The next day it was known in camp that the wounded man was sinking.
There was a general feeling of pity for the girl who was believed to be
his daughter, but none for the man himself, owing to his having been
detected cheating--one of the deepest of crimes in a community where all
men gambled more or less.
The next morning it was known that he was dead. He was buried a few
hours later. Had he died in good odour, the whole camp would have
followed him to his grave; but not one would attend the funeral of a
detected cheat, and Murdoch had to hire six men to carry the
roughly-made coffin to a cleared spot among the pines that had been set
apart as the graveyard of the camp. He himself followed, the only
mourner, and those who saw the little procession pass through the camp
remarked on Murdoch's stern and frowning face. When the body was
consigned to the earth--without prayer or ceremony--Murdoch went down to
where Ned was at work.
'Come round this evening,' he said; 'there is a lot to tell you.'
When he went into the saloon in the evening, Murdoch beckoned him into
the inner room. Having closed the door, he placed a bottle, a jug of
water, and two tumblers upon the table.
'Now,' he said, 'sit down. I have a long story and a bad one to tell
you. As I said the other night, I am not a good man, Captain Hampton. I
have been mixed up in all sorts of shady transactions on the turf at
home, and if I had not made a bolt for it should have got seven years
for nobbling a horse. I was among a pretty bad lot at New Orleans, and
many a sailor was hocussed and robbed at my place, and I pretty near
caused your murder; and yet, I tell you, if I had known what a
black-hearted villain that man Warbles--or, as he says his name really
is, Truscott--was, I would have shot him rather than have taken his
hand. First, will you tell me how much you know of him?'
Ned Hampton told what he knew of the man; of his disappointment at his
not obtaining his father's position of steward at Mr. Hawtrey's, of the
threats he had made, and how, as it seemed, he carried out those threats
by first giving rise to the rumours that Miss Hawtrey was at the mercy
of some one who held damaging letters of hers, and then by causing Linda
to personate her in the commission of audacious thefts.
'You don't know half of it,' Murdoch said; 'he told it all to her and
me, boasting of the vengeance he had taken. You were a boy of eight when
Mr. Hawtrey's wife died--do you remember anything about it?'
'Very little,' Ned replied, after sitting for a minute or two--trying to
recall the past. 'I remember there was a great talk about it. She died a
week or two after Miss Hawtrey was born. I remember there was a shock,
or a loss, or something of that sort, but I do not remember more than
that. Oh, yes, I do; I remember there was another baby, and that somehow
she and her nurse were drowned.'
'Yes, that was it. Truscott was at the bottom of it; he told us he had
been watching for his chance. It seems that when the twins came the
mother could not nurse them. Two women were obtained as foster mothers;
Truscott got hold of one of them. I believe from what he said she had
belonged to the place, but had been away in London and had only returned
a month or two, and had had a baby which had died a day or two before
Mrs. Hawtrey's were born, and although she had no character they were
glad enough to secure her services in the emergency. Truscott, as I
said, got hold of her and bribed her heavily to consent to carry out his
orders. One evening she pretended to get drunk. She was of course
discharged, but being apparently too drunk to be turned out on a wet and
wild night, as it happened to be, she was put in a room upstairs and was
to be sent away first thing in the morning.
'The two babies slept in cradles in their mother's room. In the morning
the one she had nursed was gone and so was the woman. The latter's
bonnet was found at the end of the garden which ran down to the Thames.
The supposition naturally was that she had awoke half-sobered in the
morning, with sense enough to remember how she had disgraced herself,
and had determined to drown herself and the child. The river was
dragged; the woman's shawl was found caught in a bush dipping into the
water, and a torn garment which was recognised as that in which the baby
had been put to bed was fished out of the river miles down. The woman's
body was never found, but the river was in flood and it might have been
swept out to sea in a few hours. A little baby's body was cast ashore
below Kew. It could not be identified, but no doubts were entertained
that it was the one they were in search of, and it was buried with Mrs.
Hawtrey, for whom the excitement and shock had been too much.'
Captain Hampton had listened with growing excitement to the story.
