THE ROUT.
While Pack's brigade secured the prisoners taken by the cavalry and
sent them to the rear, the cavalry themselves continued their charge.
In vain Ponsonby ordered the trumpeters to sound the halt. Carried
away by the excitement of their success--an excitement in which the
horses shared--the three regiments galloped on. The Royals on the
right fell upon two French regiments advancing in column, broke them,
and cut them up terribly. The Inniskillens also fell on two French
line regiments, shattered them with their charge, and took great
numbers of prisoners, whole companies running up the hill and
surrendering to the infantry in order to escape from the terrible
horsemen.
The cavalry were now terribly scattered; the three regiments of
Ponsonby's brigade were far down in the valley, as were the Second
Life Guards and First Dragoon Guards. The First Life Guards and the
Blues were still engaged with the cuirassiers opposed to them; for
these, although driven back, were fighting doggedly. The Greys, who
should have been in reserve, galloped ahead and joined Ponsonby's
squadrons, and the two brigades of heavy cavalry were far away from
all support. When they reached the bottom of the hill a tremendous
fire was poured from a compact corps of infantry and some pieces of
cannon on the right into the Royals, Inniskillens, and Second Life
Guards, and a fresh column of cuirassiers advanced against them. They
wheeled about and fell back in great confusion and with heavy loss,
their horses being completely blown with their long gallop across the
heavy ground.
These regiments had fared, however, better than the Greys, Royals, and
Inniskillens on the left, for they, having encountered no infantry
fire, had charged up the hill until level with the French guns, when,
turning sharp to the left, they swept along the line cutting up the
artillerymen, until suddenly they were charged by a brigade of
lancers, while a large body of infantry threatened their line of
retreat. Fortunately at this moment the light cavalry came up to their
assistance.
Riding right through the infantry column the light cavalry fell upon
the French lancers and rolled them over with the fury of their charge,
and then charged another regiment of lancers and checked their
advance. Light and heavy horse were now mixed up together, and a fresh
body of French cavalry coming up, drove them down the hill with great
loss--they being saved, indeed, from total destruction by the Eleventh
Hussars, who, coming up last, had kept their formation. Covered by
these the remnants of the cavalry regained their own crest on the
hill, and reformed under cover of the infantry. General Ponsonby was
killed, and his brother, the colonel of the Twelfth, severely wounded
and left on the field.
While this desperate fight had been raging on the center and left,
fresh columns had advanced from Jerome's and Foy's divisions against
Hougoumont, and had again, after obstinate fighting, captured the
orchard and surrounded the chateau, but were once more repulsed by a
fresh battalion of guards who moved down the slope to the assistance
of their hardly-pressed comrades. Then for a while the fighting
slackened, but the artillery duel raged as fiercely as ever. The
gunners on both sides had now got the exact range, and the carnage was
terrible. The French shells again set Hougoumont on fire, and all the
badly wounded who had been carried inside perished in the flames.
At the end of an hour fresh columns of attack moved against the
chateau, while at the same moment forty squadrons of cavalry advanced
across the valley toward the English position.
The English batteries played upon them with round shot, and, as they
came near, with grape and canister; but the horsemen rode on, and at a
steady trot arrived within forty yards of the English squares, when
with a shout they galloped forward, and in a moment the whole of the
advanced batteries of the allies were in their possession; for
Wellington's orders had been that the artillerymen should stand to
their guns till the last moment, and then run for shelter behind the
squares. The French cavalry paused for a moment in astonishment at the
sight that met their eyes. They had believed that the British were
broken and disorganized, but no sooner had they passed over the slope
than they saw the British and German squares bristling with bayonets
and standing calm and immovable.
The artillery on both sides had ceased their fire, and a dead silence
had succeeded the terrible din that had raged but a moment before.
Then with a shout the cavalry again charged, but in no case did they
dash against the hedges of bayonets, from which a storm of fire was
now pouring. Breaking into squadrons they rode through the intervals
between the squares and completely enveloped them; but Lord Uxbridge
gathered the remains of the British cavalry together, charged them,
and drove them back through the squares and down the hill. Receiving
reinforcements the French again advanced, again enveloped the squares,
and were again hurled back.
