Mr. Paine was not in. Mr. Moreland was in his office. I went up the
stairs, trembling, fearful of being abused for stupidity in taking the
least notice of such a letter.
Mr. Moreland looked up when the clerk announced my name--looked up,
bowed and positively rose from his seat. I took the letter from my
pocket.
"I received this this morning, but, believing it to be a jest played
upon me, I have not mentioned it. I have called to ask you if you know
anything of it."
He took the letter from me with a strange smile.
"I wrote it myself last evening," he said, and I looked at him
bewildered.
Good heaven! it was all true. To this moment I do not know how I bore
the shock. I remember falling into a chair, Mr. Moreland standing over
me with a glass of something in his hand, which he forced me to drink.
"Your fortune has a strange effect upon you," he said, kindly.
"I cannot believe it!" I cried, clasping his hand. "I cannot realize it!
I have been working so hard--so hard for one single sovereign--and now,
you say, I am rich!"
"Now, most certainly," he replied, "you are Sir Edgar Trevelyan, master
of Crown Anstey and a rent roll of ten thousand a year."
I am not ashamed to confess that when I heard that I bowed my head on my
hands and cried like a child.
"You have borne bad fortune better than this," said Mr. Moreland; and
then I remember telling him, in incoherent words, how poor we had been
and how Clare was fading away for want of the nourishment and good
support I was utterly unable to find for her.
After a time I became calmer and listened while he told me of the death
of the stately Sir Barnard and his eldest son. They had gone away
together on a trip to Italy. Miles Trevelyan was very fond of pictures,
and his father had given him permission to buy what he pleased for the
great picture gallery at Crown Anstey.
They went together to Florence, where a fearful epidemic was raging.
They, all unconscious of it, remained there for one night, caught it,
and in two days both lay dead.
I asked how old was Miles, this eldest and favorite son. He told me
twenty-seven. I asked again, had he never been married. He answered no;
that, of course, if he had been married and had children, I should not
be the heir to Crown Anstey.
"There was some little unpleasantness between father and son over a love
affair," said Mr. Moreland. "I do not know the particulars. Mr. Miles
Trevelyan was very proud and reserved. He mentioned it to us, but we
heard no more of it."
"What am I to do next?" I asked him, nervously.
"You ought to go down at once to Crown Anstey. The bodies of the two
gentlemen will be brought home for interment. They died on the 18th;
this is the 22d. We spent three days in trying to find out your address.
They will be at Crown Anstey, I should say, to-morrow. You should be
there to receive them and to officiate as head mourner. Mr. Paine and
myself will both be there, as a matter of course."
"Then I must ask Mr. Lawson's permission," I said, doubtfully.
Mr. Moreland laughed.
"He will soon give you that. You will find the master of Crown Anstey a
powerful personage."
"There is another thing," I said, with a crimson flush burning my face;
"I have but five shillings and sixpence in all the world."
He laughed aloud at this.
"I can advance you whatever you like, then--five hundred pounds or
more."
The very mention of such a sum positively frightened me. Mr. Moreland
looked very much amused.
"It will be some time," he said, "before you grow accustomed to ten
thousand a year."
At that moment we were interrupted by the arrival of another client. I
rose to take my leave, with a check for three hundred pounds in my hand.
"You will go down to Crown Anstey to-night?" said Mr. Moreland, as he
shook hands with me. "We shall be there to-morrow morning. You will make
what arrangements seem best to you over the funeral."
So I went away, the most bewildered man in London. As I re-entered the
office I felt ashamed of my suspicions over my fellow-clerks. They were
all busy, while I--oh, heaven! could it be true?
Mr. Lawson evidently thought I had been drinking when I went, white and
stammering, confused and hesitating, into his room. He looked very
sternly at me.
"What do you want, Mr. Trevelyan? I am very busy."
I took out the letter again and laid it before him.
"Will you read that, sir?" I asked, "It will make you understand more
quickly than I can, I am so confused."
He read it, then held out his hand to me.
"I congratulate you," he said. "Your poor father, the last time I saw
him, spoke to me of his rich cousin. He never expected this. Sir Barnard
had two fine, strong, healthy sons of his own then."
"My father could not have expected it less than myself. I have hardly
ever heard the name of Crown Anstey, and did not know that it was
entailed property. I shall have to ask you to let me go this afternoon,
sir."
He was perfectly willing, I was only at the office an hour, yet the news
seemed to have spread. I promised the clerks a dinner when I returned,
then once more I stood in the street, alone.
