AFTER TEN YEARS.
A dangerous illness interrupted my writing in the last chapter, and
various circumstances prevented me from continuing it. Latterly I had
become so absorbed in the startling present that I seemed to forget the
past. The sad war, and the still sadder outbreak of materialism and
threatened destruction of all the better portion of the human race: the
war of evil against good--the endeavour to root out all veneration for
anything superior to self--self in its worst form, and this endeavour
fostered and encouraged by men of intellect! To see how few people have
been really impressed by the horrors of Paris burning and the innocent
massacred--how few have taken to heart the rebellion against God, and
all good and holy things! All this has upset my old mind, and perplexed
my heart with horror and dismay.
But now I feel that my years or days must soon end, and I will shortly
relate the events which followed those described in the last chapter.
At last a letter arrived from Carlo, dated C----. He had hoped to find
there some traces of the woman’s family who was said to have married my
uncle, but all he could ascertain was that they had left the place two
years before, and were supposed to be gone to New York. He, however, had
made two discoveries about the family, and learnt the name of a married
sister, which he hoped might be of use.
He also found out that a poor woman who came from the village of Castle
Hall had lived in the same house, and left it with the married sister.
Carlo was much disappointed at not having heard from the man who called
himself Joe Naylor, for that strange individual promised either to go
himself, or send a letter to some people who would help Carlo to
discover the truth. He much feared that the man who called himself Sir
H. Vivian had tampered with Joe, either by purchasing his aid or
silence with some large bribe. He intended now to go in search of this
sister, who had married a shoemaker called Stephen Adams, and had gone,
it was reported, to live at----. There was a postscript to the letter
written three days later, which contained some important news.
Carlo had taken the wise precaution to have a good copy made of my
uncle’s portrait, which Mr. Mordaunt fortunately possessed, and was,
everyone said, an excellent likeness of the handsome man. Carlo had also
gone to Langdale Priory before he left England, or rather to the little
inn at the village near, on purpose to try to get a sight of the usurper
and my worthy guardian, Mr. H. Mordaunt. He wandered about among the
beautiful woods in the park for two days, sketching some of the old
oaks; and he contrived, unseen by the owner and Mr. Mordaunt, to take
very good likenesses of them as they passed along the road not far off.
Carlo had a great turn for drawing likenesses and caricatures, and when
he showed his drawing afterwards to Mr. Mordaunt, he pronounced the
likeness to be perfect.
On reaching C----, his first visit had been to the place where Sir
Charles’s marriage was said to have been celebrated; but the clergyman
who lived there in the year 18--was dead, and a fire had destroyed that
part of the church where the registers were kept. On further inquiries
he heard that the registers were supposed to have been saved, and that
this old clergyman’s son might possibly know what had become of them.
This gentleman, Mr. Hayworth, lived about two days’ journey from the
place, so he resolved to go there before he undertook the longer
expedition. The postscript was written from Mr. Hayworth’s house. He
knew nothing of the registers of----, but on hearing Sir Henry Vivian’s
name, he said that he remembered his marriage, for it occurred on his
return home from school, and on passing by the church on his way home,
he saw a wedding was going on, and heard that an English baronet was
being married to a beautiful Canadian girl. Carlo then asked if he
remembered the gentleman’s face, and said he did perfectly, for it was a
very remarkable one. He described the features as “handsome; but the
expression was anything but pleasant; and his black eyes had a most
sinister look.”
This description did not at all resemble the portrait, for my uncle had
light hair and blue eyes, and the expression of his well-formed features
was peculiarly kind and loveable.
Carlo then showed him the likeness of Sir Henry, and Mr. Hayworth said
most decidedly that was not the man he saw.
“But that is very like him,” he added, as he caught sight of the
sketches Carlo had done of Mr. H. Mordaunt and the impostor. “These are
both like Sir Henry,” he added, as he looked at the likeness with a
puzzled air. “The old one is most like; but then it is only twenty-five
years ago, and he must then have been about the age of the younger of
these two. They must be father and son,” he added, “I should think.”
