; but he said nothing +to the waiter who brought him that popular beverage. When the man was +gone, he came and planted himself opposite to me upon the hearth-rug. +</p><p> +"'I'm going to talk to you very seriously, sir,' he said. +</p><p> +"I assured him that I was quite ready to listen to anything he might +have to say. +</p><p> +"'When you employ a detective officer, sir,' he began, 'don't employ a +man you can't put entire confidence in. If you can't trust him don't +have anything to do with him; for if he isn't to be trusted with the +dearest family secret that ever was kept sacred by an honest man, why +he's a scoundrel, and you're much better off without his help. But when +you've got a man that has been recommended to you by those who know him, +trust him, and don't be afraid to trust him, don't confide in him by +halves; don't tell him one part of your story, and keep the other half +hidden from him; because, you see, working in the twilight isn't much +more profitable than working in the dark. Now, why do I say this to you, +Mr. Austin? You know as well as I do. I say it because I know you +haven't trusted me.' +</p><p> +"'I have told you all that was absolutely necessary for you to know,' I +said. +</p><p> +"'Not a bit of it, sir. It's absolutely necessary for me to know +everything: that is, if you want me to succeed in the business I'm +engaged upon. You're afraid to give me your confidence out and out, +without reserve. Lor' bless your innocence, sir; in my profession a man +learns the use of his eyes; and when once he's learnt how to use them, +it ain't easy for him to keep them shut. I know as well as you do that +you're hiding something from me: you're keeping something back, though +you've half a mind to trust me. You took out a letter three times while +we wore sitting opposite to each other in the railway carriage; and you +read the letter; and every now and then, while you were reading it, you +looked up at me with a hesitating you-would-and-you-wouldn't sort of +look. You thought I was looking out of the window all the time; and so I +was, being uncommonly interested in the corn-fields we were passing just +then, so flat and stumpy and picturesque they looked; but, lor', Mr. +Austin, if I couldn't look out of the window and watch you at the same +time, I shouldn't be worth my salt to you or any one else. I saw plain +enough that you had half a mind to show me that letter; and it wasn't +very difficult to guess that the letter had some bearing upon the +business that has brought us to Winchester.' +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter paused, and settled himself comfortably against the corner +of the chimney-piece. I was not surprised that he should have read my +thoughts in the railway carriage. I pondered the matter seriously. He +was right in the main, no doubt; but how could I tell a detective +officer my dearest secret--the sad story of my only love? +</p><p> +"'Trust me, Mr. Austin,' my companion said; 'if you want me to be of use +to you, trust me thoroughly. The very thing you are hiding from me may +be the clue I most want to get hold of.' +</p><p> +"'I don't think that,' I said. 'However, I have every reason to believe +you to be an honest, conscientious fellow, and I will trust you. I dare +say you wonder why I am so much interested in this business?' +</p><p> +"'Well, to tell the honest truth, sir, it does seem rather out of the +common to see an independent gentleman like you taking all this trouble +to find out the rights and wrongs of a murder committed going on for a +twelvemonth ago: unless you're any relation of the murdered man: and +even if you're that, you're very unlike the common run of relations, for +they generally take such things quieter than anybody else,' answered Mr. +Carter. +</p><p> +"I told the detective that I had never seen the murdered man in the +course of my life, and had never heard his name until after the murder. +</p><p> +"'Well, sir, then all I can say is, I don't understand your motive,' +returned, Mr. Carter. +</p><p> +"'Well, Carter, I think you're a good fellow, and I'll trust you,' I +said; 'but, in order to do that, I must tell you a long story, and +what's worse still, a love-story.' +</p><p> +"I felt that I blushed a little as I said this, and was ashamed of the +false shame that brought that missish glow into my cheeks. Mr. Carter +perceived my embarrassment, and was kind enough to encourage me. +</p><p> +"'Don't you be afraid of telling the story, because it's a sentimental +one,' he said: 'Lor' bless you, I've heard plenty of love-stories. There +ain't many bits of business come our way but what, if you sift 'em to +the bottom, you find a petticoat. You remember the Oriental bloke that +always asked, 'Who is she?' when he heard of a fight, or a fire, or a +mad bull broke loose, or any trifling calamity of that sort; because, +according to his views, a female was at the bottom of everything bad +that ever happened upon this earth. Well, sir, if that Oriental +potentate had lived in our times, and been brought up to the detective +line, I'm blest if he need have changed his opinions. So don't you be +ashamed of telling a love-story, sir. I was in love myself once, though +I do seem such a dry old chip; and I married the woman I loved too; and +she was a pretty little country girl, as fresh and innocent as the +daisies in her father's paddocks; and to this day she don't know what my +business really is. She thinks I'm something in the City, bless her dear +little heart!' +</p><p> +"This touch of sentiment in Mr. Carter's conversation was quite +unaffected, and I felt all the more inclined to trust him after this +little revelation of his domestic life. I told him the story of my +acquaintance with Margaret, very briefly giving him only the necessary +details. I told him of the girl's several efforts to see Henry Dunbar, +and the banker's persistent avoidance of her. I told him then of our +journey to Shorncliffe, and Margaret's strange conduct after her +interview with the man she had been so eager to see. +</p><p> +"The telling of this, though I told it briefly, occupied nearly an hour. +Mr. Carter sat opposite me all the time, listening intently; staring at +me with one fixed unvarying stare, and fingering musical passages upon +his knees, with slow cautious motions of his fingers and thumbs. But I +could see that he was not listening only: he was pondering and reasoning +upon what I told him. When I had finished my story, he remained silent +for some minutes: but he still stared at me with the same relentless and +stony gaze, and he still fingered his knees, following up his right hand +with his left, as slowly and deliberately as if he had been composing a +fugue after the manner of Mendelssohn. +</p><p> +"'And up to the time of that interview at Maudesley Abbey, Miss Wilmot +had stuck to the idea that Henry Dunbar was the murderer of her father?' +he said, at last. +</p><p> +"'Most resolutely.' +</p><p> +"'And after that interview the young lady changed her opinion all of a +sudden, and would have it that the banker was innocent?' asked Mr. +Carter. +</p><p> +"'Yes; when Margaret returned from Maudesley Abbey she declared her +conviction of Henry Dunbar's innocence.' +</p><p> +"'And she refused to fulfil her engagement with you?' +</p><p> +"'She did.' +</p><p> +"The detective left off fingering fugues upon his knees, and began to +scratch his head, slowly pushing his hand up and down amongst his +iron-grey hair, and staring at me. I saw now that this stony glare was +only the fixed expression of Mr. Carter's face when he was thinking +profoundly, and that the relentlessness of his gaze had very little +relation to the object at which he gazed. +</p><p> +"I watched his face as he pondered, in the hope of seeing some sudden +mental illumination light up his stolid countenance: but I watched in +vain. I saw that he was at fault: I saw that Margaret Wilmot's conduct +was quite as inexplicable to him as it had been to me. +</p><p> +"'Mr. Dunbar's a very rich man,' he said, at last; 'and money generally +goes a good way in these cases. There was a political party, Sir Robert +somebody--but not Sir Robert Peel--who said, 'Every man has his price.' +Now, do you think it possible that Miss Wilmot would take a bribe, and +hold her tongue?' +</p><p> +"'Do I think that she would take money from the man she suspected as the +murderer of her father--the man she knew to have been the enemy of her +father? No,' I answered, resolutely; 'I am certain that she is incapable +of any such baseness. The idea that she had been bribed flashed across +me in the first bitterness of my anger: but even then I dismissed it as +incredible. Now that I can think coolly of the business, I know that +such an alternative is impossible. If Margaret Wilmot has been +influenced by Henry Dunbar, it is upon her terror that he has acted. +Heaven knows how he may have threatened her! The man who could lure his +old servant into a lonely wood and there murder him--the man who, +neither early nor late, had one touch of pity for the tool and +accomplice of his youthful crime--not one lingering spark of compassion +for the humble friend who sacrificed an honest name in order to serve +his master--would have little compunction in torturing a friendless girl +who dared to come before him in the character of an accuser.' +</p><p> +"'But you say that Miss Wilmot was resolute and high-spirited. Is she a +likely person to be governed by her terror of Mr. Dunbar? What threat +could he use to terrify her?' +</p><p> +"I shook my head hopelessly. +</p><p> +"'I am as ignorant as you are,' I said; 'but I have strong reason to +believe that Margaret Wilmot was under the influence of some great +terror when she returned from Maudesley Abbey.' +</p><p> +"'What reason?' asked Mr. Carter. +</p><p> +"'Her manner was sufficient evidence that she had been frightened. Her +face was as white as a sheet of paper when I met her, and she trembled +and shrank away from me, as if even my presence was horrible to her.' +</p><p> +"'Could you manage to repeat what she said that night and the next +morning?' +</p><p> +"It was not very pleasant to me to re-open my wounds for the benefit of +Mr. Carter the detective; but it would have been absurd to thwart the +man when he was working in my interests. I loved Margaret too well to +forget anything she ever said to me, even in our happiest and most +careless hours: and I had special reason to remember that cruel farewell +interview, and the strange scene in the corridor at the Reindeer, on the +night of her return from Maudesley Abbey. I went over all this ground +again, therefore, for Mr. Carter's edification, and told him, word for +word, all that Margaret had said to me. When I had finished, he relapsed +once more into a reverie, during which I sat listening to the ticking of +an eight-day clock in the passage outside our sitting-room, and the +occasional tramp of a passing footstep on the pavement below our +windows. +</p><p> +"'There's only one thing strikes me very particular in all you've told +me,' the detective said, by-and-by, when I had grown tired of watching +him, and had suffered my thoughts to wander back to the happy time in +which Margaret and I had loved and trusted each other; 'there's only one +thing strikes me in all the young lady said to you, and that is these +words--'There is contamination in my touch,' Miss Wilmot says to you. 'I +am unfit to be the associate of an honest man,' Miss Wilmot says to you. +Now, that looks as if she had been bought over somehow or other by Mr. +Dunbar. I've turned it over in my mind every way; and however I reckon +it up, that's about what it comes to. The young woman was bought over, +and she was ashamed of herself for being bought over.' +</p><p> +"I told Mr. Carter that I could never bring myself to believe this. +</p><p> +"'Perhaps not, sir, but it may be gospel truth for all that. There's no +other way I can account for the young woman's carryings on. If Mr. +Dunbar was innocent, and had contrived, somehow or other, to convince +the young woman of his innocence, why, she'd have come to you free and +open, and would have said, 'My dear, I've made a mistake about Mr. +Dunbar, and I'm very sorry for it; but we must look somewhere else for +my poor pa's murderer.' But what does the young woman do? She goes and +scrapes herself along the passage-wall, and shudders and shivers, and +says, 'I'm a wretch; don't touch me--don't come near me.' It's just like +a woman, to take the bribe, and then be sorry for having taken it.' +</p><p> +"I said nothing in answer to this. It was inexpressibly obnoxious to me +to hear my poor Margaret spoken of as 'a young woman' by my +business-like companion. But there was no possibility of keeping any +veil over the sacred mysteries of my heart. I wanted Mr. Carter's help. +For the present Margaret was lost to me; and my only hope of penetrating +the hidden cause of her conduct lay in Mr. Carter's power to solve the +dark enigma of Joseph Wilmot's death. +</p><p> +"'Oh, by the bye,' exclaimed the detective, 'there was a letter, wasn't +there?' +</p><p> +"He held out his hand as I searched for the letter in my pocket-book. +What a greedy, inquisitive-looking palm it seemed! and how I hated Mr. +Henry Carter, detective officer, at that particular moment! +</p><p> +"I gave him the letter; and I did not groan aloud as I handed it to him. +He read it slowly, once, twice, three times--half-a-dozen times, I +think, in all--pushing the fingers of his left hand through his hair as +he read, and frowning at the paper before him. It was while he was +reading the letter for the last time that I saw a sudden glimmer of +light in his hard eyes, and a half-smile playing round his thin lips. +</p><p> +"'Well?' I said, interrogatively, as he gave me back the letter. +</p><p> +"'Well, sir, the young lady,'--Mr. Carter called Margaret a young lady +this time, and I could not help thinking that her letter had revealed +her to him as something different from the ordinary class of female +popularly described as a young woman,--'the young lady was in earnest +when she wrote that letter, sir,' he said; 'it wasn't written under +dictation, and she wasn't bribed to write it. There's heart in it, sir, +if I may be allowed the expression: there's a woman's heart in that +letter: and when a woman's heart is once allowed scope, a woman's brains +shrivel up like so much tinder. I put this letter to that speech in the +corridor at the Reindeer, Mr. Austin; and out of those two twos I verily +believe I can make the queerest four that was ever reckoned up by a +first-class detective.' +</p><p> +"A faint flush, which looked like a glow of pleasure, kindled all over +Mr. Carter's sallow face as he spoke, and he got up and walked about the +room; not slowly or thoughtfully, but with a brisk eager tread that was +new to me. I could see that his spirits had risen a great many degrees +since the reading of the letter. +</p><p> +"'You have got some clue,' I said; 'you see your way----' +</p><p> +"He turned round and checked my eager curiosity by a warning gesture of +his uplifted hand. +</p><p> +"'Don't be in a hurry, sir,' he said, gravely; 'when you lose your way +of a dark night, in a swampy country, and see a light ahead, don't begin +to clap your hands and cry hooray till you know what kind of light it +is. It may be a Jack-o'-lantern; or it may be the identical lamp over +the door of the house you're bound for. You leave this business to me, +Mr. Austin, and don't you go jumping at conclusions. I'll work it out +quietly: and when I've worked it out I'll tell you what I think of it. +And now suppose we take a stroll through the cathedral-yard, and have a +look at the place where the body was found.' +</p><p> +"'How shall we find out the exact spot?' I asked, while I was putting on +my hat and overcoat. +</p><p> +"'Any passer-by will point it out,' Mr. Carter answered; 'they don't +have a popular murder in the neighbourhood of Winchester every day; and +when they do, I make not the least doubt they know how to appreciate the +advantage. You may depend upon it, the place is pretty well known.' +</p><p> +"It was nearly five o'clock by this time. We went down the slippery +oak-staircase, and out into the quiet street. A bleak wind was blowing +down from the hills, and the rooks' nests high up in the branches of the +old trees about the cathedral were rocking like that legendary cradle in +the tree-top. I had never been in Winchester before, and I was pleased +with the quaint old houses, the towering cathedral, the flat meadows, +and winding streams of water rippled by the wind. I was soothed, somehow +or other, by the peculiar quiet of the scene; and I could not help +thinking that, if a man's life was destined to be miserable, Winchester +would be a nice place for him to be miserable in. A dreamy, drowsy, +forgotten city, where the only changes of the slow day would be the +varying chimes of the cathedral clock, the different tones of the +cathedral bells. +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter had studied every scrap of evidence connected with the +murder of Joseph Wilmot. He pointed out the door at which Henry Dunbar +had gone into the cathedral, the pathway which the two men had taken as +they went towards the grove. We followed this pathway, and walked to the +very place in which the murdered man had been found. +</p><p> +"A lad who was fishing in one of the meadows near the grove went with us +to show us the exact spot. It was between an elm and a beech. +</p><p> +"'There's not many beeches in the grove,' the lad said, 'and this is the +biggest of them. So that it's easy enough for any one to pick out the +spot. It was very dry weather last August at the time of the murder, and +the water wasn't above half as deep as it is now.' +</p><p> +"'Is it the same depth every where?' Mr. Carter asked. +</p><p> +"'Oh, dear no,' the boy said; 'that's what makes these streams so +dangerous for bathing: they're shallow enough in some places; but +there's all manner of holes about; and unless you're a good swimmer, +you'd better not try it on.' +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter gave the boy sixpence and dismissed him. We strolled a +little farther on, and then turned and went back towards the cathedral. +My companion was very silent, and I could see that he was still +thinking. The change that had taken place in his manner after he had +read Margaret's letter had inspired me with new confidence in him, and I +was better able to await the working out of events. Little by little the +solemn nature of the business in which I was engaged grew and gathered +force in my mind, and I felt that I had something more to do than to +solve the mystery of Margaret's conduct to myself: I had to perform a +duty to society, by giving my uttermost help towards the discovery of +Joseph Wilmot's murderer. +</p><p> +"If the heartless assassin of this wretched man was suffered to live and +prosper, to hold up his head as the master of Maudesley Abbey, the chief +partner in a great City firm that had borne an honourable name for a +century and a half, a kind of premium was offered to crime in high +places. If Henry Dunbar had been some miserable starving creature, who, +in a fit of mad fury against the inequalities of life, had lifted his +gaunt arm to slay his prosperous brother for the sake of +bread--detectives would have dogged his sneaking steps, and watched his +guilty face, and hovered round and about him till they tracked him to +his doom. But because in this case the man to whom suspicion pointed had +the supreme virtues comprised in a million of money, Justice wore her +thickest bandage, and the officials, who are so clever in tracking a +low-born wretch to the gallows, held aloof, and said respectfully, +'Henry Dunbar is too great a man to be guilty of a diabolical crime.' +</p><p> +"These thoughts filled my mind as I walked back to the George Hotel with +Mr. Carter. +</p><p> +"It was half-past six when we entered the house, and we had kept dinner +waiting half an hour, much to the regret of the most courteous of +waiters, who expressed intense anxiety about the condition of the fish. +</p><p> +"As the man hovered about us at dinner, I expected every moment that Mr. +Carter would lead up to the only topic which had any interest either for +himself or me. But he was slow to do this; he talked of the town, the +last assizes, the state of the country, the weather, the prosperity of +the trout-fishing season--everything except the murder of Joseph Wilmot. +It was only after dinner, when some petrified specimens of dessert, in +the shape of almonds and raisins, figs and biscuits, had been arranged +on the table, that any serious business began. The preliminary +skirmishing had not been without its purpose, however; for the waiter +had been warmed into a communicative and confidential mood, and was now +ready to tell us anything he knew. +</p><p> +"I delegated all our arrangements to my companion; and it was something +wonderful to see Mr. Carter lolling in his arm-chair with what he called +the 'wine-cart' in his hand, deliberating between a forty-two port, +'light and elegant,' and a forty-five port, 'tawny and rich bouquet.' +</p><p> +"'I think we may as well try number fifteen,' he said, handing the list +of wines to the waiter after due consideration; 'and decant it +carefully, whatever you do. I hope your cellar isn't cold.' +</p><p> +"'Oh, no, sir; master's very careful of his cellar, sir.' +</p><p> +"The waiter went away impressed with the idea that he had to deal with a +couple of connoisseurs. +</p><p> +"'You've got those letters to write before ten o'clock, eh, Mr. Austin?' +said the detective, as the waiter re-entered the room with a decanter on +a silver salver. +</p><p> +"I understood the hint, and accordingly took my travelling-desk to a +side-table near the fireplace. Mr. Carter handed me one of the +wax-candles, and I sat down before the little table, unlocked my desk, +and began to write a few lines to my mother; while the detective smacked +his lips and knowingly deliberated over his first glass of port. +</p><p> +"'Very decent quality of wine,' he said, 'very decent. Do you know where +your master got it, eh? No, you don't. Ah! bottled it himself, I +suppose. I thought he might have got it at the Warren-Court sale the +other day, at the other end of the county. Fill a glass for yourself, +waiter, and put the decanter down by the fender; the wine's rather cold. +By the bye, I heard your wines very well spoken of the other day, by a +person of some importance, too--of considerable importance, I may say.' +</p><p> +"'Indeed, sir,' murmured the waiter, who was standing at a respectful +distance from the table, and was sipping his wine with deferential +slowness. +</p><p> +"'Yes; I heard your house spoken of by no less a person than Mr. Dunbar, +the great banker.' +</p><p> +"The waiter pricked up his ears. I pushed aside the letter to my mother, +and waited with a blank sheet of paper before me. +</p><p> +"'That was a strange affair, by the bye,' said Mr. Carter. 'Fill +yourself another glass of wine, waiter; my friend here doesn't drink +port; and if you don't help me to put away that bottle, I shall take too +much. Were you examined at the inquest on Joseph Wilmot?' +</p><p> +"No, sir,' answered the waiter, eagerly. 'I were not, sir; and they do +say as we ought every one of us to have been examined; for you see +there's little facks as one person will notice and as another won't +notice, and it isn't a man's place to come forward with every little +trivial thing, you see, sir; but if little trivial things was drawn out +of one and another, they might help, you see, sir.' +</p><p> +"There could be no end gained by taking notes of this reply, so I amused +myself by making a good nib to my pen while I waited for something +better worth jotting down. +</p><p> +"'Some of your people were examined, I suppose?' said Mr. Carter. +</p><p> +"'Oh, yes, sir,' answered the waiter; 'master, he were examined, to +begin with; and then Brigmawl, the head-waiter, he give his evidence; +but, lor', sir, without unfriendliness to William Brigmawl, which me and +Brigmawl have been fellow-servants these eleven year, our head-waiter is +that wrapped up in hisself, and his own cravats, and shirt-fronts, and +gold studs, and Albert chain, that he'd scarcely take notice of an +earthquake swallering up half the world before his eyes, unless the muck +and dirt of that earthquake was to spoil his clothes. William Brigmawl +has been head-waiter in this house nigh upon thirty year; and beyond a +stately way of banging-to a carriage-door, or showing visitors to their +rooms, or poking a fire, and a kind of knack of leading on timid people +to order expensive wines, I really don't see Brigmawl's great merit. But +as to Brigmawl at an inquest, he's about as much good as the Pope of +Rome.' +</p><p> +"'But why was Brigmawl examined in preference to any one else?' +</p><p> +"'Because he was supposed to know more of the business than any of us, +being as it was him that took the order for the dinner. But me and Eliza +Jane, the under-chambermaid, was in the hall at the very moment when the +two gentlemen came in.' +</p><p> +"'You saw them both, then?' +</p><p> +"'Yes, sir, as plain as I now see you. And you might have knocked me +down with a feather when I was told afterwards that the one who was +murdered was nothing more than a valet.' +</p><p> +"'You're not getting on very fast with your letters,' said Mr. Carter, +looking over his shoulder at me. +</p><p> +"'I had written nothing yet, and I understood this as a hint to begin. I +wrote down the waiter's last remark. +</p><p> +"'Why were you so surprised to find he was a valet?' Mr. Carter asked of +the waiter. +</p><p> +"'Because, you see, sir, he had the look of a gentleman,' the man +answered; 'an out-and-out gentleman. It wasn't that he held his head +higher than Mr. Dunbar, or that he was better dressed--for Mr. Dunbar's +clothes looked the newest and best; but he had a kind of languid +don't-careish way that seems to be peculiar to first-class gentlemen.' +</p><p> +"'What sort of a looking man was he?' +</p><p> +"'Paler than Mr. Dunbar, and thinner built, and fairer.' +</p><p> +"I jotted down the waiter's remarks; but I could not help thinking that +this talk about the murdered man's manner and appearance was about as +useless as anything could be. +</p><p> +"'Paler and thinner than Mr. Dunbar,' repeated the detective; 'paler and +thinner, eh? This was one thing you noticed; but what was it, now, that +you could have said at the inquest if you had been called as a witness?' +</p><p> +"'Well, sir, I'll tell you. It's a small matter, and I've mentioned it +many a time, both to William Brigmawl and to others; but they talk me +down, and say I was mistaken; and Eliza Jane being a silly giggling +hussey, can't bear me out in what I say. But I do most solemnly declare +that I speak the truth, and am not deceived. When the two +gentlemen--which gentlemen they both was to look at--came into our hall, +the one that was murdered had his coat buttoned tight across his chest, +except one button; and through the space left by that one button I saw +the glitter of a gold chain.' +</p><p> +"'Well, what then?' +</p><p> +"'The other gentleman, Mr. Dunbar, had his coat open as he got out of +the carriage, and I saw as plain as ever I saw anything, that he had no +gold-chain. But two minutes after he had come into the hall, and while +he was ordering dinner, he took and bottoned his coat. Well, sir, when +he came in, after visiting the cathedral, his coat was partially +unbuttoned and I saw that he wore a gold-chain, and, unless I am very +much mistaken, the same gold-chain that I had seen peeping out of the +breast of the murdered man. I could almost have sworn to that chain +because of the colour of the gold, which was a particular deep yaller. +It was only afterwards that these things came back to my mind, and I +certainly thought them very strange.' +</p><p> +"'Was there anything else?' +</p><p> +"'Nothing; except what Brigmawl dropped out one night at supper, some +weeks after the inquest, about his having noticed Mr. Dunbar opening his +desk while he was waiting for Joseph Wilmot to come home to dinner; and +Brigmawl do say, now that it ain't a bit of use, that Mr. Dunbar, do +what he would, couldn't find the key of his own desk for ever so long.' +</p><p> +"'He was confused, I suppose; and his hands trembled, eh?' asked the +detective. +</p><p> +"'No, sir; according to what Brigmawl said, Mr. Dunbar seemed as cool +and collected as if he was made of iron. But he kept trying first one +key and then another, for ever so long, before he could find the right +one.' +</p><p> +"'Did he now? that was queer.' +</p><p> +"'But I hope you won't think anything of what I've let drop, sir,' said +the waiter, hastily. 