The Earles, of Earlescourt, were one of the oldest families in England.
The "Barony of Earle" is mentioned in the early reigns of the Tudor
kings. They never appeared to have taken any great part either in
politics or warfare. The annals of the family told of simple, virtuous
lives; they contained, too, some few romantic incidents. Some of the
older barons had been brave soldiers; and there were stories of
hair-breadth escapes and great exploits by flood and field. Two or
three had taken to politics, and had suffered through their eagerness
and zeal; but, as a rule, the barons of Earle had been simple, kindly
gentlemen, contented to live at home upon their own estates, satisfied
with the duties they found there, careful in the alliances they
contracted, and equally careful in the bringing up and establishment of
their children. One and all they had been zealous cultivators of the
fine arts. Earlescourt was almost overcrowded with pictures, statues,
and works of art.
Son succeeded father, inheriting with title and estate the same kindly,
simple dispositions and the same tastes, until Rupert Earle, nineteenth
baron, with whom our story opens, became Lord Earle. Simplicity and
kindness were not his characteristics. He was proud, ambitious, and
inflexible; he longed for the time when the Earles should become
famous, when their name should be one of weight in council. In early
life his ambitious desires seemed about to be realized. He was but
twenty when he succeeded his father, and was an only child, clever,
keen and ambitious. In his twenty-first year he married Lady Helena
Brooklyn, the daughter of one of the proudest peers in Britain. There
lay before him a fair and useful life. His wife was an elegant,
accomplished woman, who knew the world and its ways--who had, from her
earliest childhood, been accustomed to the highest and best society.
Lord Earle often told her, laughingly, that she would have made an
excellent embassadress--her manners were so bland and gracious; she had
the rare gift of appearing interested in every one and in everything.
With such a wife at the head of his establishment, Lord Earle hoped for
great things. He looked to a prosperous career as a statesman; no
honors seemed to him too high, no ambition too great. But a hard fate
lay before him. He made one brilliant and successful speech in
Parliament--a speech never forgotten by those who heard it, for its
astonishing eloquence, its keen wit, its bitter satire. Never again
did his voice rouse alike friend and foe. He was seized with a sudden
and dangerous illness which brought him to the brink of the grave.
After a long and desperate struggle with the "grim enemy," he slowly
recovered, but all hope of public life was over for him. The doctors
said he might live to be a hale old man if he took proper precautions;
he must live quietly, avoid all excitement, and never dream again of
politics.
To Lord Earle this seemed like a sentence of exile or death. His wife
tried her utmost to comfort and console him, but for some years he
lived only to repine at his lot. Lady Helena devoted herself to him.
Earlescourt became the center and home of famous hospitality; men of
letters, artists, and men of note visited there, and in time Lord Earle
became reconciled to his fate. All his hopes and his ambitions were
now centered in his son, Ronald, a fine, noble boy, like his father in
every respect save one. He had the same clear-cut Saxon face, with
clear, honest eyes and proud lips, the same fair hair and stately
carriage, but in one respect they differed. Lord Earle was firm and
inflexible; no one ever thought of appealing against his decision or
trying to change his resolution. If "my lord" had spoken, the matter
was settled. Even Lady Helena knew that any attempt to influence him
was vain. Ronald, on the contrary, could be stubborn, but not firm.
He was more easily influenced; appeal to the better part of his nature,
to his affection or sense of duty, was seldom made in vain.
No other children gladdened the Lord Earle's heart, and all his hopes
were centered in his son. For the second time in his life great hopes
and ambitions rose within him. What he had not achieved his son would
do; the honor he could no longer seek might one day be his son's.
There was something almost pitiful in the love of the stern,
disappointed man for his child. He longed for the time when Ronald
would be of age to commence his public career. He planned for his son
as he had never planned for himself.
Time passed on, and the heir of Earlescourt went to Oxford, as his
father had done before him. Then came the second bitter disappointment
of Lord Earle's life. He himself was a Tory of the old school.
Liberal principles were an abomination to him; he hated and detested
everything connected with Liberalism. It was a great shock when Ronald
returned from college a "full-fledged Liberal." With his usual
keenness he saw that all discussion was useless.
"Let the Liberal fever wear out," said one of his friends; "you will
find, Lord Earle, that all young men favor it. Conservatism is the
result of age and experience. By the time your son takes a position in
the world, he will have passed through many stages of Liberalism."
Lord Earle devoutly believed it. When the first shock of his
disappointment was over, Ronald's political zeal began to amuse him.
He liked to see the boy earnest in everything. He smiled when Ronald,
in his clear, young voice, read out the speeches of the chief of his
party. He smiled when the young man, eager to bring theory into
practice, fraternized with the tenant farmers, and visited families
from whom his father shrunk in aristocratic dread.
