FOUND AT LAST.
As soon as Mrs. Conway received the box she set to work in earnest.
Directly the house was still and a sufficient time had elapsed for the
Miss Penfolds to have fallen asleep, she rose from the bed on which
she had lain down without undressing, put on the coat and hat, and
made her way noiselessly down to the library. As she kept the lock
well oiled she entered noiselessly, and then locking the door behind
her lighted a candle and commenced her search. On the fifth night she
was rewarded by finding that the center of what looked like a solidly
carved flower in the ornamentation of the mantelpiece gave way under
the pressure of her finger, and at the same moment she heard a slight
click. Beyond this nothing was apparent; and after trying everything
within reach she came to the conclusion that it needed a second spring
to be touched to reveal the entrance.
It took her another three weeks before she found this. It was a slight
projection, about as large as a button, in the inside of the chimney
behind the mantel. Pressing this and the other spring simultaneously,
the bookcase on the left of the fireplace suddenly swung open three or
four inches. For a moment she stood breathless with excitement,
hesitating before she entered; then she swung the bookcase open.
There, as she had expected, was a little room seven feet long by four
deep; but, to her bitter disappointment, it was bare and empty. A few
scraps of paper lay on the ground, but there was no furniture, chest,
or boxes in the room. The revulsion was so great that Mrs. Conway
returned into the library, threw herself into a chair, and had a long
cry. Then she went back into the room and carefully examined the
pieces of paper lying on the ground. One of them was a portion of a
letter, and she recognized at once the handwriting of Mr. Tallboys.
It contained only the words: "My dear Mr. Penfold--In accordance with
your request I send you the--" But above was the date, which was ten
days only anterior to Mr. Penfold's death. Mrs. Conway had no doubt
that the word that should have followed the fragment was "will," and
that this was the letter that Mr. Tallboys had sent over with that
document. It was important evidence, as it showed that Mr. Penfold had
been in the habit of using this place during his lifetime, and that he
had entered it after he had received the will from his solicitor a few
days before his death. Why should he have entered it except to put the
will in a place of security? Where that place was she did not know,
but she felt certain that it was somewhere within reach of her hand.
"If it is here it must be found," she said resolutely; "but I won't
begin to look for it to-night. It must be three o'clock already, and I
will think the matter over thoroughly before I begin again. It is
something to have found out as much as I have. I ought to be
encouraged instead of being disappointed."
That day she wrote to Mr. Tallboys, giving him a full account of the
discovery which she had made, and inclosing the fragment of his
letter. She did not renew her search for the next two nights; for her
long watchfulness and excitement had told upon her, and she felt that
she needed rest before she set about the second part of the search.
She received a letter from Mr. Tallboys in reply to that she had sent
him:
"MY DEAR MRS. CONWAY: I congratulate you most heartily upon the great
success you have met with. I own that I have never been very hopeful,
for after the thorough search we made of the room I hardly thought it
likely that you would succeed when we had failed; however, you have
done so, and I cannot doubt that a similar success will attend your
further efforts. In a small bare room such as you describe the
difficulties in the way of finding the hidden receptacle cannot be so
great as those you have already overcome. You are perfectly correct in
your supposition that the fragment you sent me was part of the letter
that I sent over with the will to Mr. Penfold by my clerk. I have
compared it with the copy in my letter book, and find that it is the
same. As you say, this letter proves conclusively that Mr. Penfold was
in this secret room after he received the will, and one can assign no
reason for his going there unless to put the will away in what he
considered a secure hiding-place. That it is still somewhere there I
have no doubt whatever, and I shall await with much anxiety news as to
your further progress."
