'Where's the key?'

'The key?' said Shady, looking at him calmly.

'Yes, the key,' repeated Bloodworth, his natural fierceness

returning; 'I tell you I wish to see him.'

'You can see him,' said Shady, looking up as if calculating, 'at

eleven o'clock to-morrow, if you will ride so far.'

Bloodworth could scarcely speak for emotion, but controlling himself

said, 'Shady, my friend, you are disposed to be pleasant, but do not

trifle with me just now. Let me have the key; I must see this man;

what reason did he give you for saying he would not see me?'

'I do not know that you were in his thoughts at all,' said Shady

calmly, 'when he said he wanted no intruders; but I believe I know

his reason for seeking seclusion.'

'You do?' said Bloodworth, his lips growing white, and his eyes fixed

earnestly upon him.

'Yes, he preferred to be alone.'

'Is that all? Then give me the key.'

'I am under promise.'

'Give me the key!' said Bloodworth, choking with ill-concealed

passion.

'Nay, then, if you are bent on it, I must return with you and

explain, and leave the gentleman, whose name I could not catch, to

arrange with you according as he is affected.'

The cool determination with which Higgs said this exhausted the

remains of the steward's temper, and he demanded the key in violent

language, Shady remaining perfectly unmoved, though his face became

serious, and expressed as much aversion as he could feel.

'It is better that your venom should fall upon the unworthy,' he

said, with a placidity that only exasperated the railer. How far the

altercation would have proceeded is doubtful, but, happily for Higgs,

it was suddenly closed by Dr. Cruden.

'Mr. Bloodworth, I was told, when at a short distance from the house,

that you must have entered it about the time that I left; now I

particularly wish to have some conversation with you, so I turned my

horse. Higgs, it is private business,' he said, nodding to Shady,

who, with an air of much satisfaction, left the steward with one far

better able, as he felt, to cope with him than himself.

The doctor looked at his watch. 'I have already spent some hours

here, Mr. Bloodworth, and am far beyond my usual time for dinner; but

I am so deeply interested in the affairs of your master, that I am

determined if possible to come to an understanding with you as

to--that--in fact, pray, Mr. Bloodworth, what is the meaning of all

this? I find Sir Valary suffering from severe nervous shocks, owing

entirely to your interviews with him. Though known to be one of the

richest men in the county, and possessing as liberal a heart as a

gentleman of his station ought to have, his household, I find, is

limited to bare necessities, and even the young lady his daughter has

no command of money. What does it all mean, Mr. Bloodworth? I must

tell you in plain English that the whole is laid at your door.'

All this was said in the heat and rapidity of indignation, and it was

about the last kind of attack that the doctor had meditated making.

He had ridden back hastily, and had settled as he rode what would be

the wisest way of handling the steward, so as to get at the secret.

'I must take him quietly,' he said to himself, 'make no charges,

suspect nothing;' and he had even prepared the opening of his

harangue; but the sight of Bloodworth, his face inflamed with

passion, looking much as Marjory had described him on his last visit

to Sir Valary, had completely thrown him off his balance, and all his

wise resolutions went to the winds. The steward felt the advantage

of his position, and said somewhat sullenly, if Sir Valary had any

complaint to make of him, he would hear it from himself; he was

answerable to no one else; and with regard to the expenditure of the

household, he was not responsible for that; but Sir Valary was not

the only rich man in the world that chose rather to live like a poor

one; however, it was not his duty to interfere in such matters; he

supposed Sir Valary had a right to spend or save without accounting

to any one.

'Well, well, well, well,' said the doctor, vexed with himself for his

rashness, 'I spoke hastily; but you must know, Bloodworth, that you

are the talk of the country, and that people consider you have

obtained such an influence over Sir Valary, that you can get him to

consent to anything, and, therefore, all the hard measures with

tenants, and the penurious way in which he lives, are ascribed to

you.'

Bloodworth shrugged his shoulders. 'I never cared much for what

people said of me,' he answered.

'Very good,' said the doctor; 'it's a fine thing to have a clear

conscience; but what I want to know is, why latterly your visits have

excited him so strangely?'

After a short pause, Bloodworth, who kept his eyes fixed on the

ground all the time, scarcely raising them, said, 'Sir Valary is very

much altered lately; things that did not fret him fret him now; the

business that I am obliged to tell him makes him furious--that is no

fault of mine.'

'But your own behaviour the last time?' said the doctor, in a voice

which showed that Bloodworth's words had not been without some effect.

'Well, I was wrong, and I own it; I am a bad temper; I get ill-will

every way; there is not a tenant that wouldn't shoot me if he could;

the people at the house hate me worse than a dog; the squire has no

name bad enough for me--and all because I follow out Sir Valary's

directions; and then when I go to him to tell him what I've done, and

find him take everything the wrong way, it puts me off, and I forget

myself; I did last time, I know it, and I am sorry for it.'

He said this with an air of so much candour, with something so like

injured innocence, that he quite won the doctor, who was a far better

adept in detecting the evil workings of the body than the secret

mischiefs of the mind.

'But,' he said, considerably mollified, 'you have been in Sir

Valary's secrets for many years; can't you now help us to deliver his

mind from some very oppressive burden--we know not what--that lies on

it? Don't you know of anything which leads him to this strange way

of living, which it would be better for his friends also to know?'

'Supposing I did, sir,' said Bloodworth, 'have I any right to betray

my master's confidence? But can you suppose, sir, that he would tell

me anything except about money matters, that he would keep from Miss

De la Mark, or from you?'

What could the doctor say to so much reason? 'It is really very

mysterious,' he said, after a pause. 'Well, as I've undertaken Sir

Valary's medical condition, you cannot wonder that I am in every way

interested for his health; and I assure you I tremble to think of his

having such another attack as the last one you left him in.'

'You see, sir,' said Bloodworth, very well satisfied with the victory

he had gained, 'I get sore at heart sometimes; but I promise you to

do my best to tell him as little to vex him as I can; and I hope I'll

learn to keep my own temper as I ought to do; and if you would be so

good as to make my peace with my young lady, sir, I should be glad;'

and so they parted, the doctor going towards the house with a mixed

feeling.

'The man speaks fair enough; but then, here is this about Bet Eggs.

If I could have asked him about that--I almost wish I had; it was on

the tip of my tongue; however, it was as well to keep it in. I'll

have a little talk with Marjory, and calm her feelings towards him.'

Bloodworth meantime stood watching him as he went. 'If I could

dispose of all my troubles as easily as this,' he thought, 'I

shouldn't have much to fear;' and a bitter and derisive smile for a

moment rested on his features. To obtain the key of the portrait

gallery was now his business. When he returned to the tower in

search of Shady, he found the librarian quietly resting in one of the

deep windows, arranging some plants for his young lady, while

awaiting the call of Sir Valary.

'Higgs, I hope you've come to your senses.'

Shady smiled.

'Come, I've been hindered long enough; let me have that key.'

Shady immediately produced it. 'You will return it to me, Mr.

Bloodworth, when you have done with it, as it is my office to lay all

the keys on Sir Valary's table at night.'

'Higgs,' said the steward, as he clutched the key. 'I have been a

good friend to you and yours; are you joining with the rest against

me?'

Shady, raising his eyebrows, looked at him without answering.

'I say, are you going to turn against me?' he repeated.

'Not that I am aware of,' said Shady.

'You'll all know better some day.'

'That I believe, in most things. For myself, I hope it sincerely;

but in this particular I do not quite see your meaning.'

'Yes, you do; you don't take me in with your mock simplicity. You

know how I've helped you, and your grandmother before you.'

'I am no mocker, Mr. Bloodworth,' said Shady with dignity; 'and I

deny that you have ever helped me; how you helped my grandmother

Elizabeth you best know.'

'Ah! there it is, there's the gratitude I get,' said Bloodworth, who

felt that Shady was in no spirit to be tampered with. 'I wish I'd

never seen one of your name!' he growled, as he was leaving the

apartment.

'Mr. Bloodworth,' said Shady, with a slight cough, 'you'll excuse my

calling you back, but I should be sorry to forget my duty, through

any natural rising of the heart against your very unmerited and

unexpected attack, and therefore, in order to save you unnecessary

trouble, may I ask whether you require that key for the same purposes

which induced you to demand it before?'

'Of course I do,' said Bloodworth quickly.

'Ah!' said Shady, 'I guessed it might be so; then permit me to say

that the gentleman whose name I could not catch is no longer there.'

'Not there!'

'No,' said Shady, again turning to his plants; 'having pledged myself

to preserve him in privacy, and concluding that you would again

demand the key, I informed him of my dilemma--which was that I must

fail in respect either to him or to you; upon which he departed.'

'Which way?' muttered the steward, as soon as he could control his

voice to utter the words.

'I didn't think he would wish to be followed,' said Shady coolly,

'and therefore did not observe him.'

'Let him go!' said the steward, with an oath, throwing the key to

Shady; 'I'll remember you for this!'

'And I'll do my best to forget you for this,' said Shady, rubbing his

leg, against which the key had struck with some force. 'In some way

or other, I fear he is a bad man. How pleasant to turn to these

innocent things!' tenderly looking at the flowers, 'after contention

with the rude passions of men--yes, and even of women,' he mentally

added, as Mrs. Gillies crossed his mind.

CHAPTER VII.

'The fact is, Jobson,' said Mr. Brimble, 'there's a skeleton cupboard

in every man's house, and mine hasn't escaped that ugly piece of

furniture.'

The squire was at his dinner-table, which the ladies had not long

left, and at which the stranger had that day been a guest.

