It happened that, during the week in which these occurrences took
place, Mr. Temple was absent from London. On the night of his return
he was more than usually elated. Everything was prospering with him.
Arthur's ingenuous manner found favour wherever he appeared, and his
introduction into society promised the most favourable results. In
addition to this cause for satisfaction, Mr. Temple had reason to
believe that his public services were likely, nay, almost certain, to
be rewarded with a title, which his son would bear after him.
"There is practically no limit to our fortunes, my boy," he said to
Arthur; "the current will carry us on."
To which Arthur replied:
"I trust I shall not disappoint you, sir."
"I am satisfied as to that," said Mr. Temple. "My chief desire now is
that you should choose a definite career. I do not wish to press you,
but the sooner you enter public life the wider will be your experience
and the greater your chances. Our name shall be a famous one in the
country."
On his return to his town house, Mr. Temple, after a few minutes'
conversation with his wife, proceeded to the library. He had been
expected home the previous evening, and his correspondence for two
days lay upon his writing-table. He looked over the letters hurriedly,
and paused at one which seemed to give him uneasiness. It was brief
and to the point.
"The writer of these lines, Seth Dumbrick by name, wishes for a
personal interview with Mr. Temple, on a matter of vital importance to
himself and the gentleman he addresses. He will call on Mr. Temple at
eight o'clock this evening, and hopes not to be denied."
Mr. Temple glanced at the clock. It was a quarter-past eight. He
struck a bell, and a servant entered.
"Is any person waiting to see me?"
"Yes, sir; he is in the hall."
"Giving any name?"
"Dumbrick, sir."
"Did he come yesterday?"
"Yes, sir, and was informed you would not return till to-night."
"What sort of a person?"
"A common person, sir--a very common person."
"Show him in."
The next moment Seth Dumbrick entered, hat in hand, and stood near the
door. From his seat at the table, Mr. Temple desired him to come near.
Seth Dumbrick obeyed, and the men faced each other.
"You are the writer of this note," said Mr. Temple haughtily.
"I am, sir."
"Explain it, and briefly. Stay--have I not seen your face somewhere?"
Seth Dumbrick made no immediate reply. He had no desire to recall to
Mr. Temple's memory the circumstances of the unpleasant interview that
had taken place between them many years ago. He himself had recognised
Mr. Temple the moment he entered the room, his cause for remembrance
being the stronger of the two. Mr. Temple had an unerring memory for
faces, but his meeting with Seth Dumbrick lay so far in the past, and
his life was so varied and full of colour, that he could not for the
moment connect the face with the circumstance.
"Answer me," he said peremptorily. "Have I not seen you before?"
"You have, sir."
"Where?"
"Years ago--at Springfield--when I, with two children, was taking a
holiday in the country."
"Ah, I remember perfectly. Our meeting was not a pleasant one."
"It was not my fault that it was not so."
"I remember also that you gave me the address of an inn at which you
were stopping, and that I informed you I should call there. I _did_
call, and you had gone. You ran away, I presume."
"I followed my course, being a free man, and not bound to wait for
strangers."
"It is a matter of no importance. Two children! Yes; I should know
them again, I think. One, a child, with a very beautiful face. Is she
living?"
"She is, sir; as a woman, though she is scarcely yet out of her
girlhood, she is more beautiful than she was as a child. I am here on
her behalf."
"On her behalf!" exclaimed Mr. Temple, taking the note from the table.
"You use the words 'vital importance.'"
"They are correctly used, as you will perhaps admit when you hear me."
"I will hear you. Of vital importance to yourself and to me?"
"That is so, sir."
Mr. Temple considered for a moment. His career had been one which
necessitated rapid conclusions.
"Write your name, trade, and address on this paper."
Seth Dumbrick did as he was desired. His manner was closely watched by
Mr. Temple, who expected to detect a reluctance to give the
information. But Seth Dumbrick wrote unhesitatingly, and with
decision.
"This is your true name and address?"
"I have no other. I am here to speak the truth."
"Say what you have to say."