My brain was dizzy, my thoughts in a whirl. I remember taking a cab and
driving to a shop into which I had often looked with longing eyes. I
bought wine, grapes, peaches, flowers, dainty jellies--everything that I
thought most likely to please my sister--and then drove home. I had
resolved that I would not tell my good fortune to Clare all at once,
lest there should be some fatal mistake unforeseen by any one. She
looked up astonished when I entered the room, my arms full of fruit and
flowers.
"Oh, Edgar!" she cried, "you have ruined yourself. Why you must have
spent your whole week's money!"
I forgot now what fiction I told here--something of a friend of my
father, who had left me a little money, and that I was going away that
same evening on business.
"Shall you be long?" she asked, with so sad a face I did not like to
leave her.
"Two or three days at the outside," I told her. Then I took twenty
golden sovereigns from my purse and laid them before her, begging her
not to want for anything while I was away.
She looked almost alarmed at such a quantity of money.
"Twenty pounds, Edgar!" she cried. "How rich we are!" And I thought to
myself, "if she only knew!"
Then I went into my own room, and my first action was to thank God for
this wonderful benefit. I thanked Him with streaming eyes and grateful
heart, making a promise--which I have never broken--that I would act as
steward of these great riches, and not forget the needy and the poor.
At five o'clock I started for Thornycroft, the nearest town to Crown
Anstey. The journey was not a very long one, but I took no heed of time.
Was it all a dream, or was I in reality going to take possession of a
new and magnificent home?
I reached the station--it was a large one. Thornycroft seemed to be a
thriving town. No one was there to meet me. I went to the nearest hotel
and ordered a carriage to Crown Anstey.
I can recall even now my ecstasy of bewilderment at the splendid woods,
the beautiful park, the pleasure gardens. How long was it since I had
felt tears rush warm to my eyes at the scent of the violets? Here were
lime trees and lindens, grand old oaks, splendid poplars, beech trees,
cedars, magnolias with luscious blossom, hawthorn, white and pink
larches budding, and all were mine--mine. Then from between the
luxuriant foliage I saw the tall, gray towers of a stately mansion, and
my whole heart went out to it as my future home.
The birds were singing, the sun shining; all nature was so beautiful and
bright that my very soul was enraptured.
Then I caught a glimpse of gold from the laburnums, of purple from the
lilacs, of white from the sweet acacia trees.
The carriage drove up a long grove of chestnut trees, and then for the
first time I saw Crown Anstey. The western sunbeams fell upon it. I
thought of that line of Mrs. Hemans:
"Bathed in light like floating gold."
They showed so clearly the dainty, delicate tracing, the large, arched
windows. The house itself was built in the old Elizabethan style. I
found afterward that it was called Crown Anstey because it had belonged
in former years to one of the queens of England. The Queen's Chamber was
the largest and best room in it. Report said that a royal head had often
lain there; that the queen to whom the house had belonged had spent many
of her sorrowful and happy hours there. The Queen's Terrace run all
along the western wing, and was shaded by whispering lime trees.
Afterward I found many relics of this ancient time of royal
possessions--antique, out-of-the-way things, with the crown and royal
arms of England upon them. I was not a little proud of these historical
treasures. A broad flight of steps led from the lawn to a broad porch.
As I passed under it I figured to myself the gorgeous splendor of other
days, when "knights and dames of high degree" had entered there.
An old butler, evidently an old family retainer, was the first person I
saw. He bowed low when I told him that I was Sir Edgar Trevelyan, "the
heir come to take possession."
I went through the magnificent house like a man in a dream. Could it be
possible that all this magnificence, all this grandeur, was mine? Mine,
these grand old rooms, with furniture and hangings that once served a
queen; mine, these superb pictures and statues, these gems of art, this
profusion of gold and silver plate? I laughed and cried in the same
breath. I make no pretensions to being a strong-minded hero, and I was
overcome.
Then, when I had some short time alone, the butler, whose name was
Hewson, came back and told me the Red Room was ready for my use. He had
selected it as being the most comfortable. Afterward I could, of course,
take what rooms I liked.
I found myself in a large, spacious chamber, called the Red Room, from
the prevailing tint of everything in it being crimson. The three large
windows were hung with crimson velvet; the carpet was crimson. I opened
one of the windows and looked over the glorious landscape, so full of
sunshine, flowers and beauty, that my heart thrilled within me, and my
soul did homage to the great Creator.