'I married to please myself, and not my father, and he took an

effectual way of showing me that he had that view of it, by

disinheriting me. It did not happen to be of any consequence, as far

as the money went, for Mrs. Brimble had more than we wanted. I was

obliged to part with my name, and take hers, before I could lay hold

of her property; but as I have no sons, that is a trifle. When a man

gets to grey hairs, he knows what a name is worth; though I believe

the girls would rather be poor De la Marks than rich Brimbles--at

least they fancy so now; but money is a vastly comfortable thing,

Jobson, and glory without it is very hungry work.'

'You had another brother?' said the stranger, moving aside the wine

which the squire pushed towards him.

'I had,' said the squire sorrowfully; 'did you ever hear of him?'

'Yes; I knew one who was intimate with him abroad; he was strongly

attached to you.'

'Attached!' said the squire, with an agitated voice; 'we had but one

heart. He ought now to be at Parker's Dew; instead of that--there,'

said the squire, emptying his glass; 'I won't say any more, and I

give myself great credit. Come,' he continued cheerfully, 'who was

it that knew Eustace?'

'A stranger to you,' was the reply; 'but, Mr. Brimble, I knew your

brother myself.'

'Hah!' said the squire starting; 'knew him, and you never told me.'

'No,' said the stranger; 'the truth is, I loved him, and you reminded

me of him so much, when first I saw you, that I should have found it

difficult to speak of him.'

'They always thought us alike,' said the squire gently, leaning his

head down to hide the tears that filled his eyes. 'Well'--stretching

out his hand--'we have now indeed a bond of union. Tell me all you

remember about him.'

'All I remember of him?' said the stranger, with a smile, grasping

the proffered hand; 'I cannot do that to-night; it is now'--

A violent ringing and the sudden entrance of a servant put a stop to

the conversation, 'Dr. Cruden, sir, has just come from Parker's Dew,

and wishes to see you alone. I have shown him into your room.'

'I am alone,' said the squire; 'tell him I've only a particular

friend with me, and the wine's on the table. He's one of the best

little fellows in the world, the doctor is,' he said, as the door

closed; 'but he's continually croaking at me about a reconciliation

with that fellow that turned poor Eustace out of his place to get

into it. Every time he starves himself into a low fever, he comes

here telling me he is going to die. I won't see him alone.'

The servant re-entered, 'Dr. Cruden, sir, cannot see you in the

presence of anybody; his compliments, and he will not detain you.'

And, having received no answer, the man respectfully closed the door.

'Don't you go to the ladies yet, Jobson,' said the squire, as he

reluctantly followed the servant. 'I shall soon dispose of the

doctor's confab, and send him into the drawing-room for some music,

and then you and I can finish our wine and our talk together.'

'My dear sir,' said Dr. Cruden, as soon as he saw him, 'I've

something most important to communicate.'

'I'm very sorry for it; people should never talk of important things

at this time of night--it's the way to get nightmare, and you ought

to know that. Come now, put it off till to-morrow; they are all in

fine order for music in the drawing-room; and there's your sister,

that you haven't seen for this fortnight, and your bed is ready

always. Come now,' laying his hand upon his shoulder, with a

heartiness that shook the doctor's frame, but not his purpose.

'My good friend,' he said solemnly, 'I do assure you what I have to

say cannot be put off; your brother is ill, seriously ill.'

'So he has been once a fortnight, regularly, for the last three

years, according to your account.'

'I beg you to be serious,' said the doctor, shaking his head; 'I

question if he will recover this attack.'

'Oh, you are a capital hand at questioning; but what do you want me

to do?'

'I want you'--said the doctor slowly; 'but you will promise me to be

calm?' he said, laying his hand on the squire's arm, for he could not

reach his shoulder.

'Now, don't be _impressive_,' said the squire, 'but out with it.

I'll forgive him, send him anything, do anything for him but go

there.'

'_The_ very thing I wish you to do,' said the doctor.

'Pshaw, nonsense! What! turn out at this time of night, to see a man

that you kill regularly with every full moon--not I. Now, doctor,

you know I've no illwill towards him, old screw as he is--and that is

not saying the worst of him. And as to poor little Marjory, I would

do for her as for my own child; but I haven't forgotten how you

served me before. I said then that while he lived I'd never darken

the doors of Parker's Dew.'

'My dear squire,' said the doctor, 'I can assure you he was entirely

innocent of that; I believe Bloodworth was at the bottom of it.'

'I wish he were at the bottom of the sea.'

'We can't spare him just yet, to go so far,' said the doctor drily;

'but now let me tell you, we have made a little progress into an

important discovery. All Sir Valary's strange conduct, I think, may

be accounted for. There is a mystery which we are beginning to

unravel, and I hope with your help'--

'Come and have some wine,' said the squire. '_I_ unravel a mystery!

cut it up, that's my advice.'

'Dear, dear,' said the doctor, much vexed, 'you will spoil everything

by your impetuosity. I tell you the truth; I think Sir Valary will

die unless his mind is relieved. Bloodworth must be discharged from

the stewardship, and we have no means of getting rid of him.'

'Shoot him!' said the squire angrily.

'Shoot him, and send him to the bottom of the sea! That would be a

severe dismissal.'

'No more than he deserves,' muttered the squire.

'Let us keep to common sense,' said the doctor. 'I feel sure that if

you would come to see him, Sir Valary would hold out to you the right

hand of brotherly fellowship. I do assure you he is a poor,

shattered creature; and if you would but befriend that poor girl now,

by helping him to get rid of Bloodworth, you would be thankful for

having done it all the days of your life. Come now,' he continued,

seeing that the squire was relenting, 'I have scarcely been at home

for these three days; I have come in my own chaise now, thinking to

save time, to take you back at once. Every hour is of consequence,'

he said quickly, in answer to the squire's unpromising look and shrug.

'Come and have a glass of wine, and we'll talk about it, and I'll

introduce you to Jobson; he was an intimate friend of poor Eustace.

We were just talking about him when you came.'

The doctor made a faint protestation that he wanted neither wine nor

Mr. Jobson; but when once Mr. Brimble had entered upon action it was

not a little that could stop him; so, with a sigh of regret, he

followed the squire to the dining-room. What occurred there shall

appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII.

'Mr. Cruden--Mr. Jobson, an intimate friend of poor Eu. Now, doctor,

draw to the fire--the nights are getting quite chilly;' and the

squire rang the bell.

'Have the horses taken from the doctor's chaise, and let them be well

attended to.'

'My dear sir, no, no!' urged the doctor, attempting to stop the order.

'Why, man, you would never disgrace yourself by taking those poor

brutes back again to-night: the merciful man is kind to his beast.'

'But I must go back,' cried the doctor.

'Well, then, put the greys in when the doctor is ready. One of our

fellows can take yours back to-morrow--they shan't go away to-night;

I'll answer for it they have done enough for to-day. So, now, sit

down, and tell me your story; but first taste this claret--it's the

king of my cellar at present. Jobson says it's excellent; but I

can't make him drink any.'

The doctor gave himself up in despair for the time being, feeling

that there was no possibility of stemming the tide; so he sat down in

silence, filled with chagrin, taking little notice of Mr. Jobson,

whose back was towards the light, obscuring his face. This

circumstance, the difference in his dress, and the absence of all

idea of seeing him there, together with the perturbation of his

spirits, prevented immediate recognition of the stranger on the part

of the doctor.

'So Bloodworth has been at his tricks, has he? Well, I'm glad there

is an idea of ousting him; but you will never get it done. The best

thing that could be done for Valary would be to bankrupt him, and

send him to the Union; he would live better there, and so would all

his family, than they do in that grim old place: it has never been

the same since he had it.'

'Come, come,' said the doctor, giving a glance at the stranger; 'it

is neither the time nor the place to take up old grievances.'

'Not the time? Why, hasn't his gruel disagreed with him, and made

his conscience troublesome, and sent you to fetch me out to quiet it!

I say it's just the time. As to the place, it's a very comfortable

one, and the only thing to make such an uncomfortable subject

tolerable; so begin at once. Don't wink towards Jobson,' he added,

with a mischievous laugh; 'he may as well know what all the world

knows.'

As to being angry with the squire, it was impossible under the

greatest provocation; he managed to keep all personal ill-feeling at

bay; he overcame every one with a certain frank benevolence that was

irresistible.

The doctor and the stranger joined in the laugh, and for the first

time the former looked fairly at the latter; he was struck with doubt

and surprise.

'You'll excuse me,' he said; 'has Mr. Jobson been long with you?'

The stranger placed himself in the light and bowed, enjoying the

effect of his silent answer.

'Well, this is marvellous,' said the doctor. 'I shall begin to

believe I have been in fairyland.'

'Ha, ha, ha! a bright set of fairies you have been among,' said the

squire. 'Somebody said they had worn out all their clothes, and Val

had made them take to the old armour. Fancy fairies flying about in

old armour!' and again he laughed. But the doctor's face grew more

and more solemn--a fact which only increased the squire's merriment.

'Sir,' said the doctor with earnest gravity, 'may I ask who you are?'

'Now, that's your way of putting a question. I should have said,

"When I have asked, will you tell me?"' said the squire, not

recovered from his laugh.

'Oh, really, squire, this is very ill-timed,' said the doctor;

'and--and I may say unfeeling. I beg your pardon, but really it is'--

'As to unfeeling,' said Mr. Brimble, now serious, 'I've told you I

don't believe a word about Valary's dying; he'll outlive us all--the

worst always stay till the last; he will starve his own party out of

the world, and then remain to plague us. You may shake your head;

you are not the only man that shakes his head when there is nothing

in it.'

'I believe I must turn you out of the conference, and take to Mr.

Jobson,' said the doctor good-humouredly, for gravity, he saw, was of

no avail. 'I wish I could starve you into a sober mind.'

'Sober nonsense!--drink some claret: I'm sure you must want some, for

there's nothing but sawdust in Valary's cellar, I'll answer for it.'

