Chandos Winslow sat in the little village inn at Elmsly, with his keen
old solicitor from S----; who had, as the reader has seen, just
mingled in a note to Sir William Winslow, a certain degree of
lawyer-like formality, with an affection of commonplace ease, which he
thought was masterly in its kind. They were awaiting the reply; and
the lawyer calculated upon either one or two courses being adopted by
the baronet to meet the pungent contents of his missive. "Sir
William," he said, addressing Chandos, "will, I imagine, either beg to
know where the will is supposed to be concealed, promising to cause
search to be made himself; or else he will roughly refer us to his
solicitors in London. Mark my words, if he does not. At all events,
that last hit of our's yesterday--coming in, and finding the rough
draught of the will in Roberts's handwriting, amongst the papers in
the cabinet left to you with the other things--was capital. Hang me,
Mr. Winslow, if I did not think for a minute that it was the will
itself. However, as it is, we shall have an excellent case of it; and
I should not wonder if it were to go through every court in England,
up to the House of Lords."
"A pleasant prospect," said Chandos, drily; and he fell into the
silence of expectation.
"Is Mr. Chandos Winslow here?" asked a good, clear, round voice, upon
the stairs about five minutes after; and starting up, Chandos opened
the door, when, to his surprise, he beheld Lockwood with the little
boy, Tim Stanley.
"Well, I hope I've got him here in time," said Lockwood, "though I
could not get over by noon, as you wished; for you see, Chandos, it is
a good long round first to Northferry and then to Elmsly; and I did
not receive the message till five this morning."
Chandos gazed on him in surprise, but shook him warmly, by the hand,
and caressed the boy, saying, at the same time, "I am glad to see you
both, Lockwood; but I certainly had no notion you were coming."
"Didn't you send?" exclaimed Lockwood. "Then who the devil did, I
wonder? I had a message this morning shouted in at my window, at five,
to bring the boy over here by noon to-day to meet you. But now we must
have some dinner; for I am hungry enough, and the boy is ravenous.
What have you done with Faber? Where's Atra Cura, if he is no longer
behind the horseman?"
"We left him at S----," replied Chandos; "he was afraid to come within
ten miles of Elmsly."
"He's a poor creature," cried Lockwood, "a very poor creature indeed.
There is something in such weakness that debases prosperity, and makes
even misfortune contemptible; though it is often an element of
grandeur, as Seneca justly says: 'Nihil æque magnam apud nos
admirationem occupet, quam homo fortiter miser.'"
"He's a little chicken-hearted," said the lawyer; "but he's very right
to keep out of harm's way when he is not paid for going into it. And
now, Mr. Winslow, I had better ring for something to eat for the nice
little fellow--a son of yours, I presume--we can take a bit of lunch
at the same time. It is an agreeable way of occupying time."
The luncheon was ordered; and though Chandos denied the degree of
relationship to little Tim imputed, the lawyer remained in the same
opinion. It did not at all spoil Tim's appetite, however. He was not
at all aware that he had ever had a father, and would quite as soon
have had Chandos in that capacity as any one else. He set to heartily
then; and so did Lockwood, and eke the lawyer; but before the latter
had eaten two mouthfuls, the messenger who had been sent to Elmsly
returned with a letter for him.
"Soon decided!" said Mr. Miles; "he has not taken long to consider."
And after opening the cover containing the epistle addressed to
himself, he held the one enclosed in his hand, without looking at the
direction, while he read the other.
"Well, this takes me by surprise!" said the lawyer; "remorse of
conscience, evidently! Read that, Mr. Winslow; the other is for you
too."
Chandos took the letters, and read first, with much wonder, the one
which had been opened; and then broke the seal of the other, which
contained these words:--
"Come to me, Chandos. Let us forget the past, and be really brothers
for the future. If you can show me, as I think you hinted, the
particulars of the last will, it shall be acted upon by me as if it
were before me. If not, I will put it in force as far as I recollect
it; for I certainly did read it once; but that is a long time ago, and
I do not perfectly remember it. At all events, come to me; for there
is a sort of heavy presentiment upon me, that my life will not last
long; and I would fain die in friendship with my brother.
"Yours,
"WILLIAM WINSLOW."
"It must be so, indeed!" said Chandos Winslow; "this change is too
great, too sudden to be in the ordinary course of events. Some severe
illness must be hanging over him. Come, Mr. Miles, let us go at once,
Lockwood will stay with the boy till we return."
"Nay, I will go with you part of the way, at least," said Lockwood;
"and you shall tell me what is the drift of all this as you go; for I
am in darkness. Tim can take care of himself; can't you, Tim?"
Chandos threw Lockwood his brother's two letters; and, while he read
them over in silence, little Tim declared he could take care of
himself very well. Lockwood, however, took his hat and accompanied his
half-brother and the lawyer on their way, sometimes asking a question,
sometimes falling into a fit of thought.