'Then the child was not drowned, and Linda is Dorothy's twin sister! I
wonder that a suspicion of the truth never occurred to their father. Had
I known all these circumstances you are telling me I am sure I should
have suspected it. I was convinced by this scoundrel's manner, when he
had an altercation with Mr. Hawtrey at Epsom and threatened him, that he
had already done him some serious injury, though Mr. Hawtrey, when I
spoke to him, declared he was not conscious that he had suffered in any
way at his hands, unless two or three rick-burnings had been his work.
'Certainly, no thought that he could have had any hand in the
catastrophe that caused the death of his wife had ever occurred to him.
Had I known that the body of the infant had never been really
identified, or that of its nurse found, I should have suspected the
truth as soon as I found that Truscott and Dorothy's double were acting
together. What an infamous scoundrel, and what a life for the girl. But
he never could have foreseen that the two sisters would grow up so
alike.
'No. He told the poor girl what his intentions had been. The woman who
stole her died when the child was four years old, and he then placed her
with a woman whom he had known as a barmaid. She was not only given to
drink, but was mixed up with thieves and coiners. His expectation was
that the girl so placed would necessarily grow up a young thief, and go
to the bad in every way; and the vengeance to which he had looked
forward was that Mr. Hawtrey should at last be informed that this
degraded creature was his daughter. He had the declaration of the woman
who stole her signed by herself in presence of three witnesses. Of
course it made no allusion to his agency in the affair, but described it
as simply an act of revenge on her part. He intended to testify only to
the fact that he had known this woman, and at her death had taken the
child she had left behind her and placed it with another woman as an act
of pure charity. Of course, the part he had played in the matter would
have been suspected--indeed, he would have lost half his pleasure had it
not been so--but there would have been no proof against him.'
'It is a horrible business,' Ned Hampton said; 'a fiendish business, and
he had no real ground for any hostility against Mr. Hawtrey. He would
have had the appointment his father had held had it not been for his own
misconduct. His own father, on his deathbed, implored Mr. Hawtrey not to
appoint his son, as he would certainly bring disgrace upon his name.'
'Truscott represented that he had been scandalously treated and his life
ruined by Hawtrey. I have no doubt the matter really was as you say, but
he had certainly persuaded himself that he was a terribly ill-used man,
and spoke with exultation over the revenge he had taken. It was about
four years ago that on his going to see the girl in the court in which
he had placed her--'
'It was Piper's Court, at Chelsea.'
'Why, how on earth did you know that?'
'I have a lad with me who was brought up in that very court, and who
recognised her as soon as he saw her here; in fact he had remarked on
the likeness directly he saw a photograph of her sister.'
'Well, when Truscott noticed the likeness he saw that properly worked
there was money to be made out of it, so he took her from the woman she
had been with and put her with one who had been a governess, but who had
come to grief somehow and was nearly starving. This woman was to educate
her, but was to teach her nothing that could interfere with his plans
for her. I mean nothing of religion or what was right or wrong, or
anything of that sort. When he sent her to the woman, the girl had
promised she would do whatever he wanted her to do if he would have her
educated. So, when the time came, she was perfectly ready to carry out
his scheme. She watched Miss Hawtrey come out from her house several
times, noted the dress she wore, and had one made precisely similar in
every respect, and, as you know, carried out her part perfectly.'
'Her hair is, as you see, rather darker than her sister's, but she faked
it up to the right shade, and the make-up was so good that not only the
shopmen but this Mr. Singleton, whom Truscott knew was her sister's
godfather and a most intimate friend, was also taken in. I tell you,
sir, if you had heard the devilish satisfaction with which that
scoundrel went over this story again and again, you would have felt, as
I did, a longing to throw yourself upon him and strangle him. I must
tell you that Sally had no idea whatever that the girl she represented
would be seriously suspected of having carried out these thefts. She
knew nothing of Truscott's enmity to Hawtrey. He had told her only that
he knew a young lady to whom she bore such a remarkable likeness that it
would be easy to personate her. Sally herself had suggested that the
girl might be suspected, but he had laughed at the idea and said she
could have no difficulty whatever in showing where she was at the time
that Sally called at the jeweller's and Singleton's. Sally herself is
fond, as is natural enough in a girl as good-looking as she is, of
handsome clothes, and that visit to the shop where she laid in a stock
of fine clothes was, she admits, her own suggestion. She has kept her
room since Truscott's death. She did not say a word as he was telling
her his story, but she went as white as death, and got up with a sort of
sob when he finished and went out of the tent without saying a word, and
has not come out of her room since.
