LIGHT THROWN ON OBSCURITY.
And so, the trouble and the uncertainty, the ups and the downs, the
turnings out and changes were at an end, and Lionel Verner was at
rest--at rest so far as rest can be, in this lower world. He was
reinstalled at Verner's Pride, its undisputed master; never again to be
sent forth from it during life.
He had not done as John Massingbird did--gone right in, the first day,
and taken up his place, _sans ceremonie_, without word and without
apology, at the table's head, leaving John to take his at the side or
the foot, or where he could. Quite the contrary. Lionel's refinement of
mind, his almost sensitive consideration for the feelings of others,
clung to him now, as it always had done, as it always would do, and he
was chary of disturbing John Massingbird too early in his sway of the
internal economy of Verner's Pride. It had to be done, however; and John
Massingbird remained on with him, his guest.
All that had passed; and the spring of the year was growing late. The
codicil had been proved; the neighbourhood had tendered their
congratulations to the new master, come into his own at last; the
improvements, in which Lionel's conscience held so deep a score, were
begun and in good progress; and John Massingbird's return to Australia
was decided upon, and the day of his departure fixed. People surmised
that Lionel would be glad to get rid of him, if only for the sake of his
drawing-rooms. John Massingbird still lounged at full length on the
amber satin couches, in dropping-off slippers or in dirty boots, as the
case might be, still filled them with clouds of tobacco-smoke, so that
you could not see across them. Mrs. Tynn declared, to as many people as
she dared, that she prayed every night on her bended knees for Mr.
Massingbird's departure, before the furniture should be quite ruined, or
they burned in their beds.
Mr. Massingbird was not going alone. Luke Roy was returning with him.
Luke's intention always had been to return to Australia; he had but come
home for a short visit to the old place and to see his mother. Luke had
been doing well at the gold-fields. He did not dig; but he sold liquor
to those who did dig; at which he was making money rapidly. He had a
"chum," he said, who managed the store while he was away. So glowing was
his account of his prospects, that old Roy had decided upon going also,
and trying his fortune there. Mrs. Roy looked aghast at the projected
plans; she was too old for it, she urged. But she could not turn her
husband. He had never studied her wishes too much, and he was not likely
to begin to do so now. So Mrs. Roy, with incessantly-dropping tears, and
continued prognostications that the sea-sickness would kill her, was
forced to make her preparations for the voyage. Perhaps one motive, more
than all else, influenced Roy's decision--the getting out of Deerham.
Since his hopes of having something to do with the Verner's Pride
estate--as he had in Stephen Verner's time--had been at an end, Roy had
gone about in a perpetual state of inward mortification. This emigration
would put an end to it; and what with the anticipation of making a
fortune at the diggings, and what with his satisfaction at saying adieu
to Deerham, and what with the thwarting of his wife, Roy was in a state
of complacency.
The time went on to the evening previous to the departure. Lionel and
John Massingbird had dined alone, and now sat together at the open
window, in the soft May twilight. A small table was at John's elbow; a
bottle of rum, and a jar of tobacco, water and a glass being on it,
ready to his hand. He had done his best to infect Lionel with a taste
for rum-and-water--as a convenient beverage to be taken at any hour from
seven o'clock in the morning onwards--but Lionel had been proof against
it. John had the rum-drinking to himself, as he had the smoking. Lionel
had behaved to him liberally. It was not in Lionel Verner's nature to
behave otherwise, no matter to whom. From the moment the codicil was
found, John Massingbird had no further right to a single sixpence of the
revenues of the estate. He was in the position of one who has nothing.
It was Lionel who had found means for all--for his expenses, his voyage;
for a purse when he should get to Australia. John Massingbird was
thinking of this as he sat now, smoking and taking draughts of the
rum-and-water.
"If ever I turn to work with a will and become a hundred-thousand-pound
man, old fellow," he suddenly broke out, "I'll pay you back. This, and
also what I got rid of while the estate was in my hands."
Lionel, who had been looking from the window in a reverie, turned
round and laughed. To imagine John Massingbird becoming a
hundred-thousand-pound man through his own industry, was a stretch of
fancy marvellously comprehensive.
"I have to make a clean breast of it to-night," resumed John
Massingbird, after puffing away for some minutes in silence. "Do you
remember my saying to you, the day we heard news of the codicil's being
found, that I was in your debt?"
"I remember your saying it," replied Lionel. "I did not understand what
you meant. You were not in my debt."
"Yes, I was. I had a score to pay off as big as the moon. It's as big
still; for it's one that never can be paid off; never will be."
Lionel looked at him in surprise; his manner was so unusually serious.
"Fifty times, since I came back from Australia, have I been on the point
of clearing myself of the secret. But, you see, there was Verner's Pride
in the way. You would naturally have said upon hearing it, 'Give the
place up to me; you can have no moral right to it.' And I was not
prepared to give it up; it seemed too comfortable a nest, just at first,
after the knocking about over yonder. Don't you perceive?"
"I don't perceive, and I don't understand," replied Lionel. "You are
speaking in an unknown language."