While this was going on the battle was still raging round Hougoumont
and La Haye Sainte, against which a portion of Reille's division had
advanced; but the Germans resisted as obstinately as did the guards,
and as the French cavalry retired for the second time the infantry
fell back, and for a time the slope of the English position was again
clear of the enemy.
For a time the battle languished, and then Napoleon brought up
thirty-seven fresh squadrons of cavalry, and these, with the remains
of those who had before charged, rode up the slope. But although they
swept on and passed the British squares, they could not succeed in
shaking them. A body of horse, however, sweeping down toward the Dutch
and Belgians at the end of the line, these at once marched off the
field without firing a musket, and the brigade of cavalry with them
galloped away at full speed.
The position was a singular one; and had Napoleon ordered his infantry
to advance in the rear of the cavalry, the issue of the day might have
been changed. In appearance the French were masters of the position.
Their masses of cavalry hid the British squares from sight. The
British cavalry were too weak to charge, and most of the guns were in
the possession of the French; but the latter's infantry were far away,
and after sustaining the fire of the squares for a long time, the
cavalry began to draw off. Lord Uxbridge now endeavored to persuade
the Cumberland Hanoverian Hussars, who had not so far been engaged, to
charge; but instead of obeying orders they turned and rode off, and
never drew bridle until they reached Brussels, where they reported
that the British army had been destroyed.
Adams' brigade were now brought up from the reserve, and drove back
the French infantry and cavalry who had come up to the top of the
crest beyond Hougoumont. On the other side Ney sent a column against
La Haye Sainte. The Germans made a gallant stand; but they were cut
off from all assistance, outnumbered, and were altogether without
ammunition; and although they defended themselves with their bayonets
to the end, they were slain almost to a man, and La Haye Sainte was
captured at last. But beyond this the French could not advance; and
though column after column moved forward to the attack on the crest,
they were each and all beaten back.
It was now nearly seven o'clock in the evening, and the Prussians were
engaged at St. Lambert, Napoleon having detached Lobau's corps to
arrest their progress. Their march had been a terrible one. They had
to traverse country roads softened by the rain; the men were up to
their ankles in mud, guns and carriages stuck fast, and it was not
until after tremendous efforts that the leading squadron of their
cavalry passed through the wood of Wavre and came in view of the
battle that was raging. It was then past four o'clock, and another
hour passed before any considerable number of infantry arrived. It was
at this time Napoleon sent Lobau against them. He was able for a time
to resist their advance; but as fresh troops came up from the rear the
Prussians began to win their way forward, and Napoleon was obliged to
send two more divisions of the Young Guard to check them.
He now saw that all was lost unless he could, before the whole of the
Prussian army arrived, break down the resistance of the British. He
therefore prepared for a final effort. Ney was to collect all his
infantry, and, advancing past La Haye Sainte, to fall upon the center
of the British line. The guard, who had hitherto been held in reserve,
was to pass Hougoumont and attack the left center. The cavalry were to
follow in support.
A cannonade even more heavy and terrible than before, for the guns of
the reserve had been brought up, opened upon the British, and the
squares were now melting away fast. But no reinforcements could be
sent to them, for the whole of the British troops were now in action,
and their allies had for the most part long before left the field.
Every gun was brought to the front, the remains of the cavalry
gathered together as a reserve; and some of the Prussians now
approaching the left, the cavalry there were brought to the center to
aid in the defense of the threatened point. Just as these arrangements
were completed the enemy advanced in tremendous force from the
inclosure of La Haye Sainte, and with their fire so completely
mastered that of the remnants of the infantry, that their light guns
were brought up to within a hundred yards of the British line and
opened with grape upon the squares. Two Hanoverian battalions were
almost annihilated, the brigade of the German legion almost ceased to
exist.
A Brunswick cavalry regiment that had hitherto fought gallantly lost
heart and would have fled had not the British cavalry behind them
prevented them from doing so.