'I saw her after his death this morning, and it cut me to the heart. She
was sitting on her bed, and I think she had been sitting there ever
since she went into her room, twenty-four hours before. She talked it
over with me in a strange hopeless sort of voice, as if the girl who had
been brought up in that court in Chelsea had been somebody else. I
brought her in some tea with some brandy in it, and made her drink it;
and she took it just like a little child might. This afternoon I saw the
doctor and told him what sort of a state she was in, and he gave me a
sleeping mixture which I got her to take, and I peeped in just now and
saw that she was lying asleep on her bed, and I hope she will be better
to-morrow. It has been an awful shock for her.'
'Terrible,' Ned Hampton agreed. 'I could hardly imagine a more dreadful
story for a woman to hear. She is indeed deeply to be pitied. What are
you thinking of doing?'
'I am not thinking anything about it yet. I suppose she will go back to
England. As for me, I expect I shall carry on this place. We have been
doing first-rate since we came here three months ago. Of course it won't
be the same when she has gone. We three were equal partners in it, but I
am sure we shall have no trouble in arranging about that. I don't know
what I shall do without her; you will hardly believe me, but the eight
or nine months we have been together I have got to love that girl just
as if she had been my daughter. You see I always doubted that Truscott
meant fair by her. Of course, he would have used her as long as she was
useful to him, but he would have thrown her off in a minute if it had
suited him. She knew I meant fair by her, and when we happened to be
alone together she talked to me quite different to what she did to him.
It seemed to me that with him she always had in her mind that it was a
bargain which she was carrying out. She regarded him as her master in a
sort of way, but I do really think she looked on me as a friend. She
would not have stayed with us long. At New Orleans she got a partnership
deed drawn out. She would not move without it, and one of the conditions
she insisted on was that she could leave us when she liked, and if
Truscott had pressed her to do anything, such as marry a man she did not
fancy, or anything of that sort, she would have chucked it up at once.
But she has got lots of spirit and pluck, and though, of course, she is
awfully cut up at present, she will get over it before long, and she
particularly begged you would not write to England about all this till
she has seen you.'
'That I certainly will not do. I don't know that I shall write at all.
My idea at present is that it will be better for me to take her home,
and then to tell them the story gradually before introducing her to
them. I intended going down to San Francisco and taking passage direct
to India, but I must give up that idea now. It is clear that she cannot
go by herself, and that I must hand her over to her father.'
It was not until four days later that Ned heard from Murdoch that Linda,
as they still called her, would see him next morning. On going in he was
struck with the change that a week had made. She was paler and thinner,
there were dark circles round her eyes and a certain air of timidity had
taken the place of the somewhat hard expression of self-reliance that
had before characterised her.
'You have heard all the story, Captain Hampton,' she said, 'and I don't
know that there would be any use going over it again. I have written out
a confession of the part I played under the direction of that man, and I
will sign it in the presence of a magistrate and anyone else you like. I
thank you for the kindness and consideration that you have shown for me,
and hope--I do hope with all my heart--that when you go back you will
get the reward for the sacrifices you have made for Miss Hawtrey. I
don't think that there is anything else to say.'
'I think there is a good deal to say,' he replied quietly. 'We have to
arrange when it will suit you to leave this. I should propose that we go
down to San Francisco and take the steamer to Panama and go straight
home from there.'