'Well, now, listen to me,' said the doctor. 'I know I have given

some false alarms; but this is no false alarm; and I promise you, if

I am proved an ignoramus this time, to let things go as they will

hereafter without interfering. As to seeing poor Marjory wither away

without stirring a hand to help, or raising a voice for her, that man

is not a man who could do it.'

'I honour you. Chivalry for ever! And poor little Madge, that I

haven't spoken to since she was a few inches long, shall have help,

and we'll all go to their rescue--say to-morrow morning.'

'Ah! that's of no use. Sir Valary had a bad fit yesterday. If

another should come, his mind may not be clear, and he wishes for

reconciliation: he does, I am convinced.'

'Ah! but you have a happy knack of being convinced of whatever you

happen to wish. Now, I daresay you were quite convinced that I

should return with you to-night.'

'Till I saw you, I confess,' said the doctor somewhat ruefully; 'but

I might have known better.'

'Of course you might; hasn't he had the same fits for years, and is

his intellect any the worse?'

The stranger interposed. 'You'll excuse my speaking' (to Mr.

Brimble); 'but what if Dr. Cruden were to give a narrative of the

facts that brought him to-night? If you'd give a patient hearing,

you might judge whether the doctor's anxiety has magnified the

necessity for prompt measures.'

'Capital plan,' said the squire. 'Go on, doctor; I'll listen.

Jobson, pass the wine: it'll be a new story to you, but an old one to

me; but mind, facts--no mysteries: they're altogether out of my way.'

'Well, there is a mystery now at Parker's Dew,' said the doctor.

'No doubt, and that is how Valary ever got there,' said the squire

quickly.

'I believe you are right; and, as this gentleman is a friend of

yours, and was the friend of your brother, perhaps I may speak about

that very thing before him?'

The stranger rose to leave the room.

'Sit down,' said the squire, holding his arm. 'Go on, doctor.'

'The facts, then, are these. A short time since, Bloodworth went to

the Dew and saw Sir Valary, and whatever passed between them had such

an effect on him that he was placed in a most critical situation.

During his rambling state of mind, when the violence of the attack

was passing, Marjory noticed that he repeatedly asked for Elizabeth

Higgs. You remember her, squire?'

'Old Bet? of course,' said the squire, with a nod.

'"She is dead, long ago dead, father," said Marjory, over and over

again; but he moaned out, "No, she is not; she will rob you of

everything," or something to that effect.'

'He ought to be ashamed of himself,' said the squire; 'old Bet was as

honest as the day; but he fancies every one is like himself and

Bloodworth.'

'Pray, don't!' expostulated the doctor. 'Well, when he was quite

well and calm, Marjory told him of this; he looked vexed, at first,

that he had disclosed so much, but afterwards confessed to her that

there were reasons why the life or death of that woman was a matter

of great importance to him, and that he had lately heard she was

living; and Marjory gathered that Bloodworth had told him so. The

first time I was alone with Sir Valary after Marjory had told me

this,--which was on the very day that she met with you, sir,--I

gently led the way to the subject, having first discovered, through

the medium of Mr. Jobson, who knew the old woman, that she was really

dead.'

'What! knew Bet Eggs?' said the squire, 'Why, Jobson, I shall get

quite afraid of you, and begin to talk about fairies myself.'

'It was not very remarkable, when you know how the acquaintance was

brought about,' said the stranger, smiling.

'Go on, doctor,' said the squire, who was beginning to get interested.

'Well, as I said, I led to the subject indirectly--gently.'

'Leave you alone for finessing,' said the squire; 'now, I should have

gone straight at him at once.'

'And missed your aim, squire--I knew better. Very gently I got him

to talk of old times, and then I brought the woman Higgs upon the

carpet, and mentioned, just incidentally, that I had met with a

person who had actually seen her buried--not assuming, you understand

me, that Sir Valary had any interest in her death, nor even hinting

at such a thing.'

'Well,' said the squire, 'go on.'

'Well, he didn't speak at first; he became much agitated, which I

pretended not to notice; and after I had changed the subject, and he

had recovered, he said, "Are you _sure_ of that woman's death? I

heard lately that she was living." I told him I believed there was

no doubt of it, but if he had any interest in her, as an old servant,

I would get indubitable proof for him. He said quickly, "I wish you

could." Now this gentleman, my informant, has been the object of my

search ever since, but I could get no clue to him. I was afraid of

making direct inquiry, lest I should excite suspicion in Bloodworth,

who has been very uneasy and changed in his manner lately. Yesterday

morning he went to the Dew, and had a long interview with Sir Valary,

the result of which was the severest attack I ever saw him in. I

really can't see what Bloodworth has to do with it; the man is

reasonable enough to speak to; but Sir Valary's state last night, and

the whole of to-day, plainly indicates that there _must_ be

interference--that Sir Valary must be treated as incapable of

conducting his own affairs, and Bloodworth made accountable to

others, or else altogether ejected.'

'Now, do you see,' said the squire, when the doctor had finished, 'I

have had this story, almost word for word, except Bet Eggs, over and

over again; Valary quarrels with Bloodworth, gets into a rage, has a

fit, and frightens them all. Well, that is as far as the play has

gone yet. Now comes the second part. Bloodworth comes, begs pardon,

is forgiven, and they are thicker than ever. I tell you, doctor, I

would as soon interfere between a man and his wife as between those

two.'

'You are hard to convince,' said the doctor. 'Mr. Jobson, you seem

an authority with Mr. Brimble. I wish you would say a word; at any

rate, I wish you would give me some evidence that Sir Valary will

believe, of the death of that woman.'

The stranger fixed his eyes for a moment on the fire, then turning to

the squire said, 'The death of that woman is of importance--at least,

so Sir Valary thinks. Bloodworth is a desperate villain, as I have

good reason to know.'

'You!' said the squire, almost breathless.

'Yes, I have _known_ him for many years, though I never saw him till

lately.'

'Well,' said the squire, throwing back his head and putting his hands

in his pockets, 'I give you up.'

'Don't do that; you have shown such generosity in taking me almost

entirely on my own testimony, that you must not stumble at trifles.'

'You are an odd fellow,' said the squire, looking at him; 'but I

believe in you.'

'Do you know this?' asked the stranger, taking a miniature from his

pocket.

'Know it!' said the squire; 'why, it's Eu; I remember the case. It

was done before he was married.'

A knock at the door, and the entrance of a servant with a note,

almost made the squire angry. 'What does this mean?' he said,

looking at the address.

'What! ---- Vandercroft, Esquire! What did you bring it here for?'

The servant said it was for the gentleman who lodged at Biddy Sparks'.

[Illustration: 'THIS IS FROM SHADY EGGS. I SHALL READ IT ALOUD.']

Mr. Brimble looked inquiringly at the stranger, who immediately took

the note. 'Leave it with me,' he said to the servant. 'This,' he

continued, 'is from Shady Eggs. I shall read it aloud.'

'"RESPECTED SIR,--I trust you will excuse the incorrectness of

putting a dash before your name, also any mistake I may have made in

spelling it, should it be erroneously written. I have to inform you

that Mr. Bloodworth, the steward to Sir Valary de la Mark, has

pertinaciously endeavoured to discover your address, which I have, to

the best of my poor ability, kept from him. If you desire to avoid

an interview with him, as I divined was the case from your manner in

the portrait gallery, I warn you that he now knows of your abode;

that is, if it continues to be in the apartments at Mrs. Sparks',

which you bespoke when I had the honour of being with you in the

public vehicle. I do not love to interfere in other men's matters;

and truly, with no malice to Mr. Bloodworth, but with respectful

consideration for you, I write these few lines,

"And am, your servant to command,

"SHADRACH HIGGS.

'"I send this by a trusty messenger, who will return it to me if you

are not to be found."'

'Higgs all over,' said Dr. Cruden.

'Stop,' said the squire; 'let us begin at the beginning. What makes

him call you Vandercroft?'

'It is not the first name,' said the stranger, 'that has been

gratuitously assigned to me, over and above that with which my

parents honoured me.'

'Then your name is not Vandercroft?' said Dr. Cruden.

'No.'

'Why, then, assume it?'

'I did not; Bloodworth bestowed it on me through a natural

misconstruction of his, and I did not think it worth while to

undeceive him.'

'Capital!' said the squire. 'I'll wager anything that you are not

Jobson.'

The stranger smiled.

'Are you?' asked the squire eagerly.

'According to you and Biddy Sparks I am.'

'According to me! why, you told me it was so.'

'On the contrary, it was you told me.'

'Why,' said the squire, starting from his seat, 'don't you remember

that morning?'--

'Perfectly,' interrupted the stranger,--'when you addressed me as Mr.

Jobson.'

'Well, you never contradicted me.'

'A man hasn't lived to grey hairs,' said the stranger, with a smile,

pointing to the changing colour of his own, 'without knowing the

worth of a name, as you observed just now; and as you were satisfied

with Jobson, it quite contented me.'

'But how did Biddy get hold of it?'

'Like many others, Biddy is satisfied with slight evidence; she saw

"Matthew Jobson" on the brass plate of a portmanteau which by an

accident I had exchanged for my own in travelling, and she settled

the matter at once without question.'

Mr. Brimble, holding the miniature in his hand, looked alternately at

it and the stranger, while Dr. Cruden asked, 'Will you favour us with

your true name?'

The stranger looked at the squire and replied, 'I think my uncle

knows it--Eustace De la Mark.'

'I _did_ know it,' said the squire, almost breathless; 'I _did_ know

it--I was sure of it; even while I called him Jobson I felt drawn to

him. My dear boy, what right have you with grey hairs?' he said,

affectionately grasping both his hands; 'and why have you served us

in this way?'

'I have a very long story to tell,' said Eustace--no longer 'the

stranger'--after the first agitation had passed; 'but it is of the

utmost importance, remember, that I should not be known to any but

yourselves for the present. My intention was to remain altogether

concealed for some time yet; but I could not withstand it,' he said,

again grasping his uncle's hand.

