“WHERE IS MY BROTHER?”
Isabel and her mother now forgot some of their own fear when they saw
Lady Randal so unnerved.
It had been a matter of great mystery to them how their prisoner
escaped, and it seemed that it was about to be explained; and Mrs.
Coolidge, with her ready wit, began to think that the skeleton of the
house was to be revealed also.
“This person,” Adrian resumed, “proved to be a young man by the name
of——”
“Oh, spare me!—in mercy, spare me, Adrian!” cried the guilty woman,
springing toward him, with outstretched hands and agonizing face.
“Spare you? Have you spared your own flesh and blood?” demanded Adrian,
sternly. “Have you ever felt an atom of mercy for your own son, whom,
for over twenty years, you have doomed to almost solitary confinement,
away from the sunlight and fresh air, depriving him of the simplest
rights which a human being craves—liberty and his own place in the
world? Oh, heartless mother that you are! it is but just and right that
the world should know that Herbert Randal, your third son, because of a
deformity with which God saw fit to afflict him, has been loathed by the
woman who bore him, and that, to further the interests of your favorite
child, you have kept him secreted for years, hoping that, in his feeble
state, every year would be his last, and your guilty course never become
known. But God is merciful, and the time for restitution is at hand;
and, be it known to you, it was through him Miss Douglas was released
from her confinement.”
He then went on and explained at length how it had transpired; how he
had found Brownie, cold and trembling, and exhausted from excitement and
terror, in the grove in the rear of the Hall, and had persuaded her to
give him the right to protect her at once.
He explained their journey to London, in company with Nurse Clum and
Milly, and concluded by saying:
“We intended returning hither immediately, but unforeseen circumstances
prevented; and when at length I was enabled to come, you were gone to
the Continent. We should not have intruded upon you to-day had we not
deemed it best to secure this casket before Sir Charles and his wife
should leave again.”
When the young man concluded there was an awkward silence for a few
moments, except for Mrs. Coolidge’s whispering to Isabel, and then,
lifting her haggard face, Lady Randal asked:
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“What are we going to do about it, madam?” exclaimed Lord Dunforth, in
astonished tones. “I should ask, what are you going to do about it? Of
course, we all expect to see justice done at once.”
“You shall,” she said, eagerly; adding: “Yes, it is all true. We were
traveling that summer when he was born; we were stopping just at the
time in a picturesque village in Savoy, and my husband was called away
to Paris on business. He was absent a fortnight, during which time
Herbert was born. I can never tell you,” she went on, shuddering, “what
a frightful object he was. His present appearance is nothing to what he
was as a baby, and I prayed the nurse to take him from my sight, and
never let me look upon him again. My husband was detained long beyond
the time he had anticipated, so that at the end of three weeks I was
well and strong again. Then it came to me that, as he had not been with
me, and fully believing that the child could not live long anyway—both
the doctor and the nurse affirmed it—I deemed it would be better to keep
all knowledge of its existence from him. I could not travel with it in
its feeble state, and it would be exceedingly painful to do so if I
could, so I made arrangements with the nurse to care for it as long as
it should live, and never let any one know whose child it was.
“I wrote my husband that my child had been born, telling him it was
better it should die, since such a poor little cripple could not live
long at the most, and said I would join him in Paris in a few days, as
it was intolerable for me to remain longer where I had suffered such a
severe disappointment. When I met him he seemed grieved and sorrowful,
yet he never questioned me further, and so I kept my secret until his
death. After that I concluded to bring the child here, since the nurse
wrote me that he was getting unmanageable, and so I fitted up those
secret chambers as comfortable as I could, and have kept him there. God
knows that I could not wilfully have wronged the child so, but after
that first concealment it seemed impossible to confess his existence,
and so it has gone on until now.”
“Have you never considered the sufferings and feelings of the poor boy?”
demanded his lordship, wrathfully.
“Oh, yes,” she moaned; “but I saw no way out of it without bringing
disgrace upon Charles and all of us.”
“Do you think he would uphold you in such a deed?”
“No, no! Oh, how you torture me! But,” she said, looking up pitifully,
“you will not take any public action against me?”
“Public action!” he repeated, contemptuously. “Could any public action
restore those twenty years of his lost life to the poor boy? No; but I
want justice now.”
“He shall have it. I will strive as far as I can to repair the injury I
have done him, just as soon as we are through with the wedding—that is,
if Isabel is willing to go on with it after this,” she said, regarding
the young girl somewhat doubtfully.
Mrs. Coolidge’s heart leaped at this; it was just the condition of all
others she most desired Lady Randal to be in. Rising, she went over to
her side, and holding out her hand, said with an appearance of great
magnanimity:
“I regret exceedingly that anything so very dreadful should have
occurred, but we have all done wrong. I am ready to acknowledge my share
regarding Mrs. Dredmond. Shall we then overlook each other’s faults, and
still allow our children, who are not to blame, to be happy?”
“And you will not betray me to Charles just yet?” she gasped.
“Certainly not; you must confide in him yourself when you think proper.
I think myself it would be wiser not to tell him until after his return
from his tour, for it might destroy all his pleasure. When once he is
settled at home again, then all these things can be explained,” she
said, suavely.
Lord Dunforth, towering aloft in his indignation, advanced, and stood
before the two women.
“No, madam,” he said, firmly; “you may hide what else you choose from
him, but Sir Charles must be acquainted this day—nay, this hour—with the
fact that he has a brother.”
The attention of all was at this moment attracted by a slight noise at
the other end of the drawing-room.
Another instant and they were thunderstruck to behold Sir Charles
himself staggering toward them like a drunken man. His face was haggard
and drawn, as if he had but just recovered from a convulsion; even his
lips were white and rigid, while his forehead shone with the clammy
moisture which a fierce agony had drawn forth.
Isabel sprang forward, with a sharp cry of pain, but he warded her off
by a motion of his hand.
His mother shrieked.
“Oh, Charles, have you heard?” and Mrs. Coolidge shrank back appalled at
this unexpected turn of affairs.
“Yes,” he said, in a hollow voice, and casting a look of withering
contempt upon Isabel. “I see now why you were so anxious to get rid of
me. I mistrusted something was not right, and after sending Brown to the
village to execute your commission, I came in by the lawn window, as it
was nearer. I entered just as Mrs. Dredmond opened the casket of jewels,
and instantly a great deal was explained to me. I was so overcome by the
discovery that I dropped upon the divan behind the curtains, where I
have remained, a silent witness of all that has occurred in this room.”
Adrian, deepest sympathy in his face, went to him, and taking his hand,
said, with emotion:
“Believe me, Charles, God knows I would have saved you from this if I
could. You do not deserve it.”
He groaned aloud at these words of sympathy; then wringing his hand he
dropped it, and advancing to his mother, demanded, in cold, hard tones:
“Madam, where is my brother?”
“Your brother—oh, my boy!” she began, between her sobs.
“Yes, my brother. I demand him at your hands, and may God forgive you
for your iniquity—I am afraid I never can.”
The shriek which burst from her died suddenly upon her lips, and the
look of anguish in her eyes froze into one of terror, as the
drawing-room door slowly swung back, revealing a strange picture within
its frame—the little, bent form of Lady Ruxley, her old and withered
face full of a stern resolve, one hand resting upon her cane, the other
upon the arm of Herbert Randal!