'I'm sure I wouldn't say any thing disrespectful +against Mr. Dunbar; but you asked me what I saw, sir, and I have told +you candid, and----' +</p><p> +"'My good fellow, you're perfectly safe in talking to me,' the detective +answered, heartily. 'Suppose you bring us a little strong tea, and clear +away this dessert; and if you've anything more to tell us, you can say +it while you're pouring out the tea. There's so much connected with +these sort of things that never gets into the papers, that really it's +quite interesting to hear of 'em from an eye-witness.' +</p><p> +"The waiter went away, pleased and re-assured, after clearing the table +very slowly. I was impatient to hear what Mr. Carter had gathered from +the man's talk. +</p><p> +"'Well,' he said, 'unless I'm very much mistaken, I think I've got my +friend the master of Maudesley Abbey.' +</p><p> +"'You do: but how so?' I asked. 'That talk about the gold-chain having +changed hands must be utterly absurd. What should Henry Dunbar want with +Joseph Wilmot's watch and chain?' +</p><p> +"'Ah, you're right there,' answered Mr. Carter. 'What should Henry +Dunbar want with Joseph Wilmot's gold chain? That's one question. Why +should Joseph Wilmot's daughter be so anxious to screen Henry Dunbar now +that she has seen him for the first time since the murder? There's +another question for you. Find the answer for it, if you can. +</p><p> +"I told the detective that he seemed bent upon mystifying me, and that +he certainly succeeded to his heart's content. +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter laughed a triumphant little laugh. +</p><p> +"'Never you mind, sir,' he said; you leave it to me, and you watch it +well, sir. It'll work out very neatly, unless I'm altogether wrong. Wait +for the end, Mr. Austin, and wait patiently. Do you know what I shall do +to-morrow?' +</p><p> +"'I haven't the faintest idea.' +</p><p> +"'I shall waste no more time in asking questions. I shall have the water +near the scene of the murder dragged. I shall try and find the clothes +that were stripped off the man who was murdered last August!'" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch39"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h4></center> +<center><h5>CLEMENT AUSTIN'S JOURNAL CONTINUED.</h5></center> +<p> + +"The rest of the evening passed quietly enough. Mr. Carter drank his +strong tea, and then asked my permission to go out and smoke a couple of +cigars in the High Street. He went, and I finished my letter to my +mother. There was a full moon, but it was obscured every now and then by +the black clouds that drifted across it. I went out myself to post the +letter, and I was glad to feel the cool breeze blowing the hair away +from my forehead, for the excitement of the day had given me a nervous +headache. +</p><p> +"I posted my letter in a narrow street near the hotel. As I turned away +from the post-office to go back to the High Street, I was startled by +the apparition of a girlish figure upon the other side of the street--a +figure so like Margaret's that its presence in that street filled me +with a vague sense of fear, as if the slender figure, with garments +fluttering in the wind, had been a phantom. +</p><p> +"Of course I attributed this feeling to its right cause, which was +doubtless neither more nor less than the over-excited state of my own +brain. But I was determined to set the matter quite at rest, so I +hurried across the way and went close up to the young lady, whose face +was completely hidden by a thick veil. +</p><p> +"'Miss Wilmot--Margaret,' I said. +</p><p> +"I had thought it impossible that Margaret should be in Winchester, and +I was only right, it seemed, for the young lady drew herself away from +me abruptly and walked across the road, as if she mistook my error in +addressing her for an intentional insult. I watched her as she walked +rapidly along the narrow street, until she turned sharply away at a +corner and disappeared. When I first saw her, as I stood by the +post-office, the moonlight had shone full upon her. As she went away the +moon was hidden by a fleecy grey cloud, and the street was wrapped in +shadow. Thus it was only for a few moments that I distinctly saw the +outline of her figure. Her face I did not see at all. +</p><p> +"I went back to the hotel and sat by the fire trying to read a +newspaper, but unable to chain my thoughts to the page. Mr. Carter came +in a little before eleven o'clock. He was in very high spirits, and +drank a tumbler of steaming brandy-and-water with great gusto. But +question him how I might, I could get nothing from him except that he +meant to have a search made for the dead man's clothes. +</p><p> +"I asked him why he wanted them, and what advantage would be gained by +the finding of them, but he only nodded his head significantly, and told +me to wait. +</p> +<center> +* +* +* +* +*</center> +<p> +"To-day has been most wretched--a day of miserable discoveries; and yet +not altogether miserable, for the one grand discovery of the day has +justified my faith in the woman I love. +</p><p> +"The morning was cold and wet. There was not a ray of sunshine in the +dense grey sky, and the flat landscape beyond the cathedral seemed +almost blotted out by the drizzling rain; only the hills, grand and +changeless, towered above the mists, and made the landmarks of the +soddened country. +</p><p> +"We took an early and hasty breakfast. Quiet and business-like as the +detective's manner was even to-day, I could see that he was excited. He +took nothing but a cup of strong tea and a few mouthfuls of dry toast, +and then put on his coat and hat. +</p><p> +"'I'm going down to the chief quarters of the county constabulary, he +said. 'I shall be obliged to tell the truth about my business down +there, because I want every facility for what I'm going to do. If you'd +like to see the water dragged, you can meet me at twelve o'clock in the +grove. You'll find me superintending the work.' +</p><p> +"It was about half-past eight when Mr. Carter left me. The time hung +very heavily on my hands between that time and eleven o'clock. At eleven +I put on my hat and overcoat and went out into the rain. +</p><p> +"I found my friend the detective standing in one of the smaller +entrances of the cathedral, in very earnest conversation with an old +man. As Mr. Carter gave me no token of recognition, I understood that he +did not want me to interrupt his companion's talk, so I walked slowly on +by the same pathway along which we had gone on the previous afternoon; +the same pathway by which the murdered man had gone to his death. +</p><p> +"I had not walked half a mile before I was joined by the detective. +</p><p> +"'I gave you the office just now,' he said, 'because I thought if you +spoke to me, that old chap would leave off talking, and I might miss +something that was on the tip of his tongue.' +</p><p> +"'Did he tell you much?' +</p><p> +"'No; he's the man who gave his evidence at the inquest. He gave me a +minute description of Henry Dunbar's watch and chain. The watch didn't +open quite in the usual manner, and the gentleman was rather awkward in +opening it, my friend the verger tells me. He was awkward with the key +of his desk. He seems to have had a fit of awkwardness that day.' +</p><p> +"'You think that he was guilty, and that he was confused and agitated by +the hideous business he had been concerned in?' +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter looked at me with a very queer smile on his face. +</p><p> +"'You're improving, Mr. Austin,' he said; 'you'd make a first-class +detective in next to no time.' +</p><p> +"I felt rather doubtful as to the meaning of this compliment, for there +was something very like irony in Mr. Carter's tone. +</p><p> +"'I'll tell you what I think,' he said, stopping presently, and taking +me by the button-hole. 'I think that I know why the murdered man's coat, +waistcoat, and shirt were stripped off him.' +</p><p> +"I begged the detective to tell me what he thought upon this subject; +but he refused to do so. +</p><p> +"'Wait and see,' he said; 'if I'm right, you'll soon find out what I +mean; if I'm wrong, I'll keep my thoughts to myself. I'm an old hand, +and I don't want to be found out in a mistake.' +</p><p> +"I said no more after this. The disappearance of the murdered man's +clothes had always appeared to me the only circumstance that was +irreconcilable with the idea of Henry Dunbar's guilt. That some brutal +wretch, who stained his soul with blood for the sake of his victim's +poor possessions, should strip off the clothes of the dead, and make a +market even out of them, was probable enough. But that Henry Dunbar, the +wealthy, hyper-refined Anglo-Indian, should linger over the body of his +valet and offer needless profanation to the dead, was something +incredible, and not to be accounted for by any theory whatever. +</p><p> +"This was the one point which, from first to last, had completely +baffled me. +</p><p> +"We found the man with the drags waiting for us under the dripping +trees. Mr. Carter had revealed himself to the constabulary as one of the +chief luminaries of Scotland Yard; and if he had wanted to dig up the +foundations of the cathedral, they would scarcely have ventured to +interfere with his design. One of the constables was lounging by the +water's edge, watching the men as they prepared for business. +</p><p> +"I have no need to write a minute record of that miserable day. I know +that I walked up and down, up and down, backwards and forwards, upon the +soddened grass, from noon till sundown, always thinking that I would go +away presently, always lingering a little longer; hindered by the fancy +that Mr. Carter's search was on the point of being successful. I know +that for hour after hour the grating sound of the iron drags grinding on +the gravelly bed of the stream sounded in my tired ears, and yet there +was no result. I know that rusty scraps of worn-out hardware, dead +bodies of cats and dogs, old shoes laden with pebbles, rank +entanglements of vegetable corruption, and all manner of likely and +unlikely rubbish, were dragged out of the stream, and thrown aside upon +the bank. +</p><p> +"The detective grew dirtier and slimier and wetter as the day wore on; +but still he did not lose heart. +</p><p> +"'I'll have every inch of the bed of the stream, and every hidden hole +in the bottom, dragged ten times over, before I'll give it up,' he said +to me, when he came to me at dusk with some brandy that had been brought +by a boy who had been fetching beer, more or less, all the afternoon. +</p><p> +"When it grew dark, the men lighted a couple of flaring resinous +torches, which Mr. Carter had sent for towards dusk, and worked, by the +patches of fitful light which these torches threw upon the water. I +still walked up and down under the dripping trees, in the darkness, as I +had walked in the light; and once when I was farthest from the red glare +of the torches, a strange fancy took possession of me. In amongst the +dim branches of the trees I thought I saw something moving, something +that reminded me of the figure I had seen opposite the post-office on +the previous night. +</p><p> +"I ran in amongst the trees; and as I did so, the figure seemed to me to +recede, and disappear; a faint rustling of a woman's dress sounded in my +ears, or seemed so to sound, as the figure melted from my sight. But +again I had good reason to attribute these fancies to the state of my +own brain, after that long day of anxiety and suspense. +</p><p> +"At last, when I was completely worn out by my weary day, Mr. Carter +came to me. +</p><p> +"'They're found!' he cried. 'We've found 'em! We've found the murdered +man's clothes! They've been drifted away into one of the deepest holes +there is, and the rats have been gnawing at 'em. But, please Providence, +we shall find what we want. I'm not much of a church-goer, but I do +believe there's a Providence that lies in wait for wicked men, and +catches the very cleverest of them when they least expect it.' +</p><p> +"I had never seen Mr. Carter so much excited as he seemed now. His face +was flushed, and his nostrils quivered nervously. +</p><p> +"I followed him to the spot where the constable and two men, who had +been dragging the stream, were gathered round a bundle of wet rubbish +lying on the ground. +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter knelt down before this bundle, which was covered with +trailing weeds and moss and slime, and the constable stooped over him +with a flaming torch in his hand. +</p><p> +"'These are somebody's clothes, sure enough,' the detective said; 'and, +unless I'm very much mistaken, they're what I want. Has anybody got a +basket?' +</p><p> +"Yes. The boy who had fetched beer had a basket. Mr. Carter stuffed the +slimy bundle into this basket, and put his arm through the handle. +</p><p> +"'You're not going to look 'em over here, then?' said the local +constable, with an air of disappointment. +</p><p> +"'No, I'll take them straight to my hotel; I shall have plenty of light +there. You can come with me, if you like,' Mr. Carter answered. +</p><p> +"He paid the men, who had been at work all day, and paid them liberally, +I suppose, for they seemed very well satisfied. I had given him money +for any expenses such as these; for I knew that, in a case of this kind, +every insignificant step entailed the expenditure of money. +</p><p> +"We walked homewards as rapidly as the miserable state of the path, the +increasing darkness, and the falling rain would allow us to walk. The +constable walked with us. Mr. Carter whistled softly to himself as he +went along, with the basket on his arm. The slimy green stuff and muddy +water dripped from the bottom of the basket as he carried it. +</p><p> +"I was still at a loss to understand the reason of his high spirits; I +was still at a loss to comprehend why he attached so much importance to +the finding of the dead man's clothes. +</p><p> +"It was past eight o'clock when we three men--the detecting the +Winchester constable, and myself--entered our sitting-room at the George +Hotel. The principal table was laid for dinner; and the waiter, our +friend of the previous evening, was hovering about, eager to receive us. +But Mr. Carter sent the waiter about his business. +</p><p> +"'I've got a little matter to settle with this gentleman,' he said, +indicating the Winchester constable with a backward jerk of his thumb; +'I'll ring when I want dinner.' +</p><p> +"I saw the waiter's eyes open to an abnormal extent, as he looked at the +constable, and I saw a sudden blank apprehension creep over his face, as +he retired very slowly from the room. +</p><p> +"'Now,' said Mr. Carter, 'we'll examine the bundle.' +</p><p> +"He pushed away the dinner-table, and drew forward a smaller table. Then +he ran out of the room, and returned in about two minutes, carrying with +him all the towels he had been able to find in my room and his own, +which were close at hand. He spread the towels on the table, and then +took the slimy bundle from the basket. +</p><p> +"'Bring me the candles--both the candles,' he said to the constable. +</p><p> +"The man held the two wax-candles on the right hand of the detective, as +he sat before the table. I stood on his left hand, watching him +intently. +</p><p> +"He touched the ragged and mud-stained bundle as carefully as if it had +been some living thing. Foul river-insects crept out of the weeds, which +were so intermingled with the tattered fabrics that it was difficult to +distinguish one substance from the other. +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter was right: the rats had been at work. The outer part of the +bundle was a coat--a cloth coat, knawed into tatters by the sharp teeth +of water-rats. +</p><p> +"Inside the coat there was a waistcoat, a satin scarf that was little +better than a pulp, and a shirt that had once been white. Inside the +white shirt there was a flannel shirt, out of which there rolled +half-a-dozen heavy stones. These had been used to sink the bundle, but +were not so heavy as to prevent its drifting into the hole where it had +been found. +</p><p> +"The bundle had been rolled up very tightly, and the outer garment was +the only one which had been destroyed by the rats. The inner +garment--the flannel shirt--was in a very tolerable state of +preservation. +</p><p> +"The detective swept the coat and waistcoat and the pebbles back into +the basket, and then rolled both of the shirts in a towel, and did his +best to dry them. The constable watched him with open eyes, but with no +ray of intelligence in his stolid face. +</p><p> +"'Well,' said Mr. Carter,' there isn't much here, is there? I don't +think I need detain you any longer. You'll be wanting your tea, I dare +say.' +</p><p> +"'I did'nt think there would be much in them,' the constable said, +pointing contemptuously to the wet rags; his reverential awe of Scotland +Yard had been considerably lessened during that long tiresome day. 'I +didn't see your game from the first, and I don't see it now. But you +wanted the things found, and you've had 'em found.' +</p><p> +"Yes; and I've paid for the work being done,' Mr. Carter answered +briskly; 'not but what I'm thankful to you for giving me your help, and +I shall esteem it a favour if you'll accept a trifle, to make up for +your lost day. I've made a mistake, that's all; the wisest of us are +liable to be mistaken once in a way.' +</p><p> +"The constable grinned as he took the sovereign which Mr. Carter offered +him. There was something like triumph in the grin of that Winchester +constable--the triumph of a country official who was pleased to see a +Londoner at fault. +</p><p> +"I confess that I groaned aloud when the door closed upon the man, and I +found myself alone with the detective, who had seated himself at the +little table, and was poring over one of the shirts outspread before +him. +</p><p> +"'All this day's labour and weariness has been so much wasted trouble,' +I said; 'for it seems to have brought us no step nearer to the point we +wanted to reach." +</p><p> +"'Hasn't it, Mr. Austin?" cried the detective, eagerly. 'Do you think I +am such a fool as to speak out before the man who has just left this +room? Do you think I'm going to tell him my secret, or let him share my +gains? The business of to-day has brought us to the very end we want to +reach. It has brought about the discovery to which Margaret Wilmot's +letter was the first indication--the discovery pointed to by every word +that man told us last night. Why did I want to find the clothes worn by +the murdered man? Because I knew that those garments must contain a +secret, or they never would have been stripped from the corpse. It ain't +often that a murderer cares to stop longer than he's obliged by the side +of his victim; and I knew all along that whoever stripped off those +clothes must have had a very strong reason for doing it. I have worked +this business out by my own lights, and I've been right. Look there, Mr. +Austin.' +</p><p> +"He handed me the wet discoloured shirt, and pointed with his finger to +one particular spot. +</p><p> +"There, amidst the stains of mud and moss, I saw something which was +distinct and different from them. A name, neatly worked in dark crimson +thread--a Christian and surname, in full. +</p><p> +"'How do you make that out?' Mr. Carter asked, looking We full in the +face. +</p><p> +"Neither I nor any rational creature upon this earth able to read +English characters could have well made out that name otherwise than I +made it out. +</p><p> +"It was the name of Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"'You see it all now, don't you?' said Mr. Carter; 'that's why the +clothes were stripped off the body, and hidden at the bottom of the +stream, where the water seemed deepest; that's why the watch and chain +changed hands; that's why the man who came back to this house after the +murder was slow to select the key of the desk. You understand now why it +was so difficult for Margaret Wilmot to obtain access to the man at +Maudesley Abbey; and why, when she had once seen that man, she tried to +shield him from inquiry and pursuit. When she told you that Henry Dunbar +was innocent of her father's murder, she only told you the truth. The +man who was murdered was Henry Dunbar; the man who murdered him was----' +</p><p> +"I could hear no more. The blood surged up to my head, and I staggered +back and dropped into a chair. +</p><p> +"When I came to myself, I found the detective splashing cold water in my +face. When I came to myself, and was able to think steadily of what had +happened, I had but one feeling in my mind; and that was pity, +unutterable pity, for the woman I loved. +</p> +<center> +* +* +* +* +*</center> +<p> +"Mr. Carter carried the bundle of clothes to his own room, and returned +by-and-by, bringing his portmanteau with him. He put the portmanteau in +a corner near the fireplace. +</p><p> +"'I've locked the clothes safely in that,' he said; 'and I don't mean to +let it out of my sight till it's lodged in very safe hands. That mark +upon Henry Dunbar's shirt will hang his murderer.' +</p><p> +"'There may have been some mistake,' I said; 'the clothes marked with +the name of Henry Dunbar may not have really belonged to Henry Dunbar. +He may have given those clothes to his old valet.' +</p><p> +"'That's not likely, sir; for the old valet only met him at Southampton +two or three hours before the murder was committed. No; I can see it all +now. It's the strangest case that ever came to my knowledge, but it's +simple enough when you've got the right clue to it. There was no +probable motive which could induce Henry Dunbar, the very pink of +respectability, and sole owner of a million of money, to run the risk of +the gallows; there were very strong reasons why Joseph Wilmot, a +vagabond and a returned criminal, should murder his late master, if by +so doing he could take the dead man's place, and slip from the position +of an outcast and a penniless reprobate into that of chief partner in +the house of Dunbar and Company. It was a bold game to hazard, and it +must have been a fearfully perilous and difficult game to play, and the +man has played it well, to have escaped suspicion so long. His +daughter's conscientious scruples have betrayed him." +</p><p> +"Yes, Mr. Carter spoke the truth. Margaret's refusal to fulfil her +engagement had set in motion the machinery by means of which the secret +of this foul murder had been discovered. +</p><p> +"I thought of the strange revelation, still so new to me, until my brain +grew dazed. How had it been done? How had it been managed? The man whom +I had seen and spoken with was not Henry Dunbar, then, but Joseph +Wilmot, the murderer of his master--the treacherous and deliberate +assassin of the man he had gone to meet and welcome after his +five-and-thirty years' absence from England! +</p><p> +"'But surely such a conspiracy must be impossible,' I said, by-and-by; +'I have seen letters in St. Gundolph Lane, letters in Henry Dunbar's +hand, since last August.' +</p><p> +"'That's very likely, sir,' the detective answered, coolly. 'I turned up +Joseph Wilmot's own history while I was making myself acquainted with +the details of this murder. He was transported thirty years ago for +forgery: he made a bold attempt at escape, but he was caught in the act, +and removed to Norfolk Island. He was one of the cleverest chaps at +counterfeiting any man's handwriting that was ever tried at the Old +Bailey. He was known as one of the most daring scoundrels that ever +stepped on board a convict-ship; a clever villain, and a bold one, but +not without some touches of good in him, I'm told. At Norfolk Island he +worked so hard and behaved so well that he got set free before he had +served half his time. He came back to England, and was seen about +London, and was suspected of being concerned in all manner of criminal +offences, from card-sharping to coining, but nothing was ever brought +home to him. I believe he tried to make an honest living, but couldn't: +the brand of the gaol-bird was upon him; and if he ever did get a +chance, it was taken away from him before the sincerity of any apparent +reformation had been tested. This is his history, and the history of +many other men like him.' +</p><p> +"And Margaret was the daughter of this man. An inexpressible feeling of +melancholy took possession of me as I thought of this. I understood +everything now. This noble girl had heroically put away from her the one +chance of bright and happy life, rather than bring upon her husband the +foul taint of her father's crime. I could understand all now. I looked +back at the white face, rigid in its speechless agony; the fixed, +dilated eyes; and I pictured to myself the horror of that scene at +Maudesley Abbey, when the father and daughter stood opposite to each +other, and Margaret Wilmot discovered <i>why</i> the murderer had +persistently hidden himself from her. +</p><p> +"The mystery of my betrothed wife's renunciation of my love had been +solved; but the discovery was so hideous that I looked back now and +regretted the time of my ignorance and uncertainty. Would it not have +been better for me if I had let Margaret Wilmot go her own way, and +carry out her sublime scheme of self-sacrifice? Would it not have been +better to leave the dark secret of the murder for ever hidden from all +but that one dread Avenger whose judgments reach the sinner in his +remotest hiding-place, and follow him to the grave? Would it not have +been better to do this? +</p><p> +"No! my own heart told me the argument was false and cowardly. So long +as man deals with his fellow-man, so long as laws endure for the +protection of the helpless and the punishment of the wicked, the course +of justice must know no hindrance from any personal consideration. +</p><p> +"If Margaret Wilmot's father had done this hateful deed, he must pay the +penalty of his crime, though the broken heart of his innocent daughter +was a sacrifice to his iniquity. If, by a strange fatality, I, who so +dearly loved this girl, had urged on the coming of this fatal day, I had +only been a blind instrument in the mighty hand of Providence, and I had +no cause to regret the revelation of the truth. +</p><p> +"There was only one thing left me. The world would shrink away, perhaps, +from the murderer's daughter; but I, who had seen her nature proved in +the fiery furnace of affliction, knew what a priceless pearl Heaven had +given me in this woman, whose name must henceforward sound vile in the +ears of honest men, and I did not recoil from the horror of my poor +girl's history. +</p><p> +"'If it has been my destiny to bring this great sorrow upon her,' I +thought, 'it shall be my duty to make her future safe and happy." +</p><p> +"But would Margaret ever consent to be my wife, if she discovered that I +had been the means of bringing about the discovery of her father's +crime? +</p><p> +"This was not a pleasant thought, and it was uppermost in my mind while +I sat opposite to the detective, who ate a very hearty dinner, and whose +air of suppressed high spirits was intolerable to me. +</p><p> +"Success is the very wine of life, and it was scarcely strange that Mr. +Carter should feel pleased at having succeeded in finding a clue to the +mystery that had so completely baffled his colleagues. So long as I had +believed in Henry Dunbar's guilt, I had felt no compunction as to the +task I was engaged in. I had even caught something of the detective's +excitement in the chase. But now, now that I knew the shame and anguish +which our discovery must inevitably entail upon the woman I loved, my +heart sank within me, and I hated Mr. Carter for his ardent enjoyment of +his triumph. +</p><p> +"'You don't mind travelling by the mail-train, do you, Mr. Austin?' the +detective said, presently. +</p><p> +"'Not particularly; but why do you ask me?' +</p><p> +"'Because I shall leave Winchester by the mail to-night.' +</p><p> +"'What for?' +</p><p> +"'To get as fast as I can to Maudesley Abbey, where I shall have the +honour of arresting Mr. Joseph Wilmot.' +</p><p> +"So soon! I shuddered at the rapid course of justice when once a +criminal mystery is revealed. +</p><p> +"'But what if you should be mistaken! What if Joseph Wilmot was the +victim and not the murderer?" +</p><p> +"'In that case I shall soon discover my mistake. If the man at Maudesley +Abbey is Henry Dunbar, there must be plenty of people able to identify +him.' +</p><p> +"'But Henry Dunbar has been away five-and-thirty years.' +</p><p> +"'He has; but people don't think much of the distance between England +and Calcutta nowadays. There must be people in England now who knew the +banker in India. I'm going down to the resident magistrate, Mr. Austin; +the man who had Henry Dunbar, or the supposed Henry Dunbar, arrested +last August. I shall leave the clothes in his care, for Joseph Wilmot +will be tried at the Winchester assizes. The mail leaves Winchester at a +quarter before eleven,' added Mr. Carter, looking at his watch as he +spoke; 'so I haven't much time to lose.' +</p><p> +"He took the bundle from the portmanteau, wrapped it in a sheet of brown +paper which the waiter had brought him a few minutes before, and hurried +away. I sat alone brooding over the fire, and trying to reason upon the +events of the day. +</p><p> +"The waiter was moving softly about the room; but though I saw him look +at me wistfully once or twice, he did not speak to me until he was about +to leave the room, when he told me that there was a letter on the +mantelpiece; a letter which had come by the evening post. +</p><p> +"The letter had been staring me in the face all the evening, but in my +abstraction I had never noticed it. +</p><p> +"It was from my mother. I opened it when the waiter had left me, and +read the following lines: +</p><p> +"'MY DEAREST CLEM,--<i>I was very glad to get your letter this morning, +announcing your safe arrival at Winchester. I dare say I am a foolish +old woman, but I always begin to think of railway collisions, and all +manner of possible and impossible calamities, directly you leave me on +ever so short a journey. +<br> +"'I was very much surprised yesterday morning by a visit from Margaret +Wilmot. I was very cool to her at first; for though you never told me +why your engagement to her was so abruptly broken off, I could not but +think she was in some manner to blame, since I knew you too well, my +darling boy, to believe you capable of inconstancy or unkindness. I +thought, therefore, that her visit was very ill-timed, and I let her see +that my feelings towards her were entirely changed. +<br> +"'But, oh, Clement, when I saw the alteration in that unhappy girl, my +heart melted all at once, and I could not speak to her coldly or +unkindly. I never saw such a change in any one before. She is altered +from a pretty girl into a pale haggard woman. Her manners are as much +changed as her personal appearance. She had a feverish restlessness that +fidgeted me out of my life; and her limbs trembled every now and then +while she was speaking, and her words seemed to die away as she tried to +utter them. She wanted to see you, she said; and when I told her that +you were out of town, she seemed terribly distressed. But afterwards, +when she had questioned me a good deal, and I told her that you had gone +to Winchester, she started suddenly to her feet, and began to tremble +from head to foot. +<br> +"'I rang for wine, and made her take some. She did not refuse to take +it; on the contrary, she drank the wine quite eagerly, and said, 'I hope +it will give me strength. I am so feeble, so miserably weak and feeble, +and I want to be strong. I persuaded her to stop and rest; but she +wouldn't listen to me. She wanted to go back to London, she said; she +wanted to be in London by a particular time. Do what I would, I could +not detain her. She took my hands, and pressed them to her poor pale +lips, and then hurried away, so changed from the bright Margaret of the +past, that a dreadful thought took possession of my mind, and I began to +fear that she was mad.'</i> +</p><p> +"The letter went on to speak of other things; but I could not think of +anything but my mother's description of Margaret's visit. I understood +her agitation at hearing of my journey to Winchester. She knew that only +one motive could lead me to that place. I knew now that the familiar +figure I had seen in the moonlit street and in the dusky grove was no +phantasm of my over-excited brain. I knew now that it was the figure of +the noble-hearted woman I loved--the figure of the heroic daughter, who +had followed me to Winchester, and dogged my footsteps, in the vain +effort to stand between her father and the penalty of his crime. +</p><p> +"As I had been watched in the street on the previous night, I had been +watched to-night in the grove. The rustling dress, the shadowy figure +melting in the obscurity of the rain-blotted landscape had belonged to +Margaret Wilmot! +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter came in while I was still pondering over my mother's letter. +</p><p> +"'I'm off,' he said, briskly. 'Will you settle the bill, Mr. Austin? I +suppose you'd like to be with me to the end of this business. You'll go +down to Maudesley Abbey with me, won't you?' +</p><p> +"'No,' I said; 'I will have no farther hand in this matter. Do your +duty, Mr. Carter; and the reward I promised shall be faithfully paid to +you. If Joseph Wilmot was the treacherous murderer of his old master, he +must pay the penalty of his crime; I have neither the power nor the wish +to shield him. But he is the father of the woman I love. It is not for +me to help in hunting him to the gallows.' +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter looked very grave. +</p><p> +"'To be sure, sir,' he said; 'I recollect now. I've been so wrapt up in +this business that I forgot the difference it would make to you; but +many a good girl has had a bad father, you know, sir, and----' +</p><p> +"I put up my hand to stop him. +</p><p> +"'Nothing that can possibly happen will lessen my esteem for Miss +Wilmot,' I said. 'That point admits of no discussion.' +</p><p> +"I took out my pocket-book, gave the detective money for his expenses, +and wished him good night. +</p><p> +"When he had left me, I went out into the High Street. The rain was +over, and the moon was shining in a cloudless sky. Heaven knows how I +should have met Margaret Wilmot had chance thrown her in my way +to-night. But my mind was filled with her image; and I walked about the +quiet town, expecting at every turn in the street, at every approaching +footstep sounding on the pavement, to see the figure I had seen last +night. But go where I would I saw no sign of her; so I came back to the +hotel at last, to sit alone by the dull fire, and write this record of +my day's work." +</p> +<center> +* +* +* +* +*</center> +<p> +While Clement Austin sat in the lonely sitting-room at the George Inn, +with his rapid pen scratching along the paper before him, a woman walked +up and down the lamp-lit platform at Rugby, waiting for the branch train +which was to take her on to Shorncliffe. +</p><p> +This woman was Margaret Wilmot--the haggard, trembling girl whose +altered manner had so terrified simple-hearted Mrs. Austin. +</p><p> +But she did not tremble now. She had pushed her thick black veil away +from her face, and though no vestige of healthy colour had come back to +her cheeks or lips, her features had a set look of steadfast resolution, +and her eyes looked straight before her, like the eyes of a person who +has one special purpose in view, and will not swerve or falter until +that purpose has been carried out. +</p><p> +There was only one elderly gentleman in the first-class carriage in +which Margaret Wilmot took her seat when the branch train for +Shorncliffe was ready; and as this one fellow-passenger slept throughout +the journey, with his face covered by an expansive silk handkerchief, +Margaret was left free to think her own thoughts. +</p><p> +The girl was scarcely less quiet than her slumbering companion; she sat +in one changeless attitude, with her hands clasped together in her lap, +and her eyes always looking straight forward, as they had looked when +she walked upon the platform. Once she put her hand mechanically to the +belt of her dress, and then shook her head with a sigh as she drew it +away. +</p><p> +"How long the time seems!" she said; "how long! and I have no watch now, +and I can't tell how late it is. If they should be there before me. If +they should be travelling by this train. No, that's impossible. I know +that neither Clement, nor the man that was with him, left Winchester by +the train that took me to London. But if they should telegraph to London +or Shorncliffe?" +</p><p> +She began to tremble at the thought of this possibility. If that grand +wonder of science, the electric telegraph, should be made use of by the +men she dreaded, she would be too late upon the errand she was going on. +</p><p> +The mail train stopped at Shorncliffe while she was thinking of this +fatal possibility. She got out and asked one of the porters to get her a +fly; but the man shook his head. +</p><p> +"There's no flies to be had at this time of night, miss," he said, +civilly enough. "Where do you want to go?" +</p><p> +She dared not tell him her destination; secresy was essential to the +fulfilment of her purpose. +</p><p> +"I can walk," she said; "I am not going very far." She left the station +before the man could ask her any further questions, and went out into +the moonlit country road on which the station abutted. She went through +the town of Shorncliffe, where the diamond casements were all darkened +for the night, and under the gloomy archway, past the dark shadows which +the ponderous castle-towers flung across the rippling water. She left +the town, and went out upon the lonely country road, through patches of +moonlight and shadow, fearless in her self-abnegation, with only one +thought in her mind: "Would she be in time?" +</p><p> +She was very tired when she came at last to the iron gates at the +principal entrance of Maudesley Park. She had heard Clement Austin speak +of a bridle-path through the park to Lisford, and he had told her that +this bridle-path was approached by a gate in the park-fence upwards of a +mile from the principal lodge. +</p><p> +She walked along by this fence, looking for the gate. +</p><p> +She found it at last; a little low wooden gate, painted white, and only +fastened by a latch. Beyond the gate there was a pathway winding in and +out among the trunks of the great elms, across the dry grass. +</p><p> +Margaret Wilmot followed this winding path, slowly and doubtfully, till +she came to the margin of a vast open lawn. Upon the other side of this +lawn she saw the dark frontage of Maudesley Abbey, and three tall +lighted windows gleaming through the night. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch40"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XL.</h4></center> +<center><h5>FLIGHT.</h5></center> +<p> + +The man who called himself Henry Dunbar was lying on the tapestried +cushions of a carved oaken couch that stood before the fire in his +spacious sitting-room. He lay there, listening to the March wind roaring +in the broad chimney, and watching the blazing coals and the crackling +logs of wood. +</p><p> +It was three o'clock in the morning now, and the servants had left the +room at midnight; but the sick man had ordered a huge fire to be made +up--a fire that promised to last for some hours. +</p><p> +The master of Maudesley Abbey was in no way improved by his long +imprisonment. His complexion had faded to a dull leaden hue; his cheeks +were sunken; his eyes looked unnaturally large and unnaturally bright. +Long hours of loneliness, long sleepless nights, and thoughts that from +every diverging point for ever narrowed inwards to one hideous centre, +had done their work of him. The man lying opposite the fire to-night +looked ten years older than the man who gave his evidence so boldly and +clearly before the coroner's jury at Winchester. +</p><p> +The crutches--they were made of some light, polished wood, and were +triumphs of art in their way--leaned against a table close to the couch, +and within reach to the man's hand. He had learned to walk about the +rooms and on the gravel-drive before the Abbey with these crutches, and +had even learned to do without them, for he was now able to set the +lamed foot upon the ground, and to walk a few paces pretty steadily, +with no better support than that of his cane; but as yet he walked +slowly and doubtfully, in spite of his impatience to be about once more. +</p><p> +Heaven knows how many different thoughts were busy in his restless brain +that night. Strange memories came back to him, as he lay staring at the +red chasms and craggy steeps in the fire--memories of a time so long +gone by, that all the personages of that period seemed to him like the +characters in a book, or the figures in a picture. He saw their faces, +and he remembered how they had looked at him; and among these other +faces he saw the many semblances which his own had worn. +</p><p> +O God, how that face had changed! The bright, frank, boyish countenance, +looking eagerly out upon a world that seemed so pleasant; the young +man's hopeful smile; and then--and then, the hard face that grew harder +with the lapse of years; the smile that took no radiance from a light +within; the frown that blackened as the soul grew darker. He saw all +these, and still for ever, amid a thousand distracting ideas, his +thoughts, which were beyond his own volition, concentrated in the one +plague-spot of his life, and held him there, fixed as a wretch bound +hand and foot upon the rack. +</p><p> +"If I could only get away from this place," he said to himself; "if I +could get away, it would all be different. Change of scene, activity, +hurrying from place to place in new countries and amongst strange +people, would have the usual influence upon me. That memory would pass +away then, as other memories have passed; only to be recalled, now and +then, in a dream; or conjured up by some chance allusion dropped from +the lips of strangers, some coincidence of resemblance in a scene, or +face, or tone, or look. <i>That</i> memory cannot be so much worse than the +rest that it should be ineffaceable, where they have been effaced. But +while I stay here, here in this dismal room, where the dropping of the +ashes on the hearth, the ticking of the clock upon the chimney-piece, +are like that torture I have read of somewhere--the drop of water +falling at intervals upon the victim's forehead until the anguish of its +monotony drives him raving mad--while I stay here there is no hope of +forgetfulness, no possibility of peace. I saw him last night, and the +night before last, and the night before that. I see him always when I go +to sleep, smiling at me, as he smiled when we went into the grove. I can +hear his voice, and the words he said, every syllable of those +insignificant words, selfish murmurs about the probability of his being +fatigued in that long walk, the possibility that it would have been +better to hire a fly, and to have driven by the road--bah! What was he +that I should be sorry for him? Am I sorry for him? No! I am sorry for +myself, and for the torture which I have created for myself. O God! I +can see him now as he looked up at me out of the water. The motion of +the stream gave a look of life to his face, and I almost thought he was +still alive, and I had never done that deed." +</p><p> +These were the pleasant fireside thoughts with which the master of +Maudesley Abbey beguiled the hours of his convalescence. Heaven keep our +memories green! exclaims the poet novelist; and Heaven preserve us from +such deeds as make our memories hideous to us! +</p><p> +From such a reverie as this the master of Maudesley Abbey was suddenly +aroused by the sound of a light knocking against one of the windows of +his room--the window nearest him as he lay on the couch. +</p><p> +He started, and lifted himself into a sitting posture. +</p><p> +"Who is there?" he cried, impatiently. +</p><p> +He was frightened, and clasped his two hands upon, his forehead, trying +to think who the late visitant could be. Why should any one come to him +at such an hour, unless--unless <i>it</i> was discovered? There could be no +other justification for such an intrusion. +</p><p> +His breath came short and thick as he thought of this. Had it come at +last, then, that awful moment which he had dreamed of so many +times--that hideous crisis which he had imagined under so many different +aspects? Had it come at last, like this?--quietly, in the dead of the +night, without one moment's warning?--before he had prepared himself to +escape it, or hardened himself to meet it? Had it come now? The man +thought all this while he listened, with his chest heaving, his breath +coming in hoarse gasps, waiting for the reply to his question. +</p><p> +There was no reply except the knocking, which grew louder and more +hurried. +</p><p> +If there can be expression in the tapping of a hand against a pane of +glass, there was expression in that hand--the expression of entreaty +rather than of demand, as it seemed to that white and terror-stricken +listener. +</p><p> +His heart gave a great throb, like a prisoner who leaps away from the +fetters that have been newly loosened. +</p><p> +"What a fool I have been!" he thought. "If it was that, there would be +knocking and ringing at the hall-door, instead of that cautious summons. +I suppose that fellow Vallance has got into some kind of trouble, and +has come in the dead of the night to hound me for money. It would be +only like him to do it. He knows he must be admitted, let him come when +he may." +</p><p> +The invalid gave a groan as he thought this. He got up and walked to the +window, leaning upon his cane as he went. +</p><p> +The knocking still sounded. He was close to the window, and he heard +something besides the knocking--a woman's voice, not loud, but +peculiarly audible by reason of its earnestness. +</p><p> +"Let me in; for pity's sake let me in!" +</p><p> +The man standing at the window knew that voice: only too well, only too +well. It was the voice of the girl who had so persistently followed him, +who had only lately succeeded in seeing him. He drew back the bolts that +fastened the long French window, opened it, and admitted Margaret +Wilmot. +</p><p> +"Margaret!" he cried; "what, in Heaven's name, brings you here at such +an hour as this?" +</p><p> +"Danger!" answered the girl, breathlessly. "Danger to you! I have been +running, and the words seem to choke me as I speak. There's not a moment +to be lost, not one moment. They will be here directly; they cannot fail +to be here directly. I felt as if they had been close behind me all the +way--they may have been so. There is not a moment--not one moment!" +</p><p> +She stopped, with her hands clasped upon her breast. She was incoherent +in her excitement, and knew that she was so, and struggled to express +herself clearly. +</p><p> +"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, lifting her hands to her head, and pushing +the loose tangled hair away from her face; "I have tried to save you--I +have tried to save you! But sometimes I think that is not to be. It may +be God's mercy that you should be taken, and your wretched daughter can +die with you!" +</p><p> +She fell upon her knees, suddenly, in a kind of delirium, and lifted up +her clasped hands. +</p><p> +"O God, have mercy upon him!" she cried. "As I prayed in this room +before--as I have prayed every hour since that dreadful time--I pray +again to-night. Have mercy upon him, and give him a penitent heart, and +wash away his sin. What is the penalty he may suffer here, compared to +that Thou canst inflict hereafter? Let the chastisement of man fall upon +him, so as Thou wilt accept his repentance!" +</p><p> +"Margaret," said Joseph Wilmot, grasping the girl's arm, "are you +praying that I may be hung? Have you come here to do that? Get up, and +tell me what is the matter!" +</p><p> +Margaret Wilmot rose from her knees shuddering, and looking straight +before her, trying to be calm--trying to collect her thoughts. +</p><p> +"Father," she said, "I have never known one hour's peaceful sleep since +the night I left this room. For the last three nights I have not slept +at all. I have been travelling, walking from place to place, until I +could drop on the floor at your feet. I want to tell you--but the +words--the words--won't come--somehow----" +</p><p> +She pointed to her dry lips, which moved, but made no sound. There was a +bottle of brandy and a glass on the table near the couch. Joseph Wilmot +was seldom without that companion. He snatched up the bottle and glass, +poured out some of the brandy, and placed it between his daughter's +lips. She drank the spirit eagerly. She would have drunk living fire, +if, by so doing, she could have gained strength to complete her task. +</p><p> +"You must leave this house directly!" she gasped. "You must go abroad, +anywhere, so long as you are safe out of the way. They will be here to +look for you--Heaven only knows how soon!" +</p><p> +"They! Who? +</p><p> +"Clement Austin, and a man--a detective----" +</p><p> +"Clement Austin--your lover--your confederate? You have betrayed me, +Margaret!" +</p><p> +"I!" cried the girl, looking at her father. +</p><p> +There was something sublime in the tone of that one word--something +superb in the girl's face, as her eyes met the haggard gaze of the +murderer. +</p><p> +"Forgive me, my girl! No, no, you wouldn't do that, even to a loathsome +wretch like me!" +</p><p> +"But you will go away--you will escape from them?" +</p><p> +"Why should I be afraid of them? Let them come when they please, they +have no proof against me." +</p><p> +"No proof? Oh, father, you don't know--you don't know. They have been to +Winchester. I heard from Clement's mother that he had gone there; and I +went after him, and found out where he was--at the inn where you stayed, +where you refused to see me--and that there was a man with him. I waited +about the streets; and at night I saw them both, the man and Clement. +Oh! father, I knew they could have only one purpose in coming to that +place. I saw them at night; and the next day I watched again--waiting +about the street, and hiding myself under porches or in shops, when +there was any chance of my being seen. I saw Clement leave the George, +and take the way towards the cathedral. I went to the cathedral-yard +afterwards, and saw the strange man talking in a doorway with an old +man. I loitered about the cathedral-yard, and saw the man that was with +Clement go away, down by the meadows, towards the grove, to the place +where----" +</p><p> +She stopped, and trembled so violently that she was unable to speak. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot filled the glass with brandy for the second time, and put +it to his daughter's lips. +</p><p> +She drank about a teaspoonful, and then went on, speaking very rapidly, +and in broken sentences-- +</p><p> +"I followed the man, keeping a good way behind, so that he might not see +that he was followed. He went straight down to the very place where--the +murder was done. Clement was there, and three men. They were there under +the trees, and they were dragging the water." +</p><p> +"Dragging the water! Oh, my God, why were they doing that?" cried the +man, dropping suddenly on the chair nearest to him, and with his face +livid. +</p><p> +For the first time since Margaret had entered the room terror took +possession of him. Until now he had listened attentively, anxiously; but +the ghastly look of fear and horror was new upon his face. He had defied +discovery. There was only one thing that could be used against him--the +bundle of clothes, the marked garments of the murdered man--those fatal +garments which he had been unable to destroy, which he had only been +able to hide. These things alone could give evidence against him; but +who should think of searching for these things? Again and again he had +thought of the bundle at the bottom of the stream, only to laugh at the +wondrous science of discovery which had slunk back baffled by so slight +a mystery, only to fancy the water-rats gnawing the dead man's garments, +and all the oose and slime creeping in and out amongst the folds until +the rotting rags became a very part of the rank river-weeds that crawled +and tangled round them. +</p><p> +He had thought this, and the knowledge that strangers had been busy on +that spot, dragging the water--the dreadful water that had so often +flowed through his dreams--with, not one, but a thousand dead faces +looking up and grinning at him through the stream--the tidings that a +search had been made there, came upon him like a thunderbolt. +</p><p> +"Why did they drag the water?" he cried again. +</p><p> +His daughter was standing at a little distance from him. She had never +gone close up to him, and she had receded a little--involuntarily, as a +woman shrinks away from some animal she is frightened of--whenever he +had approached her. He knew this--yes, amidst every other conflicting +thought, this man was conscious that his daughter avoided him. +</p><p> +"They dragged the water," Margaret said; "I walked about--that +place--under the elms--all the day--only one day--but it seemed to last +for ever and ever. I was obliged to hide myself--and to keep at a +distance, for Clement was there all day; but as it grew dusk I ventured +nearer, and found out what they were doing, and that they had not found +what they were searching for; but I did not know yet what it was they +wanted to find." +</p><p> +"But they found it!" gasped the girl's father; "did they find it? Come +to that." +</p><p> +"Yes, they found it by-and-by. A bundle of rags, a boy told me--a boy +who had been about with the men all day--'a bundle of rags, it looked +like,' he said; but he heard the constable say that those rags were the +clothes that had belonged to the murdered man." +</p><p> +"What then? What next?" +</p><p> +"I waited to hear no more, father; I ran all the way to Winchester to +the station--I was in time for a train, which brought me to London--I +came on by the mail to Rugby--and----" +</p><p> +"Yes, yes; I know--and you are a brave girl, a noble girl. Ah! my poor +Margaret, I don't think I should have hated that man so much if it +hadn't been for the thought of you--your lonely girlhood--your hopeless, +joyless existence--and all through him--all through the man who ruined +me at the outset of my life. But I won't talk--I daren't talk: they have +found the clothes; they know that the man who was murdered was Henry +Dunbar--they will be here--let me think--let me think how I can get +away!" +</p><p> +He clasped both his hands upon his head, as if by force of their iron +grip he could steady his mind, and clear away the confusion of his +brain. +</p><p> +From the first day on which he had taken possession of the dead man's +property until this moment he had lived in perpetual terror of the +crisis which had now arrived. There was no possible form or manner in +which he had not imagined the situation. There was no preparation in his +power to make that he had left unmade. But he had hoped to anticipate +the dreaded hour. He had planned his flight, and meant to have left +Maudesley Abbey for ever, in the first hour that found him capable of +travelling. He had planned his flight, and had started on that wintry +afternoon, when the Sabbath bells had a muffled sound, as their solemn +peals floated across the snow--he