We must now turn to Sir William Winslow again. He remained for full a
quarter of an hour in thought; but then he rose, and walked backwards
and forwards in the library, with a quick step: there was a struggle
within him. While he had remained seated, old feelings, old habits of
thought, old vices of the mind began to return upon him. None of the
devils which torture and tempt humanity ever give up their prey
without strife; and they wrestled with his spirit still; but remorse,
and wearing, constant apprehension had shaken their hold of him, and
he was strong enough to cast them off. There came too, in aid of
better feelings that longing for companionship, for the support of
love or friendship, which grows upon the heart when worldly enjoyments
fail. He thought, what a pity it was that he and Chandos had not lived
together in affection; he knew that it was his own fault, and he
resolved it should be his own fault no longer. Yet he doubted
himself--yet he feared; and at length, after he had walked up and down
at the same hurried pace for full three-quarters of an hour, he
started with a feeling almost of irritation, when the servant opened
the door, and announced that Mr. Winslow and another gentleman were in
the drawing-room.
"Show them in," said Sir William Winslow, and he stood leaning on the
library table, watching the door.
The expression of his brother's countenance at once did away all that
was painful in his feelings. It was full of kindness and tenderness,
and advancing with a quick step, Chandos took Sir William's proffered
hand in both his own, and pressed it warmly.
"This is very kind of you, William," he said. "But, good God! how ill
you look! In Heaven's name send for some physician."
"No, no, Chandos," said Sir William Winslow; "there is no need. I have
gone through much mental pain since I saw you--but of that no more:
let us for the future be brothers indeed--but now to business: you may
search where you please for the will you mention; and I trust in God
you may find it."
"No, William," said Chandos, frankly. "I will tell you where I think
it is. Search for it yourself; I trust you fully."
Mr. Miles pulled him by the sleeve, saying, "But my dear Sir, my dear
Sir--"
"Hush," said Chandos, sternly.--"I think, William," he continued,
"from a memorandum I have found, that the will is in the drawer of
that table; and I and my solicitor will quit the room, if you please,
while you search."
"Not for the world," replied Sir William Winslow. "But you are
mistaken, Chandos; the will is not there, as you may see;" and he drew
out the drawer with a sharp pull. There appeared nothing but a small
piece of vellum, folded like a letter, and the lawyer immediately
exclaimed, "There it is!"
"No, Sir, it is not," answered Sir William Winslow, sharply; "that is
a letter addressed to me, nothing more."
Chandos smiled, saying, "That is only a part of the contents of the
drawer. Press your thumb tightly on the right side at the back,
William. The memorandum is marked with the initials, S. D. E. which I
interpret 'Secret Drawer, Elmsly.' Now, I know of no secret drawer but
the one in that table, which I have once or twice seen my father
open."
Sir William instantly pressed on the inside, as he was directed, but
without effect; and he turned towards the bell, saying, "I will have
it broken open; for I feel it yield under my hand."
"Stay, stay," said Chandos, "let me try;" and coming round to that
side of the table, he put his hand into the drawer, and pressed hard.
At the first touch the piece of wood which formed the false back flew
out, and an inner drawer was pushed forward by a spring from behind.
It contained a considerable number of papers, and a small basket full
of gold coin. At the top of the papers, however, was a packet, sealed
with black, and marked, in a lawyer's hand, "Last will and testament
of Sir Harry Graves Winslow, Bart." Underneath was written, in Sir
Harry's own handwriting, "For Chandos Winslow, Esq. To be opened
before the funeral."
Chandos did not touch the will; but Sir William took it out and put it
into his hands, saying, "Stay! We had better have more witnesses
before you open it;" and ringing the bell, he ordered the butler to be
sent.
"My brother, Mr. Winslow," he said, when the man appeared, "has
pointed out to me this secret drawer, which I had not before
discovered; and in it we have found this paper, which seems to be a
later will of my father's than that already read. I wish you to be
present while it is examined. Now, Chandos, let us hear the contents."
Chandos opened it, and placed the paper which he found within the
cover in the hands of Mr. Miles, who, with spectacles on nose,
proceeded to read it aloud, having first ascertained that it was duly
signed and attested.
The purport of the will was precisely that which Faber had stated.
