CONCLUSION
It was nearly eleven o'clock. Lee, Briscoe, Miss Jane, Dempster
and Muriel were all in the dining-room, and Dempster was making a
speech. It will possibly never be known whether Miss Jane put him
up to it or not; if she did she regretted it before he was half
done.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' he began, with turgid tongue and
desiccated throat, 'you are surprised that I should wish at this
late hour to detain you with anything in the shape of a formal
speech, however informal it may be.' The introductory sentence had
been prepared. 'But,' he continued, staunching a wriggle, 'I--I
have something to say. Mr. Chartres, I am neither a Communist nor
a Nihilist'--this was to have been a side flourish, but out it
came first--'still I would like to remark, in reference to a talk
we had this afternoon, that I am of opinion that, if fortunes were
things to be inherited by everybody, it might on the whole be
better--eh--ah--or worse for society, taking into consideration
the fact that wealth produces idleness, and idleness folly,
and--eh--ah--sin, it might be better that most people should have
to make their fortunes. Eh--ah--I am overwhelmed with a feeling
such as one experiences when one gets something one didn't expect.
Comfort, Mr. Chartres, is the greatest necessity of existence--I
mean that to be comfortable is always of the greatest consequence,
indeed, I may say, the very backbone--eh--ah--of comfort.'
Now there is never the remotest necessity for speech-making, at
least in private, although it is daily perpetrated, and
unfailingly by wholly incompetent parties. It is like singing in
this respect; only those who cannot care to perform. Human nature
will never get past it; for there is a law which ordains that
whatever one is unfit for must be attempted, especially out of
season. What one can't do is the all-important thing. So Dempster
reeled on, undeterred by the blank looks of his auditors, and an
ominous sparkle in Miss Jane's eye--his body a mere thoroughfare
of uninterrupted transmigration for the spirits of all things that
crawl and squirm and twist and wriggle.
'And I am now, I am happy to say, exceedingly comfortable. After
Muriel refused me I was like a ship in a storm, and so I put into
the first port--eh--ah--I mean that I have found a comfortable
haven, and I am sure Jane will make a very good wife.'
Amazement stared from every eye, including Miss Jane's. She tried
to simper in a dignified manner--but what was the man saying?
'She is like old wine--eh--ah'--he felt Miss Jane's eyes scorching
him like burning-glasses. 'The difference between our
ages--eh--ah----' He was now perspiring freely. 'The disadvantage
of marrying a girl like Muriel is, that when she grows old'--he
made a little halt here, but he was too far gone to draw back;
over he went, head first--'when she grows old one would miss her
beauty. The great advantage is that one can never miss what has
never been there, and--I'll not be interrupted!' mopping his head,
and gyrating fiercely; but not daring to meet again Miss Jane's
eye, one full glance of which had been more than enough.
'There's nobody interrupting you, my dear Mr. Dempster,' said Lee.
'But is it true that you are going to marry my sister?'
'It is--I am!' defiantly, as if he were challenging himself to take
so much as one step in an opposite direction.
'I'm very glad. An episode of this kind is refreshing. So unlikely
too! One daren't have introduced it into written fiction; but here
it has cropped up most beautifully in our little creation. Really,
I am much obliged to you both. Now you must allow me to go
upstairs and attend to the matters there.'
As soon as Lee had reached the house with Muriel he had gone
straight to the room in which Henry Chartres lay; but when he was
about to enter, a swift descending step on the stair caught his
ear, and drew him away just in time to intercept Briscoe, who had
finally determined that, wherever he might go, he must leave Snell
House that night. Lee peremptorily bade him stay, or he would
accuse him of robbery, and send in pursuit; and Briscoe was forced
to submit. Lee had been about to ascend the stair again, when
Dempster importunately demanded his presence in the dining-room.
The latter having made his remarkable communication, Lee intended
to arrange with Briscoe some definite plan of action; but another
delay took place.
On opening the door of the dining-room, Lee was met by Clacher,
whom everybody had forgotten.
'Good evening,' said Clacher, doing it 'Englified,' and walking
into the room. His face was streaming with perspiration; his eyes
were wild with drink and insanity; his hair hung in wisps about
his face.
'Ladies and gentlemen, I am Robert Chartres,' he said. He had
remembered what he wanted to do 'Englified.'
'I am bonnie Prince Charlie too,' he added, after a pause. 'I
don't understand it. I'm afraid I'm mad but I'm not a fool. I am
Robert Chartres.'
Everybody looked at Lee.
He said, 'I don't remember being so intensely interested in my
life. How can you possibly hope to succeed in this imposture,
Clacher?'
