RETRIBUTION.
But a crisis was at hand.
The debts of John Scott increased every year, while the ready means of
the Duke of Hereward diminished--everything being engulfed by the Lone
restoration maelstrom.
The guardian determined to expostulate with his ward.
He went down to Oxford just before the close of the term. He found his
ward established in elegant and luxurious apartments, quite fit for a
royal prince, and very much more ostentatious than the unpretending
chambers occupied by the young Marquis of Arondelle at Cambridge, and
ridiculously extravagant for a young man of limited income and no
expectations like John Scott.
The duke was excessively provoked; the forbearance of years gave way; the
bottled-up indignation burst forth, and the guardian gave his ward what
in boyish parlance is called, "an awful rowing."
"You live, sir, at twenty times the rate, your debts are twenty times as
large, you cost me twenty times as much as does Lord Arondelle, my own
son and heir!" concluded the duke, in a final burst of anger.
John Scott had listened grimly enough to the opening exordium, but when
the last sentence broke from the duke's lips, the young man grew pale as
death, while his compressed lips, contracted brow, and gleaming blue eyes
alone expressed the fury that raged in his bosom.
He answered very quietly:
"Your grace means that I cost you twenty times as much as does your
younger son, Lord Archibald Scott, as it is natural that I should being
the elder son and the heir of the dukedom."
To portray the duke's thoughts, feelings or looks during his deliberate
speech would be simply impossible. He sat staring at the speaker, with
gradually paling cheeks and widening eyes, until the quiet voice ceased,
when he faltered forth:
"What in Heaven's name do you mean?"
"I should think your grace should know right well what I have known for
years, and can never for a moment forget, though your grace may effect to
do so--that I am your eldest son, the son of your first marriage, with
the daughter of the Baron de la Motte, and therefore that I, and not my
younger half brother, by your second marriage, am the right Marquis of
Arondelle, and the heir of the Dukedom of Hereward," calmly replied the
young man, with all the confidence an assured conviction gave.
The duke sank back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.
However John Scott had made the discovery, it was absolutely certain that
he knew the whole secret of his parentage.
"What authority have you for making so strange an assertion?" at length
inquired the duke.
"The authority of recorded truth," replied the young man, emphatically.
"But does your grace really suppose that such a secret could be kept
from me? My dear, lost mother never revealed it to me by her words, but
she unconsciously revealed enough to me by her actions to excite my
suspicions, and set me on the right track. The records did the rest,
and put me in possession of the whole truth."
"What records have you examined?" inquired the duke, in a low voice.
"First and last, in Italy and France, I have examined the registers of
your marriage with my mother, and of my own birth and baptism; and in
England, Burke's Peerage. All these as well as other well-known facts,
As easily proved as if they were recorded, establish my rights as your
son--your eldest son and _heir_."
"As my son, but not as my heir, for your most unhappy mother--"
"STOP!!" suddenly exclaimed the young man, while his blue eyes
blazed with a dangerous fire. "I warn you, Duke of Hereward, that you
must not breathe one word reflecting in the least degree on my dear,
injured mother's name. You have wronged her enough, Heaven knows! and I,
her son, tell you so. Yes! from the beginning to end, you have wronged
her grievously, unpardonably. First of all, in marrying her at all, when
you must have seen--you could not have failed to see--that she, gentle
and helpless creature that she was, was _forced_ by her parents to
give you her hand, when her broken heart was not hers to give! And,
secondly, when she discovered that the lover (to whom she had been
sacredly married by the church, though it seems not lawfully married
by the state,) and whom she had supposed to be dead, was really living;
and when she took the only course a pure and sensitive woman could take,
and withdrew herself from you both, _writing to you her reasons for
doing so_, and expressing her wish to live apart a quiet, single,
blameless life, you did not wait, you did not investigate, but, with
indecent haste, you so hurried through with your divorce, and hurried
into your second marriage, as to brand my mother with undeserved infamy,
and delegalized her son and yours before his birth."