In the meantime the Imperial Guard in two heavy columns, led by Ney
himself, were advancing, the guards being followed by every available
man of the infantry and cavalry. One of these columns skirted the
inclosure of the Hougoumont, the other moved against the center. They
pressed forward until they reached the top of the slope, and a hundred
cannon were brought up and unlimbered, while the artillery on the
opposite slope rained round shot and shell upon the British squares
and artillery. The English guns tried in vain to answer them: they
were wholly overmatched. Gun after gun was dismounted, horses and men
destroyed; but as soon as the leading column of the guards reached the
point when their own guns had to cease fire, the English artillery
opened again, and terrible was the havoc they made in the dense
columns. Still the guard pressed on until they reached the top of the
crest; and then the British guards leaped to their feet and poured in
a tremendous volley at close quarters, fell on the flank of the
column, broke it, and hurled it down the hill.
The guards were recalled and prepared to oppose the second column, but
their aid was not needed; the Fifty-second threw themselves upon its
flank, the Seventy-first and Ninety-fifth swept its head with their
volleys, and as the column broke and retired the Duke of Wellington
gave the orders the men had been longing for since the fight began.
The squares broke into lines, and the British, cheering wildly,
descended the crest. The French retreat became a rout, cavalry and
infantry fell upon them, the artillery plied them with their fire, the
Prussians poured down upon their flank. By eight o'clock the splendid
army of Napoleon was a mass of disorganized fugitives.
For ten hours the battle had raged. To the men in the squares it
seemed a lifetime. "When shall we get at them? when shall we get at
them?" was their constant cry as the round shot swept their ranks,
although from their position behind the crest they could see nothing
of their enemies. Nothing is harder than to suffer in inactivity, and
the efforts of the officers were principally directed to appeasing the
impatience of their men, "Our turn will come presently, lads." "Yes,
but who will be alive when it does come?" a query which was very hard
to answer, as hour by hour the ranks melted away. Although they kept a
cheerful countenance and spoke hopefully to the men, it seemed to the
officers themselves that the prospect was well-nigh hopeless. Picton's
brigade mustered scarce half their strength when the battle began.
They were to have fought in the second line this day; but the
defection of their allies in front of them had placed them in the
front, and upon them and upon the defenders of Hougoumont the brunt of
the battle had fallen, and as the squares grew smaller and smaller it
seemed even to the officers that the end must come before long.
"This cannot last," Captain O'Connor said to Ralph when the day was
but half over. "They will never beat us, but by the time they get here
there will be nobody left to beat. I don't think we are more than two
hundred strong now, and every minute the force is diminishing. I don't
wonder the men are impatient. We bargained for fighting, but I never
reckoned on standing for hours to be shot at without even a chance to
reply."
It was just after this that the French cavalry burst upon the squares;
but this cheered rather than depressed the spirits of the men. For a
time they were free from the artillery fire, and now had a chance of
active work. Thus as the fire flashed from the faces of the square the
men laughed and joked, and it was with regret that they saw the
cuirassiers fall back before the charge of Lord Uxbridge's cavalry,
for they knew that the moment this screen was removed the French
artillery would open again.
Ralph's chief sensation was that of wonder that he was alive; so
overwhelming was the din, so incessant the rain of shot, it seemed to
him a marvel how any one could remain alive within its range.
Almost mechanically he repeated the orders, "Close up, close up!" as
the square dwindled and dwindled. He longed as impatiently as the men
for the advance, and would have gladly charged against impossible odds
rather than remain immovable under fire. When the order at length came
he did not hear it. Just after the storm of fire that heralded the
advance of the guards broke out, a round shot struck him high up on
the left arm. He was conscious only of a dull, numbing sensation, and
after that knew no more of what was taking place.
It was pitch dark before he became conscious. Fires were burning at
various points along the ridge; for when the victory was complete the
British retired to the position they had held so long, and the
Prussian cavalry took up the pursuit. Fires had been lighted with
broken gun carriages and shattered artillery wagons, and parties with
torches were collecting the wounded. Ralph found that his head was
being supported, and that a hand was pouring spirits and water down
his throat. The hand was a shaky one, and its owner was crying loudly.