Thinking the matter over, Mrs. Conway had come to the conclusion that
the hiding-place could only be under one of the stone flags of the
floor or in the wall against the fireplace, or rather in that part of
it above the fireplace. There would not be thickness enough in the
walls separating the secret chamber from the passage or the rooms on
either side of it; but the chimney would not be of the same width as
the open fireplace below, and there might well be a space there
sufficient for a good-sized closet. It was here, therefore, that she
determined to begin her search. The next night, then, after touching
the springs and entering the secret chamber, she began carefully to
examine each stone in the wall next the fireplace at a distance about
four feet above the ground.
In five minutes she uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. One of the
stones, above eighteen inches square, although like the rest fitting
closely to those adjoining it, was not, like the others, bedded in
cement. So close was the join that it needed a close inspection to see
that it was different from those around it. Still, upon close
examination, it was evident that it was not cemented in. Taking out a
penknife from her pocket, she found that the joint was too close even
to allow this to be inserted for any distance. There was no keyhole or
any other visible means of opening it, and she searched the walls in
vain for any hidden spring.
For a whole week she continued the search, but without the slightest
success, and at last began almost to despair; for at the end of that
time she was convinced that she had passed her fingers again and again
over every square inch of the floor and walls within her reach.
Completely worn out with her sleepless nights, she determined to take
a little rest, and to abstain altogether for a few nights from the
search. On the third night, however, an idea suddenly occurred to her.
She rose at once, dressed herself, and was about to go downstairs,
when she thought that she heard a noise below. She returned at once to
her room, hid away her hat and coat, and again went to the top of the
stairs and listened.
Yes, she had not been mistaken; she distinctly heard sounds below,
and, she thought, the murmur of men's voices. After a moment's thought
she returned again to her room, took off her dress and threw a shawl
round her shoulders, and then stole quietly down the stairs to the
next floor and knocked gently at Miss Penfold's door. She repeated the
knock two or three times, and then heard Miss Penfold's voice asking
who was there. She did not speak, but knocked again. This time the
voice came from the other side of the door.
"It is me, Miss Penfold--Anna Sibthorpe."
The door was unlocked and opened.
"What is it, Anna?"
"There is some one in the house, ma'am; I can hear them moving about
down below, and I think I can hear men's voices."
Miss Penfold came out and listened.
"Yes, there is some one there," she said. "Go and call the butler and
the others. I shall be ready by the time you come down."
In two or three minutes the servants, headed by the butler, who had
armed himself with a blunderbuss that always hung in his room ready
for action, came downstairs. Miss Penfold came out to meet them
half-dressed. She had a pistol in her hand. The maids had armed
themselves with pokers and brooms.
"Have you looked to the priming of your blunderbuss?" Miss Penfold
asked quietly.
"No, ma'am."
"Well, then, look now," she said sharply. "What's the use of having a
weapon if you don't see that it's in order?"
"It's all right, ma'am," the butler said, examining the priming.
"Well, then, come along and don't make a noise."
They went downstairs noiselessly, and paused when they reached the
hall. The sounds came from the drawing-room. Miss Penfold led the way
to the door, turned the handle, and flung it open. Three men were seen
in the act of packing up some of the valuables. They started up with
an exclamation. Miss Penfold fired, and there was a cry of pain. A
moment later there was a roar as the blunderbuss went off, the
contents lodging in the ceiling. "Without hesitating for a moment the
three men made a rush to the open window, and were gone.
"John Wilton," Miss Penfold said sternly, "you are a fool! I give you
a month's notice from to-day. Fasten up the shutters again and all go
off to bed." And without another word she turned and went upstairs. As
she reached the landing her sister ran out of her room in great alarm.
"What is the matter, Charlotte? I heard two explosions."
"It is nothing, Eleanor. Some men broke into the house, and we have
gone down and frightened them away. I did not think it was worth while
disturbing you, as you are so easily alarmed; but it is all over now,
and the servants are shutting up the house again. I will tell you all
about it in the morning. Go to bed again at once, or you will catch
cold. Good-night."
Directly Miss Penfold had gone upstairs a hubbub of talk burst out
from the female servants.
"It's disgraceful, John! With that great gun you ought to have shot
them all dead."