"Heaven help me," moaned the Duke of Hereward, covering his face with his
hands.
"You have done us both this infinite wrong, and you cannot undo it now.
I know that you cannot, for I have taken the pains to seek legal advice,
and I have been assured that you cannot rectify this wrong. But--use my
injured mother's sacred name with reverence, Duke of Hereward, I warn
you!--"
"Heaven knows I would use it in no other way! I loved your mother. She
and you were not the only sufferers in my domestic tragedy. Her loss
nearly killed me with grief even when I thought her unworthy. The
discovery of the great wrong I did her has nearly crazed me with
remorse since that."
"Then do not grudge her son the small share you allow him of that vast
inheritance which should have been his, had you not unjustly deprived him
of it."
"I will not. Your debts shall be paid."
"And do not upbraid me by drawing any more invidious comparisons between
me and one who holds my rightful place."
"I will not--I will not. John we understand each other now. Your manner
has not been the most filial toward me, but I will not reproach you for
that. You say that I have wronged you; and you know that wrong can never
be righted in this world. 'If I were to give my body to be burned,' it
could not benefit you in the least toward recovering your position; but
I will do all I can. I will sell Greencombe, which is my own entailed
property, and I will place the money with my banker, Levison, to your
account. I have a pleasant little shooting-box at the foot of Ben Lone.
We never go to it. You must have the run of it during the vacations. When
you are ready for your commission I will find you one in a good regiment.
In return I have one request to make you. For Heaven's sake avoid meeting
the duchess or her family. Do this for the sake of peace. I hope now that
we _do_ understand each other?" said the duke with emotion.
"We do," said the young man, his better spirit getting the ascendency for
a few moments. "We do; and I beg your pardon, my father, for the hasty,
unfilial words I have spoken."
"I can make every allowance, for you, John. I can comprehend how you must
often feel that you are only your mother's son," answered the duke,
grasping the hand that his son had offered.
So the interview that had threatened to end in a rupture between guardian
and ward terminated amicably.
John Scott's debts were once more paid, his pockets were once more
filled, and he left for Scotland to spend his vacation at the hunting-box
under Ben Lone, in the neighborhood made attractive to him, not by black
cock or red deer, but by the presence of his handsome shepherdess.
The duke sold Greencombe, and placed the purchase-money in the hands of
Sir Lemuel Levison and Co., Bankers, Lombard Street, London, to be
invested for the benefit of his ward, John Scott.
The unhappy duke did this at the very time when he was so pressed for
money to carry on the great work at Lone, as to be compelled to borrow
from the Jews at an enormous interest, mortgaging his estate, Hereward
Hold, in security.
And John Scott, with an ample income, and without any restraint, took
leave of his good angel and started on the road to ruin.
Meanwhile, the great works at Lone were completed and the ducal family
took possession, and commenced their short and glorious reign there by
a series of splendid entertainments given in honor of the coming of age
of the heir.
John Scott was not an invited guest, either to the castle or the grounds;
but he presented himself there, nevertheless, and caused some confusion
by his close resemblance to his brother, and much scandal by his improper
conduct among the village girls. And many an honest peasant went home
from the feast lamenting the behavior of the young heir, and trying to
excuse or palliate his viciousness by the vulgar proverb:
"Boys will be boys."
And so the reputation of the young Marquis of Arondelle suffered and
continued to suffer from the evil doings of his double.
John Scott kept one part of his compact with the duke; he avoided the
family; even when he could not keep away from Lone, he contrived to keep
out of sight of the duke, the duchess, and the marquis.
The young Marquis of Arondelle, indeed, was very little seen at Lone. He
was at Cambridge, or on his grand tour, nearly all the time of the
family's residence in the Highlands.
John Scott left the university without honors. This was a disappointment
to the duke, who did not, however, reproach his wayward son, but only
wrote and asked him if he would now take a commission in the army. But
the young man, who had lost all his youthful military ardor, and
contracted a roving habit that made him averse to all fixed rules and
all restraints, replied by saying that his income was sufficient for
his wants, and that he preferred the free life of a scholar.