'You'll let me tell my wife? Up to this moment she believes you an

impostor, and me a dupe.

'Let her think so still; the longer she is deceived the more complete

the triumph will be.'

'Well, I may tell Char, at all events. How delighted she will be!

she has never doubted you a minute.

A smile of satisfaction brightened the face of Eustace.

'No;' he said; 'let me have the pleasure of telling her myself, at

some future time.'

'Pooh!' said the squire, who hated secrets; 'I almost wish I didn't

know it; I must tell somebody.'

'When you have heard what I have to tell you, you will see the

importance of secrecy; and, to prevent you from indiscretion, I

think, with Dr. Cruden, if Sir Valary is indeed so very ill, we had

better all three go to Parker's Dew; and on our journey you shall

have a full account of all my history. You know Sir Valary believes

me to be dead?'

'Not a bit of it,' said the squire; 'and I never believed it.'

'I give you my honour he does,' said Dr. Cruden.

'Have it your own way; but, Eu, is it necessary to go to-night? why

not start the first thing in the morning? You know they have no

beds, no supper; I doubt if they have even a rushlight.'

'It is growing late,' said Dr. Cruden; 'if we had gone when I first

came'--

'I should not have found my nephew,' said the squire, looking with

beaming affection on Eustace.

'You anticipate me, squire, but not correctly; I meant we should have

had time to go without alarming them at so unseasonable an hour as we

should now arrive at.'

'All right; then you think it is better to go to-morrow morning?'

'I am sorry for the delay.'

'Its importance,' said Eustace, 'depends on Sir Valary's state. Is

he expecting my uncle?'

'Oh no; and he has nothing to fear from Bloodworth to-night. I

trust, indeed, he will be kept calm till morning; and on the whole,

perhaps'--

'Beaten, fairly beaten,' said the squire. 'Now that is settled; so

draw close, and, Eustace, begin.'

CHAPTER IX.

'Need I remind you,' began Eustace, 'of my father's high, indomitable

spirit?

'No, no,' said the squire hastily; 'he was the finest'--

'Now, squire,' said Dr. Cruden, laying his hand gently on his knee,

'let us agree, before Mr. De la Mark begins, that there shall be no

interruptions, or we shall not finish to-night.'

'Go on,' said the squire.

'He could never brook the stern temper of my grandfather, and

constant contention created serious disaffection between them.'

'That was all through Bloodworth,' said the squire; 'he was at the

bottom of it all; he is a very'--

'Now, do hush,' said the doctor in a deprecating tone.

'Go on, Eu,' said the squire impatiently.

'He married--that you know--and I was born before he was twenty-one.'

'Yep, you must be pretty near thirty by this time.'

'I am thirty-five.'

'Why, that makes me fifty-three. How time flies! Well, lad!'

'You are aware that the discovery of his marriage was the cause of

the final rupture.'

'Ah! Eu was wrong there; I was but a boy then, and did not

understand things, and took his part through thick and thin; but it

was a very foolish thing to fly in the old man's face that way.'

'Squire, squire,' said the doctor, 'what right have you to talk?'

'Well, that's true; but I thought he would get over mine, and Mary's

property made it of little consequence, as far as money went.'

Eustace took the miniature from his uncle, and, opening the case on

the other side, showed the portrait of a lady. 'That was my mother,'

he said quietly.

'Ay, to the life; yes, she was a lovely creature, and as good as she

was beautiful. Eu was perfectly right to marry her; but then he

should have waited a little.'

'Bloodworth hurried him into it,' said Eustace, 'by telling him, in

confidence, of another match which Sir Eustace had determined to

effect between him and some lady distantly connected with his family.'

'Now, Eu,' said the squire, rising in his chair, 'if you expect me to

keep my temper, don't mention that--pshaw! nonsense!' pushing away

the doctor's hand--'that fellow's name more than you can help.'

'No. My father left his birthplace with a parent's curse ringing in

his ears.'

'Shocking, shocking!' said the squire.

'You know nay mother,' continued Eustace, 'scarcely outlived my

birth.'

'Poor Eu! Poor girl!' sighed the squire.

'At that time my father, as he afterwards told me, broken down with

grief, wrote to Sir Eustace, entreating a reconciliation and a

revocation of his curse.'

'I'll answer for it, my father never had that letter. I know he was

hard, but he could not have stood that.'

'An answer came to it, written by Bloodworth, who complained bitterly

of being made the medium of so painful a message. It was to the

effect that Sir Eustace would pardon and receive him upon condition

of his marrying again immediately, according to his choice; and it

was couched in such arbitrary terms, so devoid of all natural

feeling, so insulting to my mother's memory, and casting such

unworthy reflections on my father's motive for making the advance,

that he spurned the thought of replying to it. In that letter, too,

Bloodworth confirmed what he had often insinuated in his former

letters--that his brothers had helped to embitter the mind of Sir

Eustace against him.'

'Oh, my dear sir,' said the doctor, laying his hand on Mr. Brimble,

'what is the use of chafing so? Pray, pray be pacified!'

The squire leant back in his chair in silence.

'I must tell you, my dear uncle, that my father did not believe it of

you,--you were then about seventeen or eighteen,--and he could not

credit that selfish interest could so have altered your heart, full

of affection as he had left it, in the very bloom of youth. But, you

excepted, he determined to forget all England and devote himself to

me. My mother's slender fortune, and an estate to which he became

entitled when of age'--

'Yes, Itterdale,' interrupted the squire.

'Left him by old Jasper Honeyman, some fiftieth cousin of my

mother's--this enabled him to live at ease, though not in affluence.

He converted the estate into money, and, without any settled home,

wandered from country to country as inclination led him.'

'Eu, I could never understand why he did not write to me,' cried the

squire, 'especially as we were in the same box; he married for love a

woman of high family; I, for something of the sort, a woman of no

particular "family,"'--involuntarily glancing round at the

door,--'and glorious fortune, so we both came under the ban; he knew

it, and I am puzzled to this day to know why he remained silent.'

'I am afraid of telling you the cause,' said Eustace.

'Go on,' said the squire, clenching his fist, and flushing with

indignation.

'Yes; he was wholly deceived by that man, who wrote, adjuring him to

be patient, entreating him to communicate all his proceedings to him,

mourning over the conduct of his unnatural relatives, and promising'--

'Now don't, pray don't!' said the squire; 'if you love me, don't!'

'At last came the announcement of the death of Sir Eustace, and of

his will, by which you and my father were disinherited, and Parker's

Dew, with all other property, was left to Sir Valary.'

'Eu,' said the squire, starting up, 'I never believed in that will.

I saw my father not long before his death; he entirely forgave me,

and told me it lay sore on his heart that he could not see Eu before

he closed his eyes. I gathered from what he said--but he was too ill

to talk much--that he had tried to get at him for years, but without

success. That will was a forgery!' continued the squire, striking

the table with a vehemence that made the glasses dance.

'My father did not think so. We were in Rome when we received the

news, and he determined on returning to England, that he might see

you and find the truth of what he had heard. I was then eighteen,

and rejoiced in the prospect of seeing my own country--the only one

in Europe that I had not visited; but after a three days' illness my

father fell a victim to malaria, and I was so ill as to be reported

dead.'

'Of course,' said the squire; 'everybody said you were.'

'I think I should have justified the report, if it had not been for

an excellent Protestant clergyman, who felt deeply for me, having

just buried his wife in the same disease; he became a father to me,

though I had no other claim upon his sympathy than needing it.'

'Where is he now?' asked the squire eagerly.

Eustace was silent.

'Ha!' said the squire; 'go on.'

'Like me, he was, as far as human ties go, alone in the world, and

determined to spend the remainder of his life as a missionary in the

East. I resolved to accompany him; for when we paid our last visit

to the little Protestant burial-place, which contained the two who

had been all to us on earth, it seemed as if nature and heaven had

marked us out for companions. Eight years we wandered together

through the East, he by his life and preaching teaching Christianity,

I learning it. I cannot pretend to enter now into the labours and

pleasures of those eight years. His health broke down. He died at

Beirut, on our return westward, and again I was alone. Now my heart

yearned for England. Was I to wander a stranger through life with

mere chance companions? I embarked on board a vessel bound for

Alexandria, intending to shape my course finally to my own country;

but a doctor from Frankfort, our fellow-traveller through part of

Syria, who had shown great kindness to my friend in his illness, and

had skilfully soothed his sufferings, being my fellow-passenger now,

won so upon my regard, which was before his, from gratitude, that I

was induced to change my purpose, and try the Western world, where he

designed to settle. Seven long years I spent in the two Americas,

till, weary of the wide, wide world, I once more determined on

seeking a home in the hearts of some who, strange to me, yet seemed

to beckon me from the distance. It was you, uncle.'

'Ay, my lad; if I had known your whereabouts, I should have done more

than beckon, I can tell you.'

'It happened, singularly enough, that the Frankfort doctor and I

became again passengers in the same vessel. He had married an

American lady, and was taking her home to Fatherland, preferring the

small gains he expected to get in Dusseldorf, where he had a

connection, to any amount of money away from it.'

'In the right of it!' said the squire. 'I would rather live on bread

and cheese in England than have all the treasures of the Great Mogul

in any other country.'

'You never did live on bread and cheese, squire,' said the doctor,

with a smirk.