As he opened his eyes the man broke into a torrent of thankful
exclamations.
"The Lord be praised, Mr. Conway. Sure, I thought you were dead and
kilt entirely."
"Is that you, Denis?"
"Sure and it's no one else, your honor."
"Is the battle over?"
"It is that. The French are miles away, and the Proosians at their
heels."
"What has happened to me, Denis?"
"Well, your honor's hurt a bit in the arm, but it will all come right
presently."
It was well for Ralph that he had been struck before the order came
for the advance, for as he fell the one surviving surgeon of the
regiment had at once attended to him, had fixed a tourniquet on the
stump of his arm, tied the arteries, and roughly bandaged it. Had he
not been instantly seen to he would have bled to death in a few
minutes.
Denis now called to one of the parties who were moving about with
stretchers. Ralph was lifted on to it and carried to the village of
Waterloo where he was placed in an ambulance wagon which, as soon as
it was full, started for Brussels.
The fighting was now over, and Denis asked leave to accompany his
master. The rout of the enemy had been so thorough and complete that
it was not thought probable any serious resistance could be offered to
the advance of the allied armies to Paris, and he therefore obtained
leave without difficulty to remain with his master. Ralph suffered
from exhaustion rather than pain on the journey to Brussels, and
several times became almost unconscious. At four o'clock in the
morning the ambulance stopped at a handsome house that its owner had
placed at the disposal of the authorities for the use of wounded
officers. He was carried upstairs and placed in bed in a room on the
second story. Denis at once proceeded to install himself there. He
brought down a mattress from a room above, laid it in the corner,
throwing his greatcoat over it, then as soon as he thought the shops
were open he hurried out and bought a kettle and saucepan, two cups
and tumblers, a small basin, and several other articles.
"There, your honor," he said as he returned. "Now we have got
iverything we need, and I can make soups and drinks for your honor,
and boil myself a tater widout having to go hunting all over the house
for the things to do it with."
A few minutes later two surgeons entered the room and examined Ralph's
arm. They agreed at once that it was necessary to amputate it three
inches higher up, Ralph winced when he heard the news.
"It won't hurt you very much," one of the surgeons said. "The nerves
are all numbed with the shock they have had, but it is absolutely
necessary in order that a neat stump may be made of it. The bone is
all projecting now; and even if the wound healed over, which I don't
think it would, you would have trouble with it all your life."
"Of course if it must be done, it must," Ralph said. "There isn't much
left of it now."
"There is not enough to be of much use," the surgeon agreed; "but even
a shorter stump that you can fit appliances on to will be a great deal
more handy than one with which nothing can be done."
The operation was performed at once, and although Ralph had to press
his lips hard together to prevent himself from crying out, he did find
it less painful than he had expected.
"There, you will do now," the surgeon said. "Here, my man, take that
basin and a tumbler and run downstairs to the kitchen. They will give
you some broth there and some weak spirits and water. Bring them up at
once."
Ralph took a spoonful or two of the broth, and a sip of the spirits,
and then lay back and presently dozed off to sleep. Denis had followed
the surgeons out of the room.
"What instructions is there, your honor?"
"Your master is just to be kept quiet. If he is thirsty give him some
lemonade. You can obtain that or anything else you require below."
"And about myself, sir. I wouldn't speak about it but I have had
nothing to eat since yesterday morning, and I don't like leaving Mr.
Conway alone even to buy myself a mouthful."
"You will not have regular rations, but all officers' servants and
orderlies will obtain food below. Meals will be served out at eight in
the morning, one, and six. You take down your pannikin, and can either
eat your food there or bring it up here as you choose. Breakfast will
not be ready for two hours yet; but there are several others in the
same plight as yourself, and you will find plenty to eat below."
Denis took his place by his master's bedside until he saw that he was
sound asleep, then taking the pannikin from the top of the knapsack he
stole noiselessly out, and in two or three minutes later he returned
with the pannikin full of soup, a small loaf, and a ration of wine.