"I must trespass upon your patience, but I will be as brief as it is
possible for me to be. It is very many years ago--I cannot recall how
many; the age of the child, if it can be ascertained, will verify
that--that a little girl was strangely and mysteriously brought into
my neighbourhood by a man whom I never saw, and who remained in
Rosemary Lane for probably not longer than a couple of hours. This
stranger took a room in the house of acquaintances of mine----"
"Write on the paper, beneath your own name, the name of these
acquaintances."
Seth Dumbrick wrote the name of Chester, which Mr. Temple did not
glance at. He was more engaged in observing the manner in which the
man before him submitted to the tests he demanded. Seth continued:
"The stranger took a room that was to let in the house, and paid, I
believe, two weeks' rent in advance. The night that he took the room
he disappeared from the neighbourhood, and was never more seen in it."
"Leaving the child?"
"Leaving the child. Not long after the occurrence the persons who
occupied the house fell into misfortune, and the woman into whose care
the child had been strangely thrown was compelled by circumstances to
give up her house, and take a situation in the country."
"All this bears upon your errand to me?"
"Every word of it. The woman had a little girl of her own, a few years
older than the foundling, who contracted an absorbing love for the
deserted stranger. It is not necessary to relate how I, upon the
breaking up of the woman's home, took upon myself the care of her
child and the child whom the villain--that is the correct word, in my
opinion--deserted. These children have lived with me ever since, and
under my care have grown to womanhood."
The talent Seth Dumbrick exhibited for condensation and clearness had
its effect upon Mr. Temple, who knew how to appreciate the rare
faculty.
The child you have referred to for her beauty is the child who was
deserted. Nothing is known of her parentage or belongings. She has
grown up amongst us, and is loved by all. To me, a childless man, she
is as my own daughter, and I could not feel more deeply for her were
she of my own blood. But it was a matter of remark from the first, and
has continued so, that, from all appearance, she is superior in
certain ways to those whom a strange fate has condemned her to herd
with. You see, sir, that I do not rate myself and those of my order
too highly. I have given her what education it was in my power to
bestow. She is in all respects a lady, and as beautiful a girl as this
city contains. As is natural, so bright a being has attracted the
attention of those in my station of life--I do not say in hers--who
desire matrimony. But she has consistently declined to entertain their
proposals, and has, so to speak, set her head above them--as she has
done from the first, in every possible way. Whether this comes from
her parents, who, for the credit of human nature, I hope are dead, it
is beyond me to say. There are mysteries which we weak mortals are
powerless to probe. I come now, sir, to that part of my story which
most nearly touches the object of my visit to you.
"Before you proceed, favour me with the name of this child."
"I must ask you to receive it in all seriousness, sir. I am afraid
that I am principally to blame for it, but it sprung out of a
whimsical fancy, and in one of those moments of extravagance for which
we are scarcely accountable. The child had no name; the villain who
brought her into the neighbourhood, and deserted her, left none behind
him; and in such a moment as I have spoken of, the name--if it can be
called so--of the Duchess of Rosemary Lane was given her. It was
undoubtedly wrong, but it has clung to her, and she bears no other."
"Go on now to the immediate purport of your note to me."
"As I have said, she has attracted the attention of many suitors in my
station of life, but she has turned a deaf ear to all. She has
attracted other attention--the attention of a gentleman moving
presumably, nay certainly, in a higher position in society than that
she occupies. Have you no suspicion of the point I am coming to?"
"None."
"The person I speak of," proceeded Seth, with a heavy sigh, "meets my
child regularly, and has given her such gifts as only a gentleman
could afford to give."
"An old story," interrupted Mr. Temple.
"Continue to hear me patiently, sir. I have but little more to say.
This gentleman writes constantly to her, but not to the home in which
she has lived from childhood. I am here to ask you whether it is
possible that such an intimacy will result in a manner honourable to
the girl whom I, an old and childless man, love with all the
earnestness and devotion of which I am capable--for whose happiness I
would lay down my life as surely as every word I have spoken to you is
the honest and straightforward truth."
"And it is to this point you must come at once," said Mr. Temple,
whose tone would have been arrogant but for the effect which the
genuine pathos of his visitor produced upon him against his will.