'Again his importunity overcame me,' continued Eustace, 'and for a

time I deferred coming to England, and went instead with him to a

country, many scenes in which were familiar to me, all my early

education having been in Germany. Fascinated with old associations,

I wandered about from place to place, as memory led me, feeling a

happier nearness to my father there than I did when standing beside

his grave. One day the fall of an old house in Dusseldorf, to which

I had for a short time returned, induced me, with many passers-by, to

assist in examining the ruins, lest any unfortunates should have been

buried under them. Here I met with an accident, and was too much

injured to speak. As a stranger, I was carried to the nearest hotel,

I may call it. As soon as I could give an account of myself, my

friend the doctor was sent for, and by his advice I was not moved to

his house, but remained there under his care. Hearing that a pious

Lutheran minister was visiting a sick woman in the same house, I

requested to see him. In the course of conversation he told me he

wished he could understand and speak English well, for the poor woman

he was visiting, he said, was much restrained by feeling him to be

foreign, and his words had less weight with her than they thought

they otherwise would. "She is much troubled in mind," he said, "and

I would thankfully give her relief."

'I immediately offered, as soon as I should be sufficiently

recovered, to visit her for him; and I did so. I saw she had not

very long to live, and had a burdened conscience; but I little

suspected what she was about to confide to me. She had been nurse in

the family of Sir Valary, having previously lived for many years with

Sir Eustace. She revealed to me the whole of Bloodworth's villainy,

in which she was deeply implicated, and gave me all the history of

his contrivance to keep her away--of what she had suffered in

banishment and in leaving Lady De la Mark and her infant--in fact,

she left nothing untold, her great anxiety being to know if there

were any pardon for sin like hers. She seemed reckless of exposure,

and declared that if she lived she would willingly receive any

punishment, provided she might have a hope of mercy hereafter. Her

gratitude, when I disclosed to her who I was, was beyond bounds. She

said she thought that having been permitted to restore me to my

rights in so strange a manner was almost like a merciful assurance

that there was pardon for her.'

[Illustration: OLD BET REVEALS THE WHOLE OF BLOODWORTH'S VILLAINY.]

'Poor old Bet!' said the squire; 'I don't know what she did, but I'll

answer for it, Bloodworth put her up to it.'

'And what was it?' said the doctor, breathless with interest.

'That I cannot divulge just now, and it is equally necessary that

Bloodworth knows nothing of me until I convict him.'

'Let us go to-night,' said the squire.

'Too late, too late now!' said the doctor, shaking his head. 'Will

you let me ask Mr. De la Mark'--

'He is Sir Eustace,' exclaimed the squire, 'and Valary has no right

at Parker's Dew, and I always said so!'

'It is quite true, uncle; but at present I prefer to waive the

honour; his infirmity, perhaps nearness to death, and poor Marjory's

forlorn condition, have kept me back from taking any steps for the

recovery of my rights. Of course I have taken legal means; but they

are yet in abeyance. My intention in coming to England was to see

those who would now be forced to acknowledge me as kin, without

apprising them of the obligation.'

'Then the will is an absolute forgery?' said the doctor.

'An absolute forgery,' was the reply.

'And Sir Valary knows it?'

'He has known it for many years; but he did not at the time of taking

possession.'

'Well, I'm glad of that, for the honour of the family,' said the

squire huskily.

'And for his conscience' sake,' said the doctor.

'Well, it makes it a shade lighter. Pray, does Bloodworth know you

are living?'

'He is uncertain about it; he has had glimpses of me now and then,

but has not been able to follow me up.'

'And Valary--does he know it?'

'He also is uncertain. Bloodworth holds me over him, as nurses

frighten children with spectres; and no doubt the attacks from which

he has lately suffered have been in some way connected with the

failure of their plans to ascertain the fact.'

'How came Bloodworth to call you Mr.--what was it?' asked the doctor.

'I purposely obtained a draft for him from a person in Dusseldorf

with whom he has invested some of his ill-gotten gains. I was able

to do this through the information given me by the woman Higgs.

Vandercroft was the name of the person to whom the draft had been

committed, and, not knowing that I was his substitute, he naturally

gave the name to me. He had never received communications of the

kind in so careless and open a manner, and became alarmed, I saw at

once.'

CHAPTER X.

'My dear,' said Mr. Brimble, 'our being so late is entirely Mr.

Jobson's fault. He has been telling us such astonishing things that

all we have heard before from him has vanished into what Char calls,

"blue distance." Eh, Char?' he continued, putting his arm fondly

round her; 'wouldn't you have enjoyed being in my waistcoat pocket?

Miss Cruden,' he added, addressing that lady, 'your brother has been

almost as bad as Jobson, and I shall turn him over to you for

correction.'

Mrs. Brimble looked stately, so far as her peevishness would allow

her; Mora was half asleep over some embroidery--Miss Cruden, rather

more than half, and hardly awoke to reply.

'Valary is very ill,' said the squire, advancing to his wife, 'and we

are going in a body to see him to-morrow morning, first thing.'

'What do you mean by going in a body?'

'Why, I mean Eu and I and the doctor.'

'I?' exclaimed Mrs. Brimble.

'You--no,' said the squire, recollecting himself, 'Jobson I meant.'

'A strange mistake!' said the lady superciliously. 'You said, "you

and I and the doctor."'

'Now, Mary,' said the squire in a whisper, 'just look at _him_, as he

is standing between the two girls; isn't he a fine, handsome fellow?

did you ever see any one like him?'

'Dear me, Mr. Brimble! I never saw any one like him but Saunders,

our last footman, and he had just the same kind of nose. I see

nothing particular in him; and I think it very forward of him to talk

to the girls when there is Miss Cruden by.'

The squire laughed; he was afraid of going further; but Mrs. Brimble

had not finished. 'Indeed, Mr. Brimble, your indiscretion is beyond

everything. Here is a perfect stranger, who, because he happens to

be agreeable to you, and is able to talk, is made quite at home among

us, and we are expected to treat him like a friend. If you have no

regard for your daughters, I have; it surprises me, after all the

cautions I have given you, and the number of things I have saved you

from, that you will not learn prudence.'

'My dear, you have enough for us all. It's seldom that more than a

fair share of wisdom falls to the lot of any family, and you have

monopolized all that was intended for the Brimbles. But tell me,' he

said, trying to be grave, though the many mischievous twinkles of his

eye ought to have betrayed him to so keen a judge of appearances as

Mrs. Brimble considered herself to be,--'tell me, Mary, do you really

look on Jobson as an impostor?'

'Mr. Brimble,' returned the lady, with an impressive shake of the

head, 'I say nothing, but as to _proof_ of the contrary, why, with

_me_ there is _none_, and there is a something about him that is very

much Like an adventurer. I may be wrong--I would not be

uncharitable; but'--

'Then you wouldn't advise me to let him visit here? in short, you

would have me cut him?'

'All I desire is caution, Mr. Brimble. He has a manner I do not

admire, and I think I may be allowed to be a judge of such things.'

'Well, I will be careful. He has rather a designing look, now I come

to examine him,' said the squire, putting up his eyeglass; 'and he

seems to me to be just now taking the bearings of Bessie Cruden's

cap. I think I must go and put her on scent of danger.'

'Ah! you will be surprised one day, Mr. Brimble, and then you will

remember my words, as you have often done before.'

'Well, Mary, if I'm wrong this time, you shall be right without

question for ever, and administer lynch law to your heart's delight;

but if _I_ should be right, what then? It's just possible, though,

he may turn out an adventurous "footman"--some spirited Saunders, as

you fancy.'

'Charity!' said the lady impatiently, as she saw the object of her

suspicion approaching her daughter. 'Mr. Brimble, pray go and

entertain your guest, and send Charity to me--I wish to speak to her.'

The squire obeyed, and so did Charity, very reluctantly. Florence,

having heard from Dr. Cruden of the intended expedition to Parker's

Dew, assailed him with innumerable questions as to what was the

matter--what would happen if Sir Valary died, where Marjory would go,

etc.; and there was much wonderment among all the ladies as to the

merits of the case, when they separated for the night.

* * * * *

In a room, dimly lighted by the early sun, streaming through narrow

windows in a heavy wall, sat the sick man, with Marjory at his side.

'It is growing into day, Marjory,' he said in a feeble voice, raising

himself from his half-recumbent posture.

Marjory, tenderly kissing his forehead, prepared the draught which

Dr. Cruden had left for her father to take on his awaking.

Poor Marjory! all night she had been watching; every sound had made

her heart beat. It might be Dr. Cruden; he promised to

return--promised to bring her uncle; but the night had worn away; her

father, sleeping and waking, had on the whole been more restful, more

at ease, than she could have hoped. 'Something has kept him away,'

she thought; but fatigue and anxiety, added to disappointment, had

for the time quelled much of her dauntless spirit.

'Yours has been a dreary life, my child,' said the old man--old, not

by years, but through the ravages of an embittered spirit; 'your

youth buried in this gloomy place--no companionship'--

'No companionship!' exclaimed Marjory, nearly letting the medicine

fall in her surprise.

More groaning out his feelings than addressing her, the old man

continued, 'I have many sins on my head--my greatest--my love for

you--drove me to-- Alas! what a delusion! I see it now; he was

right. I have been cruelly unjust--I have crushed your youth.'

'Who is right? who dares to say so? Cruel! are you not the very life

of my heart, my father--my own, own father?' cried Marjory, closely

embracing him.

'It has been delusion--strange delusion--fears for your future have

driven me hither and thither. Oh, conscience! oh, the wrongs that I

have done! Marjory, I implore you, beware of sin; poverty cannot

make a hell, sin can. If I had resisted the tempter, I should not

have been thus--blighted, cursed!'

Never had Marjory heard words like these from her father's lips. The

suspicions she had allowed herself in were faint, compared with these

vague confessions. Lost in pain and wonder, she mingled her tears

with his, entreating him to be comforted, and to remember how

precious to her was his love, how burdensome life would be without

it. After a short pause, she said in a gentle tone, 'Father, dear

father, have you any secret trouble on your mind? will you hide it

from me--from Marjory?'

Sir Valary was long silent; while Marjory fondly smoothed the long

white locks that strayed upon his shoulder. 'Perhaps, father, while

the world counts you rich, you are poor, or you fear to be so, for my

sake.'