Winslow Abbey, and the estates attached, with all the furniture,
books, and pictures in the house, were left to Chandos Winslow; but
the property was charged with an annuity of four hundred a year to
Faber. A few legacies were given to servants. Five thousand pounds, in
lieu of all other demands, was assigned to Lockwood; and all other
property, real and personal, including a large sum in public
securities, of the existence of which Sir William had been hitherto
ignorant, was left to the deceased baronet's eldest son. The clergyman
of the village, and a gentleman in London, were named as executors,
together with Mr. Roberts, whom Sir Harry probably expected to act for
all.
When the will had been read, Sir William took his brother's hand, and
pressed it in his own; and nodding his head to the butler, he said,
"You may go. Now, my good Sir," he continued, turning to Mr. Miles,
"the best thing you can do is to take that paper down to the gentleman
there named, in the village of Elmsly; tell him how we found it, and
ask him if he is prepared to act. In fact, take all the necessary
steps for substituting this will for the other. I shall of course
consent to all that is required. There may be some difficulty indeed
as to the Abbey property, in regard to which I have acted rashly; but
that I must settle as I can. My brother will join you in a little, at
the inn. At present I wish to speak to him for a few minutes."
He spoke in somewhat of his old imperious tone; and the little lawyer
took the hint, and departed rapidly.
"And now, Chandos," said Sir William Winslow, in a voice that trembled
with emotion, "tell me one thing. Have you not a boy under your
charge, a boy of about seven or eight years old?"
"I have, William," answered Chandos, with a faint smile; "and as fine
and brave a boy he is as ever lived."
"Is he not my son?" demanded Sir William Winslow, in a low tone.
"I have every reason to think he is," answered Chandos.
"Where is he? where is he?" exclaimed his brother. "I must see him,
Chandos; I must have him here."
"That you can have in half-an-hour," answered Chandos: "I left him at
the village inn."
"Oh, send him to me!" cried Sir William: "I knew not she had had a
child. Yet, stay one moment; promise me, Chandos, as a man of honour,
if anything befalls to take me hence, that you will be a father to my
boy."
"Be you sure I will, William," answered Chandos Winslow. "Is there
anything more?"
"Yes, one thing more," replied his brother, taking up the paper he had
written in the morning; "I have there put down my wishes--informally
perhaps--in the shape of a will. I have named you my executor; and I
am sure that, whether the will be valid or not, you will carry it
out."
"Upon my honour," answered Chandos Winslow, "if you have left the boy
your whole property, it shall be his."
"No, I have not done that," said Sir William; "I have not wronged you,
Chandos, in this at least: and now send me my boy as soon as may be;
but come yourself afterwards. Take the will with you. No one can tell
what may happen from hour to hour in this life."
"That is true, William;" answered Chandos; "but yet I trust there is
no such imminent danger, though it is evident you are far from well.
If you would see a physician, you would really greatly oblige me; but
I will speak with you more on that subject, when I return, which shall
be ere long."
The moment his brother was gone, Sir William Winslow rang the bell,
and sent for his valet. The man entered with a peculiarly placable and
even smiling look; a visitation with which his countenance was seldom
troubled. But it was soon changed into one of dark malevolence; for
the first words of his master were:--"I sent for you, Benini, to tell
you that I shall have no further need of your services after the end
of a month. You have warning to that effect. You may go."
"Very well, Sir William," replied the man; "but it might be better for
you to think."
"I have thought," answered Sir William, sternly; "you may retire, I
say."
The man bowed, and left the room; and Sir Winslow murmured, "That is
done--I will not live in fear. Death is better."
"There is a man at the hall-door wishes to speak with you, Sir;" said
a footman, entering.
"I am busy," said his master; "I cannot be disturbed--Who is he?"
"I do not know, Sir," answered the servant; "a tall, strong man, well
dressed enough; but with a face like a gipsey, or a mulatto--he said
he must and would see you, as he had business of importance to speak
about."
"Well, if he must and will see me, send him in," said the baronet; "I
think I will soon dispatch his business."
The man retired, and soon returned with the same personage whom
Chandos had seen speaking with her whom we have called hitherto Sally
Stanley, in the park.
"What do you want with me?" asked Sir William Winslow, fiercely.
His visitor paused till the door was shut, and then replied, in a
rude, familiar tone, "I want a little money, Sir William; that's the
truth. But if I get money, I can give money's worth."