'I have no home,' she said, 'except this. I have no idea of returning to
England. I have thought it all over,' she went on, seeing that he was
about to speak, 'and am sure that it is much the best for everyone. You
know what I have been--a child brought up in the slums, a little thief,
a passer of base coins; since then an adventuress and a thief on a
larger scale; last a barmaid. Do you think I would go back and take up a
position as a gentleman's daughter and mix with decent people? I should
be miserable. I should know myself to be an impostor. I should feel that
if those I met knew what I really am they would shrink from me with
horror. I cannot imagine a more wretched existence. My father might
tolerate me, but he could not love me. I should cast a shadow on his
life; it would never do. This morning I had a long talk with Murdoch. He
has behaved as a true friend to me ever since we met; he has always been
good to me, and stood between me and the other. He is ready now to make
a sacrifice for me. He will dispose of this business--he has already
received more than one good offer for it--and will buy a farm down in
the fruit district. I did not ask him to do this; I was quite willing to
have gone down to Sacramento or San Francisco, and to have taken a
situation in a shop or an hotel, but he proposed the other plan and I
have gratefully accepted his offer. There is another thing; I have some
money. The other got fifteen hundred pounds for the jewels I stole, and
there was a thousand pounds that I got from Mr. Singleton. Mr.
Singleton's money we put into the business and Murdoch another five
hundred, the rest of that went on our journey and in getting and fitting
up the saloon. In the three months we have been here we have earned just
that money from the takings in the saloon and the money he won in
gambling. Of this our share is a thousand, so that I have now the two
thousand five hundred which we got from my thefts. This I will hand over
to you to pay the people I robbed. We shall still have enough to carry
out our plans; Murdoch has his share of the three months' profits, and
we have been offered two thousand pounds for the saloon and business, so
you need feel no uneasiness about that.'
'But your father will never permit it, Miss Hawtrey. I am sure that if
you will not go home with me he will himself come out to fetch you.'
'It would be useless if he did so,' she said quietly; 'my mind is quite
made up on that point; but I have a prayer to make to you. I implore you
never to tell him the truth; let him to the end of his life believe that
his little baby died as he believed, and lies by its mother. That old
grief is past and over long ago. It was but a babe a few days old, and
another was left him who has been all his heart could wish. What comfort
or happiness could he derive by knowing this story--by learning that his
child grew up a gutter girl, a little thief, an adventuress, a swindler?
What could I ever do to repay him for this grief and disgrace? In my
confession I have said no word of this, nor is it necessary for your
explanations; you can tell how you met me here, how we got to be
friends, how that man was killed, and how, deeply regretting the past, I
wrote the confession of my crime, and you can add that I am resolved
that henceforth my life shall be a different one, and that I am looking
forward to a quiet and happy life under the protection of a true friend.
Surely this will be best for us all--best for my father, best for
Dorothy, best for me. You may tell her all some day, if you ever win
her, as I am sure you will if she is free on your return. Little did I
think when I saw and studied her walk and manner that she was my sister.
Perhaps some day in the far distant she will come to think kindly of the
girl who was what circumstances made her, and who had so little chance
of growing up like herself, and she may even come to write a line to me
to tell me so.'
'Here is her portrait,' Ned said, taking it from his pocket. 'As to what
you ask me, I must think it over before I can promise you.'
'It is very like me,' she said, examining the portrait, 'and yet it's
quite unlike. I wonder anyone could have taken me for her. The
expression is so different. I felt that when I saw her, and I put on a
veil, for I knew that I could not look bright, and frank, and happy as
she did. Think it over, Captain Hampton. I am sure you will see that it
is best. What possible good could it be for my father to know all this?
If I had been stolen from him when I had been older, and he had come to
love me, it would be different. As it is, the truth could only cause him
unhappiness.'
Ned Hampton went back to his claim. It had turned out well, and it was
growing richer every foot they went down, and had all along been
averaging two and a half to three ounces for each of the partners. When
therefore Ned said that he had received news that made him anxious to
leave, his mates were perfectly willing to buy his share. They had great
expectations of the results that it would yield when they neared the bed
rock, and they at once offered him a hundred ounces for his share, an
offer which he accepted. He had already laid by an equal sum, and after
paying his passage and that of Jacob to England or India, would have
recouped himself for all the expenses of his expedition, and he would
have some three or four hundred pounds in hand after the sale of the
horses and waggon.