Sir Valary laid his hand upon her head as she knelt by his side, but

made no reply.

'I hear footsteps,' said Marjory, opening the door.

'Mistress Gillies, madam, entreats you so far to consider your health

as to retire for a short time for refreshment, allowing me to take

your place. I should not have left it till now to proffer my

unworthy services, but I feared disturbing either your or my honoured

master's sleep. I have been some time assuring myself that I heard

your voices.'

Poor Shady had the whole of that night made the passage his chamber,

sitting bolt upright with his back near his master's door, fearing

that Marjory might require help before it could be rendered, unless

he were a wakeful watcher.

Marjory saw plainly enough that something more than the request he

had made had brought him, and immediately guessed that the doctor and

her uncle had arrived.

'Where?' she said quietly, as she passed from the room, Sir Valary

having entreated her to obey the summons of Mrs. Gillies.

'In the hall below,' replied Shady in the same tone.

Much exhausted, she gathered up her spirits, and, descending the

stairs, had her hand upon the door, when Mrs. Gillies, who was

awaiting her, lifted it off hastily. 'Are they not there?' said

Marjory in surprise.

Instead of answering, the housekeeper laid her finger on her lips,

and, taking Marjory's hand, led her through the passage that led to

the kitchen. She followed unresistingly, too weary almost for

curiosity. When safe within her own precincts, the housekeeper said,

'My dear young lady, Bloodworth is in the hall; he has got Shady's

books and many papers, and wants to see Sir Valary as soon as he can;

for he says he has a long journey before him, and has nothing but

pleasant news, and that everything is going well, and Sir Valary will

not be fretted, and many more fine speeches; so I thought it was

better to leave him quiet, for I knew Dr. Cruden would be as good as

his word, and be here soon, and then his chance of doing mischief

would be over. I have turned the key outside the door, without his

knowing it.'

Mrs. Gillies was so pleased with her own adroitness that she scarcely

noticed the colourless lips and sunken eyes of Marjory at first.

'Ah!' cried she; 'here am I chattering, and you too ill to listen.'

Warmth, restoratives, and an hour's rest brought back some colour,

some sign of life, some spirit in the eye of Marjory, and the first

return of power took her again to the side of her father. His head,

a little on one side, rested on the back of his chair, and his eyes

were closed as though in sleep. Shady had arranged his pillow,

adjusted the room, and, with all the ingenuity of affection, tried to

give an air of cheerfulness and comfort to the apartment. With his

usual deferential bow he left the room as she entered it, determined,

whatever might come, that if the doctor did not appear till midnight,

Bloodworth should not have access without him to Sir Valary. Marjory

sat down silently in her old place at her father's feet, leaning her

head upon his knee, having told Shady not to allow them to be

disturbed until Dr. Cruden's arrival. 'It cannot be long,' she said,

'before he comes.'

A gentle sigh escaped the sleeper. 'He is awaking,' said Marjory,

kissing the hand that lay close beside her cheek; but sleep seemed to

return again, no other sound followed; and, resting her face against

him, while she clasped the hand in her own, overcome with weariness

she slept.

CHAPTER XI.

'Take the chaise down to the inn,' said the squire.

'That is advisable,' said Dr. Cruden. 'I never bring a servant here.'

'I haven't seen poor Shady for a long time,' said the squire. 'He's

a good fellow, but has lived so long alone that strange faces would

scare him; and as to horses, I would not trust one in such a

miserable wilderness of starvation for the world. How are we to get

in? In my time we went in and out at the front door like other

folks; the last time I came, you took me through the little door in

the tower.'

'I think it would be more prudent if we entered the kitchen way--Sir

Valary is less likely to hear us;' for the doctor knew perfectly well

that when the squire meant to be exceedingly quiet he carried a

considerable amount of bustle, which seemed as necessary to him as

his breath.

'All right; we might have a worse place than the kitchen at

breakfast-time, and I should think we must all of us be pretty nearly

ready for a second. What a miserable place it is!' he continued, as

they entered the courtyard; 'doesn't it look as if it had had the

nightmare for the last fifty years? Well, stone walls are not worth

crying about; but I can't say this is a very promising introduction

to the home of your ancestors, Eu.'

Mrs. Gillies, who had seen their advance, met them, making her lowest

curtsey to the squire, for whom, in common with all, she entertained

a hearty regard.

'What! you haven't forgotten me then!' he said good-humouredly.

'Forgotten you, sir!' was the reply. A few questions put them in

possession of all they wanted to know concerning Sir Valary, and of

more than they expected in respect of Bloodworth's opportune visit.

'Capital! we can settle the whole affair at once; I like finishing

up. Now, how shall we proceed?'

'My advice is that I go in to Sir Valary directly he awakes, and

prepare him for an interview with you. By degrees we must unfold the

cause of our visit as he is able to bear it, and'--

'And then Eu is to come in. I see.' Shady, who had been listening

at Sir Valary's door for sounds within and sounds without, heard the

squire's voice, and, gently descending, made his appearance among

them. Bloodshot eyes from a sleepless night had not increased the

vivacity of his countenance.

'Shady,' said the squire, shaking him kindly by the hand, 'why, what

have they been doing to you? I hope your master does not look as bad

as you do.'

'He is tranquilly sleeping,' said Shady, moved to tears by the

squire's kindness. 'I have but now left his door, and there is not

the sound of a breath within; but Miss De la Mark requested that when

Dr. Cruden arrived he might be taken to the chamber.'

'Good,' said the squire; 'I am glad we are going to proceed to

action. Go, doctor; tell him to cheer up, and he'll soon come right

again.'

The doctor was halfway up-stairs before the squire's parting charge

was over. Mr. Brimble and his nephew were engaged in such

conversation as their circumstances naturally suggested, questioning

Shady on points on which he could perchance throw light. The doctor

returned, looking exceedingly pale.

'What! back already!' said the squire.

'My dear friend,' he replied, unable to restrain his tears, 'it is

all over; such a scene may I never witness again!'

Exclamations of shocked surprise burst from Sir Eustace and his

uncle, while Shady stood transfixed and seemed ready to faint.

'Come,' said the doctor; and he returned, leading the way to the

chamber of death.

Leaning in his chair, his attitude unchanged, his eyes still closed,

rested all that remained of Sir Valary De la Mark, while Marjory,

with the hand still clasped in hers, slept that heavy sleep which

nature sometimes claims to repair extreme exhaustion.

'This is too much!' said the squire; 'how shall we get her away?'

'Leave me, leave me,' replied the doctor. 'I will do it.'

Willingly Mr. Brimble relinquished to him the task, and the doctor,

gently releasing the cold hand from Marjory's grasp, raised her from

her father's side.

'My dear child,' he said tenderly, 'you must not remain here now.

Your uncle is come, and we need to be alone with--in this room; and

you shall lie down, my dear--Mrs. Gillies--rest on me--this way;' and

he attempted to lead her from the room, but Marjory was now awake,

and resisted the movement at first. 'Need I leave him?' she

whispered. 'I have slept, I am quite strong now, and he must be

better, for he has slept so long.'

Importunity at last prevailed. She consented to go for a while.

'But let me see him first,' she said; just one look. He was so calm,

so peaceful, when he first sank into sleep. How could I sleep when I

ought to have been watching him?'

Finding it vain to resist, the doctor yielded, and she advanced.

Not a cry--not a word--but one long settled look of horror and

despair. She stood motionless before the body.

* * * * *

'Leave me to deal with him,' said Eustace. 'But you,' turning to the

doctor, 'had better be with me. We will spare you, my dear uncle;

there is no necessity to arouse your feelings by bringing you in

contact with him.'

'Good!' said the squire, who had been leaning silently on the

window-frame, looking out on the neglected garden, and living over

again the scenes of his youth. There had never existed any brotherly

affection between him and Sir Valary; entire contrariety of

character, and the treatment of Eustace, which the squire had always

attributed to him, had early separated them, and the influence of

Bloodworth had succeeded in keeping them apart, even to the end. It

was not grief for the dead, therefore, that gave the saddened

expression to his fine manly countenance. There were, no doubt,

regrets, but they were for Eustace, whom he had dearly loved. But

there were uneasy thoughts--unwelcome reminders--that he alone

remained of that generation, and that he too must die.

From subjects pointing this way Mr. Brimble ever studiously turned.

He had faced death often in the pursuit of pleasure, for he was still

so fearless a rider that his escapes while hunting were often the

marvel of the neighbourhood.

Yet to see the destroyer close, in calmness and quiet, was more than

he could bear! indeed, if truth were told, that ever joyous face was

sometimes but a mask hiding gloomy, heart-sickening misgivings. He

had a deep-seated respect for religion. He fully, honestly, intended

one day to be ready to die, and hoped, or thought he did, to go to

heaven, when he could no longer live on earth. But that day he put

off as an evil day, and avoided everything that reminded him of its

necessity. It was, therefore, very acceptable to him to be released

from a scene that was every way adverse to his comfort.

'If I could be of any use,' he said; 'but I am no man of business,

and as to poor Madge, I couldn't see her yet; I should only make her

worse.'

Ah! it is at such times that the truth of human nature comes out.

The squire was benevolent to a proverb--open-handed as the day, kind

as a father--up to a certain point, in earthly relationships and

dealings, blameless. Yet, after all, his was a most refined

selfishness. He enjoyed the happiness of others, for it

unconsciously helped to make his own, and this gave the glowing

colours to his universally admired character. But to deny himself,

to suffer with others, to descend into darkness with them, and bear

their sorrows--oh no! Yet this shrinking from the griefs of others

was looked on as a finishing mark of his great amiability. Thus,

even in regard to his fellow-men, his love was one-sided; and in

regard to the higher love, without which all earthly excellencies are

vain, his heart had it not. Every mile that took him from Parker's

Dew lightened his spirit, for his constant habit of suppressing all

painful or serious thoughts had made the effort a very easy one.