Sir William Winslow's heart sunk. "Indeed!" he said; "pray, what can
you give?"
"Silence," answered the man.
"Silence!" repeated the baronet in a low voice; "silence about what?"
"I will tell you a little story, Sir," was the answer; "I am a poor
man, who get my living how I can. On the fifth of last February, I was
in the grounds of Northferry-house, from a little before five till an
hour or two after. Now, I want a thousand pounds. When I have got it,
I will go abroad and join some of my own people in another country."
Sir William Winslow had fallen into a deep fit of thought, and his
lips were very white. Though conscience had cowed him, at first, even
with the valet; yet, on further consideration, his courage had
revived; and he had argued that the Italian could prove little or
nothing unsupported by the evidence of others. But this case was
different. He dared not grapple with it. His brain seemed to reel. His
heart felt as if the blood stood still in it. The man had been on the
spot at the time; he had evidently seen all. His testimony joined to
that of the Italian was death. Would he brave it? Would he dare him to
do his worst? Would he undergo trial--risk condemnation. He thought of
his son, of his brother, of his family, of the honour of his name and
race: and when the man went away, the basket, full of gold pieces,
which had been found in the secret drawer, was empty.
The unhappy man he left sat for a few minutes with his hands covering
his eyes. Who shall tell the agony of his thoughts? He was roused by
some one tapping at one of the windows which descended to the ground;
and starting up, he beheld a beautiful boy, with a sun-burned face,
plainly, but well dressed, gazing in.
Sir William strode forward, threw the window open, and gazed at the
boy with strange and new sensations: "Who are you, my dear?" he said,
taking his hand, and leading him in. "Did Mr. Winslow send you?"
"No," answered the boy; "I came to seek him: Mr. Lockwood sent me."
"But do you not live with Mr. Winslow?" asked Sir William; "is he not
kind to you?"
"Oh! that he is," replied the boy, warmly. "But is he here?"
Sir William Winslow cast his arms round him, held him to his heart,
and wept, without reply.
"No harm has happened to him?" asked the boy, anxiously.
"Oh no!" said his father; "no. He promised to send you down to me; but
he must have taken a different road from you. What did you want with
him? Do you know who I am?"
"No, I do not," replied the boy; "but if you are Sir William Winslow,
his brother, I was to tell you, in case he was gone"--
"And what were you to tell?" demanded the baronet. "I am Sir William
Winslow."
"Then put down your ear, and I will whisper it," said the boy; "for I
was not to let any one else hear. Mr. Lockwood said that you were to
mount your horse and ride over to Winslow Abbey as fast as possible,
by the east gates of the park; because there are two constables come
over from S----, drinking at the inn; and we heard them say that they
would have you in gaol in an hour, as they had your brother; but that
they would dine first."
Sir William gazed at the boy with straining eyes, but without reply;
and the sweet young voice added, "Oh go, go! It is a horrible place a
gaol. Any place is better than that."
"It is!" said Sir William Winslow, solemnly; "It is!"
Again he held the boy to his heart; he pressed a warm and eager kiss
upon his broad forehead; laid his hand upon his bead, and said aloud,
"May God bless thee, my child!" He then turned abruptly, and quitted
the room by a door which led to a small cabinet beyond. The boy gazed
over all the fine things the library contained for a minute or two;
and then asked himself if he should go or stay. The next moment there
was a report of fire-arms, a heavy fall, and a low groan. The boy was
terrified; he knew not at what. He crept towards the door and
listened; but the moment after he heard the voice of Chandos in the
hall; and running out, he caught him by the hand as he was speaking to
one of the old footmen, and said, in a low voice, "Some one has been
shooting in the house; and there is a groaning in that room."
"What does he mean?" cried Chandos, addressing the old man in much
agitation.
"I thought I heard a shot too, Sir, when I was coming to answer your
bell," said the servant, with a white face; "I hope nothing has
happened. Master has been very odd all day."
"Where is it, Tim? Where is it?" cried Chandos.
"Here!" said the boy, leading the way to the library, and then
pointing to the door.
They opened it; and found what had been Sir William Winslow on the
floor, with a pistol firmly clenched in his right hand, and the barrel
grasped between his teeth. A powder-flask and bag of balls lay on a
chair; and the carpet was drenched with blood.