"By jabers," he said to himself as he sat down to eat them, "these are
good quarters entirely. I should wish for nothing better if it wasn't
for the master lying there. Lashings to eat and drink, and a room fit
for a king. Nothing to do but to wait upon his honor. I suppose after
to-day I shall be able to stale out for a few minutes sometimes for a
draw of me pipe. It would never do to be smoking here. The master
wouldn't mind it; but I expect them doctors would be for sending me
back to my regiment if they were to come in and smell it."
After he had finished his meal, Denis took his seat by Ralph's
bedside; but he was thoroughly exhausted. He had not slept a wink
since the night before the battle, and after the fatigue of the day
had been tramping all night by the side of the ambulance, which was
constantly stopped by the numerous vehicles that had broken down or
been overturned by the way. After waking up suddenly with a jerk once
or twice, he muttered to himself, "I will just take five minutes on
the bed, then I shall be all right again," and threw himself down on
his mattress with his greatcoat for a pillow, and slept for several
hours. So heavy was his slumber that he was not even roused when the
surgeons came round at ten o'clock to see how Ralph was. He had just
woke.
"How do you feel, Mr. Conway?"
"I feel quite comfortable," Ralph said, "but shall be glad of a drink.
Where is my man?"
"He is asleep there in the corner," the surgeon said. "I will give you
a drink of lemonade. The poor fellow is worn out, no doubt."
"Oh, yes; please don't wake him," Ralph said. "I am glad he is asleep;
for he had all that terrible day yesterday, and was on his feet all
night. I shan't want anything but this lemonade; and I have no doubt I
shall go straight off to sleep again as soon as you have gone."
It was not until just one o'clock that Denis woke. He at once got up
and went to Ralph's side. The latter opened his eyes.
"How do you feel now, your honor?"
"Oh, I am getting on very well, Denis. My arm hardly hurts me at all
at present. I expect it will ache worse presently."
"I have been having a few minutes' sleep your honor. And now, if you
don't want me for a minute, I will run down and see about breakfast. I
should think it must be nearly ready."
"See about dinner, you mean, Denis. Why, it's just one o'clock."
"One o'clock! Your honor must be dreaming."
"I don't think so, Denis. There is my watch on the table."
"Why, your honor does not mean to say," Denis said in great
astonishment, "that I have been sleeping for five hours? The watch
must have gone wrong."
"The watch is right enough, Denis. I heard it strike twelve by the
church clocks before I dozed off last time. Why, the surgeons came in
at ten o'clock and gave me some lemonade."
"And me to know nothing about it! Denis Mulligan, you ought to be
ashamed of yourself--slaping like a pig in a stye, with your master
laying wounded there beside you, and no one to look after him. I just
laid down for five minutes' nap, your honor, seeing that you had gone
off into a beautiful sleep, and never dreamed of more than that."
"It was the best thing you could do, Denis. You had been twenty-four
hours on your feet, and you would have been fit for nothing if you
hadn't had a good rest. Now go downstairs and get your dinner, and
when you come back again you can bring me up a basin of broth and a
piece of bread. I begin to feel hungry; and that's a capital sign, I
believe."
When Ralph had finished his broth he said to Denis, "I shan't want
anything now for some time, Denis. You can put a glass of lemonade
within reach of my hand, and then I shall do very well for an hour or
two. I am quite sure you must be dying for a pipe; so go out and take
a turn. It will freshen you up; and you can bring me back what news
you can gather as to the losses yesterday, and whether the army
started in pursuit of the French."
It was some time before Denis would consent to leave the room; but at
last, seeing that Ralph really wished it, he went out for an hour, and
returned full of the rumors he had picked up of the terrible losses of
the British, and the utter rout of the French army. The next morning
Ralph had a great surprise; for just as he had finished his breakfast
there was a tap at the door, and a lady entered. Ralph could hardly
believe his eyes as his mother ran forward to the bed. But the
pressure of her arms and her kisses soon showed him that it was a
reality.