The heavy walls and high windows of the apartment in which Bloodworth

had remained forgotten had prevented him from hearing the hurry and

confusion of the last two or three hours, and he was chafing with

rage against the housekeeper and Shady for their insolence in thus

detaining him, if done purposely, when the door opened and the doctor

and Sir Eustace entered. Various emotions in turn took the place of

anger, but fear was predominant. He looked with a cowering,

questioning expression, but was silent.

'Mr. Bloodworth,' said Dr. Cruden, 'your accounts will be

required--your late master's affairs'--

The doctor always failed in a set speech: he could get no further.

The shock, compassion for Marjory, sympathy with the heart-stricken

Shady and the faithful housekeeper, had left him no time to feel; but

now that he came to announce the death of his friend, whose sickness

he had so long anxiously watched, and for whom he had from boyhood

had a very sincere attachment, he was overcome.

Bloodworth's eyes moved quickly from one to the other. He was by no

means taken by surprise. He had long expected it. He had intended

to make his final visit to his master that morning, hoping so to

profit by it as to remove all fear and establish his future fortunes.

'Am I to understand,' he said, 'that Sir Valary'--

'You understand aright,' said Sir Eustace, interrupting him. 'And

now, sir, where is the original will of Sir Eustace De la Mark?

Understand me. By the original will, I mean that which was set aside

to make way for the instrument that put your late master in

possession of his father's property, to the exclusion of his brother.

Are you prepared to produce it?' he continued, waving his hand, as he

saw that Bloodworth was about to assert a denial.

'Really,' said the steward, pale with terror, but trying to recover

his effrontery, 'this is very strange conduct. Sir Valary, whom I

have served so faithfully for so many years, and for whom I have

sacrificed my comfort and earned a bad name, is no longer alive to

protect me, and therefore I am to be attacked with base

charges,--unjust charges,--and that by strangers. Where is Mr.

Brimble? I know that he is executor to Sir Valary; I always begged

that he would make him so. _He_ is the proper person to inquire into

all the affairs, and I hold myself answerable to him, and to no one

else.'

'You talk beside the mark,' said Sir Eustace coolly; 'you will

certainly be called upon to account for your stewardship. But you

know perfectly well that the estates which Sir Valary was supposed to

possess did not belong to him. We need not waste words; the will to

which you were last a witness was a forgery. You are now required to

produce that for which it was substituted, and which I know is not

destroyed.'

'I will take my oath,' said Bloodworth after a pause, 'that I saw

that will signed by Sir Eustace's own hand, and that I was a true

witness to the signature. There was indeed a previous will,' he

continued, rather reassured by the silence that followed this

declaration, 'to which I and my fellow-witness in the last both

subscribed also. Sir Eustace suddenly had another one drawn up, in

consequence of certain reports that reached him concerning his two

sons.'

'Who drew up the will?'

'Nicholas Harris, a clerk of mine bred to the law.'

'Where is he to be found?'

'That would be unimportant,' said Bloodworth carelessly; 'he died,

however, shortly afterwards.'

'Bloodworth,' said Sir Eustace, 'the deed was soon done, and will

take little time to confess. Make a clean breast, and say _who_

signed that second will that you attested?'

'Sir Eustace De la Mark.'

CHAPTER XII.

The three had up to this point been standing; but Sir Eustace,

motioning to Bloodworth to be seated, beckoned Dr. Cruden to stand

before them; then, placing a pen in the steward's hand, he guided it

with his own, and wrote in large letters on a piece of blank paper

that lay on the table, 'Eustace De la Mark,' the steward passively

submitting to the movement.

'Whose signature?' he asked, fixing his eyes on Bloodworth. The

steward trembled violently, and was about to rise, but Sir Eustace

held his arm. 'Shall we make another will and let Sir Valary sign

it? A pen in a dead man's hand has been found a pliant writer before

now.'

There was no answer, for the culprit could not trust his voice; but

an exclamation of horror and surprise burst from the doctor.

'It was so,' said Sir Eustace; 'I have the confession in full of the

woman Higgs, dictated on her deathbed, and taken down and witnessed

by the clergyman and surgeon who attended her--a strange device for

quieting conscience and cloaking perjury. Your partner in crime,

every way less guilty than yourself, saw through the flimsy cheat,

and heartily repented.'

'I never heard of such shocking wickedness!' said the doctor, holding

up his hands; 'oh dear, dear--no wonder my poor friend--oh,

horrible!' he said, turning his back on Bloodworth. The scornful

sneer with which the steward noticed this movement quickly gave way

to an assumption of boldness.

'I don't know you,' he said fiercely. 'I am not to be brow-beaten

for a crazy woman's ravings--got out of her, perhaps, by some

impostor to get money out of Sir Valary while he was alive, or out of

the son of him that was disinherited; but the will was proved and

never questioned. Let me pass, I say,' he said, trying to get

towards the door; 'I have much to do. Mr. Brimble is executor to Sir

Valary, and I will account to him.'

'The business is in the hands of the law,' said Sir Eustace, 'as you

will shortly be. You will have more help in preparing your papers

than you desire.'

'You can't search my house, you have no warrant. Oh, let me go--I

promise--yes, only let me go--I will indeed'--

'Confess?' asked Sir Eustace. 'It is needless.'

'No, no, explain it, and--and'--

'Give up the will. That may as well be taken from its hiding-place;

the law employs expert seekers.'

'Fool that I have been!' cried the steward, who now saw his true

position--that he was without hope of escape.

'It is well that you know that,' said Sir Eustace; 'there is hope

that you may seek for wisdom.'

But the steward rocked to and fro in his chair, his violent passions

venting themselves in choking imprecations on his own folly.

Hoping little from him in this state, Sir Eustace beckoned the doctor

to the door, intending to leave him awhile; but the paroxysm had

passed, and, starting up, he looked fixedly on Sir Eustace.

'Tell me one thing,' he said; 'are you employed by the son of the

last Sir Eustace?' Sir Eustace nodded assent. 'Then if I were to

disclose the truth of everything'--

'Needless--it _is_ disclosed; have I not told it but now?'

'Ay! but how it came about, and--and'--

'My dear Sir Eustace,' said the doctor, who thought his companion

looked inflexible, and who was extremely and anxiously curious to

know the particulars of the wonderful story, 'let him speak; let him

tell it all. I long to have my poor dear friend's memory cleared.

I'm sure he never could have known of such unnatural wickedness.'

Nothing of this speech came to the ears of Bloodworth but the title

of him who was addressed. He looked fixedly at him, and then,

falling on his knees, entreated pardon, repeatedly promising to

reveal all.

Tenderness for Sir Valary's memory, and the feelings of his cousin

Marjory, who had not shown any sign of recovery from the shock of his

death, with a natural desire to spare the honour of his name, made

Sir Eustace willing to pass with as little notoriety as possible

through the strange revelations that must be made in order to put him

in possession of his rights. He saw the importance of having

Bloodworth's free and unconstrained testimony in order to obtain

this, and conditionally promised his pardon.

The long story that followed must be told in few words. The second

will was executed and signed after death, as described, by

Bloodworth's contrivance, in order that Sir Valary might succeed to

the whole property. His motive was to open to himself a source of

wealth otherwise unattainable. For some time after Sir Valary's

succession he kept the dead signature an entire secret; when all

things were well established and going smoothly, and a daughter was

born, in whom, after the death of his wife, all his affections were

centred, pretending to be pricked by conscience, he revealed it. Sir

Valary's first impulse was to seek out his brother's heir and make

restoration, but the steward artfully represented that the reported

death of the young man must be true, or he would have sought refuge

in England when left alone; again, the portionless state of his

infant daughter was adroitly brought before him, and in a moment of

weakness he relented, and promised to conceal the strange forgery.

This placed him wholly in Bloodworth's power. At one time he would

work on his gratitude, declaring it was love for him that led him to

the deed; at another, talk of conscience, and hint at the need of a

public confession, wringing from him some costly gift, either to

repay his service or to calm his conscience. The death of the widow

Higgs, who, while she lived, was a terror to him, lest she should

turn betrayer, was a great relief to Sir Valary, and to rob him of

this Bloodworth had thrown doubt on its truth. The malady from which

he suffered was greatly aggravated by the conflicts of his mind,

which became clouded and weakened by the ravages of the disease. The

steward had already obtained large sums of money, which he had

invested in foreign property, to avoid suspicion, and it was his hope

that morning to obtain the assignment of a valuable deposit, in

return for which he intended to give up the original will to his

master, over whom he had long held it as a scorpion whip, and quit

with his then sufficient gains a place that would soon be stripped of

its attraction; for with Sir Valary he knew would die his hope of

further fortune. The true will established, and Sir Eustace De la

Mark acknowledged as the rightful possessor of Parker's Dew, his rule

must be considered as of the past.

Sir Valary's funeral was, according to an urgent request in his will,

private; and to this will, which was attested by Shady Higgs and Mrs.

Gillies, was appended a desire in his own hand that his tenants, if

any had suffered wrong, should be righted; that they should be made

to understand, in common with all, that his rigid economy had been

occasioned by a desire to realize an honourable portion for his

daughter, after such sums as had been expended by him out of the

property had been repaid to his brother's son, whenever he should

appear.

'This,' it concluded with saying, 'being the only way left me to

repair a great wrong done, and to blot out the disgrace that I have

unwittingly brought on the name of De la Mark.'

All the injustice the tenants had suffered, all extortions, were with

one consent laid to Bloodworth's door, and Sir Valary was heartily

forgiven by all, from his nephew downwards. Great was the rejoicing

that welcomed Sir Eustace. Once more the 'Dew' would be what the old

inhabitants of the place remembered it. Nay, it promised to surpass

its former grandeur; for, simple and unostentatious as Sir Eustace

was in his personal habits and tastes, he spared nothing in restoring

the home of his ancestors. It was the delight of the squire to look

over his plans, suggest improvements, and extol those already made.