The duke wrote again, and implored him to choose one of the learned
professions, saying that it was not yet too late for him to enter upon
the study of one.
The hopeful son replied that he was not good enough for divinity, bad
enough for law, or wise enough for medicine; that, therefore, he was
unsuited to honor either of the learned professions; and begged his
guardian to disturb himself no longer on the subject of his ward's
future.
Then the duke let him alone, having, in fact, troubles enough of his own
to occupy him--a life of superficial splendor, backed by a condition of
hopeless indebtedness.
We have already, in the earlier portions of this story, described the
short, glorious, delusive reign of the Herewards at Lone, and the
culminating glory and ruin of the royal visit, so immediately to be
followed by the great crash, when the magnificent estate, with all its
splendid appointments, was sold under the hammer, and purchased by the
wealthy banker and city knight, Sir Lemuel Levison. We have told how
the noble son--the young Marquis of Arondelle--sacrificed all his
life-interest in the entailed estate, to save his father, and how
vain that sacrifice proved. We have told how the duchess died of
humiliation and grief, and how the duke and his son went into social
exile, until recalled by the romantic love of Salome Levison, who wished
to bestow her hand and her magnificent inheritance upon the disinherited
heir of Lone.
We have now brought the story of John Scott up to the night of the
banker's murder, and his own unintentional share in the tragedy.
At the time of the projected marriage between the Marquis of Arondelle
and the heiress of Lone, John Scott was deeply sunk in debt, and badly in
want of money.
The capital given him by his father had been so tied up by the donor that
nothing but the interest could be touched by the improvident recipient.
It had, in fact, been given to Sir Lemuel Levison in trust for John
Scott, with directions to invest it to the best advantage for his
benefit.
This duty the banker had most conscientiously performed by investing the
money in a mining enterprise, supposed to be perfectly secure and to pay
a high interest. This investment continued good for years, affording
John Scott a very liberal income; but as John Scott would probably have
exceeded any income, however large, that he might have possessed, so of
course he exceeded this one and got into debt, which accumulated year
after year, until at length he felt himself forced to ask his trustee to
sell out a part of his stock in the mining company to liquidate his
liabilities.
This the banker politely but firmly refused to do, representing to the
young spendthrift that his duties as a trustee forbade him to squander
the capital of his client, and that he had been made trustee for the very
purpose of preserving it.
The obstinacy of the banker enraged the young man, who protested that
it was unbearable to a man of twenty-five years of age to be in
leading-strings to a trustee, as if he were an infant of five years old.
The time came, however, when the trustee was compelled by circumstances
to sell out.
The rare foresight which had made him the millionaire that he was, warned
Sir Lemuel Levison that the mining company in which he had invested his
ward's fortune was on the eve of an explosion. As no one else perceived
the impending catastrophe, Sir Lemuel Levison was enabled to sell out his
ward's stock at a good premium some days before the crash came--not an
honest measure by any means, _we_ think, but--a perfectly
business-like one.
He informed John Scott of the transaction, telling him at the same time
that he had the capital of thirty thousand pounds in his possession,
ready to be re-invested, and the premium of three hundred pounds, which
last was at the orders of Mr. Scott.
Mr. Scott was not contented with the three hundred pounds premium. He
wanted a few thousands out of the capital, and he wrote and told his
trustee as much.
Sir Lemuel Levison was firm in refusing to diminish the capital that had
been placed in his hands for the benefit of the spendthrift.
Then John Scott in a rage, went up to London and called at the banking
house of Levison Brothers.
Being admitted to the private office of Sir Lemuel Levison, the young man
used some very intemperate language, accusing the great banker of
appropriating his own contemptible little fortune for private and
unhallowed purposes.
"You are the most unmitigated scamp alive, and I wish I had never had
anything to do with you; however, I will convince you that you have
wronged me, and then I will wash my hands of you!" exclaimed the banker.