"It went off by itself," John said, "just as I was going to level it."
"Went off by itself!" the cook said scornfully. "It never went off of
itself when it was hanging above your bed. Guns never go off by
themselves, no more than girls do. I am surprised at you, John. Why, I
have heard you talk a score of times of what you would do if burglars
came; and now here you have been and knocked a big hole in the
ceiling. Why missus has twenty times as much courage as you have. She
shot straight, she did, for I heard one of the men give a squalk. Oh,
you men are pitiful creatures, after all!"
"You wouldn't have been so mighty brave, cook, if Miss Penfold and me
hadn't been in front of you."
"A lot of use you were!" the cook retorted. "Six feet one of flesh,
and no heart in it! Why, I would have knocked him down with a broom if
I had been within reach of him."
"Yes, that we would, cook," the under-housemaid said. "I had got my
poker ready, and I would have given it them nicely if I could have got
within reach. Miss Penfold was just as cool as if she had been eating
her breakfast, and so was we all except John."
John had by this time fastened up the shutter again, and feeling that
his persecutors were too many for him he slunk off at once to his
room; and the others, beginning to feel that their garments were
scarcely fitted for the cold night air postponed their discussion of
the affair until the following morning. The next morning after
breakfast the servants were called into the dining-room, and Miss
Penfold interrogated them closely as to whether any of them had seen
strange men about, or had been questioned by any one they knew as to
valuables at the Hall.
"If it had not been for Anna," she said, when she had finished without
eliciting any information, "the house would have been robbed, and not
any of us would have been any the wiser. It was most fortunate that,
as she says, she happened to be awake and heard the sounds; and she
acted very properly in coming quietly down to wake me. If the one man
in the house," and she looked scornfully at the unfortunate butler,
"had been possessed of the courage of a man the whole of them would
have been shot; for they were standing close together, and he could
hardly have missed them if he had tried.
"If that weapon had been in the hands of Anna, instead of those of
John Wilton, the results would have been very different. However, John
Wilton, you have been a good servant generally, and I suppose it is
not your fault if you have not the courage of a mouse, therefore I
shall withdraw my notice for you to leave. I shall make arrangements
for the gardener to sleep in the house in future, and you will hand
that blunderbuss over to him. I shall write to-day to the ironmonger
at Weymouth to come over and fix bells to all the shutters, and to
arrange wires for a bell from my room to that which the gardener will
occupy."
At breakfast Miss Penfold informed her sister of what had taken place
the night before.
"I shall write, of course, to the head constable at Weymouth to send
over to inquire about it, but I have very little hope that he will
discover anything, Eleanor."
"Why do you think that, Charlotte? You said that you were convinced
you had wounded one of the men; so they ought to be able to trace
him."
"I dare say they would if this had been an ordinary theft; but I am
convinced that it was not."
"Not an ordinary theft! What do you mean?"
"I have no doubt in my mind, Eleanor, that it was another attempt to
discover the will."
"Do you think so?" Eleanor said in an awed voice. "That is terrible.
But you said the men were engaged in packing up the candlesticks and
ornaments."
"Oh, I believe that was a mere blind. Of course they would wish us to
believe they were simply burglars, and therefore they acted as such to
begin with. But there has never been any attempt on the house during
the forty years we have lived here. Why should there be so now? If
Anna had not fortunately heard those men I believe that when they had
packed up a few things to give the idea that they were burglars, they
would have gone to the library and set to to ransack it and find the
will."
"But they would never have found it, Charlotte. It is too well hidden
for that."
"There is no knowing," Miss Penfold said gloomily. "So long as it is in
existence we shall never feel comfortable. It will be much better to
destroy it."
"No, no!" Eleanor exclaimed. "We agreed, Charlotte, that there was no
reason why we should assist them to find it; but that is altogether a
different thing from destroying it. I should never feel happy again if
we did."