'You're an imposture,' cried Clacher fiercely, staggering a
little. 'I'm mad, but I'm no jist a fule, an' naebody daur harm
me. Ach!' he hissed, grinding his teeth and shaking his wild hair,
enraged at himself for failing to do it 'Englified.' 'I am Robert
Chartres,' he shouted, throwing back his head. 'The estate's
entailed, and it's mine. I'm bonnie Prince Charlie, too,' he
added, more quietly.
'Take a seat,' said Lee. 'Let us all sit down again.'
Clacher stumbled into a chair. Miss Jane forgave Dempster with her
eyes, and they sat on a couch together. Muriel stood beside a
window with one hand wrapped in the curtain. Briscoe sat opposite
Lee, who threw himself back on a large chair on one side of the
fireplace. Clacher's chair was against the wall, not far from the
door.
'Jane,' said Lee, 'I find no resemblance between this gentleman
and Robert. Do you?'
'Not the slightest,' said Miss Jane.
'Do yon, Muriel?'
'None.'
'Well, friend,' said Lee, turning to Clacher. 'What have you to
say, now?'
'I am Robert Chartres.'
'But none of us recognise you. Recall yourself to our memories in
some way.'
'Oh, I'm bonnie Prince Charlie too.'
'That only indicates that you are mad; and a very ordinary madness
it is. I am sure there are two or three bonnie Prince Charlies in
every lunatic asylum in Scotland.'
'I'm mad, an' naebody daur harm me,' growled Clacher.
'You remember Robert's escapade when he was a boy, Henry?' said
Miss Jane.
'To which do you refer? There were so many,' said Lee.
'Oh, not so very many,' said Miss Jane. 'I mean the Inverkip Glen
affair.'
'I can't say I do remember it.'
'Oh, you must. You weren't here at the time; but you knew all
about it.'
Lee sat up, and swiftly changed his look of anxiety into a
far-reaching glance at the past.
'Ah, yes!' he said, dropping back in his chair again.
'Clacher must have heard about it,' said Miss Jane.
'I shouldn't wonder,' said Lee. 'Clacher, do you know about the
Inverkip Glen affair?'
'Of course. I'm Robert Chartres. I'm Clacher too, and Bonnie
Prince Charlie. I don't know how.'
'Then,' said Lee, 'just tell us about it. Your acquaintance with
it may be evidence of your identity.'
'The Inverkip Glen business?' said Clacher. 'A'body kens that.
Damn!' he growled at the Scotch.
'Let us see, now,' said Lee. 'Have you any details that could only
be known to Robert and his family?'
'Inverkip Glen,' said Clacher. 'When I was fourteen or
thereabouts, I went away wi' a wheen laddies an' hid in it for
twa-three days. I ca'ed mysel' Prince Charlie, an' the ithers wis
cheeftans--Lochiel an' Glengarry, ye ken. We fought the servants
that wis sent tae bring us hame, an' they had tae send the polis
tae fetch us.'
This was spoken very haltingly, and ended with a savage oath at
his own inability to speak correctly.
'He could have learned all that in the village,' said Miss Jane.
Lee rose, leant gracefully against the mantelpiece, and addressed
Clacher.
'Clacher,' he said, 'you have unwittingly undertaken a work of
art, and for that you deserve high commendation. You have aspired;
you have done your best. That is sufficient. Success is the only
failure. A compassable aim is an inferior one. Ideals cease to be
when realised. Better succeed in a constant endeavour after the
highest, than fail in aspiration to achieve a result as splendid
as any which history records. These platitudes are not by any
means beside the question, although you don't understand them.'
Here Lee shifted from his easy pose, and stood firmly on his feet.
'Whatever besides madness,' he continued, 'may have led you to
attempt this imposture, is no concern of mine. I am only sorry for
your sake and my own that you cannot continue it further. Variety,
if not the soul, is certainly the body of fiction. I hope that,
although you must go out of our story shortly, at least in your
present capacity, you, or some one else in your sphere of life,
may be enmeshed in this web of circumstance which I help fate to
weave. My brother Robert is at present upstairs. He arrived here
this evening.'
Lee looked at all his auditors severally, thoroughly enjoying the
effect of this extraordinary news.
'O dear! dear!' cried Clacher weakly, tedding his hair and
fidgeting on his seat. 'Naebody daur harm me, I'm mad.'
'Set your mind at rest, Clacher. Nobody will attempt to harm you.'
'Jane,' he continued, 'it was our unfortunate brother whom we
carried upstairs this evening. The woman was his wife.'
Briscoe gasped; but the practical novelist proceeded, smiling, and
proud of his ingenuity.