At dinner time he received a cheque on the bank of Sacramento, in which
his partners had deposited their earnings. Jacob was away and he took a
long walk down the valley thinking over the girl's proposal. He
acknowledged to himself there was much truth in what she said. It would
be a heavy blow to Mr. Hawtrey to find that his daughter was alive and
had been so brought up. He would blame himself for having accepted the
fact of her death, when by setting on foot inquiries he might possibly
have discovered the fraud and have rescued her from the fate that had
befallen her. The discovery would certainly not add to his happiness; on
the contrary, he would deem himself bound to endeavour to induce her to
return to England, and Hampton was sure he would fail in doing so. He
acknowledged to himself that his sole objection to the plan was that he
himself would to some extent be acting a deceitful part in keeping Mr.
Hawtrey in the dark. Certainly he would not be required to tell an
absolute untruth, for as Mr. Hawtrey would not entertain the slightest
suspicion of the real facts, he would ask no questions that would be
difficult to answer. The next day he told Linda that he would act as she
wished.
'I felt sure you would do so,' she said; 'it is so much the best way,
and you cannot tell what a load it is off my mind. Murdoch and I have
been talking over the future. He understands that I want to be quite
different to what I have been, and he says I may get a clergyman to
teach me the things I never learnt, and we will go to church together; I
have never been inside a church. I am sure we shall be very happy. He
seems as pleased about it as I am. You must always remember, Captain
Hampton, that though I have been very bad, I did not know it was wrong,
except that I might be put in prison for it. I think I have always tried
to do what seemed to be right in a sort of way, only I did not know what
really was right.'
'I feel sure you have, Linda; I do not blame you for the past, nor do I
think that anyone who knew all the circumstances would do so.'
'Have you heard from England lately?'
'No, I have not heard since I left. Letters have no doubt been sent to
places in the East, where I said I might call for them. When I arrived
here I wrote to a friend, and according to my calculations I may get his
answer any day. I have been hoping for a letter for some little time.
Jacob has called at the post office at Sacramento the last three times
he has been down there. I am very anxious to hear, and yet you will
understand I am half afraid of the news the letter will bring me.'
'I don't think you can have bad news in that way, Ned,' she said. 'I may
call you Ned again now, mayn't I? If Dorothy's face does not belie her
she can't be likely to get engaged to another man so soon after breaking
off her engagement with that lord. Does she know you care for her?'
'No,' he said. 'I don't suppose she ever will. As I told you, we did not
part very good friends. She did not forgive me for having doubted her. I
think she was perfectly right. I ought never to have doubted her,
however much appearances might have been against her.'
'I think it was perfectly natural,' she said indignantly; 'if I could
deceive Mr. Singleton, and be talking to him for a quarter of an hour
without his suspecting me, it was quite natural that you, who only had a
glimpse of me, should have been mistaken.'
'That is true enough,' he said gravely. 'It was natural that I should be
mistaken as to her identity, but I ought to have known that, even though
it was her, she could not have been, as I supposed, trying to prevent
the exposure of some act of folly, when she had over and over again
declared she knew nothing whatever of the matter. I was in fact
crediting her with being a determined liar, as well as having been mixed
up in some foolish business, and it is only right I should be punished
for it.'
'If I loved a man,' Linda said stoutly, 'I should forgive him easily
enough, even if he had thought I told a lie.'
'Possibly, Linda; but then, you see, though Dorothy and I were great
friends, I have no reason in the world to suppose that she did love me,
and indeed, at the time she was engaged to be married to some one else.'
Linda shook her head, quite uninfluenced by this argument. She herself
had been very near loving Ned Hampton, and she felt convinced that this
sister, whom she knew so little about, must be sure to do so likewise,
especially when she came to know how much he had done for her.
Captain Hampton smiled.
'You forget, Linda, that your sister is a belle in society; that she had
several offers before she accepted Lord Halliburn, and is likely to have
had some since. I am a very unimportant personage in her world. In fact,
my chances would have been less than nothing if it had not been for my
having been so much with her while she was a child, and being a sort of
chum of hers, though I was so much older.' There was a movement as of
weights being carried into the place, and he broke off. 'I fancy that is
Jacob back with the cart. Perhaps he has got a letter for me. Any
letters, Jacob?'
'Three of them.'
One was in the handwriting of Danvers, another was in a male handwriting
unknown, the other in a female hand which he recognised at once, having
received several short notes of invitation and appointment from the
writer. With an exclamation of surprise he hurried off to his tent and
there opened it. It contained but a few words--
'My dear Ned,--It was very wrong and wicked of you to go away
as you did and keep me in the dark. I have read the postscript
of your letter to Mr. Danvers. Come back home at once if you
wish to obtain the forgiveness of
'DOROTHY HAWTREY.'