"As for that," Miss Penfold said somewhat scornfully, "you don't seem
very happy now. You are always fretting and fidgeting over it."
"It is not I who am fancying that these burglars came after the will,"
Eleanor answered in an aggrieved voice.
"No; that is the way with timid people," Miss Penfold said. "They are
often afraid of shadows, and see no danger where danger really exists.
At any rate, I am determined to see whether the will really is where
we suppose it to be. If it is I shall take it out and hide it in the
mattress of my bed. We know that it will be safe there at any rate as
long as I live, though I think it wiser to destroy it."
"No, no," Eleanor exclaimed; "anything but that. I sleep badly enough
now, and am always dreaming that Herbert is standing by my bedside
with a reproachful look upon his face. I should never dare sleep at
all if we were to destroy it."
"I have no patience with such childish fancies, as I told you over and
over again," Miss Penfold said sharply. "If I am ready to take the
risk of doing it, I do not see that you need fret about it. However, I
am ready to give in to your prejudices, and indeed would rather not
destroy it myself if it can be safely kept elsewhere. At any rate I
shall move it from its hiding-place. We know that it is there and
nowhere else that it will be searched for, and with it in my room we
need have no more uneasiness. I can unsew the straw _pailliasse_ at
the bottom of my bed, and when it is safely in there I shall have no
fear whatever."
"Of course you can do as you like, Charlotte," Eleanor said feebly;
"but for my part I would much rather go on as we are. We don't know
now that the will really exists, and I would much rather go on
thinking that there is a doubt about it."
"Very well, then; go on so, Eleanor. You need ask no questions of me,
and I shall tell you nothing. Only remember, if I die before you don't
part with the _pailliasse_ on my bed."
Mrs. Conway thought a good deal during the day about the events of the
night before, and determined to be more cautious than ever in her
operations; for she thought it probable that Miss Penfold would be
even more wakeful and suspicious than before. She would have left the
search alone for a few days had it not been for the idea that had
taken her from her bed the night before. It had struck her then as
possible that the spring opening the secret closet might be in the
chimney behind it, and that it was necessary to touch this from the
outside before opening the door of the secret room.
She was convinced that had there been a spring in the room itself she
must have discovered it, but it never before struck her that it might
be at the back of the closet. She felt that she must satisfy herself
on this point whatever the risk of discovery. Accordingly at the usual
hour she made her way downstairs. She had put the key in the door, and
was in the act of turning it when she heard a noise upstairs. She
opened the door and stood looking up the stairs. In a moment she saw a
light, and directly afterward Miss Penfold appeared at the top holding
a candle in her hand. Knowing she was as yet unseen, Mrs. Conway
entered the library and closed the door behind her. Then she hurried
to the fireplace, touched the two springs, pulled the bookcase open
and entered the secret chamber, and closed the bookcase behind her.
She had often examined the lock, thinking that the secret spring of
the closet might be concealed here. It was a large old-fashioned one,
and moved two bolts, one at the top of the door and one at the bottom.
These she had already discovered could be easily opened from the
inside. She imagined that Miss Penfold was merely going round the
house to see that all was secure, and she had, contrary to her
practice, taken the key from the door of the library in order that
Miss Penfold might enter it if she chose. But the thought now flashed
across her that possibly she might intend to open the secret room; and
to prevent this she now thrust the barrel of the pistol she carried in
between the back of the bolt and the piece of iron against which it
shot, so that the action of the springs could not throw it out of its
place.
Breathlessly she listened. Presently she heard a sharp click in the
wall behind her. She had scarcely time to wonder what this meant when
she heard a sound in the lock close to her. It was repeated again and
again. Then she felt a slight tremor of the door as if somebody was
trying to shake it. Her heart almost stood still. Miss Penfold was
evidently trying to open the chamber; and, though she knew the lock
could not open so long as she held the pistol in the place, she felt
her breath coming fast and her heart beating. For five minutes the
attempts to open the door continued. Then all was still again.