'He has been going by the name of Lee, Maxwell Lee,' he said,
staring down Briscoe; 'and makes a scanty living by his pen. His
wife is a noble woman, and will not admit his madness; but that he
is mad no one else can have any doubt, because the poor fellow
imagines that he is me. I will tell you his whole history
tomorrow, as far as I know it. I hadn't the remotest idea he was
in Scotland until he appeared to-night----'
The droning of a bagpipe not far off, a strange sound at that time
of night and in the neighbourhood, interrupted him. A very
unskilful attempt at a pibroch succeeded, and as the playing grew
more distinct it was evident that the performer approached the
house. Muriel raised the window-sash, and the tuneless screaming
ceased. Hesitating steps on the gravel were then heard. They
stopped opposite the window, and a high, cracked male voice
quavered out the first verse of Glen's pathetic ballad, 'Wae's me
for Prince Charlie':--
'A wee bird cam tae oor ha' door,
He warbl't sweet an' clearly;
An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang
Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie."
O! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird,
The tears came drappin' rarely;
I took my bonnet off my head,
For well I lo'ed Prince Charlie!'
The voice broke entirely at the last line. Said Lee, 'We'll bring
this minstrel in,' and left the room. In a few seconds he returned
accompanied by a strange figure. It was that of an old man dressed
in a ragged Highland costume. His kilt was of the Stuart tartan.
His black jacket had been garnished with brass buttons; but of
them only a few hung here and there, withered and mouldy; and
numerous little tufts of thread on pocket-lids and cuffs and
breast showed whence their companions had been shed. His sporran
was half-denuded of hair. His hose were holed, and the uppers were
parting company with the soles of his shoes. A black feather
adorned in a very broken-backed manner his Glengarry bonnet. His
pipes he had left in the hall.
There was nothing remarkable in the dress. Such are to be seen any
day in the Trongate of Glasgow, the Canongate of Edinburgh, at
fairs, or wherever the wandering piper may turn a penny. It was
the bearing of the wearer and the cast of his countenance which
commanded attention. As he entered the room he threw back his
head, inclining it a little to the left side; his dim grey eyes
lightened fitfully, and his gait had something of majesty. He
advanced slowly, but without hesitation, and took the seat Lee had
vacated.
Of all those in the room Clacher's face indicated the greatest
interest.
'Friends,' said the newcomer, keeping on his bonnet, and shaking
back his long grey hair, which hung almost to his shoulders, 'I
can trust you. "Nowhere beats the heart so kindly as beneath the
tartan plaid." You haven't the tartans on, and that is right, for
they might betray you. There's a law against the tartan. I wear it
in defiance of the law.'
'Wha are ye, man?' cried Clacher, his face undergoing a sudden
illumination.
'Do you not know me?' said the stranger. 'You will be true. It is
a great sum. Ten thousand pounds. All my own friends have
forgotten me. It is strange, strange. I am changed, I know. I am
Bonnie Prince Charlie.'
'Ha, ha!' screamed Clacher, 'ha, ha, ha!'
'Two of them,' whispered Dempster to himself, rigid with
amazement.
'You astonish me,' said Lee with perfect composure.
'It is sad, I know. I sleep in the woods, and visit the towns at
night. My home is in the bracken. I remember I lived here in
'forty-five. I thought I would revisit the old place to-night. Is
not this Scone Palace?'
'No; this is Snell House.'
'Ah! I lived there too, once. But can you tell me this. Why do
they accuse me of unfaithfulness? "Flora, when thou wert beside
me!" Oh, her eyes were warm and mild like the summer, and her
voice made me weep. It is shameful what they say about me. I never
loved another.'
Clacher, looking absolutely hideous in his excitement, rushed from
his chair, oversetting a small table, and planting himself firmly
before the wondering piper, shouted, 'You are Bonnie Prince
Charlie?'
'I am. Do me no harm.'
'Then you are Robert Chartres, and you did not commit suicide.'
'I am hungry,' said the Prince.
Clacher pulled from his breast-pocket the crumpled letter he had
studied so devoutly in the library, and handing it to Miss Jane,
cried: 'It's a' up noo'. I took that letter frae Maister Willum
Chartres's pooch whan I fand his corp'. Read it, an' ye'll ken my
plot. Gosh, it was a mad yin! Oh, I'm no jist a fule! Naebody daur
harm me. An' you, ye scoon'erel,' he screamed, springing behind
Lee, and pinning his arms to his body with a hug like a bear's,
'ye're mad, ye're mad. I've turn't the tables on ye, I'm
thinking.'
Lee struggled strongly; but Briscoe came to Clacher's help.
'Peter!' exclaimed Lee.
'It's all up, as Clacher says. Every man for himself,' muttered
Briscoe. But he wouldn't look Lee in the face.