"Why, mother darling!" he exclaimed, "how on earth did you get here?"
"I came across in a smack to Ostend, Ralph, and then came on by carriage.
I got here last night, and learned at the quartermaster-general's
office that you were wounded and were somewhere in Brussels, at least
they believed you were here somewhere, but they could not say where.
They let me have a copy of the list of the houses that had been
allotted for the use of wounded officers. It was too late to begin the
search last night, but I have been three hours going round this
morning. I saw the surgeon downstairs and he told me--" and her lips
quivered and her eyes filled with tears.
"That I had lost my left arm, mother. Well, that is nothing to fret
about when thousands have been killed. One can do very well without a
left arm; and I think, on the whole, that I have been wonderfully
lucky. Denis!" But Denis was not in the room, having, as soon as he
had discovered who Ralph's visitor was, gone out to leave them alone.
"And have you made this journey all by yourself, mother?"
"No, my dear. Mr. Tallboys was good enough to come over to take care
of me by the way."
"Mr. Tallboys, mother! How did he know that you were coming?"
"Well, I told him, Ralph. But that is a long story, and you shall hear
it another day. The doctor said you had better not do much talking
now. Mr. Tallboys will stay here a day or two and then go home. I
intend to take a room somewhere close by and install myself here as
your head nurse."
"I shan't want much nursing, mother; but I shall be delighted to have
you with me. I have a capital servant. The man I told you about in my
letters. He is a most amusing fellow and very much attached to me. Do
you know, he got leave directly the battle was over, and was all night
walking by the side of the ambulance wagon. He is a capital fellow. By
the way, mother, I suppose the will has not turned up yet? You said in
your last letter you had great hopes of its being found."
"It has been found, Ralph; and it is all just as we supposed. But how
it was found, or anything about it, you mustn't ask at present. It is
a long story, and I must insist now that you lie quiet and go to
sleep."
"Well, I will try, mother. Will you just look outside the door and see
if Denis is there? Denis, this is my mother," he said as the soldier
came in. "She has come over to help nurse me; and as she will be
principally with me in the daytime, you will be at liberty to be out
whenever you like."
"Sure, and I am glad the lady has come, Mr. Conway; though I would
have done the best I could for you. Still, a man is but a poor crater
in a sick-room. Can I get you anything ma'am?"
"Well, I have had nothing this morning, Denis; and if you could get me
a cup of tea and some bread and butter, if it is not against the
rules, I should be very glad."
"Sure, I will do that, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure in life,"
Denis said; and presently returned bringing up a tray with tea, bread
and butter, and a plate of cold meat.
"Is there anything else, ma'am?"
"Well, Denis, I should be very much obliged if you will take a note
from me to a gentleman named Tallboys, whom you will find at the Hotel
de L'Europe. Give it to him yourself if you can. He will be glad to
hear from you about my son, how he is going on and so on."
For the next few days Ralph's arm was exceedingly painful, attended by
a certain amount of fever. At the end of that time he began to
improve, and his wound made steady progress toward recovery. After
staying for four days at Brussels, Mr. Tallboys had returned home.
Mrs. Conway and Denis divided the nursing between them, sitting up on
alternate nights.
A fortnight after Mrs. Conway's arrival Ralph said, "Now, mother, I
shall be up to-morrow and can therefore be considered as fairly
convalescent, so there can be no reason now why you should not tell
the story about the finding of the will. You told me in one of your
letters before Christmas that Mr. Tallboys had failed altogether. So
how did it come to be found?"
Mrs. Conway thereupon told the story. When she came to the point where
she had gone as a servant to the Hall, Ralph interrupted her with a
loud protest. "I don't like that, mother; I don't like the idea of
your having gone as a servant, whatever the stake was. If I had been
at home and had known it, I certainly would not have let you go, not
if there had been ten fortunes to be gained by it. The idea of your
having to go and live as a servant, and work for people like that is
horrid!"