Carlo explained to him that they were only distantly related; and as Mr.
Hayworth seemed a very intelligent man, with a good, honest-looking
face, Carlo told him the whole story. He seemed to take a deep interest
in it, and he promised to have a search instituted for the missing
registers, which he thought might possibly have been rescued; but as the
fire did not occur during his father’s life, and his family had left the
place long before, he knew nothing about them at that moment.
* * * * *
It would fill volumes if I were to relate the various adventures which
befel Carlo in his further search for evidence against the impostor who
had obtained possession of my property. The remainder, too, of Norah’s
history, the Duc de Luna’s energetic efforts to discover what had become
of Sir Alfred Rivers, and his eventual success, would fill a good-sized
volume.
With regard to myself, suffice it to say that Carlo succeeded in proving
beyond all doubt that the man passed off by Mr. Henry Mordaunt as the
rightful heir to my uncle’s property was in reality his own illegitimate
son, and no sooner were they both confronted with the fact than they
fled from England, and never troubled us again.
Our Mr. Mordaunt was, I need hardly say, very vociferous in his
commendations of Carlo’s cleverness in having unravelled the mystery,
and damaged, I understand, several articles of furniture by the
energetic thumps he gave them in describing the particulars to various
friends and acquaintances.
A year and a half after Cunigunda’s death, Aunt Jane and I attended the
joyful wedding of Dorina and Count Rossi. The old chapel, which had been
turned into a banqueting-room at Castle Hall, was restored to its
original use, and there the marriage was celebrated.
Three years later, there were two marriages in the parish on the same
day, and a splended _fête_ was given to the neighbours, poor and rich,
by Dorina. Norah was married to Sir Alfred Rivers, in the old village
church at ten o’clock, and I acted as one of her bridesmaids in the
dress of a bride. We all then proceeded to Castle Hall, where I was
united to Carlo in the restored chapel, according to the form of faith
in which he had been brought up. Of course we spent our honeymoon at my
father’s house, Langdale Priory, where we have passed the chief part of
our happy lives.
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] This scene really occurred; the child made use of these exact
words, which were related to me by my dear friend Lady Gifford.
[B] Where we meet with many such comforting passages as the following:--
(Page 108.) “Until we account for the knowledge which an infant has of
his mother, or his nurse, what reason have we to take exception at the
doctrine as strange and difficult, that in the dictate of conscience,
without previous experiences or analogical reasoning, he is able
gradually to perceive the voice, or the echoes of the voice, of a
Master, living, personal, and sovereign?”
(Page 195.) “Again, this intellectual anxiety, which is incompatible
with certitude, shows itself in our running back in our minds to the
arguments on which we came to believe, in not letting our conclusions
alone, in going over and strengthening the evidence, and, as it were,
getting it by heart, as if our highest assent were only an inference.
And such, too, is our unnecessarily declaring that we are certain,
as if to re-assure ourselves, and our appealing to others for their
suffrage in behalf of the truths of which we are so sure; which is like
our asking another whether we are weary or hungry, or have eaten and
drunk to our satisfaction.”
(Page 209.) “Introspection of our intellectual operations is not the
best means for preserving us from intellectual hesitations. To meddle
with the springs of thought and action is really to weaken them; and
as to that argumentation which is the preliminary to certitude, it may
indeed be unavoidable, but, as in the case of other serviceable allies,
it is not so easy to discard it, after it has done its work, as it was
in the first instance to obtain its assistance * * *
“Objections and difficulties tell upon the mind; it may lose its
elasticity, and be unable to throw them off. And thus, even as regards
things which it may be absurd to doubt, we may, in consequence of
some past suggestion of the possibility of error, or of some chance
association to their disadvantage, be teased from time to time, and
hampered by involuntary questionings, as if we were not certain when we
are.”