He read it through twice, then his thoughts went back to the letter he
had written to Danvers from New Orleans, and as he recalled the
postscript he had added, he felt his face flush like a girl's under its
tan. He read through the letter again and again, and with an exclamation
of deep thankfulness put it and the other letters in his pocket, took up
the hat he had thrown down as he entered, and started for a rapid walk
up the hill, too excited to remain quiet, and fearing to have the
current of his thoughts disturbed even by the entry of Jacob. It was two
hours before he returned. He went first to the saloon.
'Would you ask Miss Hawtrey if I can speak to her for a minute,
Murdoch?'
'Of course I will. Have you got any good news? You look as if you had.'
'The best I could get. It is about her sister.'
Murdoch nodded pleasantly. 'Everything seems to be turning out well.
Linda and I are going to settle down to a quiet life till the right man
comes for her, and now you have good news from her sister; this place
seems lucky for us all.'
He tapped at Linda's door. 'Captain Hampton wishes to speak to you for a
moment.'
The girl came out at once.
'Your letters are good?'
'They are indeed, Linda. Dorothy has written for me to go home to her.'
'I am glad,' she said heartily, holding out her hand to him. 'It would
have been a real grief to me, if after all you have done for Dorothy it
had not been so. It will be very pleasant to think of you as not only my
friend but my brother-in-law, and, as I have seen Dorothy, to be able to
picture you in my mind as happy together. Since you were here we have
arranged with the store-keeper who has bought the business that he shall
take possession to-morrow, and we shall be ready to start in the
afternoon if it will suit you to take us down in your waggon.'
'Certainly; nothing could suit me better. You have not been long in
making your arrangements.'
'It does not take long in these parts,' Murdoch said; 'we have just
signed a receipt for five hundred ounces of gold, being payment for the
Eldorado Saloon, its contents and good-will. It was just as simple a
matter as for you to sell your share of a claim.'
Jacob was surprised and delighted when, on his master's return, he heard
that he had completely achieved the object of their journey, and that
Murdoch and Linda were going down with him the next day to Sacramento to
have her confession sworn to before a magistrate, and that they should
then return at once to England.
'That is first-rate, Captain. I need not go on calling you Ned no
longer, which is a thing I never liked, as being disrespectful and
altogether wrong. You will keep me with you when you get back, won't
you, Captain?'
'Certainly I will, Jacob; as long as I live and you like to stay with me
you shall do so; but I must try to get you educated and find a better
berth for you than being my servant.'
'I don't want a better berth,' the lad said indignantly; 'I would not be
made a harch-bishop, not if they went down on their bended knees to ask
me to take the job--not if I could stay with you.'
'Well, I don't suppose you will be tempted that way, Jacob. At any rate,
lad, my home will be yours as long as you like to stay with me. We have
been friends rather than master and servant ever since we left New
Orleans. You nearly lost your life in trying to save mine there, and
have all along proved yourself a good and faithful fellow. Now when we
have had supper you had better go for a stroll through the camp; I have
got two letters to read.'
Danvers' letter, which he first opened, contained nothing of any very
great interest. He had seen Mr. Hawtrey, who had only been up in town
for a few days, their house having been let for the season, as Mr.
Hawtrey told him his daughter, who had been a good deal shaken by an
unpleasant adventure they had in Switzerland in the autumn, preferred
remaining quietly at home. 'This seems to be altogether in your favour,
old fellow. I had heard of the adventure, in which she and two other
girls had a narrow escape for their lives. Halliburn was there at the
time, and was one of the rescuing party. I saw the particulars copied
from a Swiss newspaper, and I was afraid at first that affair might come
on again; but it seems he left next day, and there has been no talk
about it since, and this staying down in the country instead of coming
up for the season quite seems to put a stopper on that. Hawtrey has paid
Gilliat for the diamonds. I hope your quest will turn out successful,
and that now that you have run them to earth you will get her to
confess; though I don't see exactly how you are going to set about it. I
shall look anxiously for your next letter.'