had started on his journey with the +intention of never again returning to Maudesley Abbey. He had meant to +leave England, and wander far away, through all manner of unfrequented +districts, choosing places that were most difficult of approach, and +least affected by English travellers. +</p><p> +He had meant to do this, and had calculated that his conduct would be, +at the worst, considered eccentric; or perhaps it would be thought +scarcely unnatural in a lonely man, whose only child had married into a +higher sphere than his own. He had meant to do this, and by-and-by, when +he had been lost sight of by the world, to hide himself under a new name +and a new nationality, so that if ever, by some strange fatality, by +some awful interposition of Providence, the secret of Henry Dunbar's +death should come to light, the murderer would be as entirely removed +from human knowledge as if the grave had closed over him and hidden him +for ever. +</p><p> +This is the course that Joseph Wilmot had planned for himself. There had +been plenty of time for him to think and plot in the long nights that he +had spent in those splendid rooms--those noble chambers, whose grandeur +had been more hideous to him than the blank walls of a condemned cell; +whose atmosphere had seemed more suffocating than the foetid vapours of +a fever-tainted den in St. Giles's. The passionate, revengeful yearning +of a man who has been cruelly injured and betrayed, the common greed of +wealth engendered out of poverty's slow torture, had arisen rampant in +this man's breast at the sight of Henry Dunbar. By one hideous deed both +passions were gratified; and Joseph Wilmot, the bank-messenger, the +confidential valet, the forger, the convict, the ticket-of-leave man, +the penniless reprobate, became master of a million of money. +</p><p> +Yes, he had done this. He had entered Winchester upon that August +afternoon, with a few sovereigns and a handful of silver in his pocket, +and with a life of poverty and degradation, before him. He had left the +same town chief partner in the firm of Dunbar, Dunbar, and Balderby, and +sole owner of Maudesley Abbey, the Yorkshire estates, and the house in +Portland Place. +</p><p> +Surely this was the very triumph of crime, a master-stroke of villany. +But had the villain ever known one moment's happiness since the +commission of that deed--one moment's peace--one moment's freedom from a +slow, torturing anguish that was like the gnawing of a ravenous beast +for ever preying on his entrails? The author of the <i>Opium-Eater</i> +suffered so cruelly from some internal agony that he grew at last to +fancy there was indeed some living creature inside him, for ever +torturing and tormenting him. This doubtless was only the fancy of an +invalid: but what of that undying serpent called Remorse, which coils +itself about the heart of the murderer and holds it for ever in a deadly +grip--never to beat freely again, never to know a painless throb, or +feel a sweet emotion? +</p><p> +In a few minutes--while the rooks were cawing in the elms, and the green +leaves fluttering in the drowsy summer air, and the blue waters rippling +in the sunshine and flecked by the shadows--Joseph Wilmot had done a +deed which had given him the richest reward that a murderer ever hoped +to win; and had so transformed his life, so changed the very current of +his being, that he went away out of that wood, not alone, but dogged +step by step by a gaunt, stalking creature, a hideous monster that +echoed his every breath, and followed at his shoulder, and clung about +him, and grappled his throat, and weighed him down; a horrid thing, +which had neither shape nor name, and yet wore every shape, and took +every name, and was the ghost of the deed that he had done. +</p><p> +Joseph Wilmot stood for a few moments with his hands clasped upon his +head, and then the shadows faded from his face, which suddenly became +fixed and resolute-looking. The first thrill of terror, the first shock +of surprise, were over. This man never had been and never could be a +coward. He was ready now for the worst. It may be that he was glad the +worst had come. He had suffered such unutterable anguish, such +indescribable tortures, during the time in which his guilt had been +unsuspected, that it may have been a kind of relief to know that his +secret was discovered, and that he was free to drop the mask. +</p><p> +While he paused, thinking what he was to do, some lucky thought came to +him, for his face brightened suddenly with a triumphant smile. +</p><p> +"The horse!" he said. "I may ride, though I can't walk." +</p><p> +He took up his cane, and went to the next room, where there was a door +that opened into the quadrangle, in which the master of the Abbey had +caused a loose box to be built for his favourite horse. Margaret +followed her father, not closely, but at a little distance, watching him +with anxious, wondering eyes. +</p><p> +He unfastened the half-glass door, opened it, and went out into the +quadrangular garden, the quaint old-fashioned garden, where the +flower-beds were primly dotted on the smooth grass-plot, in the centre +of which there was a marble basin, and the machinery of a little +fountain that had never played within the memory of living man. +</p><p> +"Go back for the lamp, Margaret," Joseph Wilmot whispered. "I must have +light." +</p><p> +The girl obeyed. She had left off trembling now, and carried the shaded +lamp as steadily as if she had been bent on some simple womanly errand. +She followed her father into the garden, and went with him to the loose +box where the horse was to be found. +</p><p> +The animal knew his master, even in that uncertain light. There was gas +laid on in the millionaire's stables, and a low jet had been left +burning by the groom. +</p><p> +The horse plunged his head about his master's shoulders, and shook his +mane, and reared, and disported himself in his delight at seeing his old +friend once more, and it was only Joseph Wilmot's soothing hand and +voice that subdued the animal's exuberant spirits. +</p><p> +"Steady, boy, steady! quiet, old fellow!" Joseph said, in a whisper. +</p><p> +Three or four saddles and bridles hung upon a rack in one corner of the +small stable. Joseph Wilmot selected the things he wanted, and began to +saddle the horse, supporting himself on his cane as he did so. +</p><p> +The groom slept in the house now, by his master's orders, and there was +no one within hearing. +</p><p> +The horse was saddled and bridled in five minutes, and Joseph Wilmot led +him out of the stable, followed by Margaret, who still carried the lamp. +There was a low iron gate leading out of the quadrangle into the +grounds. Joseph led the horse to this gate. +</p><p> +"Go back and get me my coat," he said to Margaret; "you'll go faster +than I can. You'll find a coat lined with fur on a chair in the +bedroom." +</p><p> +His daughter obeyed, silently and quietly, as she had done before. The +rooms all opened one into the other. She saw the bedroom with the tall, +gloomy bedstead, the light of the fire flickering here and there. She +set the lamp down upon a table in this room, and found the fur-lined +coat her father had sent her to fetch. There was a purse lying on a +dressing-table, with sovereigns glittering through the silken network, +and the girl snatched it up as she hurried away, thinking, in her +innocent simplicity, that her father might have nothing but those few +sovereigns to help him in his flight. She went back to him, carrying the +bulky overcoat, and helped him to put it on in place of the +dressing-grown he had been wearing. He had taken his hat before going to +the stable. +</p><p> +"Here is your purse, father," she said, thrusting it into his hand; +"there is something in it, but I'm afraid there's not very much. How +will you manage for money where you art going?" +</p><p> +"Oh, I shall manage very well." +</p><p> +He had got into the saddle by this time, not without considerable +difficulty; but though the fresh air made him feel faint and dizzy, he +felt himself a new man now that the horse was under him--the brave +horse, the creature that loved him, whose powerful stride could carry +him almost to the other end of the world; as it seemed to Joseph Wilmot +in the first triumph of being astride the animal once more. He put his +hand involuntarily to the belt that was strapped round him, as Margaret +asked that question about the money. +</p><p> +"Oh, yes," he said, "I've money enough--I am all right." +</p><p> +"But where are you going?" she asked, eagerly. +</p><p> +The horse was tearing up the wet gravel, and making furious champing +noises in his impatience of all this delay. +</p><p> +"I don't know," Joseph Wilmot answered; "that will depend upon--I don't +know. Good night, Margaret. God bless you! I don't suppose He listens to +the prayers of such as me. If He did, it might have been all different +long ago--when I tried to be honest!" +</p><p> +Yes, this was true; the murderer of Henry Dunbar had once tried to be +honest, and had prayed God to prosper his honesty; but then he only +tried to do right in a spasmodic, fitful kind of way, and expected his +prayers to be granted as soon as they were asked, and was indignant with +a Providence that seemed to be deaf to his entreaties. He had always +lacked that sublime quality of patience, which endures the evil day, and +calmly breasts the storm. +</p><p> +"Let me go with you, father," Margaret said, in an entreating voice, +"let me go with you. There is nothing in all the world for me, except +the hope of God's forgiveness for you. I want to be with you. I don't +want you to be amongst bad men, who will harden your heart. I want to be +with you--far away--where----" +</p><p> +"<i>You</i> with me?" said Joseph Wilmot, slowly; "you wish it?" +</p><p> +"With all my heart!" +</p><p> +"And you're true," he cried, bending down to grasp his daughter's +shoulder and look her in the face, "you're true, Margaret, eh?--true as +steel; ready for anything, no flinching, no quailing or trembling when +the danger comes. You've stood a good deal, and stood it nobly. Can you +stand still more, eh?" +</p><p> +"For your sake, father, for your sake! yes, yes, I will brave anything +in the world, do anything to save you from----" +</p><p> +She shuddered as she remembered what the danger was that assailed him, +the horror from which flight alone could save him. No, no, no! <i>that</i> +could never be endured at any cost; at any sacrifice he must be saved +from <i>that</i>. No strength of womanly fortitude, no trust in the mercy of +God, could even make her resigned as to <i>that</i>. +</p><p> +"I'll trust you, Margaret," said Joseph Wilmot, loosening his grasp upon +the girl's shoulder; "I'll trust you. Haven't I reason to trust you? +Didn't I see your mother, on the day when she found out what my history +was; didn't I see the colour fade out of her face till she was whiter +than the linen collar round her neck, and in the next moment her arms +were about me, and her honest eyes looking up in my face, as she cried, +'I shall never love you less, dear; there's nothing in this world can +make me love you less!'" +</p><p> +He paused for a moment. His voice had grown thick and husky; but he +broke out violently in the next instant. +</p><p> +"Great Heaven! why do I stop talking like this? Listen to me, Margaret; +if you want to see the last of me, you must find your way, somehow or +other, to Woodbine Cottage, near Lisford--on the Lisford Road, I think. +Find your way there--I'm going there now, and shall be there long before +you--you understand?" +</p><p> +"Yes; Woodbine Cottage, Lisford--I shan't forget! God speed you, +father!--God help you!" +</p><p> +"He is the God of sinners," thought the wretched girl. "He gave Cain a +long lifetime in which to repent of his sins." +</p><p> +Margaret thought this as she stood at the gate, listening to the horse's +hoofs upon the gravel road that wound through the grounds away into the +park. +</p><p> +She was very, very tired, but had little sense of her fatigue, and her +journey was by no means finished yet. She did not once look back at +Maudesley Abbey--that stately and splendid mansion, in which a miserable +wretch had acted his part, and endured the penalty of his guilt, for +many wearisome months She went away--hurrying along the lonely pathways, +with the night breezes blowing her loose hair across her eyes, and +half-blinding her as she went--to find the gate by which she had entered +the park. +</p><p> +She went out at this gateway because it was the only point of egress by +which she could leave the park without being seen by the keeper of a +lodge. The dim morning light was grey in the sky before she met any one +whom she could ask to direct her to Woodbine Cottage; but at last a man +came out of a farmyard with a couple of milk-pails, and directed her to +the Lisford Road. +</p><p> +It was broad daylight when she reached the little garden-gate before +Major Vernon's abode. It was broad daylight, and the door leading into +the prim little hall was ajar. The girl pushed it open, and fell into +the arms of a man, who caught her as she fainted. +</p><p> +"Poor girl, poor child!" said Joseph Wilmot; "to think what she has +suffered. And I thought that she would profit by that crime; I thought +that she would take the money, and be content to leave the mystery +unravelled. My poor child! my poor, unhappy child!" +</p><p> +The man who had murdered Henry Dunbar wept aloud over the white face of +his unconscious daughter. +</p><p> +"Don't let's have any of that fooling," cried a harsh voice from the +little parlour; "we've no time to waste on snivelling!" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch41"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>AT MAUDESLEY ABBEY.</h5></center> +<p> + +Mr. Carter the detective lost no time about his work; but he did not +employ the telegraph, by which means he might perhaps have expedited the +arrest of Henry Dunbar's murderer. He did not avail himself of the +facilities offered by that wonderful electric telegraph, which was once +facetiously called the rope that hung Tawell the Quaker, because in so +doing he must have taken the local police into his confidence, and he +wished to do his work quietly, only aided by a companion and humble +follower, whom he was in the habit of employing. +</p><p> +He went up to London by the mail-train after parting from Clement +Austin; took a cab at the Waterloo station, and drove straight off to +the habitation of his humble assistant, whom he most unceremoniously +roused from his bed. But there was no train for Warwickshire before the +six-o'clock parliamentary, and there was a seven-o'clock express, which +would reach Rugby ten minutes after that miserably slow conveyance; so +Mr. Carter naturally elected to sacrifice the ten minutes, and travel by +the express. Meanwhile he took a hearty breakfast, which had been +hastily prepared by the wife of his friend and follower, and explained +the nature of the business before them. +</p><p> +It must be confessed that, in making these explanations to his humble +friend, Mr. Carter employed a tone that implied no little superiority, +and that the friendliness of his manner was tempered by condescension. +</p><p> +The friend was a middle-aged and most respectable-looking individual, +with a turnip-hued skin relieved by freckles, dark-red eyes, and +pale-red hair. He was not a very prepossessing person, and had a habit +of working about his lips and jaws when he was neither eating nor +talking, which was far from pleasant to behold. He was very much +esteemed by Mr. Carter, nevertheless; not so much because he was clever, +as because he looked so eminently stupid. This last characteristic had +won for him the <i>sobriquet</i> of Sawney Tom, and he was considered worth +his weight in sovereigns on certain occasions, when a simple country lad +or a verdant-looking linen-draper's apprentice was required to enact +some little part in the detective drama. +</p><p> +"You'll bring some of your traps with you, Sawney," said Mr. +Carter.--"I'll take another, ma'am, if you please. Three minutes and a +half this time, and let the white set tolerably firm." This last remark +was addressed to Mrs. Sawney Tom, or rather Mrs. Thomas Tibbles--Sawney +Tom's name was Tibbles--who was standing by the fire, boiling eggs and +toasting bread for her husband's patron. "You'll bring your traps, +Sawney," continued the detective, with his mouth full of buttered toast; +"there's no knowing how much trouble this chap may give us; because you +see a chap that can play the bold game he has played, and keep it up for +nigh upon a twelvemonth, could play any game. There's nothing out that +he need look upon as beyond him. So, though I've every reason to think +we shall take my friend at Maudesley as quietly as ever a child in arms +was took out of its cradle, still we may as well be prepared for the +worst." +</p><p> +Mr. Tibbles, who was of a taciturn disposition, and who had been busily +chewing nothing while listening to his superior, merely gave a jerk of +acquiescence in answer to the detective's speech. +</p><p> +"We start as solicitor and clerk," said Mr. Carter. "You'll carry a blue +bag. You'd better go and dress: the time's getting on. Respectable black +and a clean shave, you know, Sawney. We're going to an old gentleman in +the neighbourhood of Shorncliffe, that wants his will altered all of a +hurry, having quarrelled with his three daughters; that's what <i>we're</i> +goin' to do, if anybody's curious about our business." +</p><p> +Mr. Tibbles nodded, and retired to an inner apartment, whence he emerged +by-and-by dressed in a shabby-genteel costume of somewhat funereal +aspect, and with the lower part of his face rasped like a French roll, +and somewhat resembling that edible in colour. +</p><p> +He brought a small portmanteau with him, and then departed to fetch a +cab, in which vehicle the two gentlemen drove away to the Euston-Square +station. +</p><p> +It was one o'clock in the day when they reached the great iron gates of +Maudesley Abbey in a fly which they had chartered at Shorncliffe. It was +one o'clock on a bright sunshiny day, and the heart of Mr. Carter the +detective beat high with expectation of a great triumph. +</p><p> +He descended from the fly himself, in order to question the woman at the +lodge. +</p><p> +"You'd better get out, Sawney," he said, putting his head in at the +window, in order to speak to his companion; "I shan't take the vehicle +into the park. It'll be quieter and safer for us to walk up to the +house." +</p><p> +Mr. Tibbles, with his blue-bag on his arm, got out of the fly, prepared +to attend his superior whithersoever that luminary chose to lead him. +</p><p> +The woman at the lodge was not alone; a little group of gossips were +gathered in the primly-furnished parlour, and the talk was loud and +animated. +</p><p> +"Which I was that took aback like, you might have knocked me down with a +feather," said the proprietress of the little parlour, as she went out +of the rustic porch to open the gate for Mr. Carter and his companion. +</p><p> +"I want to see Mr. Dunbar," he said, "on particular business. You can +tell him I come from the banking-house in St. Gundolph Lane. I've got a +letter from the junior partner there, and I'm to deliver it to Mr. +Dunbar himself!" +</p><p> +The keeper of the lodge threw up her hands and eyes in token of utter +bewilderment. +</p><p> +"Begging your pardon, sir," she said, "but I've been that upset, I don't +know scarcely what I'm a-doing of. Mr. Dunbar have gone, sir, and nobody +in that house don't know why he went, or when he went, or where he's +gone. The man-servant as waited on him found the rooms all empty the +first thing this morning; and the groom as had charge of Mr. Dunbar's +horse, and slep' at the back of the house, not far from the stables, +fancied as how he heard a trampling last night where the horse was kep', +but put it down to the animal bein' restless on account of the change in +the weather; and this morning the horse was gone, and the gravel all +trampled up, and Mr. Dunbar's gold-headed cane (which the poor gentleman +was still so lame it was as much as he could do to walk from one room to +another) was lying by the garden-gate; and how he ever managed to get +out and about and saddle his horse and ride away like that without bein' +ever heard by a creetur, nobody hasn't the slightest notion; and +everybody this morning was distracted like, searchin' 'igh and low; but +not a sign of Mr. Dunbar were found nowhere." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter turned pale, and stamped his foot upon the gravel-drive. Two +hundred pounds is a large stake to a poor man; and Mr. Carter's +reputation was also trembling in the balance. The very man he wanted +gone--gone away in the dead of the night, while all the household was +sleeping! +</p><p> +"But he was lame," he cried. "How about that?--the railway accident--the +broken leg----" +</p><p> +"Yes, sir," the woman answered, eagerly, "that's the very thing, sir; +which they're all talkin' about it at the house, sir, and how a poor +invalid gentleman, what could scarce stir hand or foot, should get up in +the middle of the night and saddle his own horse, and ride away at a +rampageous rate; which the groom says he <i>have</i> rode rampageous, or the +gravel wouldn't be tore up as it is. And they do say, sir, as Mr. Dunbar +must have been took mad all of a sudden, and the doctor was in an awful +way when he heard it; and there's been people riding right and left +lookin' for him, sir. And Miss Dunbar--leastways Lady Jocelyn--was sent +for early this morning, and she's at the house now, sir, with her +husband Sir Philip; and if your business is so very important, perhaps +you'd like to see her----" +</p><p> +"I should," answered the detective, briskly. "You stop here, Sawney," he +added, aside to his attendant; "you stop here, and pick up what you can. +I'll go up to the house and see the lady." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter found the door open, and a group of servants clustered in the +gothic porch. Lady Jocelyn was in Mr. Dunbar's rooms, a footman told +him. The detective sent this man to ask if Mr. Dunbar's daughter would +receive a stranger from London, on most important business. +</p><p> +The man came back in five minutes to say yes, Lady Jocelyn would see the +strange gentleman. +</p><p> +The detective was ushered through the two outer rooms leading to that +tapestried apartment in which the missing man had spent so many +miserable days, so many dismal nights. He found Laura standing in one of +the windows looking out across the smooth lawn, looking anxiously out +towards the winding gravel-drive that led from the principal lodge to +the house. +</p><p> +She turned away from the window as Mr. Carter approached her, and passed +her hand across her forehead. Her eyelids trembled, and she had the look +of a person whose senses had been dazed by excitement and confusion. +</p><p> +"Have you come to bring me any news of my father?" she said. "I am +distracted by this serious calamity." +</p><p> +Laura looked imploringly at the detective. Something in his grave face +frightened her. +</p><p> +"You have come to tell me of some new trouble," she cried. +</p><p> +"No, Miss Dunbar--no, Lady Jocelyn, I have no new trouble to announce to +you. I have come to this house in search of--of the gentleman who went +away last night. I must find him at any cost. All I want is a little +help from you. You may trust to me that he shall be found, and speedily, +if he lives." +</p><p> +"If he lives!" cried Laura, with a sudden terror in her face. +</p><p> +"Surely you do not imagine--you do not fear that----" +</p><p> +"I imagine nothing, Lady Jocelyn. My duty is very simple, and lies +straight before me. I must find the missing man." +</p><p> +"You will find my father," said Laura, with a puzzled expression. "Yes, +I am most anxious that he should be found; and if--if you will accept +any reward for your efforts, I shall be only too glad to give all you +can ask. But how is it that you happen to come here, and to take this +interest in my father? You come from the banking-house, I suppose?" +</p><p> +"Yes," the detective answered, after a pause, "yes, Lady Jocelyn, I come +from the office in St. Gundolph Lane." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter was silent for some few moments, during which his eyes +wandered about the apartment in that professional survey which took in +every detail, from the colour of the curtains and the pattern of the +carpets, to the tiniest porcelain toy in an antique cabinet on one side +of the fireplace. The only thing upon which the detective's glance +lingered was the lamp, which Margaret had extinguished. +</p><p> +"I'm going to ask your ladyship a question," said Mr. Carter, presently, +looking gravely, and almost compassionately, at the beautiful face +before him; "you'll think me impertinent, perhaps, but I hope you'll +believe that I'm only a straightforward business man, anxious to do my +duty in my own line of life, and to do it with consideration for all +parties. You seem very anxious about this missing gentleman; may I ask +if you are very fond of him? It's a strange question, I know, my +lady--or it seems a strange question--but there's more in the answer +than you can guess, and I shall be very grateful to you if you'll answer +it candidly." +</p><p> +A faint flush crept over Laura's face, and the tears started suddenly to +her eyes. She turned away from the detective, and brushed her +handkerchief hastily across those tearful eyes. She walked to the +window, and stood there for a minute or so, looking out. +</p><p> +"Why do you ask me this question?" she asked, rather haughtily. +</p><p> +"I cannot tell you that, my lady, at present," the detective answered; +"but I give you my word of honour that I have a very good reason for +what I do." +</p><p> +"Very well then, I will answer you frankly," said Laura, turning and +looking Mr. Carter full in the face. "I will answer you, for I believe +that you are an honest man. There is very little love between my father +and me. It is our misfortune, perhaps: and it may be only natural that +it should be so, for we were separated from each other for so many +years, that, when at last the day of our meeting came, we met like +strangers, and there was a barrier between us that could never be broken +down. Heaven knows how anxiously I used to look forward to my father's +return from India, and how bitterly I felt the disappointment when I +discovered, little by little, that we should never be to one another +what other fathers and daughters, who have never known the long +bitterness of separation, are to each other. But pray remember that I do +not complain; my father has been very good to me, very indulgent, very +generous. His last act, before the accident which laid him up so long, +was to take a journey to London on purpose to buy diamonds for a +necklace, which was to be his wedding present to me. I do not speak of +this because I care for the jewels; but I am pleased to think that, in +spite of the coldness of his manner, my father had some affection for +his only child." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter was not looking at Laura, he was staring out of the window, +and his eyes had that stolid glare with which they had gazed at Clement +Austin while the cashier told his story. +</p><p> +"A diamond necklace!" he said; "humph--ha, ha--yes!" All this was in an +undertone, that hummed faintly through the detective's closed teeth. "A +diamond-necklace! You've got the necklace, I suppose, eh, my lady?" +</p><p> +"No; the diamonds were bought, but they were never made up." +</p><p> +"The unset diamonds were bought by Mr. Dunbar?" +</p><p> +"Yes, to an enormous amount, I believe. While I was in Paris, my father +wrote to tell me that he meant to delay the making of the necklace until +he was well enough to go on the Continent. He could see no design in +England that at all satisfied him." +</p><p> +"No, I dare say not," answered the detective, "I dare say he'd find it +rather difficult to please himself in that matter." +</p><p> +Laura looked inquiringly at Mr. Carter. There was something +disrespectful, not to say ironical, in his tone. +</p><p> +"I thank you heartily for having been so candid with me, Lady Jocelyn," +he said; "and believe me I shall have your interests at heart throughout +this matter. I shall go to work immediately; and you may rely upon it, I +shall succeed in finding the missing man." +</p><p> +"You do not think that--that under some terrible hallucination, the +result of his long illness--you don't think that he has committed +suicide?" +</p><p> +"No," Lady Jocelyn, answered the detective, decisively, "there is +nothing further from my thoughts now." +</p><p> +"Thank Heaven for that!" +</p><p> +"And now, my lady, may I ask if you'll be kind enough to let me see Mr. +Dunbar's valet, and to leave me alone with him in these rooms? I may +pick up something that will help me to find your father. By the bye, you +haven't a picture of him--a miniature, a photograph, or anything of that +sort, eh?" +</p><p> +"No, unhappily I have no portrait whatever of my father." +</p><p> +"Ah, that is unlucky; but never mind, we must contrive to get on without +it." +</p><p> +Laura rang the bell. One of the superb footmen, the birds of paradise +who consented to glorify the halls and passages of Maudesley Abbey, +appeared in answer to the summons, and went in search of Mr. Dunbar's +own man--the man who had waited on the invalid ever since the accident. +</p><p> +Having sent for this person, Laura bade the detective good morning, and +went away through the vista of rooms to the other side of the hall, to +that bright modernized wing of the house which Percival Dunbar had +improved and beautified for the granddaughter he idolized. +</p><p> +Mr. Dunbar's own man was only too glad to be questioned, and to have a +good opportunity of discoursing upon the event which had caused such +excitement and consternation. But the detective was not a pleasant +person to talk to, as he had a knack of cutting people short with a +fresh question at the first symptom of rambling; and, indeed, so closely +did he keep his companion to the point, that a conversation with him was +a kind of intellectual hornpipe between a set of fire-irons. +</p><p> +Under this pressure the valet told all he knew about his master's +departure, with very little loss of time by reason of discursiveness. +</p><p> +"Humph!--ha!--ah, yes!" muttered the detective between his teeth; "only +one friend that was at all intimate with your master, and that was a +gentleman called Vernon, lately come to live at Woodbine Cottage, +Lisford Road; used to come at all hours to see your master; was odd in +his ways, and dressed queer; first came on Miss Laura's wedding-day; was +awful shabby then; came out quite a swell afterwards, and was very free +with his money at Lisford. Ah!--humph! You've heard your master and this +gentleman at high words--at least you've fancied so; but, the doors +being very thick, you ain't certain. It might have been only telling +anecdotes. Some gentlemen do swear and row like in telling anecdotes. +Yes, to be sure! You've felt a belt round your master's waist when +you've been lifting him in and out of bed. He wore it under his shirt, +and was always fidgety in changing his shirt, and didn't seem to want +you to see the belt. You thought it was a galvanic belt, or something of +that sort. You felt it once, when you were changing your master's shirt, +and it was all over little knobs as hard as iron, but very small. That's +all you've got to say, except that you've always fancied your master +wasn't quite easy in his mind, and you thought that was because of his +having been suspected in the first place about the Winchester murder." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter jotted down some pencil-notes in his pocket-book while making +this little summary of his conversation with the valet. +</p><p> +Having done this and shut his book, he prowled slowly through the +sitting-room, bed-room, and dressing-room, looking about him, with the +servant close at his heels. +</p><p> +"What clothes did Mr. Dunbar wear when he went away?" +</p><p> +"Grey trousers and waistcoat, small shepherd's plaid, and he must have +taken a greatcoat lined with Russian sable." +</p><p> +"A black coat?" +</p><p> +"No; the coat was dark blue cloth outside." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter opened his pocket-book in order to add another memorandum-- +</p><p> +Trousers and waistcoat, shepherd's plaid; coat, dark blue cloth lined +with sable. "How about Mr. Dunbar's personal appearance, eh?" +</p><p> +The valet gave an elaborate description of his master's looks. +</p><p> +"Ha!--humph!" muttered Mr. Carter; "tall, broad-shouldered, hook-nose, +brown eyes, brown hair mixed with grey." +</p><p> +The detective put on his hat after making this last memorandum: but he +paused before the table, on which the lamp was still standing. +</p><p> +"Was this lamp filled last night?" he asked. +</p><p> +"Yes, sir; it was always fresh filled every day." +</p><p> +"How long does it burn?" +</p><p> +"Ten hours." +</p><p> +"When was it lighted?" +</p><p> +"A little before seven o'clock." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter removed the glass shade, and carried the lamp to the +fireplace. He held it up over the grate, and drained the oil. +</p><p> +"It must have been burning till past four this morning," he said. +</p><p> +The valet stared at Mr. Carter with something of that reverential horror +with which he might have regarded a wizard of the middle ages. But Mr. +Carter was in too much haste to be aware of the man's admiration. He had +found out all he wanted to know, and now there was no time to be lost. +</p><p> +He left the Abbey, ran back to the lodge, found his assistant, Mr. +Tibbles, and despatched that gentleman to the Shorncliffe railway +station, where he was to keep a sharp look out for a lame traveller in a +blue cloth coat lined with brown fur. If such a traveller appeared, +Sawney Tom was to stick to him wherever he went; but was to leave a note +with the station-master for his chief's guidance, containing information +as to what he had done. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch42"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE HOUSEMAID AT WOODBINE COTTAGE.</h5></center> +<p> + +In less than a quarter of an hour after leaving the gate of Maudesley +Park, the fly came to a stand-still before Woodbine Cottage. Mr. Carter +paid the man and dismissed the vehicle, and went alone into the little +garden. +</p><p> +He rang a bell on one side of the half-glass door, and had ample leisure +to contemplate the stuffed birds and marine curiosities that adorned the +little hall of the cottage before any one came to answer his summons. He +rang a second time before anyone came, but after a delay of about five +minutes a young woman appeared, with her face tied up in a coloured +handkerchief. The detective asked to see Major Vernon, and the young +woman ushered him into a little parlour at the back of the cottage, +without either delay or hesitation. +</p><p> +The occupant of the cottage was sitting in an arm-chair by the fire. +There was very little light in the room, for the only window looked into +a miniature conservatory, where there were all manner of prickly and +spiky plants of the cactus kind, which had been the delight of the late +owner of Woodbine Cottage. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter looked very sharply at the gentleman sitting in the +easy-chair; but the closest inspection showed him nothing but a +good-looking man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with a +determined-looking mouth, half shaded by a grey moustache. +</p><p> +"I've come to make a few inquiries about a friend of yours, Major +Vernon," the detective said; "Mr. Dunbar, of Maudesley Abbey, who has +been missing since four o'clock this morning." +</p><p> +The gentleman in the easy-chair was smoking a meerschaum. As Mr. Carter +said those two words, "four o'clock," his teeth made a little clicking +noise upon the amber mouthpiece of the pipe. +</p><p> +The detective heard the sound, slight as it was, and drew his inference +from it. Major Vernon had seen Joseph Wilmot, and knew that he had left +the Abbey at four o'clock, and thus gave a little start of surprise when +he found that the exact hour was known to others. +</p><p> +"You know where Mr. Dunbar has gone?" said Mr. Carter, looking still +more sharply at the gentleman in the easy-chair. +</p><p> +"On the contrary, I was thinking of looking in upon him at the Abbey +this evening." +</p><p> +"Humph!" murmured the detective, "then it's no use my asking you any +questions on the subject?" +</p><p> +"None whatever. Henry Dunbar is gone away from the Abbey, you say? Why, +I thought he was still under medical supervision--couldn't move off his +sofa, except to take a turn upon a pair of crutches." +</p><p> +"I believe it was so, but he has disappeared notwithstanding." +</p><p> +"What do you mean by disappeared? He has gone away, I suppose, and he +was free to go away, wasn't he?" +</p><p> +"Oh! of course; perfectly free." +</p><p> +"Then I don't so much wonder that he went," exclaimed the occupant of +the cottage, stooping over the fire, and knocking the ashes out of his +meerschaum. "He'd been tied by the leg long enough, poor devil! But how +is it you're running about after him, as if he was a little boy that had +bolted from his precious mother? You're not the surgeon who was +attending him?" +</p><p> +"No, I'm employed by Lady Jocelyn; in fact, to tell you the honest +truth," said the detective, with a simplicity of manner that was really +charming: "to tell you the honest truth, I'm neither more nor less than +a private detective, and I have come down from London direct to look +after the missing gentleman. You see, Lady Jocelyn is afraid the long +illness and fever, and all that sort of thing, may have had a very bad +effect upon her poor father, and that he's a little bit touched in the +upper story, perhaps;--and, upon my word," added the detective, frankly, +"I think this sudden bolt looks very like it. In which case I fancy we +may look for an attempt at suicide. What do you think, now, Major +Vernon, as a friend of the missing gentleman, eh?" +</p><p> +The Major smiled. +</p><p> +"Upon my word," he said, "I don't think you're so very far away from the +mark. Henry Dunbar has been rather queer in his ways since that railway +smash." +</p><p> +"Just so. I suppose you wouldn't have any objection to my looking about +your house, and round the garden and outbuildings? Your friend <i>might</i> +hide himself somewhere about your place. When once they take an +eccentric turn, there's no knowing where to have 'em." +</p><p> +Major Vernon shrugged his shoulders. +</p><p> +"I don't think Dunbar's likely to have got into my house without my +knowledge," he said; "but you are welcome to examine the place from +garret to cellar if that's any satisfaction to you." +</p><p> +He rang a bell as he spoke. It was answered by the girl whose face was +tied up. +</p><p> +"Ah, Betty, you've got the toothache again, have you? A nice excuse for +slinking your work, eh, my girl? That's about the size of your +toothache, I expect! Look here now, this gentleman wants to see the +house, and you're to show him over it, and over the garden too, if he +likes--and be quick about it, for I want my dinner." +</p><p> +The girl curtseyed in an awkward countrified manner, and ushered Mr. +Carter into the hall. +</p><p> +"Betty!" roared the master of the house, as the girl reached the foot of +the stair with the detective; "Betty, come here!" +</p><p> +She went back to her master, and Mr. Carter heard a whispered +conversation, very brief, of which the last sentence only was audible. +</p><p> +That last sentence ran thus: +</p><p> +"And if you don't hold your tongue, I'll make you pay for it." +</p><p> +"Ho, ho!" thought the detective; "Miss Betsy is to hold her tongue, is +she? We'll see about that." +</p><p> +The girl came back to the hall, and led Mr. Carter into the two +sitting-rooms in the front of the house. They were small rooms, with +small furniture. They were old-fashioned rooms, with low ceilings, and +queer cupboards nestling in out-of-the-way holes and corners: and Mr. +Carter had enough work to do in squeezing himself into the interior of +these receptacles, which all smelt, more or less, of chandlery and +rum,--that truly seaman-like spirit having been a favourite beverage +with the late inhabitant of the cottage. +</p><p> +After examining half-a-dozen cupboards in the lower regions, Mr. Carter +and his guide ascended to the upper story. +</p><p> +The girl called Betsy ushered the detective into a bedroom, which she +said was her master's, and where the occupation of the Major was made +manifest by divers articles of apparel lying on the chairs and hanging +on the pegs, and, furthermore, by a powerful effluvium of stale tobacco, +and a collection of pipes and cigar-boxes on the chimney-piece. +</p><p> +The girl opened the door of an impossible-looking little cupboard in a +corner behind a four-post bed; but instead of inspecting the cupboard, +Mr. Carter made a sudden rush at the door, locked it, and then put the +key in his pocket. +</p><p> +"No, thank you, Miss Innocence," he said; "I don't crick my neck, or +break my back, by looking into any more of your cupboards. Just you come +here." +</p><p> +"Here," was the window, before which Mr. Carter planted himself. +</p><p> +The girl obeyed very quietly. She would have been a pretty-looking girl +but for her toothache, or rather, but for the coloured handkerchief +which muffled the lower part of her face, and was tied in a knot at the +top of her head. As it was, Mr. Carter could only see that she had +pretty brown eyes, which shifted left and right as he looked at her. +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, you're an artful young hussy, and no mistake," he said; "and +that toothache's only a judgment upon you. What was that your master +said to you in the parlour just now, eh? What was that he told you to +hold your tongue about, eh?" +</p><p> +Betty shook her head, and began to twist the corner of her apron in her +hands. +</p><p> +"Master didn't say nothing, sir," she said. +</p><p> +"Master didn't say nothing! Your morals and your grammar are about a +match, Miss Betsy; but you'll find yourself rather in the wrong box +by-and-by, my young lady, when you find yourself committed to prison for +perjury; which crime, in a young female, is transportation for life," +added Mr. Carter, in an awful tone. +</p><p> +"Oh, sir!" cried Betty, "it isn't me; it's master: and he do swear so +when he's in his tantrums. If the 'taters isn't done to his likin', sir, +he'll grumble about them quite civil at first, and then he'll work +hisself up like, and take and throw them at me one by one, and his +language gets worse with every 'tater. Oh, what am I to do, sir! I +daren't go against him. I'd a'most sooner be transported, if it don't +hurt much." +</p><p> +"Don't hurt much!" exclaimed Mr. Carter; "why, there's a ship-load of +cat-o'-nine-tails goes out to Van Diemen's Land every quarter, and +reserved specially for young females!" +</p><p> +"Oh! I'll tell you all about it, sir," cried Mr. Vernon's housemaid; +"sooner than be took up for perjuring, I'll tell you everything." +</p><p> +"I thought so," said Mr. Carter; "but it isn't much you've got to tell +me. Mr. Dunbar came here this morning on horseback, between five and +six?" +</p><p> +"It was ten minutes past six, sir, and I was opening the shutters." +</p><p> +"Precisely." +</p><p> +"And the gentleman came on horseback, sir, and was nigh upon fainting +with the pain of his leg; and he sent me to call up master, and master +helped him off the horse, and took the horse to the stable; and then the +gentleman sat and rested in master's little parlour at the back of the +house; and then they sent me for a fly, and I went to the Rose and Crown +at Lisford, and fetched a fly; and before eight o'clock the gentleman +went away." +</p><p> +Before eight, and it was now past three. Mr. Carter looked at his watch +while the girl made her confession. +</p><p> +"And, oh, please don't tell master as I told you," she said; "oh, please +don't, sir." +</p><p> +There was no time to be lost, and yet the detective paused for a minute, +thinking of what he had just heard. +</p><p> +Had the girl told him the truth; or was this a story got up to throw him +off the scent? The girl's terror of her master seemed genuine. She was +crying now, real tears, that streamed down her pale cheeks, and wetted +the handkerchief that covered the lower part of her face. +</p><p> +"I can find out at the Rose and Crown whether anybody did go away in a +fly," the detective thought. +</p><p> +"Tell your master I've searched the place, and haven't found his +friend," he said to the girl; "and that I haven't got time to wish him +good morning." +</p><p> +The detective said this as he went down stairs. The girl went into the +little rustic porch with him, and directed him to the Rose and Crown at +Lisford. +</p><p> +He ran almost all the way to the little inn; for he was growing +desperate now, with the idea that his man had escaped him. +</p><p> +"Why, he can do anything with such a start," he thought to himself. "And +yet there's his lameness--that'll go against him." +</p><p> +At the Rose and Crown Mr. Carter was informed that a fly had been +ordered at seven o'clock that morning by a young person from Woodbine +Cottage; that the vehicle had not long come in, and that the driver was +somewhere about the stables. The driver was summoned at Mr. Carter's +request, and from him the detective ascertained that a gentleman, +wrapped up to the very nose, and wearing a coat lined with fur, and +walking very lame, had been taken up by him at Woodbine Cottage. This +gentleman had ordered the driver to go as fast as he could to +Shorncliffe station; but on reaching the station, it appeared the +gentleman was too late for the train he wanted to go by, for he came +back to the fly, limping awful, and told the man to drive to Maningsly. +The driver explained to Mr. Carter that Maningsly was a little village +three miles from Shorncliffe, on a by-road. Here the gentleman in the +fur coat had alighted at an ale-house, where he dined, and stopped, +reading the paper and drinking hot brandy-and-water till after one +o'clock. He acted altogether quite the gentleman, and paid for the +driver's dinner and brandy-and-water, as well as his own. At half-after +one he got into the fly, and ordered the man to go back to Shorncliffe +station. At five minutes after two he alighted at the station, where he +paid and dismissed the driver. +</p><p> +This was all Mr. Carter wanted to know. +</p><p> +"You get a fresh horse harnessed in double-quick time," he said, "and +drive me to Shorncliffe station." +</p><p> +While the horse and fly were being got ready, the detective went into +the bar, and ordered a glass of steaming brandy-and-water. He was +accustomed to take liquids in a boiling state, as the greater part of +his existence was spent in hurrying from place to place, as he was +hurrying now. +</p><p> +"Sawney's got the chance this time," he thought. "Suppose he was to sell +me, and go in for the reward?" +</p><p> +The supposition was not a pleasant one, and Mr. Carter looked grave for +a minute or so; but he quickly relapsed into a grim smile. +</p><p> +"I think Sawney knows me too well for that," he said; "I think Sawney is +too well acquainted with me to try <i>that</i> on." +</p><p> +The fly came round to the inn-door while Mr. Carter reflected upon this. +He sprang into the vehicle, and was driven off to the station. +</p><p> +At the Shorncliffe station he found everything very quiet. There was no +train due for some time yet; there was no sign of human life in the +ticket-office or the waiting-rooms. +</p><p> +There was a porter asleep upon his truck on the platform, and there was +one solitary young female sitting upon a bench against the wall, with +her boxes and bundles gathered round her, and an umbrella and a pair of +clogs on her lap. +</p><p> +Upon all the length of the platform there was no sign of Mr. Tibbles, +otherwise Sawney Tom. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter awoke the porter, and sent him to the station-master to ask +if any letter addressed to Mr. Henry Carter had been left in that +functionary's care. The porter went yawning to make this inquiry, and +came back by-and-by, still yawning, to say that there was such a letter, +and would the gentleman please step into the station-master's office to +claim and receive it. +</p><p> +The note was not a long one, nor was it encumbered by any ceremonious +phraseology. +</p><p> +<i>"Gent in furred coat turned up 2.10, took a ticket for Derby, 1 class, +took ticket for same place self, 2 class.--Yrs to commd, T.T."</i> +</p><p> +Mr. Carter crumpled up the note and dropped it into his pocket. The +station-master gave him all the information about the trains. There was +a train for Derby at seven o'clock that evening; and for the three and a +half weary hours that must intervene, Mr. Carter was left to amuse +himself as best he might. +</p><p> +"Derby," he muttered to himself, "Derby. Why, he must be going north; +and what, in the name of all that's miraculous, takes him that way?" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch43"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLIII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>ON THE TRACK.</h5></center> +<p> + +The railway journey between Shorncliffe and Derby was by no means the +most pleasant expedition for a cold spring night, with the darkness +lying like a black shroud on the flat fields, and a melancholy wind +howling over those desolate regions, across which all night-trains seem +to wend their way. I think that flat and darksome land which we look +upon out of the window of a railway carriage in the dead of the night +must be a weird district, conjured into existence by the potent magic of +an enchanter's wand,--a dreary desert transported out of Central Africa, +to make the night-season hideous, and to vanish at cock-crow. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter never travelled without a railway rug and a pocket +brandy-flask; and sustained by these inward and outward fortifications +against the chilling airs of the long night, he established himself in a +corner of the second-class carriage, and made the best of his situation. +</p><p> +Fortunately there was no position of hardship to which the detective was +unaccustomed; indeed, to be rolled up in a railway rug in the corner of +a second-class carriage, was to be on a bed of down as compared with +some of his experiences. He was used to take his night's rest in brief +instalments, and was snoring comfortably three minutes after the guard +had banged-to the door of his carriage. +</p><p> +But he was not permitted to enjoy any prolonged rest. The door was +banged open, and a stentorian voice bawled into his ear that hideous +announcement which is so fatal to the repose of travellers, "Change +here!" &c., &c. The journey from Shorncliffe to Derby seemed almost +entirely to consist of "changing here;" and poor Mr. Carter felt as if +he had passed a long night in being hustled out of one carriage into +another, and off one line of railway on to another, with all those +pauses on draughty platforms which are so refreshing to the worn-out +traveller who works his weary way across country in the dead of the +night. +</p><p> +At last, however, after a journey that seemed interminable by reason of +those short naps, which always confuse the sleeper a estimate of time, +the detective found himself at Derby still in the dead of the night; for +to the railway traveller it is all of night after dark. Here he applied +immediately to the station-master, from whom he got another little note +directed to him by Mr. Tibbles, and very much resembling that which he +had received at Shorncliffe. +</p><p> +"<i>All right up to Derby</i>," wrote Sawney Tom. "<i>Gent in furred coat took +a ticket through to Hull. Have took the same, and go on with him +direct.--Yours to command, T.T.</i>" +</p><p> +Mr. Carter lost no time after perusing this communication. He set to +work at once to find out all about the means of following his assistant +and the lame traveller. +</p><p> +Here he was told that he had a couple of hours to wait for the train +that was to take him on to Normanton, and at Normanton he would have +another hour to wait for the train that was to carry him to Hull. +</p><p> +"Ah, go it, do, while you're about it!" he exclaimed, bitterly, when the +railway official had given him this pleasing intelligence. "Couldn't you +make it a little longer? When your end and aim lies in driving a man +mad, the quicker you drive the better, I should think!" +</p><p> +All this was muttered in an undertone, not intended for the ear of the +railway official. It was only a kind of safety-valve by which the +detective let off his superfluous steam. +</p><p> +"Sawney's got the chance," he thought, as he paced up and down the +platform; "Sawney's got the trump cards this time; and if he's knave +enough to play them against me---- But I don't think he'll do that; our +profession's a conservative one, and a traitor would have an uncommon +good chance of being kicked out of it. We should drop him a hint that, +considering the state of his health, we should take it kindly of him if +he would hook it; or send him some polite message of that kind; as the +military swells do when they want to get rid of a pal." +</p><p> +There were plenty of refreshments to be had at Derby, and Mr. Carter +took a steaming cup of coffee and a formidable-looking pile of +sandwiches before retiring to the waiting-room to take what he called "a +stretch." He then engaged the services of a porter, who was to call him +five minutes before the starting of the Normanton train, and was to +receive an illegal douceur for that civility. +</p><p> +In the waiting-room there was a coke fire, very red and hollow, and a +dim lamp. A lady, half buried in shawls, and surrounded by a little +colony of small packages, was sitting close to the fire, and started out +of her sleep to make nervous clutches at her parcels as the detective +entered, being in that semi-conscious state in which the unprotected +female is apt to mistake every traveller for a thief. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter made himself very comfortable on one of the sofas, and snored +on peacefully until the porter came to rouse him, when he sprang up +refreshed to continue his journey. +</p><p> +"Hull, Hull!" he muttered to himself. "His game will be to get off to +Rotterdam, or Hamburgh, or St. Petersburg, perhaps; any place that +there's a vessel ready to take him. He'll get on board the first that +sails. It's a good dodge, a very neat dodge, and if Sawney hadn't been +at the station, Mr. Joseph Wilmot would have given us the slip as neatly +as ever a man did yet. But if Mr. Thomas Tibbles is true, we shall nab +him, and bring him home as quiet as ever any little boy was took to +school by his mar and par. If Mr. Tibbles is true,--and as he don't know +too much about the business, and don't know anything about the extra +reward, or the evidence that's turned up at Winchester,--I dare say +Thomas Tibbles will be true. Human nature is a very noble thing," mused +the detective; "but I've always remarked that the tighter you tie human +nature down, the brighter it comes out." +</p><p> +It was morning, and the sun was shining, when the train that carried Mr. +Carter steamed slowly into the great station at Hull--it was morning, +and the sun was shining, and the birds singing, and in the fields about +the smoky town there were herds of sweet-breathing cattle sniffing the +fresh spring air, and labourers plodding to their work, and loaded wains +of odorous hay and dewy garden-stuff were lumbering along the quiet +country roads, and the new-born day had altogether the innocent look +appropriate to its tender youth,--when the detective stepped out on the +platform, calm, self-contained, and resolute, as brisk and business-like +in his manner as any traveller in that train, and with no distinctive +stamp upon him, however slight, that marked him as the hunter of a +murderer. +</p><p> +He looked sharply up and down the platform. No, Mr. Tibbles had not +betrayed him. That gentleman was standing on the platform, watching the +passengers step out of the carriages, and looking more turnip-faced than +usual in the early sunlight. He was chewing nothing with more than +ordinary energy; and Mr. Carter, who was very familiar with the +idiosyncrasies of his assistant, knew from that sign that things had +gone amiss. +</p><p> +"Well," he said, tapping Sawney Tom on the shoulder, "he's given you the +slip? Out with it; I can see by your face that he has." +</p><p> +"Well, he have, then," answered Mr. Tibbles, in an injured tone; "but if +he have, you needn't glare at me like that, for it ain't no fault of +mine. If you ever follered a lame eel--and a lame eel as makes no more +of its lameness than if lameness was a advantage--you'd know what it is +to foller that chap in the furred coat." +</p><p> +The detective hooked his arm through that of his assistant, and led Mr. +Tibbles out of the station by a door which opened on a desolate region +at the back of that building. +</p><p> +"Now then," said Mr. Carter, "tell me all about it, and look sharp." +</p><p> +"Well, I was waitin' in the Shorncliffe ticket-offis, and about five +minutes after two in comes the gent as large as life, and I sees him +take his ticket, and I hears him say Derby, on which I waits till he's +out of the offis, and I takes my own ticket, same place. Down we comes +here with more changes and botheration than ever was; and every time we +changes carriages, which we don't seem to do much else the whole time, I +spots my gentleman, limpin' awful, and lookin' about him +suspicious-like, to see if he was watched. And, of course, he weren't +watched--oh, no; nothin' like it. Of all the innercent young men as ever +was exposed to the temptations of this wicked world, there never was +sech a young innercent as that lawyer's clerk, a carryin' a blue bag, +and a tellin' a promiskruous acquaintance, loud enough for the gent in +the fur coat to hear, that he'd been telegraphed for by his master, +which was down beyond Hull, on electioneerin' business; and a cussin' of +his master promiskruous to the same acquaintance for tele-graphin' for +him to go by sech a train. Well, we come to Derby, and the furry gent, +he takes a ticket on to Hull; and we come to Normanton, and the furry +gent limps about Normanton station, and I sees him comfortable in his +carriage; and we comes to Hull, and I sees him get out on the platform, +and I sees him into a fly, and I hears him give the order, 'Victorier +Hotel,' which by this time it's nigh upon ten o'clock, and dark and +windy. Well, I got up behind the fly, and rides a bit, and walks a bit, +keepin' the fly in sight until we comes to the Victorier; and there +stoops down behind, and watches my gent hobble into the hotel, in awful +pain with that lame leg of his, judgin' the faces he makes; and he walks +into the coffee-room, and I makes bold to foller him; but there never +was sech a young innercent as me, and I sees my party sittin' warmin' +his poor lame leg, and with a carpet-bag, and railway-rug, and sechlike +on the table beside him; and presently he gets up, hobblin' worse than +ever, and goes outside, and I hears him makin' inquiries about the best +way of gettin' on to Edinborough by train; and I sat quiet, not more +than three minutes at most, becos', you see, I didn't want to <i>look +like</i> follerin' him; and in three minutes time, out I goes, makin' as +sure to find him in the bar as I make sure of your bein' close beside me +at this moment; but when I went outside into the hall, and bar and +sechlike, there wasn't a mortal vestige of that man to be seen; but the +waiter, he tells me, as dignified and cool as yer please, that the lame +gentleman has gone out by the door looking towards the water, and has +only gone to have a look at the place, and get a few cigars, and will be +back in ten minutes to a chop which is bein' cooked for him. Well, I +cuts out by the same door, thinkin' my lame friend can't be very far; +but when I gets out on to the quay-side, there ain't a vestige of him; +and though I cut about here, there, and everywhere, lookin' for him, +until I'd nearly walked my legs off in less than half an hour's time, I +didn't see a sign of him, and all I could do was to go back to the +Victorier, and see if he'd gone back before me. +</p><p> +"Well, there was his carpet-bag and his railway-rug, just as he'd left +'em, and there was a little table near the fire all laid out snug and +comfortable ready for him; but there was no more vestige of hisself than +there was in the streets where I'd been lookin' for him; and so I went +out again, with the prespiration streamin' down my face, and I walked +that blessed town till over one o'clock this mornin,' lookin' right and +left, and inquirin' at every place where such a gent was likely to try +and hide hisself, and playing up Mag's divarsions, which if it was +divarsions to Mag, was oncommon hard work to me; and then I went back to +the Victorier, and got a night's lodgin'; and the first thing this +mornin' I was on my blessed legs again, and down at the quay inquirin' +about vessels, and there's nothin' likely to sail afore to-night, and +the vessel as is expected to sail to-night is bound for Copenhagen, and +don't carry passengers; but from the looks of her captain, I should say +she'd carry anythink, even to a churchyard full of corpuses, if she was +paid to do it." +</p><p> +"Humph! a sailing-vessel bound for Copenhagen; and the captain's a +villanous-looking fellow, you say?" said the detective, in a thoughtful +tone. +</p><p> +"He's about the villanousest I ever set eyes on," answered Mr. Tibbles. +</p><p> +"Well, Sawney, it's a bad job, certainly; but I've no doubt you've done +your best." +</p><p> +"Yes, I have done my best," the assistant answered, rather indignantly: +"and considerin' the deal of confidence you honoured me with about this +here cove, I don't see as I could have done hanythink more." +</p><p> +"Then the best thing you can do is to keep watch here for the starting +of the up-trains, while I go and keep my eye upon the station at the +other side of the water," said Mr. Carter, "This journey to Hull may +have been just a dodge to throw us off the scent, and our man may try +and double upon us by going back to London. You'll keep all safe here, +Sawney, while I go to the other side of the compass." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter engaged a fly, and made his way to a pier at the end of the +town, whence a boat took him across the Humber to a station on the +Lincolnshire side of the river. +</p><p> +Here he ascertained all particulars about the starting of the trains for +London, and here he kept watch while two or three trains started. Then, +as there was an interval of some hours before the starting of another, +he re-crossed the water, and set to work to look for his man. +</p><p> +First he loitered about the quays a little, taking stock of the idle +vessels, the big steamers that went to London, Antwerp, Rotterdam, and +Hamburg--the little steamers that went short voyages up or down the +river, and carried troops of Sunday idlers to breezy little villages +beside the sea. He found out all about these boats, their destination, +and the hours and days on which they were to start, and made himself +more familiar with the water-traffic of the place in half an hour than +another man could have done in a day. He also made acquaintance with the +vessel that was to sail for Copenhagen--a black sulky-looking boat, +christened very appropriately the <i>Crow</i>, with a black sulky-looking +captain, who was lying on a heap of tarpaulin on the deck, smoking a +pipe in his sleep. Mr. Carter stood looking over the quay and +contemplating this man for some moments with a thoughtful stare. +</p><p> +"He looks a bad 'un," the detective muttered, as he walked away; "Sawney +was right enough there." +</p><p> +He went into the town, and walked about, looking at the jewellers' shops +with his accustomed rapid glance--a glance so furtive that it escaped +observation--so full of sharp scrutiny that it took in every detail of +the object looked at. Mr. Carter looked at the jewellers till he came to +one whose proprietor blended the trade of money-lending with his more +aristocratic commerce. Here Mr. Carter stopped, and entered by the +little alley, within whose sombre shadows the citizens of Hull were wont +to skulk, ashamed of the errand that betrayed their impecuniosity. Mr. +Carter visited three pawnbrokers, and wasted a good deal of time before +he made any discovery likely to be of use to him; but at the third +pawnbroker's he found himself on the right track. His manner with these +gentlemen was very simple. +</p><p> +"I'm a detective officer," he said, "from Scotland Yard, and I have a +warrant for the apprehension of a man who's supposed to be hiding in +Hull. He's known to have a quantity of unset diamonds in his +possession--they're not stolen, mind you, so you needn't be frightened +on that score. I want to know if such a person has been to you to-day?" +</p><p> +"The diamonds are all right?" asked the pawnbroker, rather nervously. +</p><p> +"Quite right. I see the man has been here. I don't want to know anything +about the jewels: they're his own, and it's not them we're after. I want +to know about <i>him</i>. He's been here, I see--the question is, what time?" +</p><p> +"Not above half an hour ago. A man in a dark blue coat with a fur +collar----" +</p><p> +"Yes; a man that walks lame." +</p><p> +The pawnbroker shook his head. +</p><p> +"I didn't see that he was lame," he said. +</p><p> +"Ah, you didn't notice; or he might hide it just while he was in here. +He sat down, I suppose?" +</p><p> +"Yes; he was sitting all the time." +</p><p> +"Of course. Thank you; that'll do." +</p><p> +With this Mr. Carter departed, much to the relief of the money-lender. +</p><p> +The detective looked at his watch, and found that it was half-past one. +At half-past three there was a London train to start from the station on +the Lincolnshire side of the water. The other station was safe so long +as Mr. Tibbles remained on the watch there; so for two hours Mr. Carter +was free to look about him. He went down to the quay, and ascertained +that no boat had crossed to the Lincolnshire side of the river within +the last hour. Joseph Wilmot was therefore safe on the Yorkshire side; +but if so, where was he? A man wearing a dark blue coat lined with +sable, and walking very lame, must be a conspicuous object wherever he +went; and yet Mr. Carter, with all the aid of his experience in the +detective line, could find no clue to the whereabouts of the man he +wanted. He spent an hour and a half in walking about the streets, prying +into all manner of dingy little bars and tap-rooms, in narrow back +streets and down by the water-side; and then was fain to go across to +Lincolnshire once more, and watch the departure of the train. +</p><p> +Before crossing the river to do this, he had taken stock of the <i>Crow</i> +and her master, and had seen the captain lying in exactly the same +attitude as before, smoking a dirty black pipe in hie sleep. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter made a furtive inspection of every creature who went by the +up-train, and saw that conveyance safely off before he turned to leave +the station. After doing this he lost no time in re-crossing the water +again, and landed on the Yorkshire side of the Humber as the clocks of +Hull were striking four. +</p><p> +He was getting tired by this time, but he was not tired of his work. He +was accustomed to spending his days very much in this manner; he was +used to taking his sleep in railway carriages, and his meals at unusual +hours, whenever and wherever he could get time to take his food. He was +getting what ha called "peckish" now, and was just going to the +coffee-room of the Victoria Hotel with the intention of ordering a steak +and a glass of brandy-and-water--Mr. Carter never took beer, which is a +sleepy beverage, inimical to that perpetual clearness of intellect +necessary to a detective--when he changed his mind, and walked back to +the edge of the quay, to prowl along once more with his hands in his +pockets, looking at the vessels, and to take another inspection of the +deck and captain of the <i>Crow</i>. +</p><p> +"I shouldn't wonder if my gentleman's gone and hidden himself down below +the hatchway of that boat," he thought, as he walked slowly along the +quay-side. "I've half a mind to go on board and overhaul her." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch44"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLIV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>CHASING THE "CROW."</h5></center> +<p> + +Mr. Carter was so familiar with the spot alongside which the <i>Crow</i> lay +at anchor, that he made straight for that part of the quay and looked +down over the side, fully expecting to see the dirty captain still lying +on the tarpaulin, smoking his dirty pipe. +</p><p> +But, to his amazement, he saw a strange vessel where he expected to see +the <i>Crow</i>, and in answer to his eager inquiries amongst the idlers on +the quay, and the other idlers on the boats, he was told that the <i>Crow</i> +had weighed anchor half an hour ago, and was over yonder. +</p><p> +The men pointed to a dingy speck out seaward as they gave Mr. Carter +this information--a speck which they assured him was neither more nor +less than the <i>Crow</i>, bound for Copenhagen. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter asked whether she had been expected to sail so soon. +</p><p> +No, the men told him; she was not expected to have sailed till daybreak +next morning, and there wasn't above two-thirds of her cargo aboard her +yet. +</p><p> +The detective asked if this wasn't rather a queer proceeding. +</p><p> +Yes, the men said, it was queer; but the master of the <i>Crow</i> was a +queer chap altogether, and more than one absconding bankrupt had sailed +for furrin parts in the <i>Crow</i>. One of the men opined that the master +had got a swell cove on board to-day, inasmuch as he had seen such a one +hanging about the quay-side ten minutes or so before the <i>Crow</i> sailed. +</p><p> +"Who'll catch her?" cried Mr. Carter; "which of you will catch her for a +couple of sovereigns?" +</p><p> +The men shook their heads. The <i>Crow</i> had got too much of a start, they +said, considering that the wind was in her favour. +</p><p> +"But there's a chance that the wind may change after dark," returned the +detective. "Come, my men, don't hang back. Who'll catch the <i>Crow</i> +yonder for a fiver, come? Who'll catch her for a fi'-pound note?" +</p><p> +"I will," cried a burly young fellow in a scarlet guernsey, and shiny +boots that came nearly to his waist; "me and my mate will do it, won't +us, Jim?" +</p><p> +Jim was another burly young fellow in a blue guernsey, a fisherman, part +owner of a little bit of a smack with a brown mainsail. The two stalwart +young fishermen ran along the quay, and one of them dropped down into a +boat that was chained to an angle in the quay-side, where there was a +flight of slimy stone steps leading down to the water. The other young +man ran off to get some of the boat's tackle and a couple of shaggy +overcoats. +</p><p> +"We'd best take something to eat and drink, sir," the young man said, as +he came running back with these things; "we may be out all night, if we +try to catch yon vessel." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter gave the man a sovereign, and told him to get what he thought +proper. +</p><p> +"You'd best have something to cover you besides what you've got on, +sir," the fisherman said; "you'll find it rare and cold on 't water +after dark." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter assented to this proposition, and hurried off to buy himself +a railway rug; he had left his own at the railway station in Sawney +Tom's custody. He bought one at a shop near the quay, and was back to +the steps in ten minutes. +</p><p> +The fisherman in the blue guernsey was in the boat, which was a +stout-built craft in her way. The fisherman in the scarlet guernsey made +his appearance in less than five minutes, carrying a great stone bottle, +with a tin drinking-cup tied to the neck of it, and a rush basket filled +with some kind of provision. The stone bottle and the basket were +speedily stowed away in the bottom of the boat, and Mr. Carter was +invited to descend and take the seat pointed out to him. +</p><p> +"Can you steer, sir?" one of the men asked. +</p><p> +Yes, Mr. Carter was able to steer. There was very little that he had not +learned more or less in twenty years' knocking about the world. +</p><p> +He took the rudder when they had pushed out into the open water, the two +young men dipped their oars, and away the boat shot out towards that +seaward horizon on which only the keenest eyes could discover the black +speck that represented the <i>Crow</i>. +</p><p> +"If it should be a sell, after all," thought Mr. Carter; "and yet that's +not likely. If he wanted to double on me and get back to London, he'd +have gone by one of the trains we've watched; if he wanted to lie-by and +hide himself in the town, he wouldn't have disposed of any of his +diamonds yet awhile--and then, on the other hand, why should the <i>Crow</i> +have sailed before she'd got the whole of her cargo on board? Anyhow, I +think I have been wise to risk it, and follow the <i>Crow</i>. If this is a +wild-goose chase, I've been in wilder than this before to-day, and have +caught my man." +</p><p> +The little fishing smack behaved bravely when she got out to sea; but +even with the help of the oars, stoutly plied by the two young men, they +gained no way upon the <i>Crow</i>, for the black speck grew fainter and +fainter upon the horizon-line, and at last dropped down behind it +altogether. +</p><p> +"We shall never catch her," one of the men said, helping himself to a +cupful of spirit out of the stone-bottle, in a sudden access of +despondency. "We shall no more catch t' <i>Crow</i> than we shall catch t' +day before yesterday, unless t' wind changes." +</p><p> +"I doubt t' wind will change after dark," answered the other young man, +who had applied himself oftener than his companion to the stone-bottle, +and took a more hopeful view of things. "I doubt but we shall have a +change come dark." +</p><p> +He was looking out to windward as he spoke. He took the rudder out of +Mr. Carter's hands presently, and that gentleman rolled himself in his +new railway rug, and lay down in the bottom of the boat, with one of the +men's overcoats for a blanket and the other for a pillow, and, hushed by +the monotonous plashing of the water against the keel of the boat, fell +into a pleasant slumber, whose blissfulness was only marred by the +gridiron-like sensation of the hard boards upon which he was lying. +</p><p> +He awoke from this slumber to hear that the wind had changed, and that +the <i>Pretty Polly</i>--the boat belonging to the two fishermen was called +the <i>Pretty Polly</i>--was gaining on the <i>Crow</i>. +</p><p> +"We shall be alongside of her in an hour," one of the men said. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter shook off the drowsy influence of his long sleep, and +scrambled to his feet. It was bright moonlight, and the little boat left +a trail of tremulous silver in her wake as she cut through the water. +Far away upon the horizon there was a faint speck of shimmering white, +to which one of the young men pointed with his brawny finger It was the +dirty mainsail of the <i>Crow</i> bleached into silver whiteness under the +light of the moon. +</p><p> +"There's scarcely enough wind to puff out a farthing candle," one of the +young men said. "I think we're safe to catch her." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter took a cupful of rum at the instigation of one of his +companions, and prepared himself for the business that lay before him. +</p><p> +Of all the hazardous ventures in which the detective had been engaged, +this was certainly not the least hazardous. He was about to venture on +board a strange vessel, with a captain who bore no good name, and with +men who most likely closely resembled their master; he was about to +trust himself among such fellows as these, in the hope of capturing a +criminal whose chances, if once caught, were so desperate that he would +not be likely to hesitate at any measures by which he might avoid a +capture. But the detective was not unused to encounters where the odds +were against him, and he contemplated the chances of being hurled +overboard in a hand-to-hand struggle with Joseph Wilmot as calmly as if +death by drowning were the legitimate end of a man's existence. +</p><p> +Once, while standing in the prow of the boat, with his face turned +steadily towards that speck in the horizon, Mr. Carter thrust his hand +into the breast-pocket of his coat, where there lurked the newest and +neatest thing in revolvers; but beyond this action, which was almost +involuntary, he made no sign that he was thinking of the danger before +him. +</p><p> +The moon grew brighter and brighter in a cloudless sky, as the +fishing-smack shot through the water, while the steady dip of the oars +seemed to keep time to a wordless tune. In that bright moonlight the +sails of the <i>Crow</i> grew whiter and larger with every dip of the oars +that were carrying the <i>Pretty Polly</i> so lightly over the blue water. +</p><p> +As the boat gained upon the vessel she was following, Mr. Carter told +the two young men his errand, and his authority to capture the runaway. +</p><p> +"I think I may count on your standing by me--eh, my lads?" he asked. +</p><p> +Yes, the young men answered; they would stand by him to the death. Their +spirits seemed to rise with the thought of danger, especially as Mr. +Carter hinted at a possible reward for each of them if they should +assist in the capture of the runaway. They rowed close under the side of +the black and wicked-looking vessel, and then Mr. Carter, standing up in +the boat gave a "Yo-ho! aboard there!" that resounded over the great +expanse of plashing water. +</p><p> +A man with a pipe in his mouth looked over the side. +</p><p> +"Hilloa! what's the row there?" he demanded fiercely. +</p><p> +"I want to see the captain." +</p><p> +"What do you want with him?" +</p><p> +"That's my business." +</p><p> +Another man, with a dingy face, and another pipe in his mouth, looked +over the side, and took his pipe from between his lips, to address the +detective. +</p><p> +"What the ---- do you mean by coming alongside us?" he cried. "Get out +of the way, or we shall run you down." +</p><p> +"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Spelsand," answered one of the young men from +the boat; "you'll think twice before you turn rusty with us. Don't you +remember the time you tried to get off John Bowman, the clerk that +robbed the Yorkshire Union Assurance Office--don't you remember trying +to get him off clear, and gettin' into trouble yourself about it?" +</p><p> +Mr. Spelsand bawled some order to the man at the helm, and the vessel +veered round suddenly; so suddenly, that had the two young men in the +boat been anything but first-rate watermen, they and Mr. Carter would +have become very intimately acquainted with the briny element around and +about them. But the young men were very good watermen, and they were +also familiar with the manners and customs of Captain Spelsand, of the +<i>Crow</i>; so, as the black-looking schooner veered round, the little boat +shot out into the open water, and the two young oarsmen greeted the +captain's manoeuvre with a ringing peal of laughter. +</p><p> +"I'll trouble you to lay-to while I come on board," said the detective, +while the boat bobbed up and down on the water, close alongside of the +schooner. "You've got a gentleman on board--a gentleman whom I've got a +warrant against. It can't much matter to him whether I take him now, or +when he gets to Copenhagen; for take him I surely shall; but it'll +matter a good deal to you, Captain Spelsand, if you resist my +authority." +</p><p> +The captain hesitated for a little, while he gave a few fierce puffs at +his dirty pipe. +</p><p> +"Show us your warrant," he said presently, in a sulky tone. +</p><p> +The detective had started from Scotland Yard in the first instance with +an open warrant for the arrest of the supposed murderer. He handed this +document up to the captain of the <i>Crow</i>, and that gentleman, who was by +no means an adept in the unseamanlike accomplishments of reading and +writing, turned it over, and examined it thoughtfully in the vivid +moonlight. +</p><p> +He could see that there were a lot of formidable-looking words and +flourishes in it, and he felt pretty well convinced that it was a +genuine document, and meant mischief. +</p><p> +"You'd better come aboard," he said; "you don't want <i>me</i>; that's +certain." +</p><p> +The captain of the <i>Crow</i> said this with an air of sublime resignation; +and in the next minute the detective was scrambling up the side of the +vessel, by the aid of a rope flung out by one of the sailors on board +the <i>Crow</i>. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter was followed by one of the fishermen; and with that stalwart +ally he felt himself equal to any emergency. +</p><p> +"I'll just throw my eye over your place down below," he said, "if you'll +hand me a lantern." +</p><p> +This request was not complied with very willingly; and it was only on a +second production of the warrant that Mr. Carter obtained the loan of a +wretched spluttering wick, glimmering in a dirty little oil-lamp. With +this feeble light he turned his back upon the lovely moonlight, and +stumbled down into a low-ceilinged cabin, darksome and dirty, with +berths which were as black and dingy, and altogether as uninviting as +the shelves made to hold coffins in a noisome underground vault. +</p><p> +There were three men asleep upon these shelves; and Mr. Carter examined +these three sleepers as coolly as if they had indeed been the coffined +inmates of a vault. Amongst them he found a man whose face was turned +towards the cabin-wall, but who wore a blue coat and a traveller's cap +of fur, shaped like a Templar's helmet, and tied down over his ears. +</p><p> +The detective seized this gentleman by the fur collar of his coat and +shook him roughly. +</p><p> +"Come, Mr. Joseph Wilmot," he said; "get up, my man. You've given me a +fine chase for it; but you're nabbed at last." +</p><p> +The man scrambled up out of his berth, and stood in a stooping attitude, +for the cabin was not high enough for him, staring at Mr. Carter. +</p><p> +"What are you talking of, you confounded fool!" he said. "What have I +got to do with Joseph Wilmot?" +</p><p> +The detective had never loosed his hand from the fur collar of his +prisoner's coat. The faces of the two men were opposite to each other, +but only faintly visible in the dim light of the spluttering oil-lamp. +The man in the fur-lined coat showed two rows of wolfish teeth, bared to +the gums in a malicious grin. +</p><p> +"What do you mean by waking me out of sleep?" he asked. "What do you +mean by assaulting and ballyragging me in this way? I'll have it out of +you for this, my fine gentleman. You're a detective officer, are you?