There was little doubt that in those days Ronald Earl believed himself
called to a great mission. He dreamed of the time when the barriers of
caste would be thrown down, when men would have equal rights and
privileges, when the aristocracy of intellect and virtue would take
precedence of noble birth, when wealth would be more equally
distributed, and the days when one man perished of hunger while another
reveled in luxury should cease to be. His dreams were neither exactly
Liberal nor Radical; they were simply Utopian. Even then, when he was
most zealous, had any one proposed to him that he should inaugurate the
new state of things, and be the first to divide his fortune, the
futility of his theories would have struck him more plainly. Mingling
in good society, the influence of clever men and beautiful women would,
Lord Earle believed, convert his son in time. He did not oppose him,
knowing that all opposition would but increase his zeal. It was a
bitter disappointment to him, but he bore it bravely, for he never
ceased to hope.
A new trouble was dawning for Lord Earle, one far more serious than the
Utopian dream of his son; of all his sorrows it was the keenest and the
longest felt. Ronald fell in love, and was bent on marrying a simple
rustic beauty, the lodge keeper's daughter.
Earlescourt was one of the fairest spots in fair and tranquil England.
It stood in the deep green heart of the land, in the midst of one of
the bonny, fertile midland counties.
The Hall was surrounded by a large park, where the deer browsed under
the stately spreading trees, where there were flowery dells and knolls
that would charm an artist; a wide brook, almost broad and deep enough
to be called a river, rippled through it.
Earlescourt was noted for its trees, a grand old cedar stood in the
middle of the park; the shivering aspen, the graceful elm, the majestic
oak, the tall, flowering chestnut were all seen to greatest perfection
there.
Art had done much, Nature more, to beautify the home of the Earles.
Charming pleasure gardens were laid out with unrivaled skill; the
broad, deep lake was half hidden by the drooping willows bending over
it, and the white water lilies that lay on its tranquil breast.
The Hall itself was a picturesque, gray old building, with turrets
covered with ivy, and square towers of modern build; there were deep
oriel windows, stately old rooms that told of the ancient race, and
cheerful modern apartments replete with modern comfort.
One of the great beauties of Earlescourt was the broad terrace that ran
along one side of the house; the view from it was unequaled for quiet
loveliness. The lake shone in the distance from between the trees; the
perfume from the hawthorn hedges filled the air, the fountains rippled
merrily in the sunshine, and the flowers bloomed in sweet summer beauty.
Lord Earle loved his beautiful home; he spared no expense in
improvements, and the time came when Earlescourt was known as a model
estate.
One thing he did of which he repented till the hour of his death. On
the western side of the park he built a new lodge, and installed
therein Stephen Thorne and his wife, little dreaming as he did so that
the first link in what was to be a fatal tragedy was forged.
Ronald was nineteen, and Lord Earle thought, his son's college career
ended, he should travel for two or three years. He could not go with
him, but he hoped that surveillance would not be needed, that his boy
would be wise enough and manly enough to take his first steps in life
alone. At college he won the highest honors; great things were
prophesied for Ronald Earle. They might have been accomplished but for
the unfortunate event that darkened Earlescourt with a cloud of shame
and sorrow.
Lord and Lady Earle had gone to pay a visit to an old friend, Sir Hugh
Charteris, of Greenoke. Thinking Ronald would not reach home until the
third week in June, they accepted Sir Hugh's invitation, and promised
to spend the first two weeks in June with him. But Ronald altered his
plans; the visit he was making did not prove to be a very pleasant one,
and he returned to Earlescourt two days after Lord and Lady Earle had
left it. His father wrote immediately, pressing him to join the party
at Greenoke. He declined, saying that after the hard study of the few
last months he longed for quiet and rest.
Knowing that every attention would be paid to his son's comfort, Lord
Earle thought but little of the matter. In after years he bitterly
regretted that he had not insisted upon his son's going to Greenoke.
So it happened that Ronald Earle, his college career ended, his future
lying like a bright, unruffled dream before him, had two weeks to spend
alone in Earlescourt.
The first day was pleasant enough. Ronald went to see the horses,
inspected the kennels, gladdened the gamekeeper's heart by his keen
appreciation of good sport, rowed on the lake, played a solitary game
at billiards, dined in great state, read three chapters or "Mill on
Liberalism," four of a sensational novel, and fell asleep satisfied
with that day, but rather at a loss to know what he should do on the
next.
It was a beautiful June day; no cloud was in the smiling heavens, the
sun shone bright, and Nature looked so fair and tempting that it was
impossible to remain indoors. Out in the gardens the summer air seemed
to thrill with the song of the birds. Butterflies spread their bright
wings and coquetted with the fragrant blossoms; busy humming bees
buried themselves in the white cups of the lily and the crimson heart
of the rose.
Ronald wandered through the gardens; the delicate golden laburnum
blossoms fell at his feet, and he sat down beneath a large acacia. The
sun was warm, and Ronald thought a dish of strawberries would be very
acceptable. He debated within himself for some time whether he should
return to the house and order them, or walk down to the fruit garden
and gather them for himself.
What impulse was it that sent him on that fair June morning, when all
Nature sung of love and happiness, to the spot where he met his fate?