The other letter was from Mr. Singleton; it was not a long one. It
began, 'My dear Ned,--I write to tell you that Hawtrey has very properly
so far disregarded your instructions that, though he kept his promise to
the letter by saying nothing, he yielded to Dorothy's insistence and
allowed her to read your letter to Danvers, which the latter had
forwarded to him. If he had not done so I should have told her all about
it myself. I considered all along that you had acted like a young fool,
and I should have done what I thought best for you. As it was I can tell
you that mischief very nearly came of our holding our tongues. However,
things are put straight now; and though Dorothy does not say much I am
sure she has been fretting ever since she heard of that affair at New
Orleans. My advice to you is to come home at once. Of course, if you
have arranged this affair all the better, but I don't anticipate that
you will succeed in that. When you get back Hawtrey will write to her
and offer her a round sum and a promise that no steps shall ever be
taken in the matter if she will sign a confession. You had better get
the name and address of some solicitor at Sacramento, to act as
Hawtrey's agent in the matter. I have told Dorothy that I am going to
write to you, and asked if she had any message to send. She said she had
not, but she laughed and coloured, and I should not be at all surprised
if you get a note from the young woman at the same time that you receive
this. I know she heartily regrets her folly before you went away. I must
tell you, my dear boy, that I have made some pecuniary arrangements
regarding you; and that if Dorothy is willing to take you, you will meet
with no objection on the part of her father.'
There was no necessity to write, for Ned Hampton travelled to England as
fast as his letter would have done. He telegraphed his arrival as soon
as he landed and followed his message immediately. Ned Hampton always
said that his wife married him without his even proposing to her. No
proposal indeed was necessary; the matter was settled the moment he went
into the room where she was awaiting him, and she ran into his arms
without a word. It was not until they were at dinner that the object of
Ned's long absence was alluded to. Then, when the servants had left the
room, he said, 'I have brought home an engagement present for you,
Dorothy,' and he handed her Linda's confession.
Mr. Hawtrey never knew the truth as to the person who had played the
part of Dorothy's double, and, contented with his daughter being
completely cleared, asked no questions concerning her. Dorothy, however,
was much more curious, and was with difficulty put off until she became
Mrs. Hampton. She was very pitiful over the story when it was told to
her.
'Oh, Ned,' she cried, 'how dreadful; and it might just as well have been
I who was carried away and brought up in that misery. Of course, she was
not to be blamed. How could she have been different? It is wonderful she
should have been as nice as you say she was. Of course, I shall write
her a long letter. I don't know about keeping it from father; but
perhaps it is best, as she was such a little baby when he lost her, and
it would be an awful grief to him to think how she suffered.'
Dorothy wrote very frequently, and letters came back telling of Linda's
quiet, happy life; but Dorothy was not fully contented until three years
later she learned that her sister had married a thriving young settler
on a neighbouring farm, and that there was every prospect that the
trials and troubles of her early life would be atoned for by happiness
in the future.
The year after Dorothy's marriage she was delighted to hear from Ada
Fortescue that she had become engaged to Captain Armstrong, and she and
Ned went up to town specially to be present at the wedding.
Years afterwards the sisters met, for after Mr. Hawtrey's death nothing
would satisfy Dorothy but a voyage across the Atlantic, and a journey by
the newly constructed line to California. The likeness between the
sisters had increased, for the hard look in Linda's face had died away,
and had been succeeded by one of quiet happiness, and Captain Hampton
declared that he should hardly know them apart, and that Linda was now
indeed _Dorothy's Double_.
THE END.
NEW LIBRARY NOVELS.
THE ONE TOO MANY. By E. Lynn Linton. 3 vols.
IN DIREST PERIL. By David Christie Murray. 3 vols.
THE TIGER LILY: a Tale of Two Passions. By G. Manville Fenn. 2 vols.
THE RED-HOUSE MYSTERY. By Mrs. Hungerford, 2 vols.
THE COMMON ANCESTOR. By John Hill. 3 vols.
DOROTHY'S DOUBLE. By G. A. Henty. 3 vols.
CHRISTINA CHARD. By Mrs. Campbell Praed. 3 vols.