--a +knowing card, of course; and you've followed me all the way from +Warwickshire, and traced me, step by step, I suppose, and taken no end +of trouble, eh? Why didn't you look after the gentleman <i>who stayed at +home</i>? Why didn't you look after the poor lame gentleman who stayed at +Woodbine Cottage, Lisford, and dressed up his pretty daughter as a +housemaid, and acted a little play to sell you, you precious clever +police-officer in plain clothes. Take me with you, Mr. Detective; stop +me in going abroad to improve my mind and manners by foreign travel, do, +Mr. Detective; and won't I have a fine action against you for false +imprisonment,--that's all?" +</p><p> +There was something in the man's tone of bravado that stamped it +genuine. Mr. Carter gnashed his teeth together in a silent fury. Sold by +that hazel-eyed housemaid with her face tied up! Sent away on a false +trail, while the criminal got off at his leisure! Fooled, duped, and +laughed at after twenty years of hard service! It was too bitter. +</p><p> +"Not Joseph Wilmot!" muttered Mr. Carter; "not Joseph Wilmot!" +</p><p> +"No more than you are, my pippin," answered the traveller, insolently. +</p><p> +The two men were still standing face to face. Something in that insolent +tone, something that brought back the memory of half-forgotten times, +startled the detective. He lifted the lamp suddenly, still looking in +the traveller's face, still muttering in the same half-absent tone, "Not +Joseph Wilmot!" and brought the light on a level with the other man's +eyes. +</p><p> +"No," he cried, with a sudden tone of triumph, "not Joseph Wilmot, but +Stephen Vallance--Blackguard Steeve, the forger--the man who escaped +from Norfolk Island, after murdering one of the gaolers--beating his +brains out with an iron, if I remember right. We've had our eye on you +for a long time, Mr. Vallance; but you've contrived to give us the slip. +Yours is an old case, yours is; but there's a reward to be got for the +taking of you, for all that. So I haven't had my long journey for +nothing." +</p><p> +The detective tried to fasten his other hand on Mr. Vallance's shoulder; +but Stephen Vallance struck down that uplifted hand with a heavy blow of +his fist, and, wresting himself from the detective's grasp, rushed up +the cabin-stairs. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter followed close at his heels. +</p><p> +"Stop that man!" he roared to one of the fishermen; "stop him!" +</p><p> +I suppose the instinct of self-preservation inspired Stephen Vallance to +make that frantic rush, though there was no possible means of escape out +of the vessel, except into the open boat, or the still more open sea. As +he receded from the advancing detective, one of the fishermen sprang +towards him from another part of the deck. Thus hemmed in by the two, +and dazzled, perhaps, by the sudden brilliancy of the moonlight after +the darkness of the place below, he reeled back against an opening in +the side of the vessel, lost his balance, and fell with a heavy plunge +into the water. +</p><p> +There was a sudden commotion on the deck, a simultaneous shout, as the +men rushed to the side. +</p><p> +"Save him!" cried the detective. "He's got a belt stuffed with diamonds +round his waist!" +</p><p> +Mr. Carter said this at a venture, for he did not know which of the men +had the diamond belt. +</p><p> +One of the fishermen threw off his shoes, and took a header into the +water. The rest of the men stood by breathless, eagerly watching two +heads bobbing up and down among the moonlit waves, two pairs of arms +buffeting with the water. The force of the current drifted the two men +far away from the schooner. +</p><p> +For an interval that seemed a long one, all was uncertainty. The +schooner that had made so little way before seemed now to fly in the +faint night-wind. At last there was a shout, and a head appeared above +the water advancing steadily towards the vessel. +</p><p> +"I've got him!" shouted the voice of the fisherman. "I've got him by the +belt!" +</p><p> +He came nearer to the vessel, striking out vigorously with one arm, and +holding some burden with the other. +</p><p> +When he was close under the side, the captain of the <i>Crow</i> flung out a +rope; but as the fisherman lifted his hand to grasp it, he uttered a +sudden cry, and raised the other hand with a splash out of the water. +</p><p> +"The belt's broke, and he's sunk!" he shouted. +</p><p> +The belt had broken. A little ripple of light flashed briefly in the +moonlight, and fell like a shower of spray from a fountain. Those +glittering drops, that looked like fountain spray, were some of the +diamonds bought by Joseph Wilmot; and Stephen Vallance, alias Blackguard +Steeve, alias Major Vernon, had gone down to the bottom of the sea, +never in this mortal life to rise again. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch45"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLV.</h4></center> +<center><h5>GIVING IT UP.</h5></center> +<p> + +The <i>Pretty Polly</i> went back to the port of Kingston-upon-Hull in the +grey morning light, carrying Mr. Carter, very cold and very +down-hearted--not to say humiliated--by his failure. To have been +hoodwinked by a girl, whose devotion to the unhappy wretch she called +her father had transformed her into a heroine--to have fallen so easily +into the trap that had been set for him, being all the while profoundly +impressed with the sense of his own cleverness--was, to say the least of +it, depressing to the spirits of a first-class detective. +</p><p> +"And that fellow Vallance, too," mused Mr. Carter, "to think that he +should go and chuck himself into the water just to spite me! There'd +have been some credit in taking him back with me. I might have made a +bit of character out of that. But, no! he goes and tumbles back'ards +into the water, rather than let me have any advantage out of him." +</p><p> +There was nothing for Mr. Carter to do but to go straight back to +Lisford, and try his luck again, with everything against him. +</p><p> +"Let me get back as fast as I may, Joseph Wilmot will have had +eight-and-forty hours' start of me," he thought; "and what can't he do +in that time, if he keeps his wits about him, and don't go wild and +foolish like, as some of 'em do, when they've got such a chance as this. +Anyhow, I'm after him, and it'll go hard with me if he gives me the slip +after all, for my blood's up, and my character's at stake, and I'd think +no more of crossing the Atlantic after him than I'd think of going over +Waterloo Bridge!" +</p><p> +It was a very chill and miserable time of the morning when the <i>Pretty +Polly</i> ground her nose against the granite steps of the quay. It was a +chill and dismal hour of the morning, and Mr. Carter felt sloppy and +dirty and unshaven, as he stepped out of the boat and staggered up the +slimy stairs. He gave the two young fishermen the promised five-pound +note, and left them very well contented with their night's work, +inglorious though it had been. +</p><p> +There were no vehicles to be had at that early hour of the morning, so +Mr. Carter was fain to walk from the quay to the station, where he +expected to find Mr. Tibbles, or to obtain tidings of that gentleman. He +was not disappointed; for, although the station wore its dreariest +aspect, having only just begun to throb with a little spasmodic life, in +the way of an early goods-train, Mr. Carter found his devoted follower +prowling in melancholy loneliness amid a wilderness of empty carriages +and smokeless engines, with the turnip whiteness of his complexion +relieved by a red nose. +</p><p> +Mr. Thomas Tibbles was by no means in the best possible temper in this +chill early morning. He was slapping his long thin arms across his +narrow chest, and performing a kind of amateur double-shuffle with his +long flat feet, when Mr. Carter approached him; and he kept up the same +shuffling and the same slapping while engaged in conversation with his +superior, in a disrespectful if not defiant manner. +</p><p> +"A pretty game you've played me," he said, in an injured tone. "You told +me to hang about the station and watch the trains, and you'd come back +in the course of the day--you would--and we'd dine together comfortable +at the Station Hotel; and a deal you come back and dined together +comfortable. Oh, yes! I don't think so; very much indeed," exclaimed Mr. +Tibbles, vaguely, but with the bitterest derision in his voice and +manner. +</p><p> +"Come, Sawney, don't you go to cut up rough about it," said Mr. Carter, +coaxingly. +</p><p> +"I should like to know who'd go and cut up smooth about it?" answered +the indignant Tibbles. "Why, if you could have a hangel in the detective +business--which luckily you can't, for the wings would cut out anything +as mean as legs, and be the ruin of the purfession--the temper of that +hangel would give way under what I've gone through. Hanging about this +windy station, which the number of criss-cross draughts cuttin' in from +open doors and winders would lead a hignorant person to believe there +was seventeen p'ints of the compass at the very least--hangin' about to +watch train after train, till there ain't anything goin' in the way of +sarce as yen haven't got to stand from the porters; or sittin' in the +coffee-room of the hotel yonder, watchin' and listenin' for the next +train, till bein' there to keep an appointment with your master is the +hollerest of mockeries." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter took his irate subordinate to the coffee-room of the Station +Hotel, where Mr. Tibbles had engaged a bed and taken a few hours' sleep +in the dead interval between the starting of the last train at night and +the first in the morning. The detective ordered a substantial breakfast, +with a couple of glasses of pale brandy, neat, to begin with; and Mr. +Tibbles' equanimity was restored, under the influence of ham, eggs, +mutton-cutlet, a broiled sole, and a quart or so of boiling coffee. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter told his assistant very briefly that he'd been wasting his +time and trouble on a false track, and that he should give the matter +up. Sawney Tom received this announcement with a great deal of champing +and working of the jaws, and with rather a doubtful expression in his +dull red eyes; but he accepted the payment which his employer offered +him, and agreed to depart for London by the ten o'clock train. +</p><p> +"And whatever I do henceforth in this business, I do single-handed," Mr. +Carter said to himself, as he turned his back upon his companion. +</p><p> +At five o'clock that afternoon the detective found himself at the +Shorncliffe station, where he hired a fly and drove on post-haste to +Lisford cottage. +</p><p> +The neat little habitation of the late naval commander looked pretty +much as Mr. Carter had seen it last, except that in one of the upper +windows there was a bill--a large paper placard--announcing that this +house was to let, furnished; and that all information respecting the +same was to be obtained of Mr. Hogson, grocer, Lisford. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter gave a long whistle. +</p><p> +"The bird's flown," he muttered. "It wasn't likely he'd stop here to be +caught." +</p><p> +The detective rang the bell; once, twice, three times; but there was no +answer to the summons. He ran round the low garden-fence to the back of +the premises, where there was a little wooden gate, padlocked, but so +low that he vaulted over it easily, and went in amongst the budding +currant-bushes, the neat gravel-paths and strawberry-beds, that had been +erst so cherished by the naval commander. Mr. Carter peered in at the +back windows of the house, and through the little casement he saw a +vista of emptiness. He listened, but there was no sound of voices or +footsteps. The blinds were undrawn, and he could see the bare walls of +the rooms, the fireless grates, and that cold bleakness of aspect +peculiar to an untenanted habitation. +</p><p> +He gave a low groan. +</p><p> +"Gone," he muttered; "gone, as neat as ever a man went yet." +</p><p> +He ran back to the fly, and drove to the establishment of Mr. Hogson, +grocer and general dealer--the shop of the village of Lisford. +</p><p> +Here Mr. Carter was informed that the key of "Woodbine Cottage had been +given up on the evening of that very day on which he had seen Joseph +Wilmot sitting in the little parlour. +</p><p> +"Yes, sir, it were the night before the last," Mr. Hogson said; "it were +the night before last as a young woman wrapped up about the face like, +and dressed very plain, got out of a fly at my door; and, says she, +'Would you please take charge of this here key, and be so kind as to +show any one over the cottage as would like to see it, which of course +the commission is understood?--for my master is leaving for some time on +account of having a son just come home from India, which is married and +settled in Devonshire, and my master is going there to see him, not +having seen him this many a long year.' She was a very civil-spoken +young woman, and Woodbine Cottage has been good customers to us, both +with the old tenants and the new; so of course I took the key, willin' +to do any service as lay in my power. And if you'd like to see the +cottage, sir----" +</p><p> +"You're very good," said Mr. Carter, with something like a groan. "No, I +won't see the cottage to-night. What time was it when the fly stopped at +your door?" +</p><p> +"Between seven and eight." +</p><p> +"Between seven and eight. Just in time to catch the mail from Rugby. Was +it one of the Rose-and-Crown flies, d'ye think?" +</p><p> +"Oh, yes, the fly belonged to Lisford. I'm sure of that, for Tim Baling +was drivin' it and wished me good-night." +</p><p> +Mr. Carter left the Lisford emporium, and ran over to the Rose and +Crown, where he saw the man who had driven him to Shorncliffe station. +This man told the detective that he had been fetched in the evening by +the same young woman who fetched him in the morning, and that he had +driven another gentleman, who walked lame like the first, and had his +head and face wrapped up a deal, not to Shorncliffe station, but to +little Petherington station, six miles on the Rugby side of Shorncliffe, +where the gentleman and the young woman who was with him got into a +second-class carriage in the slow train for Rugby. The gentleman had +said, laughing, that the young woman was his housemaid, and he was +taking her up to town on purpose to be married to her. He was a very +pleasant-spoken gentleman, the flyman added, and paid uncommon liberal. +</p><p> +"I dare say he did," muttered Mr. Carter. +</p><p> +He gave the man a shilling for his information, and went back to the fly +that had brought him to the station. It was getting on for seven o'clock +by this time, and Joseph Wilmot had had eight-and-forty hours' start of +him. The detective was quite down-hearted now. +</p><p> +He went up to London by the same train which he had every reason to +suppose had carried Joseph Wilmot and his daughter two nights before, +and at the Euston terminus he worked very hard on that night and on the +following day to trace the missing man. But Joseph Wilmot was only a +drop in the great ocean of London life. The train that was supposed to +have brought him to town was a long train, coming through from the +north. Half-a-dozen lame men with half-a-dozen young women for their +companions might have passed unnoticed in the bustle and confusion of +the arrival platform. +</p><p> +Mr. Carter questioned the guards, the ticket-collectors, the porters, +the cabmen; but not one among them gave him the least scrap of available +information. He went to Scotland Yard despairing, and laid his case +before the authorities there. +</p><p> +"There's only one way of having him," he said, "and that's the diamonds. +From what I can make out, he had no money with him, and in that case +he'll be trying to turn some of those diamonds into cash." +</p><p> +The following advertisement appeared in the Supplement to the <i>Times</i> +for the next day: +</p><p> +"<i>To Pawnbrokers and Others.--A liberal reward will be given to any +person affording information that may lead to the apprehension of a tall +man, walking lame, who is known to have a large quantity of unset +diamonds in his possession, and who most likely has attempted to dispose +of the same</i>." +</p><p> +But this advertisement remained unanswered. +</p><p> +"They're too clever for us, sir," Mr. Carter remarked to one of the +Scotland-Yard officials. "Whoever Joseph Wilmot may have sold those +diamonds to has got a good bargain, you may depend upon it, and means to +stick to it. The pawnbrokers and others think our advertisement a plant, +you may depend upon it" +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch46"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLVI.</h4></center> +<center><h5>CLEMENT'S STORY.--BEFORE THE DAWN.</h5></center> +<p> + +"I went back to my mother's house a broken and a disappointed man. I had +solved the mystery of Margaret's conduct, and at the same time had set a +barrier between myself and the woman I loved. +</p><p> +"Was there any hope that she would ever be my wife? Reason told me that +there was none. In her eyes I must henceforth appear the man who had +voluntarily set himself to work to discover her father's guilt, and +track him to the gallows. +</p><p> +"<i>Could</i> she ever again love me with this knowledge in her mind? Could +she ever again look me in the face, and smile at me, remembering this? +The very sound of my name must in future be hateful to her. +</p><p> +"I knew the strength of my noble girl's love for her reprobate father. I +had seen the force of that affection tested by so many cruel trials. I +had witnessed my poor girl's passionate grief at Joseph Wilmot's +supposed death: and I had seen all the intensity of her anguish when the +secret of his existence, which was at the same time the secret of his +guilt, became known to her. +</p><p> +"'She renounced me then, rather than renounce that guilty wretch,' I +thought; 'she will hate me now that I have been the means of bringing +his most hideous crime to light.' +</p><p> +"Yes, the crime was hideous--almost unparalleled in horror. The +treachery which had lured the victim to his death seemed almost less +horrible than the diabolical art which had fixed upon the name of the +murdered man the black stigma of a suspected crime. +</p><p> +"But I knew too well that, in all the blackness of his guilt, Margaret +Wilmot would cling to her father as truly, as tenderly, as she had clung +to him in those early days when the suspicion of his worthlessness had +been only a dark shadow for ever brooding between the man and his only +child. I knew this, and I had no hope that she would ever forgive me for +my part in the weaving of that strange chain of evidence which made the +condemnation of Joseph Wilmot. +</p><p> +"These were the thoughts that tormented me during the first fortnight +after my return from the miserable journey to Winchester; these were the +thoughts for ever revolving in my tired brain while I waited for tidings +from the detective. +</p><p> +"During all that time it never once occurred to me that there was any +chance, however remote, of Joseph Wilmot's escape from his pursuer. +</p><p> +"I had seen the science of the detective police so invariably triumphant +over the best-planned schemes of the most audacious criminals, that I +should have considered--had I ever debated the question, which I never +did--Joseph Wilmot's evasion of justice an actual impossibility. It was +most likely that he would be taken at Maudesley Abbey entirely +unprepared, in his ignorance of the fatal discovery at Winchester; an +easy prey to the experienced detective. +</p><p> +"Indeed, I thought that his immediate arrest was almost a certainty; and +every morning, when I took up the papers, I expected to see a prominent +announcement to the effect that the long-undiscovered Winchester mystery +was at last solved, and that the murderer had been taken by one of the +detective police. +</p><p> +"But the papers gave no tidings of Joseph Wilmot; and I was surprised, +at the end of a week's time, to read the account of a detective's +skirmish on board a schooner some miles off Hull, which had resulted in +the drowning of one Stephen Vallance, an old offender. The detective's +name was given as Henry Carter. Were there two Henry Carters in the +small band of London detective police? or was it possible that my Henry +Carter could have given up so profitable a prize as Joseph Wilmot in +order to pursue unknown criminals upon the high seas? A week after I had +read of this mysterious adventure, Mr. Carter made his appearance at +Clapham, very grave of aspect and dejected of manner. +</p><p> +"'It's no use, sir,' he said; 'it's humiliating to an officer of my +standing in the force; but I'd better confess it freely. I've been sold, +sir--sold by a young woman too, which makes it three times as +mortifying, and a kind of insult to the male sex in general!' +</p><p> +"My heart gave a great throb. +</p><p> +"'Do you mean that Joseph Wilmot has escaped? I asked. +</p><p> +"He has, sir; as clean as ever a man escaped yet. He hasn't left this +country, not to my belief, for I've been running up and down between the +different outports like mad. But what of that? If he hasn't left the +country, and if he doesn't mean to leave the country, so much the better +for him, and so much the worse for those that want to catch him. It's +trying to leave England that brings most of 'em to grief, and Joseph +Wilmot's an old enough hand to know that. I'll wager he's living as +quiet and respectable as any gentleman ever lived yet.' +</p><p> +"Mr. Carter went on to tell me the whole story of his disappointments +and mortifications. I could understand all now: the moonlit figure in +the Winchester street, the dusky shadow beneath the dripping branches in +the grove. I could understand all now: my poor girl--my poor, brave +girl. +</p><p> +"When I was alone, I rendered up my thanks to Heaven for the escape of +Joseph Wilmot. I had done nothing to impede the course of justice, +though I had known full well that the punishment of the evil-doer would +crush the bravest and purest heart that ever beat in an innocent woman's +bosom. I had not dared to attempt any interposition between Joseph +Wilmot and the punishment of his crime; but I was, nevertheless, most +heartily thankful that Providence had suffered him to escape that +hideous earthly doom which is supposed to be the wisest means of ridding +society of a wretch. +</p><p> +"But for the wretch himself, surely long years of penitence must make a +better expiation of his guilt than that one short agony--those few +spasmodic throes, which render his death such a pleasant spectacle for a +sight-seeing populace. +</p><p> +"I was glad, for the sake of the guilty and miserable creature himself, +that Joseph Wilmot had escaped. I was still gladder for the sake of that +dear hope which was more to me than any hope on earth--the hope of +making Margaret my wife. +</p><p> +"'There will be no hideous recollection interwoven with my image now,' I +thought; 'she will forgive me when I tell her the history of my journey +to Winchester. She will let me take her away from the companionship that +must be loathsome to her, in spite of her devotion. She will let me +bring her to a happy home as my cherished wife.' +</p><p> +"I thought this, and then in the next moment I feared that Margaret +might cling persistently to the dreadful duty of her life--the duty of +shielding and protecting a criminal; the duty of teaching a wicked man +to repent of his sins. +</p><p> +"I inserted an advertisement in the Times newspaper, assuring Margaret +of my unalterable love and devotion, which no circumstances could +lessen, and imploring her to write to me. Of course the advertisement +was so worded as to give no clue to the identity of the person to whom +it was addressed. The acutest official in Scotland Yard could have +gathered nothing from the lines 'From C. to M.,' so like other appeals +made through the same medium. +</p><p> +"But my advertisement remained unanswered--no letter came from Margaret. +</p><p> +"The weeks and months crept slowly past. The story of the evidence of +the clothes found at Winchester was made public, together with the +history of Joseph Wilmot's flight and escape. The business created a +considerable sensation, and Lord Herriston himself went down to +Winchester to witness the exhumation of the remains of the man who had +been buried under the name of Joseph Wilmot. +</p><p> +"The dead man's face was no longer recognizable. Only by induction was +the identity of Henry Dunbar ever established: but the evidence of the +identity was considered conclusive by all who were interested in the +question. Still I doubt whether, in the fabric of circumstantial +evidence against Joseph Wilmot, legal sophistry could not have +discovered some loophole by which the murderer might have escaped the +full penalty of his crime. +</p><p> +"The remains were removed from Winchester to Lisford Church, where +Percival Dunbar was buried in a vault beneath the chancel. The murdered +man's coffin was placed beside that of his father, and a simple marble +tablet recording the untimely death of Henry Dunbar, cruelly and +treacherously assassinated in a grove near Winchester, was erected by +order of Lady Jocelyn, who was abroad with her husband when the story of +her father's death was revealed to her. +</p><p> +"The weeks and months crept by. The revelation of Joseph Wilmot's guilt +left me free to return to my old position in the house of Dunbar, +Dunbar, and Balderby. But I had no heart to go back to the old business +now the hope that had made my commonplace city life so bright seemed for +ever broken. I was surprised, however, into a confession of the truth by +the good-natured junior partner, who lived near us on Clapham Common, +and who dropped in sometimes as he went by my mother's gate, to while +away an idle half-hour in some political discussion. +</p><p> +"He insisted upon my returning to the office directly he heard the +secret of my resignation. The business was now entirely his; for there +had been no one to succeed Henry Dunbar, and Mr. John Lovell had sold +the dead man's interest on behalf of his client, Lady Jocelyn. I went +back to my old post, but not to remain long in my old position; for a +week after my return Mr. Balderby made me an offer which I considered as +generous as it was flattering, and which I ultimately and somewhat +reluctantly accepted. +</p><p> +"By means of this new and most liberal arrangement, which demanded from +me a very moderate amount of capital, I became junior partner in the +firm, which was now conducted under the names of Dunbar, Dunbar, +Balderby, and Austin. The double Dunbar was still essential to us, +though the last of the male Dunbars was dead and buried under the +chancel of Lisford Church. The old name was the legitimate stamp of our +dignity as one of the oldest Anglo-Indian banking firms in the city of +London. +</p><p> +"My new life was smooth enough, and there was so much business to be got +through, so much responsibility vested in my hands--for Mr. Balderby was +getting fat and lazy, as regarded affairs in the City, though untiring +in the production of more forced pine-apples and hothouse grapes than he +could consume or give away--that I had not much leisure in which to +think of the one sorrow of my life. A City man may break his heart for +disappointed love, but he must do it out of business hours if he +pretends to be an honourable man: for every sorrowful thought which +wanders to the loved and lost is a separate treason against the 'house' +he serves. +</p><p> +"Smoking my after-dinner cigar in the narrow pathways and miniature +shrubberies of my mother's garden, I could venture to think of my lost +Margaret; and I did think of her, and pray for her with as fervent +aspirations as ever rose from a man's faithful heart. And in the dusky +stillness of the evening, with the faint odour of dewy flowers round me, +and distant stars shining dimly in that far-off opal sky; against which +the branches of the elms looked so black and dense, I used to beguile +myself--or it may be that the influence of the scene and hour beguiled +me--into the thought that my separation from Margaret could be only a +temporary one. We loved each other so truly! And after all, what under +heaven is stronger than love? I thought of my poor girl in some lonely, +melancholy place, hiding with her guilty father; in daily companionship +with a miserable wretch, whose life must be made hideous to himself by +the memory of his crime. I thought of the self-abnegation, the heroic +devotion, which made Margaret strong enough to endure such an existence +as this: and out of my belief in the justice of Heaven there grew up in +my mind the faith in a happier life in store for my noble girl. +</p><p> +"My mother supported me in this faith. She knew all Margaret's story +now, and she sympathized with my love and admiration for Joseph Wilmot's +daughter. A woman's heart must have been something less than womanly if +it could have tailed to appreciate my darling's devotion: and my mother +was about the last of womankind to be wanting in tenderness and +compassion for any one who had need of her pity and was worthy of her +love. +</p><p> +"So we both cherished the thought of the absent girl in our minds, +talking of her constantly on quiet evenings, when we sat opposite to +each other in the snug lamp-lit drawing-room, unhindered by the presence +of guests. We did not live by any means a secluded or gloomy life, for +my mother was fond of pleasant society: and I was quite as true to +Margaret while associating with agreeable people, and hearing cheerful +voices buzzing round me, as I could have been in a hermitage whose +stillness was only broken by the howling of the storm. +</p><p> +"It was in the dreariest part of the winter which followed Joseph +Wilmot's escape that an incident occurred which gave me a +strangely-mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. I was sitting one +evening in my mother's breakfast-parlour--a little room situated close +to the hall-door--when I heard the ringing of the bell at the +garden-gate. It was nine o'clock at night, a bitter wintry night, in +which I should least have expected any visitor. So I went on reading my +paper, while my mother speculated about the matter. +</p><p> +"Three minutes after the bell had rung, our parlour-maid came into the +room, and placed something on the table before me. +</p><p> +"'A parcel, sir,' she said, lingering a little; perhaps in the hope +that, in my eager curiosity, I might immediately open the packet, and +give her an opportunity of satisfying her own desire for information. +</p><p> +"I put aside my newspaper, and looked down at the object before me. +</p><p> +"Yes, it was a parcel--a small oblong box--about the size of those +pasteboard receptacles which are usually associated with Seidlitz +powders--an oblong box, neatly packed in white paper, secured with +several seals, and addressed to Clement Austin, Esq., Willow Bank, +Clapham. +</p><p> +"But the hand, the dear, well-known hand, which had addressed the +packet--my blood thrilled through my veins as I recognized the familiar +characters. +</p><p> +"'Who brought this parcel?' I asked, starting from my comfortable +easy-chair, and going straight out into the hall. +</p><p> +"The astonished parlour-maid told me that the packet had been given her +by a lady, 'a lady who was dressed in black, or dark things,' the girl +said, 'and whose face was quite hidden by a thick veil.' After leaving +the small packet, this lady got into a cab a few paces from our gate, +the girl added, 'and the cab had tore off as fast as it could tear!' +</p><p> +"I went out into the open yard, and looked despairingly London-wards. +There was no vestige of any cab: of course there had been ample time for +the cab in question to get far beyond reach of pursuit. I felt almost +maddened with this disappointment and vexation. It was Margaret, +Margaret herself most likely, who had come to my door; and I had lost +the opportunity of seeing her. +</p><p> +"I stood staring blankly up and down the road for some time, and then +went back to the parlour, where my mother, with pardonable weakness, had +pounced upon the packet, and was examining it with eyes opened to their +widest extent. +</p><p> +"'It is Margaret's hand!