"There was nothing very unpleasant about it, Ralph. I had plenty to do
and to think about, and the time passed a great deal more rapidly than
it would have done if I had been staying at home all by myself. It
would have been very lonely and dull then; and I can assure you that I
considered it no hardship at all being at the Hall. But you must not
interrupt me in my story. If you do I shall tell you nothing more
about it until you get home to England."
This threat effectually sealed Ralph's lips, and beyond occasional
exclamations he said nothing until the story was ended.
"Well, it's all very wonderful, mother," he said; "and I should never
have thought for a moment that you were so brave, and could have put
things together like that, and could have carried out such a scheme.
But I am awfully glad you have succeeded; because you had set your
mind on it, and the money will I hope make you quite comfortable. How
much was it after all mother? You never told me that."
"It is half of Mr. Penfold's estates, and of the money he had
invested, which is a very large sum, Ralph; although I do not know how
much."
"Half the estate! Why, it will make me quite a rich man. I never
dreamed it was anything like that. I thought most likely it was enough
to continue the allowance that he said he should make me. Why, mother,
it is tremendous! And what becomes of the other half?"
"That is left to Mabel Withers, Ralph. You two divide everything that
he left."
"Well, that certainly is rather hard upon his sisters," Ralph said;
"and I don't blame them for being against it. Though, of course, it
was not right to keep the will hidden."
"Mr. Penfold did not leave anything to them, because they are both
very well provided for. Their father left them a handsome sum at his
death; and as they have been living at the Hall ever since, and can
have spent nothing, they must be very amply provided for. Their
brother, therefore, naturally considered he was perfectly at liberty
to leave his property as he chose. I do not think the Miss Penfolds
have the slightest reason to grumble, after living as they have done
for the last twenty years at their brother's expense."
"Of course that makes a difference," Ralph agreed; "it certainly
didn't seem nice that Mabel and I, who are no relation by blood to Mr.
Penfold, should come into the property that his sisters expected would
be theirs. But, of course, now you explain it, it is different."
"I do not think in any case, Ralph, Mr. Penfold would have left his
fortune to his sisters. He was a man very averse to exerting his own
will, and I am sure that he submitted to, rather than liked, his
sisters' residence at the Hall. I know that he considered, and justly,
that they had once committed a cruel wrong upon him, and had in a way
spoiled his life. I question whether he really ever forgave them."
"I see, mother," Ralph said. "Well, now, about myself; I should think
there can be no occasion for me to continue in the army unless I
like?"
"I hope you won't like, Ralph. In the first place I want to have you
with me; and in the second, you will be a large landowner, and
property has its duties."
"Well, there is no necessity to decide about that at present. The
doctor said yesterday I should certainly get three months' sick leave
before I rejoined. By all we hear the fighting is at an end, and there
is no fear whatever that Napoleon will have it in his power to cause
trouble in the future. They will take care of that, whatever they do
with him. If there is going to be peace everywhere, I do not know that
I should care very much about staying in the army; but, as I said, we
need not decide at present."
Ten days later, Ralph was so far recovered that he was able to return
home with his mother. As soon as she informed him of her arrival at
Dover, Mr. Tallboys wrote to tell her that he had had an interview in
London with the Miss Penfolds' lawyer, who informed him that he had
instructions from his clients to examine the will, and if satisfied of
its genuineness, to offer no opposition whatever to its being proved.
Mr. Tallboys had thereupon shown him the will, and had no difficulty
in convincing him that it was the document he himself had drawn up,
and Mr. Penfold had signed in his presence.
"The lawyer has placed all the deeds and documents relating to Mr.
Penfold's property in my hands, and, as I was of course before well
aware, my late client died worth a very considerable property in
addition to his large estates in this country. For the last twenty
years his income has exceeded his expenditure by an average of three
thousand a year, and as the surpluses have been judiciously invested,
and as the prices of all funds and stocks now stand vastly higher than
they did during the course of the long war, their total value now
amounts to something over a hundred and thirty thousand pounds.