"I'll speak in a known one, then. It was through me that old Ste Verner
left Verner's Pride away from you."
"What!" uttered Lionel.
"True," nodded John, with composure. "I told him a--a bit of scandal of
you. And the strait-laced old simpleton took and altered his will on the
strength of it. I did not know of that until afterwards."
"And the scandal?" asked Lionel quietly. "What may it have been?"
"False scandal," carelessly answered John Massingbird. "But I thought it
was true when I spoke it. I told your uncle that it was you who had
played false with Rachel Frost."
"Massingbird!"
"Don't fancy I went to him open-mouthed, and said, 'Lionel Verner's the
man.' A fellow who could do such a sneaking trick would be only fit for
hanging. The avowal to him was surprised from me in an unguarded moment;
it slipped out in self-defence. I'd better tell you the tale."
"I think you had," said Lionel.
"You remember the bother there was, the commotion, the night Rachel was
drowned. I came home and found Mr. Verner sitting at the inquiry. It
never struck me, then, to suspect that it could be any one of us three
who had been in the quarrel with Rachel. I knew that I had had no finger
in the pie; I had no cause to think that you had; and, as to Fred, I'd
as soon have suspected staid old Verner himself; besides, I believed
Fred to have eyes only for Sibylla West. Not but that the affair
appeared to me unaccountably strange; for, beyond Verner's Pride, I did
not think Rachel possessed an acquaintance."
He stopped to take a few whiffs at his pipe, and then resumed, Lionel
listening in silence.
"On the following morning by daylight I went down to the pond, the scene
of the previous night. A few stragglers were already there. As we were
looking about and talking, I saw on the very brink of the pond,
partially hidden in the grass--in fact trodden into it, as it seemed to
me--a glove. I picked it up, and was on the point of calling out that I
had found a glove, when it struck me that the glove was yours. The
others had seen me stoop, and one of them asked if I had found anything.
I said 'No.' I had crushed the glove in my hand, and presently I
transferred it to my pocket."
"Your motive being good-nature to me?" interrupted Lionel.
"To be sure it was. To have shown that as Lionel Verner's glove, would
have fixed the affair on your shoulders at once. Why should I tell? I
had been in scrapes myself. And I kept it, saying nothing to anybody. I
examined the glove privately, saw it was really yours, and, of course, I
drew my own conclusions--that it was you who had been in the quarrel,
though what cause of dispute you could have with Rachel, I was at a loss
to divine. Next came the inquest, and the medical men's revelation at
it: and that cleared up the mystery, 'Ho, ho,' I said to myself, 'so
Master Lionel can do a bit of courting on his own account, steady as he
seems.' I----"
"Did you assume I threw her into the pond?" again interposed Lionel.
"Not a bit of it. What next, Lionel? The ignoring of some of the
Commandments comes natural enough to the conscience; but the sixth--one
does not ignore that. I believed that you and Rachel might have come to
loggerheads, and that she, in a passion, flung herself in. I held the
glove still in my pocket; it seemed to be the safest place for it; and I
intended, before I left, to hand it over to you, and to give you my word
I'd keep counsel. On the night of the inquest, you were closeted in the
study with Mr. Verner. I chafed at it, for I wished to be closeted with
him myself. Unless I could get off from Verner's Pride the next day,
there would be no chance of my sailing in the projected ship--where our
passages had been already secured by Luke Roy. By and by you came into
the dining-room--do you remember it?--and told me Mr. Verner wanted me
in the study. It was just what _I_ wanted; and I went in. I shan't
forget my surprise to the last hour of my life. His greeting was an
accusation of me--of _me!_ that it was I who had played false with
Rachel. He had proof, he said. One of the house-girls had seen one of us
three young men coming from the scene that night--and he, Stephen
Verner, knew it could only be me. Fred was too cautious, he said; Lionel
he could depend upon; and he bitterly declared that he would not give me
a penny piece of the promised money, to take me on my way. A pretty
state of things, was it not, Lionel, to have one's projects put an end
to in that manner? In my dismay and anger, I blurted out the truth; that
one of us might have been seen coming from the scene, but it was not
myself; it was Lionel; and I took the glove out of my pocket and showed
it to him."
John Massingbird paused to take a draught of the rum-and-water, and then
resumed.
"I never saw any man so agitated as Mr. Verner. Upon my word, had I
foreseen the effect the news would have had upon him, I hardly think I
should have told it. His face turned ghastly; he lay back in his chair,
uttering groans of despair; in short, it had completely prostrated him.
I never knew how deeply he was attached to you, Lionel, until that
night."
"He believed the story?" said Lionel.