"What interest can I have in the name of this gentleman, who, seeing a
pretty girl who is flattered by his attentions, follows her, and falls
into the trap she lays for him----"
But if his speech had not trailed off here, it would have been
arrested by Seth's indignant protest.
"Stop!" he cried, in a ringing voice. "Hear first the name of the man
who is wooing my child, and who from your own sentiments--for nature
transmits good and evil qualities from father to son--is seeking to
entrap an innocent girl!"
At this moment these two men--the one so high in the world, the other
so low--changed positions. It was Mr. Temple who cowered, and Seth
Dumbrick who raised his head to the light.
"Speak the name then," said Mr. Temple.
"Your son--Arthur Temple!"
A cold smile served at once to hide Mr. Temple's agitation and to
outwardly denote the value he wished Seth Dumbrick to believe he
placed upon his statement.
"And you," he said, with contemptuous emphasis, "have connived at this
intimacy, and have come to me to place a price upon----"
Again he was interrupted indignantly by Seth.
"You mistake. I have never, so that I could recognise it, seen the
face of your son; I have had no conversation with my child upon the
subject, and she does not know of my visit to you. She has not
confided in me."
"How then do you happen to be aware of the particulars you have
narrated so fluently? How have you gained the knowledge of the letters
and the gifts?"
"Having only the good of my child at heart, and being better versed in
the villainies----"
"Be careful of your words."
"If your son has no honourable intention towards my girl, the word is
in its proper place. Being better versed in the ways of the world than
she, a young and inexperienced child, can possibly be, I exercised my
rightful authority, and searched her trunk, to discover what she was
concealing from me. I found the tokens there. The letters are written
on paper stamped with a crest, surrounded by Latin words which I do
not understand."
Mr. Temple, in silence, handed Seth a sheet of notepaper.
"The crest and words," said Seth, putting on his spectacles to examine
them, "are the same as these."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"All--with the exception that three nights ago I witnessed the meeting
between your son and my child."
"How did you discover where he lives?"
"I followed him to this house, and learnt that it was yours."
"You would have made a good detective, my man."
"What I have done," said Seth simply, "has been prompted and guided by
love."
Mr. Temple, shading his face with his hand, was silent a little. He
could not doubt the truth of Seth's statement, and his desire was to
save his san from awkward consequences which might result from his
imprudence. He raised his eyes, and said, in a hard tone:
"Your price?"
Seth Dumbrick stared at Mr. Temple, and his frame shook with
agitation.
"Your price," repeated Mr. Temple, "for those letters?"
"Are you asking me," said Seth, resting his hand heavily on the table
to obtain some control over his words, "to put a price upon my child's
honour?"
"I will have no insolent construction placed upon my question. You
have heard it. Answer it."
"It should have blistered your tongue," said Seth, with bitter
emphasis, "to utter it. Is that answer sufficient?"
"Quite," replied Mr. Temple, striking the bell with a fierceness he
would have shown had it been human and his enemy. A servant entered.
"Turn this person from the house," he said sternly.
The servant stood before Seth Dumbrick, who knew that there was no
appeal. But before he took his departure, he said sternly:
"If Divine justice be not a delusion, you will live to repent this
night. Into your home may come the desolation you would assist in
bringing into mine."
He had time to say no more' for at a peremptory gesture from Mr.
Temple, the servant forced him from the room.
Mr. Temple instantly touched the bell again, and another servant
entered.
"Is Richards in?"
"Yes, sir."
"Send him to me immediately."
Almost on the instant, Richards made his appearance. A man of the same
age as his master, tall and spare, with a manner so habitually
watchful that, although he seldom looked a person in the face, not a
movement or expression escaped his notice.
"A man is now being shown out of the house," said Mr. Temple
hurriedly, "whom you will follow to his home. Lose not a moment.
Ascertain every particular relating to himself, his life, and his
domestic history. You understand?"
Richards nodded. He was a man not given to the wasting of speech.
"This is a secret and confidential service," said Mr. Temple. "Breathe
not a word concerning it to a soul but myself--understand, not to a
soul but myself--not even to my son. Hasten now, or you may miss him."