"The property in this country was valued, at the time Mr. Penfold drew
up his will, at eighty thousand pounds; these estates he left to your
son, and the sum of eighty-thousand pounds, in various investments, to
Miss Withers, and directed that the residue, whatever it might be at
his death, should be equally divided between them. Your son's share,
therefore, will amount to about twenty-five thousand pounds. I may say
that the outlying farms, which were settled by deed as a security for
the four hundred pounds annually paid to you, are not included in the
above valuation, but are ordered to revert to the main estate upon
your decease.
"The formalities will all be completed in the course of a short time.
I may say that from the totals to be divided must be deducted the
legacy duties, which, as your son and Miss Withers are strangers by
blood to the testator, will be heavy." Mr. Tallboys added that he
heard the younger Miss Penfold was now recovering from her serious
illness, but it was not probable she would ever be again herself. He
had received, he said, a letter that morning from their solicitor,
saying that as soon as Miss Eleanor Penfold could be moved, which it
was hoped would be in the course of another week, the ladies would
vacate possession of the Hall.
A fortnight later Mrs. Conway and Ralph left Dover for London, leaving
orders with an agent to sell the furniture of their house. All Ralph's
old friends on the shore had been made happy with handsome presents.
After a short stay in London they went down, and Ralph took possession
of the Hall. He soon found there was abundance of occupation for his
time on the estate, and that this would be increased when, as would
doubtless be the case, he was placed on the Commission of Peace for
the county, as Herbert Penfold had been before him.
As soon as Ralph had completely recovered his health and strength he
told his mother that she must spare him for a week, as he had promised
that he would on the first opportunity go over to Dunkirk to see his
friend Jacques.
He crossed by the packet from Dover to Calais, and thence by coach to
Dunkirk. Here he inquired among the fishermen for Jacques, and found
that he had returned before Napoleon broke out from Elba, and that he
was owner of a fishing smack which was now at sea. The next day
Jacques returned, and his delight at meeting Ralph was unbounded. He
took him home to his neat cottage where his pretty young wife was
already installed. Ralph remained two days with him, and obtained a
promise from him that he would once a year sail over to Weymouth and
pay him a visit.
"I am a rich man, Jacques, now. At present I see you want nothing, but
should any accident befall your fishing boat, or you have need for
money for any other cause, write to me, and the money for a new boat
or for any other purpose shall be yours at once. I could afford to
give you a hundred boats without hurting myself, so do not hesitate
for a moment in letting me know if I can help you. It will be a real
pleasure to me to do so."
Jacques kept his promise, and never missed coming over once year to
pay Ralph a visit, and as his five sons one after another grew up to
be able to manage boats for themselves, they were each presented one
by Ralph. Jacques himself prospered as a fisherman, and never required
the assistance Ralph would have been glad to give him.
Neither Ralph nor Mabel Withers was informed of the expression of Mr.
Penfold's hopes in his will that they would some day be married, the
two mothers agreeing cordially that nothing was so likely to defeat
the carrying out of Mr. Penfold's wishes as for the young people to
have any suspicions of them. They were still but boy and girl, and
were now perfectly happy in their unrestrained intercourse, for not a
day passed that the two families did not see something of each other;
but had they had a suspicion of the truth it would have rendered them
shy and awkward with each other, and have thrown them much more widely
apart.
"We both hope that it will come about, Mrs. Conway," Mrs. Withers said
one day; "and I certainly think there is every prospect of it. Let us
leave well alone, and allow it to come about naturally and without
interference."
As soon as Ralph left the army he purchased Denis Mulligan's
discharge, and the Irishman was installed as butler and Ralph's
special servant at the Hall, and remained in his service to the end of
his life. In due time the natural change in the relations between the
two young people came about, and their youthful friendship ripened
into love. When Ralph was twenty-three, and Mabel had just come of
age, she changed her name and took up her place at the Hall, Mrs.
Conway gladly handing over the reins of government to her. She herself
lived with her children, for she was almost as fond of Mabel as of
Ralph, to the end of a long life; and deep was the regret among her
children and grandchildren when she was at last laid in Bilston
Church, close to the resting-place of Herbert Penfold.