For half an hour she remained without moving; then, as all continued
quiet, she guessed that Miss Penfold, finding the springs did not act,
had returned to her room. She now rose to her feet, drew out her dark
lantern, and turned to the wall by her side. She gave an exclamation
of joy--the stone that she had so long vainly endeavored to move was
swung open. Miss Penfold who of course had the secret, had touched the
spring outside before attempting to open the chamber, and the stone,
which was set in iron, had swung open on a hinge. In a moment Mrs.
Conway explored the contents. The closet was about two feet square by
nine inches in depth, and contained two shelves. There were several
papers in it, and the very first upon which she placed her hand was
marked "The Last Will and Testament of Herbert Penfold."
So overwhelmed was Mrs. Conway at this termination to her long search
that she sank on the ground, and it was some time before she could
collect herself sufficiently to consider what was her best course. It
was evident that for some reason Miss Penfold had been about to visit
the secret room to see that the will was still in safety. The failure
of the springs to act had, of course, disconcerted her; but she might
try again in the morning, and would then be able to enter the room,
and would discover that the will was missing.
It was clearly the best course to make off at once. She remembered now
that she had noticed a tiny hole no bigger than a nail-hole in the
door, and had found that upon the other side it was just above a row
of books in the shelves somewhat lower in height than the rest, and
was evidently intended to enable the occupant of the chamber to obtain
a view of the library, and see whether that room was occupied. She
applied her eye to it at once, and saw that all was dark. Concealing
the lantern again beneath her coat, she drew back the bolts gently and
stepped out. Then she went to one of the windows, took down the bell,
carefully unbarred the shutters, threw up the window and stepped out.
She sped cross the garden, down the drive, and through the gate, and
then hurried at the top of her speed toward the village. She had gone
about half the distance when she heard a horse's footsteps
approaching. The road ran between two high hedges and there was no
place for concealment. She therefore walked along by the edge of the
road close to the hedge, hoping that the horseman would pass without
noticing her. His eyes, however, were too much accustomed to the
darkness. He reined in his horse when he came to her, and a moment
later the light of a small lantern fell on her face.
"Who are you?" a voice asked, "and where are you going?"
"I am going to the vicarage," she said, "to see Mr. Withers."
"A likely story that," he said. "What is this? A woman with a man's
hat and coat! There is something wrong here," and leaning down he
caught her by the collar. She saw by the light of his lantern that he
was a mounted patrol.
"It is quite true, constable," she said. "I have put these things on
in a hurry, but I am going to see Mr. Withers on a question of life
and death. Take me to the vicarage, and if when you get there you find
my story is not true you can lock me up if you like."
The constable was puzzled. The voice was apparently that of a lady,
and yet her attire, and her presence abroad at two o'clock in the
morning, was suspicious in the extreme. He paused irresolute.
"I don't like to disturb the vicar at this time of night," he said. "I
will take you to the village lockup and go up to him in the morning."
"Please don't do that," she said. "I am a lady, and have a very good
reason for what I am doing. I can promise you that Mr. Withers will
not be angry at being called up; indeed he will be greatly pleased.
Come, constable," she went on, seeing that he hesitated, "I will give
you a couple of guineas to take me direct to the vicarage."
"Well, ma'am," the constable said, "if you are sure Mr. Withers will
not be angry at being called up at such an hour I will take you; but
you know he is a magistrate, and it would never do to play tricks upon
him."
"There are no tricks, constable. He knows me very well, and will be
pleased to see me even at this hour."
Greatly puzzled over the whole proceeding the constable turned, and
still keeping a firm hold of her collar walked his horse back toward
the village.
"You really need not hold me so tightly," Mrs. Conway said. "If I
wanted to get away I could have done so in a moment; for I have a
pistol in my pocket, and could have shot you the moment you turned
your lantern away from me."