It seemed as if he had indeed found a son in Sir Eustace, who was

able to interest him in all things; such subjects, even, as Charity

seldom dared to enter on, came with acceptance from him.

'What shall we do when the Dew is finished?' said the squire to the

ladies, as he looked at the drawing-room timepiece; 'already, you

see, we lose him day after day; he promised faithfully to be here by

seven.'

'Then he will be here,' said Mrs. Brimble, confidently; and scarcely

had she said so when he entered. Most heartily was he greeted.

'Where's Char?' said the squire, looking round; 'she was here just

now. I want her to see the plan of the new windows in Sir Mark's

Tower. Eu has brought them to-night.'

'She will, I think,' said Mrs. Brimble, 'spend the evening with poor

Marjory, whom we cannot prevail on to leave her room.'

'She seems to me to be always chosen,' said the squire, in a tone of

displeasure, as he glanced at Flora.

'Yes, papa dear, she is,' said Flora; 'that's just it. Marjory likes

me very well for five minutes, but at the end of that time I'm quite

sure she neither sees nor hears me, though she is looking straight at

me, and I am talking as fast as I can. I'm sure I can't think how

Charity manages it--she can amuse her a whole evening.'

'It is not fair,' said the squire, 'that we should always lose Char

in this way. Couldn't you brush up a few subjects, Flo?'

'Why, papa, there are so many interdicted, and they happen to be the

very ones that come most naturally--the improvements at the Dew, and

the way you tease mamma about cousin "Jobson." Of course one must

not say anything about these, for fear of hurting her feelings, and

reminding her; and music makes her melancholy. I'll go now with

pleasure,' she said, rising, 'and send Char down; but--but--she'll go

to sleep, and so shall I.'

Mrs. Brimble interposed. 'Charity had earnestly begged to spend the

evening with her; and indeed,' she said, 'strange as it may seem,

though Charity is so serious, she has a wonderful way of making

everybody lively.'

'That is the reason we want her here,' said the squire.

While Flora Brimble was apparently never so happy as in the society

of her cousin, whom, like her father, she found a great addition to

their family party, Charity was restrained in her manner towards him,

and seemed tacitly to avoid even speaking of him, availing herself of

the plea of Marjory's preference for her company to quit the family

circle when he was there.

CHAPTER XIII.

'Well, Dr. Cruden,' said Mrs. Brimble, 'what is your opinion of the

improvements going on at the Dew? Mr. Brimble will not take us till

all is complete.'

'The place will be charming, and so transformed that poor Marjory

will not know it. Sir Eustace has an excellent taste, has he not,

squire?'

'He's excellent every way, except that he has a sort of Saunders look

sometimes, Mary thinks.'

'We are none of us infallible, Mr. Brimble; and, so exposed to

mistakes as we have been by your imprudence, it was necessary I

should be cautious.'

'Quite,' said the squire, who was watching with his eyeglass through

a side window something that attracted him, and he immediately left

the room.

'I think Eustace will be a valuable person in that position, doctor,'

continued the lady, looking up from her work-frame, on which she was

embroidering the arms of De la Mark for a chair for her nephew.

'I feel sure of it,' said the doctor.

'We shall miss him very much when he settles at the Dew. I hope he

will marry well.'

'I don't know any one better able to choose a good wife, madam, and

he is worthy of the best; therefore his marriage will doubtless give

satisfaction.'

'I daresay, like all young men in his position, he has been married

to more young ladies than one by the country gossips.'

'Not unlikely,' said the doctor.

'I have not heard any reports,' said Mrs. Brimble; 'but of course

people would be delicate in speaking to me.'

'Oh yes, very properly so,' said the doctor, not in the least

divining the lady's tactics.

'I suppose,' said Mrs. Brimble carelessly, looking very intently on

some shades of wool, as if her whole heart were fixed upon making a

right choice, 'you have never heard anything hinted, doctor?'

'I cannot say I have not. My sister, in her numerous visits, falls

in with such reports, and she has told me of several; but I think

none likely, though, indeed, one lady that I am not at liberty to

name would shine in married life.'

Mrs. Brimble got quite out of sorts with her wools, and had to tumble

her basket over for some time before she was calm enough to ask the

doctor for the lady's name, which of course she did not wish to know

from idle curiosity, but out of pure disinterested affection for her

dear nephew.

'I hope I am not doing wrong,' said the doctor, 'in mentioning the

Honourable Amelia Groves.'

'Oh, you need not fear my mentioning it,' said Mrs. Brimble quickly;

'but that will never come to anything. I know the kind of girl he

ought to marry--some one with spirit, lively and amusing, and if I

know anything of Eustace, his choice is nearly made, if not quite.'

'Oh,' said the doctor, 'I am sure you ought to tell me.'

'If you have not had a guess that way yourself, doctor, I would

rather not.'

The doctor looked up at the ceiling, crossed and uncrossed his legs,

leant his head upon his hand, rubbed his forehead, and went through

all the various manoeuvres which imply deep thought, finishing the

process by guessing one of the Miss Punters.

'I am a bad hand at guessing,' he said, finding that Miss Punter was

not well received. 'At one time I thought it not unlikely that poor

little Marjory would be his choice, but I think now he never felt

anything for her but deep pity; and as to her, poor girl, her heart

is buried with her father, whom I fear she will shortly follow.'

'I thought people never died of grief, doctor.'

'Grief is a strong consumer, madam; but Marjory inherits from her

mother that terrible disease that laid her in an untimely grave.'

The squire, re-entering, turned the conversation. 'Eu tells me that

he must return to-night, and that you go with him, and he wants me to

go too; he says he has capital quarters there, so I think of sending

one of the fellows on with some dogs--eh, Mary? only for a day or so,

you know.'

Flora came into the room just in time to hear the announcement, and

protested loudly against it, denouncing her cousin Eu in no very

measured terms for his unreasonable proposal.

'You little vixen!' said the squire; 'isn't it enough for your mother

to sit there harrowing my heart with her looks, but I must stand your

tongue too? How would it be if we all went?'

'Oh, lovely!' said Flora; 'how I should like it!'

'Highly incorrect,' said Mrs. Brimble.

'My dear Mary, if you would be so very correct, you must abide by

being uncomfortable. Let us share the honours; you shall be correct,

and Flo and I will be comfortable. Flo, we'll go--we'll have rooms

at the De la Mark Arms, and we can rough it there for a night.'

The horror of Mrs. Brimble at such a proposal was too much for the

squire, and, taking the doctor's arm, with a mischievous laugh he

left the room.

'I'm sure papa has got something in his head,' said Flora; 'see how

he's talking, too, in the garden with Dr. Cruden; he is so delighted!

What can it be?'

While Flora and her mother were watching and wondering, Charity was

learning the secret that so perplexed them. She had been reading to

Marjory, and a gentle tap at the door introduced, to her great

surprise, her cousin Eustace. He so strongly recalled Marjory's most

painful feelings that it was sometimes beyond her strength to be long

in his society. To-day she felt weaker than usual, and left the room

soon after he entered it.

An awkward silence ensued, then a few remarks as to her state. At

length Eustace, breaking through the restraint, said, 'Cousin

Charity, I fear I have driven Marjory away, and yet I cannot regret

it; indeed, my purpose was to see you; yes, and to see you alone--a

privilege I have sometimes thought you studiously avoided giving me.

I wanted to ask you one question. Is the kind feeling with which you

regarded me when I was poor Jobson quite gone?'

Charity was silent; but a glance at her satisfied Eustace that he had

nothing to fear.

About half an hour afterwards Eustace joined his uncle, telling him

that he had received Charity's consent, for which he had asked

permission to plead, and that there was now no necessity to punish

him with a secret.

The squire shook him warmly by the hand, and lost no time in taking

advantage of his liberty.

CHAPTER XIV.

'Who's ready for Parker's Dew?' said the squire, entering the

drawing-room. 'Now is your time to see it, for I have just heard a

grand secret--there is going to be a wedding.'

'Oh, I am so glad!' said Flora. 'Who is it?'

'Well, that is very good-natured,' said the squire, 'considering you

have nothing to do with it; and yet we are all deeply interested in

it. Now guess who it is. I am sure it's worth a guess.'

'Oh, it's cousin Eu, of course,' said Flora.

'Ay, but the lady, Flo, the lady'--

Mrs. Brimble looked up nervously.

'Miss Punter,' and 'the Honourable Amelia Groves,' died upon her lips.

'What! give it up without a guess?' said the squire, looking at them

both.

'I know whom he ought to have married,' said Flora, with a little

toss of her head.

'You?' said the squire.

'Me!' said Flora; 'he would have despised me before a month was up,

as Marjory does in five minutes. Oh, no, he is beyond me, besides

being too old.'

After a little more teasing, in which the squire did not spare Mrs.

Brimble's penetration, the secret was out; and a day of much

rejoicing it was at Brimble Hall.

It was arranged that, on the marriage taking place, Marjory should

occupy rooms fitted up for her at Parker's Dew, as her own

independent home; but she did not live to see their completion.

'By the grace of God, you know, Shady,' said Sir Eustace, when fairly

settled, 'as you once interpreted to me, we have all things;' and

constantly had Shady proof that his master knew this. As home

steward and librarian, he reigned supremely happy in his paradise,

but never so happy as when labouring under Sir Eustace's direction

for the improvement of the poor around.

Mrs. Gillies was now truly the housekeeper of Parker's Dew, with a

goodly retinue of underlings.

Squire Brimble, as years advanced and the influence of his son-in-law

increased, lost the dark clouds that had at times obscured his

sunshine, and enjoyed a far more solid happiness than he had known in

the most joyous days of his youth.

THE END.

PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Black Troopers and other stories, by Anonymous