'You've spoiled a great scene, Peter,' was all Lee said.
'And who is the man upstairs?' asked Muriel, advancing from the
window.
'You'll get the key of the bedroom in which he is in this pocket,'
said Briscoe, indicating by an uncouth gesture a pocket in his
coat, as he did not wish to release his hold on Lee.
Muriel took the key and left the room.
Miss Jane read and re-read the letter given her by Clacher, and
was still considering it when Muriel returned with her father. He
was not long awake, and had to be supported by his daughter. Miss
Jane recognised him at once and kissed his cheek. There was no
exclaiming. When they came out of it they would know from their
exhaustion how excited they had been. The tears stood in Muriel's
eyes, and her face was very pale, but serenity marked every
lineament.
'Where is Mrs. Lee?' asked Henry Chartres when he had got seated.
At that moment Caroline entered the room. She had remained in the
bedroom Lee had appropriated, afraid lest her interference might
precipitate some rash act on the part of her husband or her
brother; but the bagpipes, the singing, the opening and shutting
of doors, and the loud voices downstairs intimated a crisis of
some kind, and she had concluded at last to have a share in it,
hoping to prevent disaster to her husband, as she judged from the
noise that his control of circumstances had come to an end. As
Caroline entered, the two gardeners and the coachman appeared at
the door, Muriel having sent for them at her father's request.
Muriel looked at Mrs. Lee for a second or two as if debating some
question with herself, and then noiselessly left the room. She
couldn't keep Frank waiting any longer.
'Maxwell Lee,' said Henry Chartres, 'for your wife's sake you go
scot free. She has told me all about you. As for you, Peter
Briscoe, your present action shows what you are. Take him and duck
him well in the horse-pond.'
The coachman and the gardeners, nothing loath, approached Briscoe;
but Lee, having regained his liberty, put himself before his
brother-in-law in an attitude of defence.
'I beg you, sir, not to insist on this,' he said in a passion of
intercession; 'it is mere revenge. I entreat you.'
'But he betrayed you,' said Chartres.
'Well, I suppose the world puts it that way. But he merely acted
independently and without due consideration. That has been the
fault of this work all along: the principal collaborateurs have
been too frequently out of harmony. Since he has chosen to bring
our story to a sudden end in this way, I have no right to
complain. Do not damage your character for magnanimity which these
events have developed so remarkably--a result very gratifying to
me--by a petty revenge on my brother-in-law.'
Chartres signed to the servants to retire. 'You are a strange
man,' he said.
'Miss Chartres,' said Lee, 'in token that you cherish no
deep-rooted feeling against me, will you oblige me by reading that
letter?'
Miss Jane looked at her brother; he assented, and she read:--
'My dear William,--You will be astonished, not very agreeably, I
am afraid, to learn that I am still in the land of the living. I
have been in a state of abject poverty for years. I will not
trouble you with the particulars of my wretched career. I have
burnt up my stomach with drink. Insanity has addled my brain. I am
a beggar, and go about the country--I am ashamed to say it for
your sake--playing the bagpipes. In my mad fits I have repeatedly
tried to commit suicide. At present I am quite sane; the only
difficulty I have is to reconcile my being Robert Chartres with
the fact that I am also Bonnie Prince Charlie. I write this in
London; and I am going to start at once and at last to try and
come to you. It would be better to kill myself; but I am too great
a coward when I am sane. I want to enjoy comfort once more before
I die. If I do not reach you within a month after this letter, I
think you may conclude that I am dead.
'I am, your brother,
'Robert Chartres.'
All eyes turned on the writer of the letter. He was fast asleep in
his chair, smiling like a child.
'Briscoe,' said Lee, you recognised and submitted to the _deus ex
machina_ at once. I would have fought longer, and might yet have
conquered. I am sorry the conclusion is so inartistic, so
improbable. There is nothing more absurd than reality. Clacher, my
fine fellow, you played a bold game; as the attempt of a mad
rascal it was very fair. What a lot of mad people there are! How
small the world is! Ah!' he cried, as Frank and Muriel entered,
'my good lovers! I believe you are even now thanking me for my
opposition.'
'Who is this young gentleman?' asked Mr. Chartres.
'Oh! I found him at the north wall; I knew he would be there,'
said Muriel, radiant, and scarcely knowing what she said.
'Do you frequently find young gentlemen and bring them here in
this way?'
'Oh, papa! His name is Frank Hay, and we are going to be married.'
'I have never seen your like, Muriel,' said Lee, leaving the room.
Briscoe followed him, bestowing a surly nod on Dempster. But
Caroline before she went timidly kissed the hand of the injured
man.
THE END