Somewhat startled at this information the constable released his hold,
satisfied that his prisoner could not escape by speed. As a measure of
precaution he made her walk a pace or two ahead, and kept the light of
his lantern upon her while he held his pistol ready for action in his
hand in case she should suddenly turn upon him. They went through the
village, and five minutes afterward entered the gate of the vicarage.
On reaching the door Mrs. Conway rang the bell. A moment later a
window above opened.
"What is it?" a man's voice asked. "Am I wanted anywhere?"
"I am the mounted patrol, sir," the constable said, "and I have met a
suspicious sort of person in the road. She said she was coming to you,
and you knew her; and though it didn't seem a likely sort of story, I
thought it better to run the risk of disturbing you instead of taking
her to the lockup."
"It is I, Mr. Withers," Mrs. Conway said, taking off her hat and
stepping out so that the light of the policeman's lantern fell upon
her. "Please let me in, I have got it."
"Good heavens!" Mr. Withers exclaimed, startled out of his usual
tranquillity. "It is all right, constable, I will be down in a
minute."
"There, constable, you see I spoke truly," Mrs. Conway said, and
taking her purse from her pocket she extracted by the light of the
lantern two guineas and handed them to the man.
"Oh, I don't want to take your money, ma'am," he said apologetically.
"You must excuse my not believing you, but it did seem a rum start."
"You are quite right, constable," she replied. "The circumstances were
suspicious, and you only did your duty. However, you might have made
it very unpleasant for me if you had chosen to take me to the lockup
instead of bringing me here, and I am very willing to give you what I
promised you. I can afford it very well," she said cheerfully, as he
still hesitated, "and I dare say it will be useful to you."
The man took the money and touched his hat, and sat quiet until the
door opened, and Mr. Withers in a dressing-gown and holding a candle
appeared.
"You have done quite right in bringing the lady up here," Mr. Withers
said; "but you need not go talking about it in the village."
"Very well, sir; I will say nothing about it. Good-night, sir.
Good-night ma'am."
"My dear Mrs. Conway, what has happened to bring you here at this hour
of the night?" Mr. Withers asked as he closed the door behind. "Did I
understand you to say that you have got it? Is it possible that you
have found the will?"
"Quite possible, Mr. Withers. Here it is in its envelope, with the
seals unbroken."
"You astound me!" Mr. Withers exclaimed. At this moment Mrs. Withers
made her appearance at the top of the stairs, her husband having
briefly said as he hurried out of the room that it was Mrs. Conway.
"Amy," he said, "here is Mrs. Conway. And, what do you think? she has
brought the missing will with her."
With an exclamation Mrs. Withers ran downstairs and threw her arms
round Mrs. Conway. "You dear brave creature," she said, "I have been
longing to speak to you for the last six months. It seems so unnatural
your being close to us, and my not being able to see you, And you have
really found the will? I can hardly believe it. How has it all come
about?"
"Don't bother her, Amy," Mr. Withers said; for now that the excitement
was past Mrs. Conway was trembling all over, and was scarcely able to
keep her feet. "She is overtired and overexcited. Take her straight up
to the spare room and get her to bed. I will make her a tumbler of hot
port wine and water. The water is sure to be warm in the kitchen, and
a stick or two will make it boil by the time she is ready for it. We
will hear all about it in the morning. We have got the will safe, and
we have got her; that is quite enough for us for to-night, all the
rest will keep very well until to-morrow."
In a few minutes Mrs. Conway was in bed, and after drinking the
tumbler of hot negus Mr. Withers had prepared for her she soon fell
asleep.
Mrs. Withers came into the room early in the morning. "My husband says
you are not to think of getting up unless you feel quite equal to it,
and I agree with him; so if you like I will bring breakfast up to you,
and then you can go off to sleep again for a bit."
"Oh, no, thank you," Mrs. Conway replied. "Now that I am fairly awake
and realize where I am, I am perfectly ready to get up. I could not
think the first moment I opened my eyes where I had got to, and
fancied I had overslept myself and should get a nice scolding."