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, do open--do, please, open +it directly. What on earth can it be?' +</p><p> +"I tore off the white paper covering, and revealed just such an object +as I had expected to see--a box, a common-place pasteboard box, tied +securely across and across with thin twine. I cut the twine and opened +the box. At the top there was a layer of jewellers' wool, and on that +being removed, my mother gave a little shriek of surprise and +admiration. +</p><p> +"The box contained a fortune--a fortune in the shape of unset diamonds, +lying as close together as their nature would admit--unset diamonds, +which glittered and flashed upon us in the lamplight. +</p><p> +"Inside the lid there was a folded paper, upon, which the following +lines were written in the dear hand, the never-to-be-forgotten hand: +</p><p> +"'EVER-DEAREST CLEMENT,--<i>The sad and miserable secret which led to our +parting is a secret no longer. You know all, and you have no doubt +forgiven, and perhaps in part forgotten, the wretched woman to whom your +love was once so dear, and to whom the memory of your love will ever lie +a consolation and a happiness. If I dared to pray to you to think +pitifully of that most unhappy man whose secret is now known to you, I +would do so; but I cannot hope for so much mercy from men: I can only +hope it from God, who in His supreme wisdom alone can fathom the +mysteries of a repentant heart. I beg of you to deliver to Lady Jocelyn +the diamonds I place in your hands. They belong of right to her; and I +regret to say they only represent apart of the money withdrawn from the +funds in the name of Henry Dunbar. Good-bye, dear and generous friend; +this it the last you will ever hear of one whose name must sound odious +to the ears of honest men. Pity me, and forget me; and may a happier +woman be to you that which I can never be!</i> M.W.' +</p><p> + +"This was all. Nothing could be firmer than the tone of this letter, in +spite of its pensive gentleness. My poor girl could not be brought to +believe that I should hold it no disgrace to make her my wife, in spite +of the hideous story connected with her name. In my vexation and +disappointment, I appealed once more to the unfailing friend of parted +or persecuted lovers, the Jupiter of Printing-House Square. +</p><p> +"'<i>Margaret</i>,' I wrote in the advertisement which adorned the second +column of the <i>Times</i> Supplement on twenty consecutive occasions, '<i>I +hold you to your old promise, and consider the circumstances of our +parting as in no manner a release from your old engagement. The greatest +wrong you can inflict upon me will be inflicted by your desertion</i>. +C. A." +</p><p> +"This advertisement was as useless as its predecessor. I looked in vain +for any answer. +</p><p> +"I lost no time in fulfilling the commission intrusted to me I went down +to Shorncliffe, and delivered the box of diamonds into the hands of John +Lovell, the solicitor; for Lady Jocelyn was still on the Continent. He +packed the box in paper, and made me seal it with my signet-ring, in the +presence of one of his clerks, before he put it away in an iron safe +near his desk. +</p><p> +"When this was done, and when the <i>Times</i> advertisement had been +inserted for the twentieth time without eliciting any reply, I gave +myself up to a kind of despair about Margaret. She had failed to see my +advertisement, I thought; for she would scarcely have been so +hard-hearted as to leave it unanswered. She had failed to see this +advertisement, as well as the previous appeal made to her through the +same medium, and she would no doubt fail to see any other. I had reason +to know that she was, or had been, in England, for she would scarcely +have intrusted the diamonds to strange hands; but it was only too likely +that she had chosen the very eve of her own and her father's departure +for some distant country as the most fitting time at which to leave the +valuable parcel with me. +</p><p> +"'Her influence over her father must be complete,' I thought, 'or he +would scarcely have consented to surrender such a treasure as the +diamonds. He has most likely retained enough to pay the passage out to +America for himself and Margaret; and my poor darling will wander with +her wretched father into some remote corner of the United States, where +she will be hidden from me for ever.' +</p><p> +"I remembered with unspeakable pain how wide the world was, and how easy +it would be for the woman I loved to be for ever lost to me. +</p><p> +"I gave myself up to despair; it was not resignation, for my life was +empty and desolate without Margaret; try as I might to carry my burden +quietly, and put a brave face upon my sorrow. Up to the time of +Margaret's appearance on that bleak winter's night, I had cherished the +hope--or even more than hope--the belief that we should be reunited: but +after that night the old faith in a happy future crumbled away, and the +idea that Joseph Wilmot's daughter had left England grew little by +little into conviction. +</p><p> +"I should never see her again. I fully believed this now. There was +never to be any more sunshine in my life: and there was nothing for me +to do but to resign myself to the even tenor of an existence in which +the quiet duties of a business career would leave little time for any +idle grief or lamentation. My sorrow was a part of my life: but even +those who knew me best failed to fathom the depth of that sorrow. To +them I seemed only a grave business man, devoted to the dry details of a +business life. +</p><p> +"Eighteen months had passed since the bleak winter's night on which the +box of diamonds had been intrusted to me; eighteen months, so slow and +quiet in their course that I was beginning to feel myself an old man, +older than many old men, inasmuch as I had outlived the wreck of the one +bright hope which had made life dear to me. It was midsummer time, and +the counting-house in St. Gundolph Lane, and the parlour in which--in +virtue of my new position--I had now a right to work, seemed peculiarly +hot and frowsy, dusty and obnoxious. My work being especially hard at +this time knocked me up; and I was compelled, under pain of solemn +threats from my mother's pet medical attendant, to stay at home, and +take two or three days' rest. I submitted, very unwillingly; for however +dusty and stifling the atmosphere in St. Gundolph Lane might be, it was +better to be there, victorious over my sorrow, by means of man's +grandest ally in the battle with black care--to wit, hard work--than to +be lying on the sofa in my mother's pleasant drawing-room, listening to +the cheery click of two knitting-needles, and thinking of my wasted +life. +</p><p> +"I submitted, however, to take the three days' holiday; and on the +second day, after a couple of hours' penance on the sofa, I got up, +languid and tired still, but bent on some employment by which I might +escape from the sad monotony of my own thoughts. +</p><p> +"'I think I'll go into the next room and put my papers to rights, +mother,' I said. +</p><p> +"My dear indulgent mother remonstrated: I was to rest and keep myself +quiet, she said, and not to worry myself about papers and tiresome +things of that kind, which appertained only to the office. But I had my +own way, and went into the little room, where there were flowers +blooming and caged birds singing in the open window. +</p><p> +"This room was a sort of snuggery, half library, half breakfast-parlour, +and it was in this room my mother and I had been sitting on the night on +which the diamonds had been brought to me. +</p><p> +"On one side of the fireplace stood my mother's work-table, on the other +the desk at which I wrote, whenever I wrote any letters at home--a +ponderous old-fashioned office desk, with a row of drawers on each side, +a deep well in the centre, and under that a large waste-paper basket, +full of old envelopes and torn scraps of letters. +</p><p> +"I wheeled a comfortable chair up to the desk, and began my task. It +was a very long one, and involved a great deal of folding, sorting, and +arranging of documents, which perhaps were scarcely worth the trouble I +took with them. At any rate, the work kept my fingers employed, though +my mind still brooded over the old trouble. +</p><p> +"I sat for nearly three hours; for it was a very long time since I had +had a day's leisure, and the accumulation of letters, bills, and +receipts was something very formidable. At last all was done, the +letters and bills endorsed and tied into neat packets that would have +done credit to a lawyer's office; and I flung myself back in my chair +with a sigh of relief. +</p><p> +"But I had not finished my work yet; for I drew out the waste-paper +basket presently, and emptied its contents upon the floor, in order that +I might make sure of there being no important paper thrown by chance +amongst them, before I consigned them to be swept away by the housemaid. +</p><p> +"I tossed over the chaotic fragments, the soiled envelopes, the +circulars of enterprising Clapham tradesmen, and all the other rubbish +that had accumulated within the last two years. The dust floated up to +my face and almost blinded me. +</p><p> +"Yes, there was something of consequence amongst the papers--something, +at least, which I should have held it sacrilegious to consign to Molly, +the housemaid--the wrapper of the box containing the diamonds; the paper +wrapper, directed in the dear hand I loved, the hand of Margaret Wilmot. +</p><p> +"I must have left the wrapper on the table on the night when I received +the box, and one of the servants had no doubt put it into the +waste-paper basket. I picked up the sheet of paper and folded it neatly; +it was a very small treasure for a lover to preserve, perhaps: but then +I had so few relics of the woman who was to have been my wife. +</p><p> +"As I folded the paper, I looked, half in absence of mind, at the stamp +in the corner. It was an old-fashioned sheet of Bath post, stamped with +the name of the stationer who had sold it--Jakins, Kylmington. +Kylmington; yes, I remembered there was a town in Hampshire,--a kind of +watering-place, I believed,--called Kylmington! And the paper had been +bought there--and if so, it was more than likely that Margaret had been +there. +</p><p> +"Could it be so? Could it be really possible that in this sheet of paper +I had found a clue which would help me to trace my lost love? Could it +be so? The new hope sent a thrill of sudden life and energy through my +veins. Ill--worn out, knocked up by over-work? Who could dare to say I +was any thing of the kind? I was as strong as Hercules. +</p><p> +"I put the folded paper in the breast-pocket of my coat, and took down +Bradshaw. Dear Bradshaw, what an interesting writer you seemed to me on +that day! Yes, Kylmington was in Hampshire; three hours and a half from +London, with due allowance for delays in changing carriages. There was a +train would convey me from Waterloo to Kylmington that afternoon--a +train that would leave Waterloo at half-past three. +</p><p> +"I looked at my watch. It was half-past two. I had only an hour for all +my preparations and the drive to Waterloo. I went to the drawing-room, +where my mother was still sitting at work near the open window. She +started when she saw my face, for my new hope had given it a strange +brightness. +</p><p> +"'Why, Clem,' she said, 'you look as pleased as if you'd found some +treasure among your papers.' +</p><p> +"'I hope I have, mother. I hope and believe that I have found a clue +that will enable me to trace Margaret.' +</p><p> +"'You don't mean it?' +</p><p> +"'I've found the name of a town which I believe to be the place where +she was staying before she brought those diamonds to me. I am going +there to try and discover some tidings of her. I am going at once. Don't +look anxious, dear mother; the journey to Kylmington, and the hope that +takes me there, will do me more good than all the drugs in Mr. Bainham's +surgery. Be my own dear indulgent mother, as you have always been, and +pack me a couple of clean shirts in a portmanteau. I shall come back +to-morrow night, I dare say, as I've only three days' leave of absence +from the office.' +</p><p> +"My mother, who had never in her life refused me anything, did not long +oppose me to-day. A hansom cab rattled me off to the station; and at +five minutes before the half-hour I was on the platform, with my ticket +for Kylmington in my pocket." +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch47"></a> +<center><h4>CHAPTER XLVII.</h4></center> +<center><h5>THE DAWN.</h5></center> +<p> + +"The clock of Kylmington church, which was as much behind any other +public timekeeper I had ever encountered as the town of Kylmington was +behind any other town I had ever explored, struck eight as I opened the +little wooden gate of the churchyard, and went into the shade of an +avenue of stunted sycamores, which was supposed to be the chief glory of +Kylmington. +</p><p> +"It was twenty minutes past eight by London time, and the summer sun had +gone down, leaving all the low western sky bathed in vivid yellow light, +which deepened into crimson as I watched it. +</p><p> +"I had been more than an hour and a half in Kylmington. I had taken some +slight refreshment at the principal hotel--a queer, old-fashioned place, +with a ruinous, weedy appearance pervading it, and the impress of +incurable melancholy stamped on the face of every scrap of rickety +furniture and lopsided window-blind. I had taken some slight +refreshment--to this hour I don't know <i>what</i> it was I ate upon that +balmy summer evening, so entirely was my mind absorbed by that bright +hope, which was growing brighter and brighter every moment. I had been +to the stationer's shop, which still bore above its window the faded +letters of the name 'Jakins,' though the last of the Jakinses had long +left Kylmington. I had been to this shop, and from a good-natured but +pensive matron I had heard tidings that made my bright hope a still +brighter certainty. +</p><p> +"I began business by asking if there was any lady in Kylmington who gave +lessons in music and singing. +</p><p> +"'Yes,' Mr. Jakins's successor told me, 'there were two music-mistresses +in the town--one was Madame Carinda, who taught at Grove House, the +fashionable ladies' school; the other was Miss Wilson, whose terms were +lower than Madame Carinda's--though Madame wasn't a bit a foreigner +except by name--and who was much respected in the town. Likewise her +papa, which had been quite the gentleman, attending church twice every +Sunday as regular as the day came round, and being quite a picture of +respectability, with his venerable pious-looking grey hair.' +</p><p> +"I gave a little start as I heard this. +</p><p> +"'Miss Wilson lived with her papa, did she?' I asked. +</p><p> +"'Yes,' the woman told me; 'Miss Wilson had lived with her papa till the +poor old gentleman's death.' +</p><p> +"'Oh, he was dead, then?' +</p><p> +"'Yes, Mr. Wilson had died in the previous December, of a kind of +decline, fading away like, almost unbeknown; and being, oh, so +faithfully nursed and cared for by that blessed daughter of his. And +people did say that he had once been very wealthy, and had lost his +money in some speculation; and the loss of it had preyed upon his mind, +and he had fallen into a settled melancholy like, and was never seen to +smile.' +</p><p> +"The woman opened a drawer as she talked to me, and, after turning over +some papers, took out a card--a card with embossed edges, fly-spotted, +and dusty, and with a little faded blue ribbon attached to it--a card on +which there was written, in the hand I knew so well, an announcement +that Miss Wilson, of the Hermitage, would give instruction in music and +singing for a guinea a quarter. +</p><p> +"I had been about to ask for a description of the young music-mistress, +but I had no need to do so now. +</p><p> +"'Miss Wilson <i>is</i> the young lady I wish to see,' I said. 'Will you +direct me to the Hermitage? I will call there early to-morrow morning.' +</p><p> +"The proprietress of Jakins's, who was, I dare say, something of a +matchmaker, after the manner of all good-natured matrons, smiled +significantly. +</p><p> +"'I know where you could see Miss Wilson, nearer than the Hermitage,' +she said, 'and sooner than to-morrow morning. She works very hard all +day,--poor, dear, delicate-looking young thing; but every evening when +it's tolerably fine, she goes to the churchyard. It's the only walk I've +ever seen her take since her father's death. She goes past my window +regular every night, just about when I'm shutting up, and from my door I +can see her open the gate and go into the churchyard. It's a doleful +walk to take alone at that time of the evening, to be sure, though some +folks think it's the pleasantest walk in all Kylmington.' +</p><p> +"It was in consequence of this conversation that I found myself under +the shadow of the trees while the Kylmington clock was striking eight. +</p><p> +"The churchyard was a square flat, surrounded on all sides by a low +stone wall, beyond which the fields sloped down to the mouth of a river +that widened into the sea at a little distance from Kylmington, but +which hereabouts had a very dingy melancholy look when the tide was out, +as it was to-night. +</p><p> +"There was no living creature except myself in the churchyard as I came +out of the shadow of the trees on to the flat, where the grass grew long +among the unpretending headstones. +</p><p> +"I looked at all the newest stones till I came at last to one standing +in the obscurest corner of the churchyard, almost hidden by the low +wall. +</p><p> +"There was a very brief inscription on this modest headstone; but it was +enough to tell me whose ashes lay buried under the spot on which I +stood. +</p> +<center><i>"To the Memory of +J. W. +Who died December 19, 1853. +'Lord have mercy upon me, a sinner!'</i></center> +<p> +"I was still looking at this brief memorial, when I heard a woman's +dress rustling upon the long rank grass, and turning suddenly, saw my +darling coming towards me, very pale, very pensive, but with a kind of +seraphic resignation upon her face which made her seem to me more +beautiful than I had ever seen her before. +</p><p> +"She started at seeing me, but did not faint. She only grew paler than +she had been before, and pressed her two hands on her breast, as if to +still the sudden tumult of her heart. +</p><p> +"I made her take my arm and lean upon it, and we walked up and down the +narrow path talking until the last low line of light faded out of the +dusky sky. +</p><p> +"All that I could say to her was scarcely enough to shake her +resolution--to uproot her conviction that her father's guilt was an +insurmountable barrier between us. But when I told her of my broken +life--when, in the earnestness of my pleading, she perceived the proof +of a constancy that no time could shake, I could see that she wavered. +</p><p> +"'I only want you to be happy, Clement,' she said. 'My former life has +been such an unhappy one, that I tremble at the thought of linking it to +yours. The shame, Clement--think of <i>that</i>. How will you answer people +when they ask you the name of your wife?' +</p><p> +"'I will tell them that she has no name, but that which she has honoured +by accepting from me. I will tell them that she is the noblest and +dearest of women, and that her history is a story of unparalleled virtue +and devotion!' +</p><p> +"I sent a telegraphic message to my mother early the next morning; and +in the afternoon the dear soul arrived at Kylmington to embrace her +future daughter. We sat late in the little parlour of the Hermitage; a +dreary cottage, looking out on the flat shore, half sand, half mud, and +the low water lying in greenish pools. Margaret told us of her father's +penitence. +</p><p> +"'No repentance was ever more sincere, Clement,' she said, for she +seemed afraid we should doubt the possibility of penitence in such a +criminal as Joseph Wilmot. 'My poor father--my poor wronged, unhappy +father!--yes, wronged, Clement, you must not forget that; you must never +forget that in the first instance he was wronged, and deeply wronged, by +the man who was murdered. When first we came here, his mind brooded upon +that, and he seemed to look upon what he had done as an ignorant savage +would look upon the vengeance which his heathenish creed had taught him +to consider a justifiable act of retaliation. Little by little I won my +poor father away from such thoughts as these: till by-and-by he grew to +think of Henry Dunbar as he was when they were young men together, +linked by a kind of friendship, before the forging of the bills, and all +the trouble that followed. He thought of his old master as he knew him +first, and his heart was softened towards the dead man's memory; and +from that time his penitence began. He was sorry for what he had done. +No words can describe that sorrow, Clement: and may you never have to +watch, as I have watched, the anguish of a guilty soul! Heaven is very +merciful. If my father had failed to escape, and had been hung, he would +have died hardened and impenitent. God had compassion on him, and gave +him time to repent.'" +</p> +<center><i>(The end of the story.)</i></center> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<hr size=1 width=60> +<a name="ch48"></a> +<p> +THE EPILOGUE: +</p><p> +ADDED BY CLEMENT AUSTIN SEVEN YEARS AFTERWARDS. +</p><p> + +"My wife and I hear sometimes, through my old friend Arthur Lovell, of +the new master and mistress of Maudesley Abbey, Sir Philip and Lady +Jocelyn, who oscillate between the Rock and the Abbey when they are in +Warwickshire. Lady Jocelyn is a beautiful woman, frank, generous, +noble-hearted, beloved by every creature within twenty miles' radius of +her home, and idolized by her husband. The sad history of her father's +death has been softened by the hand of Time; and she is happy with her +children and her husband in the grand old home that was so long +overshadowed by the sinister presence of the false Henry Dunbar. +</p><p> +"We are very happy. No prying eye would ever read in Margaret's bright +face the sad story of her early life. A new existence has begun for her +as wife and mother. She has little time to think of that miserable past; +but I think that, sound Protestant though she may be in every other +article of faith, amidst all her prayers those are not the least fervent +which she offers up for the guilty soul of her wretched father. +</p><p> +"We are very happy. The secret of my wife's history is hidden in our own +breasts--a dark chapter in the criminal romance of life, never to be +revealed upon earth. The Winchester murder is forgotten amongst the many +other guilty mysteries which are never entirely solved. If Joseph +Wilmot's name is ever mentioned, people suggest that he went to America; +indeed, there are people who go farther, and say they have seen him in +America. +</p><p> +"My mother keeps house for us; and in very nearly seven years' +experience we have never found any disunion to arise from this +arrangement. The pretty Clapham villa is gay with the sound of +children's voices, and the shrill carol of singing birds, and the joyous +barking of Skye terriers. We have added a nursery wing already to one +side of the house, and have balanced it on the other by a vinery, built +after the model of those which adorn the mansion of my senior. The +Misses Balderby have taken what they call a 'great fancy' to my wife, +and they swarm over our drawing-room carpets in blue or pink flounces +very often, on what they call 'social evenings for a little music.' I +find that a little music is only a synonym with the Misses Balderby for +a great deal of noise. +</p><p> +"I love my wife's playing best, though they are kind enough to perform +twenty-page compositions by Bach and Mendelssohn for my amusement: and I +am never happier than on those dusky summer evenings when we sit alone +together in the shadowy drawing-room, and talk to each other, while +Margaret's skilful fingers glide softly over the keys in wandering +snatches of melody that melt and die away like the low breath of the +summer wind." +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Henry Dunbar, by M. E. 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