And so saying, he unlocked a great patent safe that stood in his private
office, took from it a small iron box, and set it on his desk before him,
in full sight of his visitor.
"See here," he continued; "here is this box, read the inscription on it."
The visitor stooped over and read--in brass letters--the following
sentence: "John Scott--£30,000."
"Now, sir," continued the banker, opening the box and displaying the
treasure, all in crisp, new, Bank of England notes of a thousand pounds
each--"here is your money. I cannot betray my trust by giving it into
your hands. But I intend, nevertheless, to resign my trust into the hands
that gave it me. I am going down to Lone to celebrate the marriage of my
daughter with the Marquis of Arondelle, and I shall take this box and its
contents down with me. I shall, of course, meet the Duke of Hereward
there. As soon as the marriage is over, and the pair gone on their tour,
I shall deliver this box with its contents over to the duke, who can then
hand over any part or the whole of this money to you, if he pleases
to do so."
If any circumstance could have increased the uneasiness of the
spendthrift, it would have been this resolution of the banker and
trustee.
John Scott begged Sir Lemuel Levison to reconsider his resolution, and
not return his capital to the donor, who, in his impoverished condition,
might, for all he knew, choose to resume his gift entirely, and
appropriate it to his own uses.
But the banker was inflexible, and the next day set out for Lone,
carrying John Scott's fortune locked up in the iron box, besides other
treasures in money and jewels, secured in other receptacles.
John Scott was in despair.
At length, a daring plan occurred to his mind. His evil life had brought
him into communication with some outlaws of society of both sexes, with
whom, however, he would not willingly have been seen in daylight, or in
public. One of these--a brutal ruffian and thief, with whose haunts and
habits he was well acquainted--he sought out. He gave him an outline of
his scheme, telling him of the great treasures in jewels and other bridal
presents that would be laid out in the drawing-room at Lone on the night
of the sixth of June, in readiness for the wedding display on the morning
of the seventh.
The man Murdockson listened with greedy ears.
The tempter then told him of the iron box, inscribed with his own name,
and containing _important papers_ which it was necessary he should
recover, and proposed that if Murdockson would promise to purloin the
iron box from the chamber of Sir Lemuel Levison, and bring it safely
to him, John Scott, _he_ would engage to leave the secret passage
to the castle open for the free entrance of the adventurers.
Murdockson hesitated a long time before consenting to engage in an
enterprise which, if it promised great profit, also threatened great
dangers.
At length, however, fired by the prospect of the fabulous wealth said to
lie exposed in the form of bridal presents displayed in Castle Lone, Mr.
Murdockson promised to form a party and go down to Lone to reconnoitre,
and if he should see his way clear, to undertake the job.
The plan was carried out to its full and fatal completion.
Disguised as Highland peasants, Murdockson and two of his pals went down
to Lone to inspect the lay.
They mingled with the great crowd of peasantry and tenantry that had
collected from far and near to view the grand pageantry prepared for the
celebration of the wedding, and their presence in so large an assemblage
was scarcely noticed.
They met their principal in the course of the day, and with him arranged
the details of the robbery.
One thing John Scott insisted upon--that there was to be no violence,
no bloodshed; that if the robbery could not be effected quietly and
peaceably, without bodily harm to any inmate, it was not to be done at
all, it was to be given up at once.
The men promised all that their principal asked, on condition that he
would act his part, and let them into the castle.
That night John Scott did his work, and attained the climax of his evil
life.
He tampered with the valet, treated him with drugged whiskey, and while
the wretched man was in a stupid sleep, stole from him the pass-key to
Sir Lemuel Levison's private apartment.
We know how that terrible night ended. John Scott could not control the
devils he had raised.
Only robbery had been intended; but murder was perpetrated.
John Scott, with the curse of Cain upon his soul, and without the spoil
for which he had incurred it, fled to London and afterwards to the
Continent, where he became a homeless wanderer for years, and where he
was subsequently joined by his female companion, Rose.