"You must wear one of my dresses, my dear," the vicar's wife said.
"You have done with that servant's gown for good. I will bring you one
in a few minutes."
In half an hour Mrs. Conway came down in a pretty morning dress of
Mrs. Withers'. Mabel had that moment made her appearance in the
breakfast-room. She had returned only a week before from her stay at
Bath, having positively mutinied against the proposal that she should
stay there for another six months. She started at the entry of a
stranger.
"Don't you know me, Mabel?" Mrs. Conway said, holding out her hand.
"Why--why--" Mabel exclaimed, "it's Mrs. Conway. When did you come,
and what have you been doing to yourself? Why, your hair is quite a
different color! What does it all mean, mamma?" she asked in
bewilderment.
"Mrs. Conway came last night, Mabel, after you were in bed."
"But you didn't tell me she was coming, mamma."
"We didn't know ourselves, dear; she arrived quite unexpectedly."
"And--" and Mabel stopped.
"And I have got on one of your mamma's dresses," Mrs. Conway laughed,
interpreting Mabel's look of surprise. "Yes, dear, and as you say, I
have dyed my hair."
"But why, Mrs. Conway? It was such a pretty color before."
"And it will be again some day, I hope, for I am not going to dye it
any more."
"I am glad of that," Mabel said frankly; "for you look quite different
somehow. But why did you do it? and why--Is there anything the matter,
Mrs. Conway," she broke off suddenly, "that you come here without
being expected, and are wearing one of mamma's dresses, and have dyed
your hair, and look so different altogether? Have you heard anything
about Ralph?"
"You will hear all about it presently, Mabel," Mr. Withers, who had
just come into the room, said. "You owe a great debt of gratitude to
Mrs. Conway, as you will hear presently; for she has for six months
been working in the interest of Ralph and you. Now, don't open your
eyes so wide, but sit down to the table. After we have had breakfast
Mrs. Conway will tell us all about it."
"By the way, Mrs. Conway, have you heard the news?"
"What news, Mrs. Withers?"
"In the newspaper I got yesterday evening it was said that a despatch
had just been received from the Duke of Wellington saying he had news
that Bonaparte was advancing, and that he had just issued orders for
the troops to march forward to support the Prussians, who were likely
to be first attacked."
"No, I had heard nothing about it," Mrs. Conway said, turning pale.
"Then there is going to be a battle, and Ralph will be engaged."
"You must not alarm yourself," the vicar said. "You know the troops
are very widely scattered, and his regiment may not be up in time;
beside, you see, the Prussians are likely to be first attacked, and
they may beat the French before the English get up to join in the
battle."
"Now, Mrs. Conway," Mr. Withers said when they had finished breakfast,
"please take pity on us and tell us all about it."
"Is Mabel to go away, or is she to hear it all, James?" Mrs. Withers
asked.
"What do you think, Mrs. Conway?"
"I see no reason whatever against her hearing. Mabel is fast growing
up. You are past fifteen now, are you not, Mabel?"
"Yes, Mrs. Conway."
"Then I think she has a right to hear all about it. She is, after all,
the party most interested."
"Thank you, Mrs. Conway," the girl said. "Please let us go out into
the garden and sit in the chairs under the shade of that tree. I can
see it is going to be a long story, and it will be delightful out
there; and then papa can smoke his after-breakfast cigar."
"Very well, Mabel; if your mamma has no objection, I am quite
willing."
The chairs were taken out into the shade of the tree and the party sat
down, Mabel all excitement, for as yet she knew nothing whatever of
what had happened, and was puzzling herself in vain as to how Mrs.
Conway could have been working in her interest.
"In the first place, Mabel," Mrs. Conway began, "I suppose you have no
idea why you were sent away to Bath?"
Mabel opened her eyes in surprise.
"I thought I went there to get lessons in music and French and
dancing."
"Well, you did go for that purpose, but for something else also. You
were sent away in order that you might not see me."