"I'll tell you what, Chandos," he said at length, "I cannot help
thinking there is some trick in all this. I never saw such a sudden
change. Why it is only three nights ago that he growled at you like a
dog."
"No, no, there is no trick," replied Mr. Winslow; "but I fear there is
some serious illness, either commenced or approaching, which has thus
depressed his spirits, and given conscience power to make her voice
heard in the stillness of the passions."
"Well, I am not quite satisfied of that," answered Lockwood, "and
shall be glad to hear the result; but I will not go in with you. We
were never friends, and the sight of me might raise the devil again. I
shall look out for you, however, as you come back."
"I will lead you the shortest way," said Chandos, speaking to the
lawyer, who was approaching the great gates; "that path takes one half
a mile round;" and proceeding along the road, he did not enter the
park till he reached a small doorway, which stood open during the day.
The path with which this doorway communicated, led through the depth
of a splendid wood of Spanish chestnuts, divided by somewhat formal
alleys, which crossed each other in various directions. When Chandos
and his companions had walked on not more than two hundred yards, they
could hear the voices of two persons speaking vehemently, and at the
first traversing alley which they came to, they all turned their heads
to the right, whence the sounds proceeded. Perhaps eighty or ninety
yards from them, under the green shade of the wide leafy trees, were
standing a man and a woman. The man Chandos immediately recognized as
his companion in the stage-coach some days before, and in the woman,
whose face was turned towards them, he saw Sally Stanley. She was
throwing about her arms in wild and even fierce gesticulation, and in
the stillness of their footfalls over the turf, he could hear her
exclaim, "If you do, a curse will cleave to you and destroy you, which
never failed yet--a curse which will,"--but then her eyes lighted on
the three persons who were passing, and she darted in amongst the
trees.
The man followed her, after taking a look round; and Lockwood asked,
"Do you know who those are?"
"Tim's mother," answered Chandos; "and one of her tribe, I suppose."
"One of the gipsies, if you mean that," replied Lockwood; "and the
worst fellow amongst them. If I catch him, I will break every bone in
his skin. He gave me a blow when I had my hands tied, and I will not
forget him. But as to Sally Stanley being one of the gipsies, Chandos,
that is a mistake."
"Then my suspicions are correct;" said Mr. Winslow, with an inquiring
look at the other's face. "How was she saved from the river?"
"That I don't know," replied Lockwood; "the gipsies pulled her out, I
suppose. But I thought you must have known all about it, from your
fondness for the boy. If you come to calculate, you will see whose son
he must be."
"How strange are the turns of fate!" said Chandos; and the whole party
fell into deep thought.
Two or three minutes after, Lockwood halted, saying, "I will go out
into the open part of the park, and wait for you under a tree; for I
am anxious to have the first news:" and Chandos and the lawyer walked
on to the house, which was not more than a quarter of a mile in
advance. When they were gone, Lockwood sauntered up and down for about
ten minutes--perhaps it might be a little more; for he was a man
accustomed to solitude and his own thoughts; so that lonely time flew
fast with him. At length, however, he thought he heard a light step
running; and the next moment Sally Stanley was by his side. Her face
was eager, and her eyes sparkling, but not with joy.
"Lockwood," she said, in a low tone, "Lockwood, run up to the village;
to the inn."
"Has anything happened to the boy?" cried Lockwood, with a look of
apprehension.
"No, no!" answered the woman; "but run up--find out what the two men
are doing over here--the two men from S----. Listen to what they say--
and save him if they are seeking him."
Her meaning was not very clear; but there was so much apprehension and
impatience in her look, that Lockwood, saying, "Well, well, I suppose
I shall find out what you mean when I get there," turned away and left
her.
His long legs and his quick steps soon brought him to the door of the
Golden Bull, at Elmsly; but all seemed quiet on the outside of the
house, at least. There was a little sort of gig, with the horse taken
out, standing in the road, and no other thing to attract attention.
Lockwood entered the house, and was about to walk up to the room where
the boy had been left, when in what was called the parlour, on the
left, he heard some men's voices speaking; and in he went.
The room contained two men and a servant girl, putting down some beer
and glasses before them; and Lockwood sat down and asked for a glass
of ale. Two or three sentences passed between the previous occupants
of the room, which seemed principally to refer to their own dinner;
but there were words mingled with their discourse which made the last
comer lend an attentive ear; and before the ale was brought to him, he
rose, walked slowly out of the room with a careless air, hurried up
stairs, and spoke a few eager words to the boy Tim.
He was answered only by a look of quick intelligence; and after
receiving a few words of clear direction as to the way to Elmsly
House, Tim snatched up his cap and ran off.
Lockwood then descended to the parlour again, drunk his ale, and took
up an old newspaper that lay on one of the tables.