"Of course he believed it," assented John Massingbird. "I told it him as
a certainty, as a thing about which there was no admission for the
slightest doubt: I assumed it, myself, to be a certainty. When he was a
little recovered, he took possession of the glove, and bound me to
secrecy. You would never have forgotten it, Lionel, had you seen his
shaking hands, his imploring eyes, heard his voice of despair; all
lifted to beseech secrecy for you--for the sake of his dead brother--for
the name of Verner--for his own sake. I heartily promised it; and he
handed me over a more liberal sum than even I had expected, enjoined me
to depart with the morrow's dawn, and bade me Godspeed. I believe he was
glad that I was going, lest I might drop some chance word during the
present excitement of Deerham, and by that means direct suspicion to
you. He need not have feared. I was already abusing myself mentally for
having told _him_, although it had gained me my ends: 'Live and let
live' had been my motto hitherto. The interview was nearly over when you
came to interrupt it, asking if Mr. Verner would see Robin Frost. Mr.
Verner answered that he might come in. He came; you and Fred with him.
Do you recollect old Verner's excitement?--his vehement words in answer
to Robin's request that a reward should be posted up? 'He'll never be
found, Robin; the villain will never be found, so long as you and I and
the world shall last.' I recollect them, you see, word for word, to this
hour; but none, save myself, knew what caused Mr. Verner's excitement,
or that the word 'villain' was applied to you. Upon my word and honour,
old boy, I felt as if I had the deeper right to it! and I felt angry
with old Verner for looking at the affair in so strong a light. But
there was no help for it. I went away the next morning----"
"Stay!" interrupted Lionel. "A single word to me would have set the
misapprehension straight. Why did you not speak it?"
"I wish I had, now. But--it wasn't done. There! The knowledge that turns
up in the future we can't call to aid in the present. If I had had a
doubt that it was you, I should have spoken. We were some days out at
sea on our voyage to Australia when I and Luke got comparing notes; and
I found, to my everlasting astonishment, that it was not you, after all,
who had been with Rachel, but Fred."
"You should have written home, to do me justice with Mr. Verner. You
ought not to have delayed one instant, when the knowledge came to you."
"And how was I to send the letter? Chuck it into the sea in the ship's
wake, and give it orders to swim back to port?"
"You might have posted it at the first place you touched at."
"Look here, Lionel. I never regarded it in that grave light. How was I
to suppose that old Verner would disinherit you for that trumpery
escapade? I never knew why he had disinherited you, until I came home
and heard from yourself the story of the inclosed glove, which he left
you as a legacy. It's since then that I have been wanting to make a
clean breast of it. I say, only fancy Fred's deepness! We should never
have thought it of him. The quarrel between him and Rachel that night
appeared to arise from the fact of her having seen him with Sibylla;
having overheard that there was more between them than was pleasant to
_her_: at least, so far as Luke could gather it. Lionel, what should
have brought your glove lying by the pond?"
"I am unable to say. I had not been there, to drop it. The most feasible
solution that I can come to is that Rachel may have had it about her for
the purpose of mending, and let it drop herself, when she jumped in."
"Ay. That's the most likely. There was a hole in it, I remember; and it
was Rachel who attended to such things in the household. It must have
been so."
Lionel fell into a reverie. How--but for this mistake of John
Massingbird's, this revelation to his uncle--the whole course of his
life's events might have been changed! Verner's Pride bequeathed to him,
never bequeathed at all to the Massingbirds, it was scarcely likely
that Sibylla, in returning home, would have driven to Verner's Pride.
Had she _not_ driven to it that night, he might never have been so
surprised by his old feelings as to have proposed to her. He might have
married Lucy Tempest; have lived, sheltered with her in Verner's Pride
from the storms of life; he might----
"Will you forgive me, old chap?"
It was John Massingbird who spoke, interrupting his day dreams. Lionel
shook them off, and took the offered hand stretched out.
"Yes," he heartily said. "You did not do me the injury intentionally. It
was the result of a mistake, brought about by circumstances."
"No, that I did not, by Jove!" answered John Massingbird. "I don't think
I ever did a fellow an intentional injury in my life. You would have
been the last I should single out for it. I have had many ups and downs,
Lionel, but somehow I have hitherto always managed to alight on my legs;
and I believe it's because I let other folks get along--tit for tat, you
see. A fellow who is for ever putting his hindering spoke in the wheel
of others, is safe to get hindering spokes put into his. I am not a
pattern model," comically added John Massingbird; "but I have never done
wilful injury to others, and my worst enemy (if I possess one) can't
charge it upon me."
True enough. With all Mr. John Massingbird's failings, his heart was not
a bad one. In the old days his escapades had been numerous; his brother
Frederick's, none (so far as the world knew); but the one was liked a
thousand times better than the other.
"We part friends, old fellow!" he said to Lionel the following morning,
when all was ready, and the final moment of departure had come.
"To be sure we do," answered Lionel. "Should England ever see you again,
you will not forget Verner's Pride."
"I don't think it will ever see me again. Thanks, old chap, all the
same. If I should be done up some unlucky day for the want of a
twenty-pound note, you won't refuse to let me have it, for old times'
sake?"
"Very well," laughed Lionel.
And so they parted. And Verner's Pride was quit of Mr. John Massingbird,
and Deerham of its long-looked-upon _bete noir_, old Grip Roy. Luke had
gone forward to make arrangements for the sailing, as he had done once
before; and Mrs. Roy took her seat with her husband in a third-class
carriage, crying enough tears to float the train.