"Not see you, Mrs. Conway! Why, you must be joking. Why, papa, what
reason could there possibly be why I should not see Mrs. Conway? And
beside, you never told me in your letter that she had been here."
"I have not been here--at least not in this house; but I was in the
church every Sunday. I was there before you went away, although you
did not see me. I was sitting in the pew with the Hall servants."
"With the Hall servants!" Mabel repeated in astonishment. "What did
you sit with them for? and where were you staying? and why did you
come to the church every Sunday and not come here?"
"That's just the story you are going to hear, Mabel. You heard of
course, that it was Mr. Penfold's intention to leave you half his
estates?"
"Yes, I heard that; and then there was no will found so of course I
didn't get it."
"No, my dear; but as we all believed that there was such a will, we
were naturally unwilling to let the matter rest. Still, the chance of
finding it seemed very remote. You remember we spoke to you about it
when they offered you that hundred a year."
"Yes, papa, you told me then that you thought they were keeping me out
of my rights, and that was why I ought to refuse to take it. Yes, you
did say they were keeping Ralph out too, and that was partly why you
thought I ought not to agree to take the money; and of course I
thought so too, because that would seem as if we had deserted Ralph."
"Well, Mabel, at that time the chance of our ever hearing anything of
the will was so remote that I think both your mother and myself had
entirely given up hope, and I am sure we should never have taken any
more steps in the matter. Fortunately Mrs. Conway possesses a great
deal more energy and perseverance than we have, and when she found
that we gave it up, and that Mr. Tallboys gave it up, she determined
to take the matter in her own hands. Now she will tell us how she has
succeeded, and you must listen quietly and not ask more questions than
you can help till she has finished."
"Well, my dear," Mrs. Conway went on, "Mr. Tallboys, Mr. Penfold's
lawyer, did everything he possibly could to find the will, but he
could not do so; and as my son was with you the person that had been
robbed, I thought it was my duty to undertake the search myself."
Mrs. Conway then related step by step the measures she had taken to
obtain a situation as servant at the Hall, and then went on to tell
the manner in which she had carried on the search, and how success had
finally crowned her efforts, her story being frequently interrupted by
exclamations and questions from her hearers.
"What do you mean to do next?" Mr. Withers asked when she concluded.
"I will ask you to drive me over at once to Weymouth. I shall not feel
comfortable until I have placed the will in Mr. Tallboys' hands; and
directly I have done that I shall go over to Brussels. I may perhaps
get there before any great battle is fought; and I should like to see
Ralph before that, if possible, and at any rate be there to nurse him
if he was wounded. I shall ask Mr. Tallboys if he can spare time to go
across with me to Brussels. I should not want him to stop there, but
only to take me over. I should think there would be no difficulty in
hiring a small vessel at Weymouth to take me to Ostend, especially as
money is no object now. If Mr. Tallboys cannot spare time himself, he
can send a clerk with me or get somebody who will take me in charge;
but at any rate I intend to go by myself if necessary. I do not
suppose it will cause any delay about the will, Mr. Withers; for of
course there must be some trouble in having it proved."
"It can make no difference, Mrs. Conway. I do not give that the least
thought. I will go round at once and tell William to put in the
horses."
"Mabel and I will go over too, James," Mrs. Withers said; "we cannot
sit quiet all day after this excitement. Beside, I want to hear what
Mr. Tallboys says."
Mr. Withers returned in a few minutes, looking grave.
"William has just come up from the village, and says that half an hour
ago a man rode up from the Hall with word that the doctor was to go
over at once, for that Eleanor Penfold had just had a stroke or fit of
some sort and was terribly bad. I am sorry this new trouble has
befallen them; but they have brought it entirely upon themselves, poor
ladies. However, justice must be done; but I am sure you will agree
with me, Mrs. Conway, that if the matter can possibly be arranged
without exposure and publicity it shall be done so."