GERTIE GAINS HER HERITAGE.
Ruth Heritage, dressed in the deepest mourning, sat in the great room
of Heritage Hall, looking out upon the grounds but seeing them not. Her
thoughts were far away in the past, and the form that was ever before
her eyes was the form of her dead husband.
Ruth, when her first paroxysm of grief was over and she could think
calmly, acknowledged that it was far better that the man whom she had
loved so devotedly should be lying in the green churchyard than that he
should be living a hunted outcast, perhaps imprisoned in a living tomb
on which the iron hand of the law had turned the key for ever.
At the grave Justice halts—beyond it neither friends can aid nor foes
pursue. With all his sins upon him, Edward Marston slept the long sleep
until the Great Judge should call him.
Religion with Ruth was no superstition, it was a beautiful faith, and,
accepting the grand story of salvation as a Divine revelation to man,
she treasured the abiding hope that He who had promised forgiveness to
the very worst would be more merciful to the guilty soul of her lost
love than earthly judges would have been to his guilty body.
Her mother was but little comfort to her in her loneliness. Poor Mrs.
Adrian had become more and more hard to please, and infirmity of temper
grew apace with infirmity of body.
It was an intense relief to the bereaved woman when Gertie came back.
For Gertie she had always cherished a motherly affection.
Gertie was associated with all her later life, and was for ever bound
up with the short history of her wedded happiness.
Gertie and she and Marston had been a happy little family group before
the trouble came, and with Gertie she could talk of the past without
restraint.
But Gertie brought back with her a strange story—a story which when
Ruth heard she resolved at once to test to its foundation.
From Gertie Mrs. Heritage gleaned not only the fact that her little
_protegee_ was in some mysterious way heiress to a fortune, but she
heard all that happened to the late squire’s son and his faithful wife.
Ruth sent a loving message to Bess at once, and bade her come to the
Hall without delay. She remembered what this woman had done for her,
and if, as she more than suspected, the romantic history of which
Gertie only knew a few detached scraps was true, she was bound by every
consideration of justice and humanity at least to make such reparation
for the bitter wrong as was within her power.
It was with a strange feeling that Bess came to the Hall once more, for
the events of the last few days had made a deep impression on her.
The law was already at work to prove George’s innocence, and she had no
fear for that. But she had hesitated to break in upon Ruth’s sacred
sorrow with the tiding that she had lost not only husband and peace of
mind, but fortune and home.
Ruth and Bess sat together all the spring afternoon, and the light died
down in the west, and the grey shadows crept up the long walk and fell
softly on the tearful faces of the two women.
Gently had Bess broken to the widow the secret of her dead husband’s
treachery, and Ruth listened, never doubting a word, for truth was
written on every line of Bess’s sweet, thin face.
And while in the twilight they still sat on, all told, all known.
Bess placed her arm gently round Ruth’s neck, and drawing her towards
her called her sister, and pressed the kiss of peace upon her lips.
Ruth had seen her duty from the first.
Not for one moment would she dispute the just claim of the man and
woman she had unknowingly and unwittingly ousted.
She wished that the Hall should be Bess’s home until all was settled,
and that there should she welcome her husband as the rightful owner
when the strange story had been told, and Justice had acknowledged that
it had added one more to its long list of innocent victims.
Not a word was said about Gertie’s claim until after the funeral of
Heckett, but on the following day Ruth’s solicitors wrote Mr. Gurth
Egerton an official letter which completely spoiled that worthy
gentleman’s breakfast.
He flung the letter across the table to Birnie.
‘The bombshell’s dropped, Birnie!’ he exclaimed. ‘They’ve found a
certificate of Ralph’s marriage with Gertie’s mother among the old man
s papers. What the deuce shall I do?’
‘That’s awkward,’ answered Birnie. ‘What are the terms of the will?’
‘Ralph’s father left everything to me if his son died without
legitimate issue.’
‘Ahem! And now they pretend that he married; that this girl is his
daughter, and therefore entitled to the property?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You didn’t know of this marriage, did you?’ said Birnie quietly.
‘No, my dear fellow! Of course not,’ answered Gurth colouring. ‘If I
had——’
Gurth did not finish the sentence.
‘Well,’ said Birnie, after looking fixedly in the bottom of his cup for
a minute, ‘I should compromise—or fight.’
‘It’s no good fighting. I’m afraid it’s too straight.’
‘Then compromise, my dear boy. Get an indemnity for the past, and an
allowance for the future.’
‘But would they do it?’
‘Rather than have a long lawsuit. You can raise no end of quibbles. The
law is a glorious weapon to fight Justice with, you know. If you lose
the estate you haven’t got a rap; all the expenses would have to come
out of the estate. Perhaps they’ll think it cheaper to compromise. Try
it.’
Gurth took Birnie’s advice and found it good. The solicitors were
instructed to do nothing unfriendly.
Mr. Egerton was the victim of an unfortunate circumstance. If he
resigned his claim and avoided litigation he would be fairly treated.
Gurth accepted a liberal proposition, and acknowledged the genuineness
of Miss Egerton’s pretensions, giving his legal assent to a transfer of
the property, and accepting an indemnity for the revenue he had already
had through his hands.
He managed to come out of the business with a small secured income and
a by no means small nest-egg, and once more Mr. Oliver Birnie rubbed
his hands and congratulated himself on the distinguished services he
had rendered his friend.
He knew how, moreover, that perhaps Gurth might have some day appealed
to him if the settlement had been less satisfactory, and though he owed
his present position entirely to Gurth’s assistance in early days, he
was by no means inclined to return, the compliment.
Men of Birnie’s stamp never return anything, unless it is an I O U in
answer to a friend’s appeal for help.
Ruth’s solicitors were dealing not only with the affairs of Miss
Egerton, but they also, at Ruth’s request, undertook the task of
releasing George Heritage.
In the quiet lawyer’s office Ruth, deeply veiled, told the whole story,
and though her heart almost broke and her face burnt with shame as
slowly, and with a trembling voice, she recounted her husband’s share
in it, she went on bravely to the end, never halting until she had
branded herself with the shame of being a felon’s wife, and stripped
herself of every penny she had in the world.
The solicitors took up the strange case with energy, and worked bravely
for their client. Link by link they rejoined the long-broken chain, and
carried the case even into the sacred precincts of the Home Office.
And in the end, after delays and endless trouble, the Home Secretary
was good enough graciously to advise Her Majesty to grant a free pardon
to a man who had done nothing—nothing except to escape from the prison
where he had been cast by the merciless machinations of a gang of
guilty wretches with the assistance of Mr. Seth Preene, late in the
confidence and in the pay of the authorities of Scotland Yard.